The World Watches – A poem.

The World Watches

Daily we are given contrast
of what is true and what is thought.
Fools run amok with lies they’ve bought,
leading to the flag at half-mast.

Thank the Lord the role’s been recast.
But the mad serpent still has fangs,
venom seeps into disturbed veins.
Infected minds storm hallowed halls,
seeking truth with traitorous calls.
Strife will never remove these stains.

 


How to write an Espinela or Décima poem.

My entry for this week’s Décima Poetry Challenge NO. 39 CONTRAST.


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© 2020- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

The Final Countdown – A poem.

The Final Countdown

Unity lost to the loppers,
by bottomfeeding dunderheads.
Proof each family tree under-weds,
and brain cells… hippity hoppers.

For the greediest of goppers,
choose to put selfish gain forward.
They hope to feed the frenzied horde.
The two sides come to one last clash.
So they bing they bang and they bash,
and the tally… remains the same.

 


How to write an Espinela or Décima poem.

My entry for this week’s Décima Poetry Challenge NO. 38 BASH.


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© 2020- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

…THE WISE – A poem.

…THE WISE

They believe the Old are obsolete.
They burn bridges and widen rifts.
Not grasping with wisdom comes gifts,
and balance makes a base concrete.
Two can get twice done in one beat.
Walk the halls with something to add,
setting the futures launching pad.
But as the recent past tells us,
none listens enough to discuss.
Hope falls before a power-grab.

 

A companion poem to my haiku THE FOOLISH… for the Haiku Challenge this week of MAD and Sane.


How to write an Espinela or Décima poem.

My entry for this week’s Décima Poetry Challenge NO. 36 GIFT.


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© 2020- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Do they know… – A poem.

Do they know…

Ever closer ticktocks the clock,
nearing the minute, the hour,
of the day some think sweet, some sour.
All wait to glimpse the holy frock.

Tots faking sleep wait for the knock,
be it on the roof or the door,
as long as they get more, more, more.
Don’t fret to wrap in bows or twine,
cause all you’ll hear is mine, mine, mine.
Don’t they know why the day is for?

 


How to write an Espinela or Décima poem.

My entry for this week’s Décima Poetry Challenge NO. 35 KNOCK.


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© 2020- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Our Youth Need – A poem.

Our Youth Need…

The young have not been so lucky,
their world defined by death and rage,
We had freedom, they have a cage,
locked up safe from the dying spree.

The fool and wisdom disagree,
on how to save democracy.
Our youth drown in hypocrisy,
as blue label fights red label.
They need foundations firm…stable,
with no games of bureaucracy.


I wrote this poem in part because of my son. A couple of months ago he came in contact with a classmate who had Covid-19. That of course meant he had to be quarantined. We all wore masks…because he’s a 16-year-old boy who forgets what meal of the day he’s eating. Meaning there was no way we were trusting him to wear a mask all the time. Things at school went downhill from there, well not all downhill, but a class here or there. He had to do remote learning and some teachers didn’t know how to use the equipment very well, and you can’t really learn Chemistry all that well from what is basically a skype call.

One teacher is a bit of a difficult one, and the boy has been stressed more than we realized. He was out two days sick, not from anything, just mentally psyched out and throwing up for two days. It turns out he has the hardest class schedule in his entire school, and it’s a college prep school. Imagine having 1 AP class, meaning a college credit class, the hardest class in the school, 3 Honors classes, and the rest College Prep classes except for Band where he’s an officer and section leader.

What we didn’t know was that while he was quarantined he was constantly worried he might end up with something that could potentially kill him. That on top of trying to keep up with two weeks of classwork and tests.

Anyway, that’s where we are. Just trying to get to winter break and a clean slate begins. We just hope his current slate isn’t a shattered mess. For a boy who has been identified as gifted, and identified as a Duke Tip student, and been in the national junior honor society and now Beta Club, this has been a huge blow for him.


How to write an Espinela or Décima poem.

Whether you enjoyed my poem or not, please click the link below to head to this week’s challenge page and visit some of the loyal in the comments who keep coming back to write using this style of poetry that is so accomodating to different ideas and more difficult than you may think to write. And it’s a great feeling to know you’re writing in a style created hundreds of years ago in Spain.

My entry for this week’s Décima Poetry Challenge NO. 34 STABLE.


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© 2020- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Only One Mutton – A poem.

Only One Mutton

My mind is a turbine of plots,

to the point, it is hard to sleep.

I count blessings, instead of sheep,

But Shaun slays them, with dreaded baaaahhhhhts.
They return, Shaun must lance alots,

or be he served to a glutton,

for he’s nothin’…but mutton,

Fear not, Lamb Chop comes unafraid,

wielding her magic sheering blade.

She shouts, “There can be only one.”

 


I bet you never thought stop animation and sock puppets could star in a slasher story, huh?


Some explaining to do, for those young folk out there. This didn’t start out as a pop culture, walk down memory lane thing, but with my first line and the word sleep as the prompt? It got away from me. I put links in for the various things that people might need a reference to. Another link is for Shari Lewis. You can watch Highlander: The Movie in the US  here, on Tubitv.com for free with ads. Or here on Vudu.com for free with ads. It’s one of my favorites. I use both sites regularly. They are safe. No problems. You just set up a free account. Vudu used to be attached to Walmart.


How to write an Espinela or Décima poem.

Whether you enjoyed my poem or not, please click the link below to head to this week’s challenge page and visit some of the loyal in the comments who keep coming back to write using this style of poetry that is so accomodating to different ideas and more difficult than you may think to write. And it’s a great feeling to know you’re writing in a style created hundreds of years ago in Spain.

My entry for this week’s Décima Poetry Challenge NO. 32 SLEEP.


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© 2020- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

So Long Farewell – A poem.

So Long Farewell

Loosen your hold, oh greedy one.

So long to DayGlo, tanning buns.

Secret Service, and Big Mac runs.

There’s no prayin’, will help you none.

Your time is over, MelMel’s done.

Wave to Joe Joe, Kamala too.

We chose them, just to say screw you.

Troops ain’t with you, so no kook coup.

All your lawyers are scared to sue.

Lock your bank tight…Mel’s bout to shrew.


This may be my last overtly political poem for a while, at least I’m going to try refrain. Although I will likely make them as open to interpretation as possible. I’m a bit tired of it all. There are other aspects of life that are worth exploring and self-therapizing about.

May the poetry gods and saints forgive me. This is what I get for listening to a catchy upbeat poppy Taylor Swift hook right before writing this. Yes, I’m a Swifty. And if you are too or even if not, you need to listen to her latest surprise album Folklore. Not an overly pop thing. Real laid back. Done during the pandemic. Wasn’t even supposed to be an album out.


Whether you enjoyed my poem or not, please click the link below to head to this week’s challenge page and visit some of the loyal in the comments who keep coming back to write using this style of poetry that is so accomodating to different ideas and more difficult than you may think to write. And it’s a great feeling to know you’re writing in a style created hundreds of years ago in Spain.

My entry for this week’s Décima Poetry Challenge NO. 31 ONE.


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© 2020- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Right Practiced- A poem.

Right Practiced

The tension we feel is not good,
neither is it bad or evil.
It’s sane in times of upheaval,
when dreaming of what could or should.

Once deflating we know we stood,
now, meditating on the scale.
We played our part, we did it well,
braved to choose, whether right or err.
Down to the wire, a closing scare,
gasping for breath, breathe deep, exhale.

 


Whether you enjoyed my poem or not, please click the link below to head to this week’s challenge page and visit some of the loyal who keep coming back to write using this style of poetry that is so accomodating to different ideas and more difficult than you may think to write. And it’s a great feeling to know you’re writing in a style created hundreds of years ago in Spain.

My entry for this week’s Décima Poetry Challenge NO. 30 EXHALE.

the word poetry in black on white background


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© 2020- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Long Gone – A poem.

Long Gone

I loved those days, him in his swing,

and those when he giggled to swim.

Hopes to play in the big boy gym,

or watch Pooh and Pig’et and sing.

 

Now I see him sinking, drowning,

‘neath pressure not meant his to be.

I reach out to lift the weight free,

receiving rebukes for my care.

Being told it’s not my affair,

just a father in name only.

 

My entry for this week’s Décima Poetry Challenge No. 26 SWING.

© 2020- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Mad Mad…what was I talking about again? A poem.

Today, Tuesday, October 6th, is Mad Hatter Day, so get your imbecilic nonsense on. I know I did.

Mad Mad…what was I talking about again?

I’m neither here nor there but yonder
smudging the windows of your pains.
Did you know I’ve been seen in seines,
while you stink of Salamander?

Have I seen a girl, much blonder,
than that tailored swift one just there?
Such a question is plain not fair,
I’ll be the hook of her next trill.
But she’ll not catch me standing still
for I’ll pull out my Joyn Mayair.

What was I talking about again poetry image Mad Hatter.

 

You might have a bit of fun figuring out some of the words and how they’re used in the story of the poem. Some happened by accident when I read back through. And with a little word change here and there, it jelled. I even ventured into the Lord of the Rings stories, but fortunately thought better.

My entry for this week’s Décima Poetry Challenge No. 25 STILL.

© 2020- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Love in the Air.

Love in the Air

On soft breeze a divine bouquet
her invitation is discrete,
to imbibe in her gifts so sweet,
and my heart with joy must obey.
Eternal beasts come into play.

Distance is an icy lover,
these shivers I cannot cover.
Time will tell the battles end.
I’ll travel along that soft wind,
to love to rediscover.

Now you know.

One of my favorites back when I knew how to write what I called lyrical poetry…or poetry of any kind at all.

ronovanwrites

Slippin’ into sideways single again, thinkin’ I know what’s the best thing for my friend.
Never seein’ I’m the one playin’ a fool, keep trippin’ into a funk deeper than a city cesspool.
Do you ever think you want your own time, oh but you keep missin’ when she’s out of your line?
Then you look into her eyes, her heart and you play it off like a chump, thinkin’ you’re so cool.

Love’s not a playground for the child or the immature clown painted on society’s scripted scene.
Expectations of your world can bring you down to your knees and shatter your deepest dreams.
Where do you go from here when all you know is the beaten down lovers lost melody hit machine?
Words rhymed and bought to break your heart and rip your pockets for every cent at the seams?

Fill your heart, feel the steam.
Let it…

View original post 314 more words

Never Give Up

Life
Will
Never
Defeat me.
I’m
All
I’ll
Be needing.

Some
Like
to be
Conceding
But I’ll Never
Give up
No Never Give up.

Skies
Are
Blue
Up above.
My
Life
Fits
Me
Like a glove.

No
I
May
Never Know
Of
Love.
But I’ll Never
Give up
No Never Give up.

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@RonovanWrites

 © Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com 2016

Love Crutch

What cha playin’ at
Think you’re something worthy but your times up
Times up
Times up
So why don’t you just shut up.

Yeah, I’m talkin’ ’bout you
Holdin’ court like you somebody big and tough
Big ‘n Tough
Big ‘n Tough
You’re nothin’ but a chump.

Why do I keep sinkin’, over a stupid weak in,
my armor?
Do you think I’m
a charmer?

Some people like to lay down and say,
they’re prayin’.
But all they do is
keep payin’.

I don’t want a banker to be my heart taker.
Taker
Taker
Do be a faker.

I want a free thinker, shrinker, a love drinker.
Drinker
Drinker
A love strike sinker.

Why do I keep thinkin, about your ever blinkin’?
Your eyes keep sinkin’.
Borin’ holes into my dreamin’.
A home run knockin’ win.

I’m not one to tell much.
But I keep longing for your touch.
Baby I need you in a clutch.
You’re my love crutch.

Love Crutch Image


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@RonovanWrites

 © Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com 2016

Now you know.

Slippin’ into sideways single again, thinkin’ I know what’s the best thing for my friend.
Never seein’ I’m the one playin’ a fool, keep trippin’ into a funk deeper than a city cesspool.
Do you ever think you want your own time, oh but you keep missin’ when she’s out of your line?
Then you look into her eyes, her heart and you play it off like a chump, thinkin’ you’re so cool.

Love’s not a playground for the child or the immature clown painted on society’s scripted scene.
Expectations of your world can bring you down to your knees and shatter your deepest dreams.
Where do you go from here when all you know is the beaten down lovers lost melody hit machine?
Words rhymed and bought to break your heart and rip your pockets for every cent at the seams?

Fill your heart, feel the steam.
Let it flow,
She’s in your bloodstream,
You’re not alone,
Now you know.

Feel her love, feel her deep,
Intense and low,
You’re denied peace in sleep,
You’re addicted,
And now you know.

Now you know.

Oh. Oh.

Slippin’ sheets across sensations of last nights slumbered distress.
Comin’ to an end of your sweet dreams of silk and a whole lot less.
Is it a wonder you haven’t been in the pop culture extreme obscene?
Lipstick and perfumed skinned is all you need confess.

Tender kisses with restrained passion desires.
Pressin’ into her flesh, flames the fires hotter and hotter.
Openin’ my eyes will send my despair even higher.
Seconds slip by, throat’s so dry, needin’ her lips like life givin’ water.

Fill your heart, feel the steam.
Let it flow,
She’s in your bloodstream.
You’re not alone,
Now you know.

Feel her love, feel her deep,
Intense and low,
You’re denied peace in sleep,
You’re addicted,
And now you know.

Now you know.

Oh. Oh.

Givin’ in to the spin of this need.
Hatin’ the pain to concede,
The passing time, I need to heed,
When this love is so high like the tide,
Of a raging sea.

Fill your heart, feel the steam.
Let it flow,
She’s in your bloodstream.
You’re not alone,
Now you know.

Feel her love, feel her deep,
Intense and low,
You’re denied peace in sleep,
You’re addicted,
And now you know.

Now you know.


 


Amber WakeRonovan Hester is an author, with his debut historical adventure novel Amber Wake: Gabriel Falling due out in February of 2016. He shares his life through his blog RonovanWrites.WordPress.com. His love of poetry, authors and community through his online world has lead to a growing Weekly Haiku Challenge and the creation of a site dedicated to book reviews, interviews and author resources known as LitWorldInterviews.com.

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

@RonovanWrites

© Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com 2016

Bag O’bones-Biddle

black cat transparent
 
 
Ticky tocky ricky rocky
The cat hummed its favorite tune
Watching from overhead
All snug in its rafter bedLarge-Cat-Paw-Transparent-left-down
It knew dinner would be coming soon.

Pebbles rittled and rattled
Night mice skittled and skedaddled
The man skipped to the beat of his head
Though the house up ahead was in gloomLarge-Cat-Paw-Transparent-right-down
And the beaten head needed a bed.
 
Bag O’bones-Biddle
Watched the skipping man’s skediddle
A smile spread across his big shroom
He turned to stoke the cooling fire
And swept up ashes with a broom.
 Large-Cat-Paw-Transparent-left-down
“Greetings  my good dear friend,”
The man said to O’Bones-Biddle as if kin.
“Might I partake of a spare piece of floor?
As the night has come on quickly
And I find myself without safety of a door.”
 Large-Cat-Paw-Transparent-right-down
The answer was yes,
O’bones-Biddle was quick to confess.
“Pardon the house it’s not as I wish.
My keeper has all but left.
But he makes a delicious dish.”
 
The night’s dinner was thin
“Too much is a sin.”
The skipping man said in fun.
“Or so the saying goes”Large-Cat-Paw-Transparent-left-down
O’bones-Biddle nodded. “It’s a good one.”
 
“I wonder this night,
If by chance you just might,
Help an old man such as me?”
Bag’s spoke in a voice
To bring pity upon one such as he.
 Large-Cat-Paw-Transparent-right-down
“Of course I may,
Anything you might say,
Of this grateful stranger.”
The man did smile
Not the least aware his danger.
 
“I hope it’s not much trouble.
With two we may carry double,
And the fire will be stocked up as could be.”
Bag O’bones-Biddle went out the door.Large-Cat-Paw-Transparent-left-down
The man belched, sated and hunger free.
 
“Pardon me, your dinner was divine,
It was the best I’ve had in quite some time.”
“Thank you, kind sir. It was the last in my larder.”
But to fill it once again,
I need not look much farther or harder.”
 Large-Cat-Paw-Transparent-right-down
Ticky tocky ricky rocky
The cat hummed its favorite tune
Watching from overhead
From its rafter bed
Shaking its head at the buffoon.
 
First one load then two
Back and forth the men flew.
Wood stacking up higher.
“What all of this
You could build a bonfire.”
 Large-Cat-Paw-Transparent-left-down
“Oh no, dear me,
I am no one for a party.
But I like to be prepared for a dish.”
Bag O’bones-Biddle took up is fiddle,
“I’ll play whatever you wish.”
 
“Oh, I don’t think so.
It’s time for bed, you know.”
And the man looked about for a way.
O’bones-Biddle, ignored the denialLarge-Cat-Paw-Transparent-right-down
And with a drawing he began to play.
 
“Ticky Tocky Ricky Rocky
That was what me Mum sung.
Ticky Tocky Ricky Rocky
Until the day she was hung.”
Bag O’bones-Biddle played and hummed.
 
The man danced and danced,
Though the music was un-balanced.
“What are you doing to me, you’re mad?
I can’t do this much more,
Or me heart will burst and I’ll be had.”
 Large-Cat-Paw-Transparent-left-down
Bag O’bones Biddle stepped to the man,
His hands fiddled as fast as a fan.
The man backed his back away,
Toward the rolling boil,
Whose fire had helped stoke to stay.
 
The cat sat and it watched through the pane.
Seeing nothing as wrong but all for its gain.
For it knew it would not be too long,
Once the fiddle began,
And heard Bag O’bones-Biddles’ mum’s song.

Large-Cat-Paw-Transparent-right-down
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 



 

Ronovan Hester is an author, with his debut historical adventure novel Amber Wake: Gabriel Falling due out in December of 2015. He shares his life as an amnesiac and Chronic Pain sufferer through his blog RonovanWrites.WordPress.com. His love of poetry, authors and community through his online world has lead to a growing Weekly Haiku Challenge and the creation of a site dedicated to book reviews, interviews and author resources known as LitWorldInterviews.com.

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

@RonovanWrites

© Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com 2015

I ain’t lazy, maybe a little crazy. (A Poem.)

They call me insane for my constant author campaigns.
But who is to say someone else will come up with my way?
Look to the left and then to the right, then you might say who might be a might.
Set up the way for a better day to display what authors have to say.

Yes, I am crazy, but you can’t call me lazy.
I might be a bit touched, but who isn’t by much?
Would you rather not gather and foam at the mouth in a lather,
As you sit, and don’t hit, while your book don’t sell spit?

It’s not all on me, as you will see, you gotta make it be.
You will be a part, as I start, and leave a remark.
Don’t know what I’m talking about?
Listen up and you’ll hear people shout.

 

 

A new author support site I insanely created.
https://authorssupportingauthors.wordpress.com/

AuthorsSupportingAuthors

Let’s connect.

https://twitter.com/RonovanWrites

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Ronovan-Writes/630347477034132

https://plus.google.com/u/0/+RonovanWrites/about

ronovan-profile-bw

 

 

 

 

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© Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com 2015

Be Original (A Poem)

You want a poem, that’s not the norm?
You came to the right place to be slapped in the face.
Here are the words that go down as they come.
Today it’s the Lost Mind which they are from.
 
You say you got game but all you do is blame.
Bring on a word, something I haven’t heard.
Cry me a river is a song of tears, it’s the one Britney’s PR team fears.
The girl gone cheating, now whose albums are beating?
 
Old hat, my mind’s a ding bat, I like my cat, but you done known that.
Is it life, of strife, a back stabbed knife, I will keep to survive?
I ain’t rhyming, to keep the timing, for the pale faced miming, the poetic climbing.
Stay in your cave, behave, don’t be a slave to the rave or you lose to the suck-up tidal wave.
 
Stretch yourself to the limit so you know you are here to stay and are in it to win it.
Staying in one place, keeps you perplexed and vexed with a smirk on their face.
You’re scratching your head, wondering what it is I said, cause you can’t understand the way the words you’ve been fed.
It’s okay that you don’t know, because I ain’t here to put on a show, I love to put words down that flow.

Let’s connect.

https://twitter.com/RonovanWrites

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Ronovan-Writes/630347477034132

https://plus.google.com/u/0/+RonovanWrites/about

Image of Ronovan Writes

 

 

 

 

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© Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com 2015

 

You got no Hook

You got no Hook

by Lost Mind Poet

loser.jpg

 

You’re stealing my patterns

You’re taking my rhymes

Boy you best be prayin’

Cause I be hearin’ them chimes

 

A common thief

A petty crook

You look to me

Cause you got no hook

 

Play on you silly boy

And you’ll find yourself hollow

Cause when I finish with you

You won’t have even one last follow

 

You didn’t think I would notice

Imitation is a compliment

I guess you about to learn

A difference to your astonishment

 

Take your burglary

Carry it to the max

I got originality

While your head needs ex lax

 

 

2014 © Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com.

Female Focus Friday Reblog: Murder she wrought! AWESOME! or nuts…

Nishi is either really insane or this is like incredibly original and funny. I mean seriously. I had to Reblog this For Female Feature Friday. Go check it out and get your knives read!!!!!
Much Respect
Ronovan

The Showcase

The Farmers Wife or shall we call her Mrs Farmer was getting dinner ready at home..It was almost midday and the farmer household was quiet. The oldest of Mrs. F’s six was out in the field with Mr. Farmer and the little ones were at different spots all carrying out their allocated chores after they had come back from school. There was absolutely no dearth for work around the house and no one was too young to do their part.

She moved around the kitchen whilst preparing dinner. The Farmers were having meatloaf that evening and as she heard the kitchen timer ding, using her oven mitts she took out her signature dish out of the oven and slowly placed it on the kitchen counter. As the delicious aroma filled her kitchen, she turned to where the carving knives were placed and she could’nt help feeling a tingling sensation pass…

View original post 267 more words