Ah, sweet bonny flower face
That sits outside my door
Nodding in the eve time
Waking gently in the morn
Nothing so pretty as your pink-tipped petals
Nor as fragrant as you, my rose
Your very existence is poetry
Sprung up in a garden of prose
Ah, but my lacy lillies
Sigh enviously at your grace
And all my quiet pansies
Wish silently for your face
But only you are the queen of flowers
Beautiful now and forever more
You, sweet bonny flower face
Who sits outside my door.
I find you in an old silent pond,
The imagery you've left will outlive all,
With nature,your immortal bond
You will stand like a kiri tree tall.
You, the gem of haiku,
Your name be echoed in Fuji's peak,
Mogami river shall chant your lines
Your praise be sung by the Cuckoo.
The rivers and the oceans shall seek
To preserve you in their shrines.
The Cherry trees bow in thankfulness
Pines remind of your gingko walks,
Spring departs,autumn smiles in happiness
The rivers, the winds and the clouds.
Though time fades away,deem all out,
You shall remain in greenness of nature
Forever alive and forever young.
This word-wreath be bestowed
Upon you and your name shall feature
In the valley and ocean shall chant your song.
Dedicated to every young man bestowed the honor of wearing
the glorious Oklahoma Sooners' Crimson & Cream
Over sixty years, boy and man, I have been a Sooners fan;
And always hoped to be among the truest in the stands.
And while I don’t remember all the Players’ names,
They’re my Heroes, each and every one, because they play the game.
When they’re on the field of battle, my Sooners surely give their all;
And when they’re on the sidelines, just waiting for a Coach’s call;
Visions of Glory must be dancing in their heads;
The Glory of the moment and our cheers, the Glory of playing for
the mighty Big Red.
And for those Sooners who rarely played, whose names were
known only by a few,
Make no mistake my friend, each of them is my Hero too.
Like Soldiers waiting in the ranks, but never called to fight,
They ‘re ready and they’re willing, their spirit and their sacrifice
add to Big Red’s might.
I stand in awe of Sooner Magic. No, I never doubt it.
My Sooners could have never won so many Championships without it.
But don’t misunderstand when I say Sooner Magic won those games;
It was Sooners players who, once again, rose to the occasion and
glorified the name.
Sixty years of college football and my Sooners have won the most.
Their fierce pride and performance inspire this simple toast:
“My Sooners Team goes on and on, different faces, different names;
But my Heroes, Each and Every one, for win or lose…
They play the game.
You are simply a work of art.
I’ve known it from the very start,
But you won’t find me hittin’ on ya.
For I’m just an old guy
With a twinkle in his eye;
Happy just to gaze upon ya.
My old heart quickens it pace
Each time I see your pretty face,
A face that every man should see.
Sometimes, just for a while,
Each time I see you smile,
I imagine it's just for me.
And, when I hear your voice,
For just a moment, I rejoice.
Yes, it’s music to these old ears.
But more than a work of art,
You’re warm and funny and smart.
Simply a beautiful person, my dear.
Though with you I’m quite smitten,
My words are respectfully written;
And every word is true.
But, if I weren’t so old,
If I were better looking and a little bold,
I would simply say, “I love you.”
There is little difference between us.
It is as if Narcissus gazed again
to catch a glimpse of us for just a moment;
ourselves as echoes
Products of a common seed, divided.
Tiny ripples reflecting back at me.
Is this the way Narcissus felt, forever
gazing in a pool?
Living portrait of whom I see as me.
A perfect duplicate in flesh and blood
Where I end you start, and seem to be
my echo and ripple.
For Skat's Ode Contest
Whether it's a shellcreeper or it's a freezie,
fret not, mes amis! you have Mario and Luigi,
"mama mia!","Let's go!" when you hear them say,
those plumbers in red & green are off to save the day!
Luigi is the slower one - but his jumps are far and wide,
whilst Mario, with his scarlet cap, runs faster than the tides,
always together, vanquishing ruthless enemies,
partners in time and adventure - for all of eternity!
Browser, the unscrupulous enemy, always kidnaps Princess Peach,
The brothers to the rescue! They sail across the seven seas!,
the boiling deserts, tiresome grasslands and the Koopa enemies,
they beat 'em all, with their fireballs and attain eternal glory.
the damsel is rescued, she hugs her noble men,
they escort her back to the Mushroom Kingdom, Yoshi too joins them,
Toad is there to welcome the weary, exhausted lot,
and bestow them with laurels for the demons they had fought.
And hence this way another tiring adventure is put to rest,
Mario and Luigi retire to their homes, waiting another test,
next morning, they hear the news "Princess peach was Kidnapped again!"
"Let's go!", "Mama Mia!" and another adventure begins!
(For Heather Ober's 'Famous Couples/Duos Free Poetry Contest')
Ode to the Madman
It was heaven in hell, both.
It was 115 degrees and I was in hell.
But heaven was in sweltering Palm Springs.
And I tasted nectar and ambrosia, both,
Under the dauntless palms.
I took in the majesty of the gods
As they bowed to each other,
Like kow-towing Chinamen in white robes.
I took in the flames and the feathers, both.
I took in the shadows and the spotlights of the stabbing sun.
The book was Women by Bukowski.
I lounged by the winking, blue-eyed pool,
Eyeing the half-naked women in bikinis,
Reading the drunken madman,
Sipping daiquiris on ice
Brought to me by the big-breasted beautiful girl
From behind the bar.
The way she walked as she brought me my drinks,
Was a Revelation and a turn-on, both.
It seemed, as I discerned from her big-breasted body language,
That she already knew the answers to life’s unasked questions.
That she had already traveled
To the farthest star in the galaxy.
That she had already tasted the wine of eternal wisdom.
Yes, it was the way she walked.
Bukowski would’ve smiled and said:
“Comon honey, let’s dance!”
I was in heaven and in hell, both.
It was 115 degrees, and I sweated.
But I saw paradise under the dauntless palms.
Ode to the madman!
“I sip this daiquiri in your name.”
Brought to me by the big-breasted beautiful girl
From behind the bar.
Can I have this hand in marriage dear,
Can you grace me with "I do",
Let the angels sing to Heaven,
Let my heart soar with their tune.
Let us seal our love for we two,
Let no others interfere,
Let Evil, with his one good eye,
Attempt to trick and snare.
Let Age pass on his cares to us,
For bound, we are as one,
We'll ride the heady winds of joy,
Until another song is sung.
Until another song is sung, my love;
We'll drink the drink of fools;
Let passion be our compass,
And a blinding trust our rule.
Let us plant the seeds of new life,
That through Time will resonate,
Let our names be always dear to those,
Who set them on their fate.
You have always been my rock
when all else has seemed to fail!
I thank you from the utmost depth
of my being for being a supportive,
listening ear when I didn't deserve
it, realism in the face of fickleness,
truth when it seemed as if there
was none to be found, and
The strength I needed to recognize
there are unresolved issues and
problems within my own life.
I love you with all of my heart
and appreciate your daily,
I owe you my life and promise
I will do better and be all
I can be within reason!
Love Always, Julie
c2013 Julie Rasley
sited down with his head, the chilled lonely table.
pen cries lovely piece of solemn lyrics, his head uttered.
last sky may be till tomorrow, no more other days.
I saw tears fell among dusty floor, a nail stroke my heart.
farewell dearly beloved, his first solemn phrase.
he dream for shiny beloved land, smiling at the sun.
where moon creates gold, for better own children alone.
he wish for a dream, where he wouldn't taste at all.
heaviest morning comes like a mourning cloud.
as counted journey flew to the end of sight.
he let his feet move, conquered the fear so dim.
as tied hands live the shadowed song, heart on grave.
farewell dearly beloved, his last dying words
before the guns vomit a deadly burning fumes
tears just fall, while smile been seen glowing
the hero just shout, set free my beloved land.
This is a story of the last day before the death of the Philippine National Hero, Dr. Jose Rizal.
From the night of the his last piece written the Mi Ultimo Adios, to the time of the firing squad.
Son, for sure that was a blissful day;
When bawling you were passed into our arms,
To be creators of this fragile babe,
To hold another being's captive charm,
As no scriptures will record these miracles,
So let me pen some worthy notes of praise,
So in my age I'll look again and smile,
Re-living moments of fantastic times:
That you were born to us in perfect form;
That you had too been blessed with sturdy health;
That you did in your youngest years stay calm;
And did not seek to grow too soon to man;
That you did keep that loving child in you;
Who still would seek the comfort of our arms;
That you did hold that honest bargain true;
We, supportive parents of respectful child;
You, toiling consciously for our desires;
That you did heed those lessons that we shared;
Born from a wisdom of advanced years;
That you found time to light up hearts with care;
Whom fate had made less fortunate than yourself.
So that, on graduation day you did move all,
Who felt the artistry in your recital,
As black caps rained and cheers flew high,
Our hearts were filled with overwhelming pride.
Goblins and ghouls, we are.
Behind the paint,
Beneath the scars.
We tread the night,
So fright the stars, we must.
For an ode to monsters,
A worthy trust.
I am sure we will meet again,
on the other side of Paradise.
Your face is as calm as ever,
like a serene place where the waves meet the ocean.
Somewhere between now and eternity,
I am sure we will meet again.
Your smile is as sweet as I can remember,
and your tears form dewdrops on my soul.
Yes, I miss you with all of my heart,
and when you went away I felt robbed.
Yet, I am certain we will meet again,
on the other side of Paradise.
A Collage Held Dear contest, sponsored by Craig Cornish; 10/25/13
I come to you with love in my heart
in you I place all my trust
joining you in your nature walks
lying close by your side at night
I sense your tension and panic
and stand guarding you from danger
for you I would give my very life
I cower not understanding your anger
As you shout at me I cringe at your feet
all I want to do is to love and protect you
now as we walk you are so tense
so once more you I protect
Confused when you jerk me back
and scold me for I know not what
then a calm man appears and explains
it is not me but you, I just need a pack leader
Cesar shows you how to step up
to be calm yet assertive
love alone he explains is not enough
no dog is born bad I just needed guidance
Now when we go out for walks
I now bound along happily
the tension that was is gone
thanks to that wise calm man
a tribute to Cesar Millan and the work he does
Salute to the ode of old
Be wary of the ghosts it leaves
The remnant and seeds of its wake
Salute to the whore of kings
Its corpse and stench reeks still
The wise and deep court still
Salute to the living dead
Frail but rears its head
With words than never bend
Salute, I say, Ode
For yonder when I die
In spite of the odium I hold
You’d still be lying there
Father Poppy, The Mr. Everyman----
Mr. Security, Mr. Predictability,
Mr. Easily Lovable!
I love you, Dad---
If you sat down and
though about it for
just one moment,
You would see that you
are Mr. Everything to me,
to your precious grand-daughter
Maddie, to your two beloved sons,
and to my mother,
your life-long partner and confidant.
Your life is a fine example
of security and love,
wrapped in a blanket of warmth
and knowing you will always
be there, no matter how high
the tide gets!
c2013 Julie Rasley
Love feast by Steven Hudson
I have looked upon too many scarred, sullen and hard faces these many days.
Loud, crude, gruff men who take and push and fight.
This ship has run its course, sleepless, tossed about,
Every port and harbor, sea and foreign land.
My companions smell and to look at them would make you turn down.
I’m pretty sure I have a tapeworm and my piss is the wrong color.
So my love, when here at last I see your face,
You’re smile, piercing eyes, and silky long hair,
To gaze at you now is a love feast to behold,
And from now and forever you will always be…..
The most captivating golden retriever I have ever seen.
Loveliness that's deep and that's rare
is like a rose that blooms afresh
(like the rosebud that's new and fair);
lovely in aspect and in flesh,
it lives in sunlight without care
letting all the sky breathe and mesh.
Its loveliness is hard to find
unspoiled and as innocent;
and with its tint and with its rind
it quells my musing discontent.
As it sighs (softly and from behind),
my nose takes in its lovely scent.
Its beauty transcends its locus,
imbuing the eyes of my soul
with romantic, ideal focus
that makes the heart and the mind whole:
without it the world seems callous
and grace would not be in control.
‘PURPLE NIRVANA JOURNAL’
Dedicated to the legendary Kurt Cobain—(20 February 1967—5 April 1994)
“What else could I write—I don’t have the right.....”
Words are a big pile of contradiction—split down the middle, sincerity and fiction
Feelings we have, sarcastic rebuttals—bohemian clichés exhausted and shuffled
Finding my nest of salt—every word an imperfection, fault, defected assault
Translated opinions an obvious search—proof of intelligence wasted besmirch
“I’m not like them, but I could pretend—the sun is gone but I have a light...”
An infrared light will stimulate the sun in winter—when darkness comes everything splinters
Infinity does not exist mathematics is based on ten—numeral variations create a retrogressive pen
To be forever positive ignores all that represents significance, value sanctified
To be ceaselessly negative threatens derision creating instant credibility nullified
“I wish I was like you-- easily amused... I’ll take all the blame... Aqua sea-foam shame...”
Talk to your friends, they will offer you lists--- remedies already tried, they don’t exist
Translated opinions are apparent attempts investigating proof of intelligence
Abusive, obscure descriptive words—a desperate expression, sincere but seldom heard
We stare at the sky with petrified vision—clouded images of a purple collision
Sunburn, frostbite, prevailing bronze star-- noteworthy disfigurement scar
All in all is all we are.....
When I sit still and calmly read the works of Poets True
It is nice to know I'm not alone because of all of you
There are stories being told here in such different forms and ways
We have happy times, some joy and pain, and some for special days
There are some who write in Haiku, there are those who love Quatrain
We have those who write sweet Sonnets telling us about the rain
But we also have some Poets True who write as though they sing
With a Rhyme Royal or Limerick that will cause your ears to ring
How about the Free Verse Poets and the Funny Poets too
Those Acrostics and the Metaphors that can help the sun shine through
There are Ballad Poems and Lyrics truly wonderful to find
And the Epic Poems and Tanka's that will stir things in your mind
On a quiet night with softened light we'll read an Ode or two
Or a Villanelle or Couplet that someone has shared with you
What about those Nature Poets who can rhyme about the Earth
How the flowers grow in colors even different kinds of dirt
We have those who write of waterfalls; and sounds that fill the air;
Of deep mysteries and great mercies that reveal how we should share
Some are Kyrielles and Kwansabas that find their way to you
Those Alliteration Poets can help you think of things to do
We have Poets True from nations far that share the things they see
There are dreamers here with mighty words that say we can be free
We read Love Poems so sweetly said they cause your heart to melt
They will talk of Love lost or Love found that's truly deeply felt
Well, I could go on forever speaking of the Poems found
Here on Poetry Soup with you and these true treasures that abound
But I guess I'll stop and thank you all for sharing what you do
And I'll say right here that we are blessed - We all are Poets True!
SHE glides with grace, like one in love
with love itself and all that’s lush;
and when the mythic sprites above
unloose her from the morning's blush,
she descends like the milk-white dove
with the notes of a singing thrush.
With golden locks, as light as air,
and liquid, limpid eyes most blue,
none is like her or can compare
to her beauty and lovely hue
which lift the humble souls that dare
come to her for her balmy dew.
As wind and air Nymph and a muse
with the nimbused crest of a saint
which no man can therefore refuse
or with mean words tarnish or taint,--
then let all Creatures freely choose
to honor her without constraint.
1.) Ngoc Nguyen; 2.) Nature motif; 3.) for "Impress me II ! ( Old/New )" Contest
O burgeoning soul of sweet things
mellowed to summer's surge,
with autumn's dim appraisal
loitered to a final song of ditties,
the oozes of eve ferment
my fewest keen-felt purges;
Apollo upon his throne spinning rhyme
wild and weary in his gilded city,
shall he sing thy posy prims
in deep delved halls
with lamenting love on his lips ----
stars his eyes,
moons his garland,
and zephyr, his breath
honeyed in Elven tongues?
How I faint to find my words
whistled in wind,
some blacker beauty in light,
some arrayed longing
begging from dark,
Mountain to moe-hill
in the shades of vales,
the swell of seas
soothed in tinge;
Mother Earth my palette ----
She of rainbow hues
and Bright Stars!
How kingdoms fall harsh,
lidless in forest dim
too barren, too ravished....
naked without even shadow;
shall I clothe thee with wisdom?
Sprinkle thy skin
with the canvas of the heavens?
Steep in the silts of rills
and the leavened soils
of bubbling brooks
drink thy vintage feverish
for the nectar of nightingales
soaked in song
the gods shall push thy pen
prancing, dark winged
as smooth-perched rooks
O wan child fettered and foiled!
thou needed a swifter love all along;
thou canst express with bitter deeds ----
idle words too sober without melody,
a better posy than Shakespeare's?
Momma Has Dementia
I miss my mother so terribly
yet, she still walks the planet today,
still looking like herself, her smile and her laugh
but her thoughts are only on yesterday.
But, let me look back at her life to see
what I can find,
there is morality in the raising of her girls and
and courage when her loved ones were dying.
As a teenager when my heart would be broken
by some unfaithful boyfriend of mine,
daddy and momma would dance to break off my sorrow
wanting again to see my face to shine.
She has always been so independent
and such a hard worker to,
taking such care of daddy and my sisters and me
so in my heart I praise the Lord gratefully.
Then the fun we have had out shopping
and together going to foreign lands,
sightseeing and visiting and all parts of the trip
just having her with me made it so grand.
For you see, good parents are hard to come by
in this wicked world of ours,
so I know that mine was Heaven sent
and by the Father’s hand they were lent.
And when her earthly life is over
and her time to leave here has come,
I know that she’ll be with Him in Heaven
for she has trusted in God’s only Son.
Written by: Marilyn S. Jennings
Momma went home in 2012
There've been times in my life
where I've just had to say,
"I must, give it all up,
for, it's that kind of day"!
I must, really say this
I really, just must;
if I didn't say it,
then, it wouldn't be, "just".
There's this crazy, old man
we'll just call him, "Doc";
who fills up blank pages
with, "poetical talk".
He's scribbled, and scrabbled
'til way, past bed-time,
trying to finish each poem
and, complete every rhyme.
If he hadn't done this
he'd surely gone, "mad",
his nonsensical nature
was, all that he had!
No hidden agenda
when first, he wrote down,
each poem of nonsense
to erase a childs' frown.
And, Doc always did this
..so that , all of his poems
were merely geared, to amuse.
He loved to let nonsense
be the order of the day,
and, with every poem
we all smiled, the same way.
His only intention
was to set our minds, "free",
his style, just did it
With his own tongue, in cheek
we knew we'd been had,
and his poems rhymed perfectly
proving he was no, "fad"!
The volumes of topics
that Doc's written of,
included all that could be
written.....below, and above.
He's written of magic,
puzzles, and games...
..with, strange little creatures,
with, strange little, "names".
The, crazier his story,
the saner he'd feel,
and, the more that we heard
convinced us they were, "real"!
His poems, were genius
as he weaved us, a tale;
with, nonsensical rhymes
that did so, without..."fail".
"Old Doc", has quit writing
he's up in heaven,
this year, his birthday'd ...
make him, a hundred, and seven!
He's given advice,
taught what we must do,
he said, "Be who you are...
..no-one's youer, than....you!"
He's maybe still writing
in, heaven....you see,
that'd be just like him
as, that's who he must, be!
That, silly old doctor...
..as silly, as a goose;
we all loved his poems,
for, we loved Dr. Seuss!
John Jack Kennedy
was as brilliant as could be
A studied Harvard graduate
A navy hero of the sea
He was from Massachusetts
A lover of the dunes
and used to walk beside them
on summer afternoons
He was a much loved President
His spoken word was magic
I never did understand why
his ending was so tragic
I can remember him so clear
but time flies quickly by
I remember Jackie's pill box hat
John-John and Caroline
It is a shame that violence
brought his colorful life to end
the Kennedys' profiles in courage
were an absolute Godsend
There is so much happiness
around JFK's short term
His fun sense of humor
A smart, well read bookworm
We all will never forget him
Those of us who loved him so
The articulate, animated speeches
The radiant look he'd always showr
ELVIS THE PELVIS
I walk on to the stage –
so nervous as heck –
Is this my future – I am
My soul feels the music –
that I do know,
But sometimes I do feel
so terribly low.
Of course, I get nervous –
before each show –
My heart is pumping –
this I know.
When I’m on stage – I do
let loose –
Sometimes I drink some
good old fruit juice.
The hillbilly cat, is what
they call me –
And; Elvis the pelvis – it
was given for free.
I do feel the music – that
is for sure,
I sing and gyrate – that is
People screaming – bedlam
My mama is worried – don’t
worry my dear.
I move to the music – it’s just
what I do,
All this and more – I do for
My legs are shaking with a
mind of their own –
Now I am sat upon my thrown.
They call me the king of rock
Boy, oh boy, I feel ten foot
My name is Elvis Presley, and
I am real shy,
This is so true – I cannot deny.
But my music helps me to
As my life is much busier – I
amass great wealth.
Records are made – and a
home I buy,
The beautiful Graceland – for
my mommas to try.
All the good things I give to
And she pats me gently upon
My momma is my rock – my
But now she’s gone – I am
My life means nothing – but
the show must go on,
I have no one else to turn too,
I want to just run.
The good lord says; “go, and
entertain the excited crowds –
Use that voice – and you’ll
have no doubts?”
The hillbilly cat is here to stay,
As I get ready – I need to pray.
The rest is history – and is a
When the final curtain bowed,
his soul did amend.
The pelvis is the king – and he
always will be,
Elvis the pelvis – the true king
For my daughter Madison Joy---Like a sparking diamond, you are a rare innocence that is gratifying and refreshing in a world that uses ignorance as an excuse not to succeed....
There is no talent, game,
activity, or lesson that
you do not excel at.
Are these prodigy escapades,
imagining you are an animal
during playtime and hiding
to see who will come
look for you?
Creativity abounds within
your heart and mind,
and it teaches me
new lessons each day.
Yes, they are challenging
and tough at times, but
it is worthwhile when
the finished product is
a porcelain doll!
Love Always, Mommy
c2013 Julie Rasley
As the life and voice of Dr. Maya Angelou were profoundly deep and moving, I hope you will find this grateful tribute to her to be fitting. As it is too long to be posted here, you can find it at
Or, Read it in parts I and II:
The name woke me up - sat me up in my bed...
"Maya", the name my voice called out...
As I sat there in the dark, listening...
As I had so many times before...
Wondering at the "whys" and "how - tos" of my impossible dreams.
And as the dark, so was the divide -
That place in me, between what I was,
And the Why and Who I wanted to be...
But always, her voice, that voice named "Maya",
Had called across the divide as a still and steady light.
That unbreakable, unshakable, steady light...
I wondered where it was now, with blinking, thinking eyes.
Had it vanished? Was it vanquished? Could I once again rise -
In the dark staring dead at me... daring me to rise...
I felt hopeless, lost back in the divide… now growing ever and ever wide.
What happens now - my question? A miracle now, an answer - indeed...
For through the dark, that voice named "Maya" whispered...
Whispered into me... sounding a new song's drumbeat creed...
"You", the whispering voice whispered..."You, child - Now, You"...
And my feet were suddenly planted, planted bravely on the ground.
And I stood tall and strong, stepping peacefully forward, twirling round,
For the dark no longer stared at me, but I stared into it...
It no longer owned me... but instead, I commanded it,
By a path so still and steady - and now, so brightly lit:
The light I had strained to see was now the miracle shining from inside of me.
My divide... was now, somehow... unified.
And again the whispering voice came: "Yes child - Yes - I speak your name…
I have come and gone so very far, borne witness to it -
Have delivered a gift to you all - and you were born to use it.
Share it... wear it... and to the dark - dare it - with that unbreakable, unshakable light.”
“Be a voice for all seasons - make some noise for all the reasons,
The downtrodden have to hope for, that the world would grasp and grope for…
Be my voice Now… as I have been yours… a brilliant spirit, not a wandering ghost…
Make your choice, Now - Decide - to be Identified…
To see and live your unbreakable, unshakable, unstoppable dreams.”
Continued i Part II
ODE – NEDERLAND’S CHANT
Dutch greetings we say…
Dutch greetings we say,
in the land of Friesland today.
Home is our joy.
Logical people and not emotional we are.
Expressive are our thoughts.
Call us opinionates, if you want.
Dutch greetings we say to all!