She wakens to the most ungodly ring tone-
her husband's cell phone left there by her bed.
And next, her damn alarm clock's blare is fed
by noise of the neighbor’s lawn mower’s drone.
At work, suppressing groans, she is a clone
who answers e-mails, and with silent dread,
takes clients' calls. Guff fills her pounding head;
again and then again that ringing phone!
Then finally she’s home. Ahhhh. . . . time to dine -
except the children cannot break away
from Face book - and the oldest starts to whine.
Her hungry spouse then walks into the fray.
Amidst it all, as if to underline
her plight, that neighbor’s dog begins to bay!
For Cyndi MacMillan's
TIMELESS YET CONTEMPORARY, A SONNET THANG
Thee, are my deepest emotions; taken beyond; my control.
Thou do express love; sweeter; than view of sunshine.
One single touch, from you, feels so fine.
No thoughts of your face would ever console.
Desires; that when I see you, I fight to control,
My heart; is blinded by numbers more than nine.
My soul is bound to you with more than twine.
Thee taketh my senses, beyond, compression of coal.
My blustery habits; are taken; when I see thee, with him.
Coal contracts to brilliant diamonds from pressure, we are told.
My heart aches for thou, under the pressure of seeing his kiss.
No brilliancy of any treasure shines; only a full moon goes dim.
My desires are real; though they have no growth; in gold.
Thee, shall be my dream forever, though I shall have no bliss.
I’m Virgo, playing music tranquilly
in this self-portrait. The clavichord I chose.
It denotes fine education; the black clothes
I'm wearing prove I value chastity.
Dark as a shadow, to the left of me
is the face of my governess, which shows
I am dutiful. My face fairly glows -
lit with love for the arts and poetry!
See me in this latter portrait, still in black,
a high collar at my neck. A strange disguise
my face is now; I'm nearly taken aback
to see my sagging jowls! How dim my eyes,
and how thin my lips! But never did I lack
for love! I have lived long and have grown wise.
*Sofonisba Anguissola, who called herself Virgo, lived
from 1532 to 1625. She was a female artist known
for her great grace and modesty. I chose to write of
her using the Petrarchan Sonnet to honor her Italian heritage.
The two self-portraits described are from when she
was both young and old. I thought it interesting to
see how she changed with the years. If you copy and
paste my link, you will see several self portraits from
her youth and the two on the bottom are probably
close to when she was in her 90’s!
Please see http://bjws.blogspot.com/2013/01/1500s-woman-artist-sofonisba-anguissola.html
I met a woman with body so firm and fresh
Tasted without shame the love’s powers
Amazed and gazed upon the mound Venus
In the velvet cavity between her thighs.
To be ravished on the linen dearly paid
Let her ache for thrust of male firmness
Let her loins hunger to have me inside
Feel her two points of two love globes.
Loosen the manhood beneath her clothes
Drew it into her entrails with a mighty thrust
Evaded her body voluptuous and sensuous
Made love causing dislodge her bones so cute.
In the clench of his fist man’s power lies
But the power of woman elsewhere lies
*****This is quite a fictional write*****
Contest: Fanning the Embers of Catie Lindsey
It’s a dimly lit, darkly entombed spot
Here sits a lone black weeping willow tree
Night encroached leaving nothing you can see
Its cold, nothing about this place is hot
Not a ray of light surrounds to get caught
Evil basks within the nooks quite empty
She sits, there on a stump she sits flatly
Devoid of emotion, hope isn’t brought
Expressionless she stands with great power
The tree bows right to her beck and call
She stands mighty and tall like a tower
Grove seems to be protected by a wall
All who happen to see her would cower
All she sees is hate, her soul crushes all
* Left over Halloween poem, I forgot to post this, enjoy!
There once was a man who lived in a castle,
Who longed for a girl so he could love her.
He searched far and wide, from Prague to Yorkshire,
But he found no such a dazzling damsel.
He dreamed of a woman of so special:
Kind and sweet and graceful and beautiful...
The type of woman not concerned with Wealth.
And he would rescue her from some reptile
Both great and horrid, a nightmare made real.
Like Tarzan saving Jane from a crocadile.
They'd kiss and their wedding would be ideal,
Full of flowers, jewels, and high style.
But it was just a dream, completely unreal.
How many gentlemen have chased your myth?
How many captains and how many kings?
How many have heard of your legend fell?
How many poets and how many priests?
How could they resist your tender mercy?
They'll never deny the world at your feet.
How many gentle ladies dread your myth?
How many mistresses, how many maids?
How many have known your calamity?
How many nurses and how many nuns?
How could they ever dare compete with thee?
They'll never deny the world your beauty.
How many people, both women and men,
Meet the measure of The Perfect Woman?
*Michael Dom, sonnet for Nette Onclaude's Take Two contest.
**I had thought of shortenning this poem to fit in 'The Perfect Woman' competition, but I could not do that without destroying the original vision. A pity I wrote the poem before reading the competition rules! Nevermind, it's all good! mt_dom
I'm tired of you becoming just words,
On every page when I write at night.
I saw you as a pretty face at first;
I wouldn't mind if my ink pen dried.
I say it because you're a human being;
These situations are not my type.
I want "I love you" to mean something,
And you stay right by my side.
Honestly, when I write poetry,
The feeling is unconfirmed, undecided, undefined.
You are worth more to me
Than words written down on every line.
I'd prefer to have you in my arms;
Paper and pen will not tear us apart.
©2013 Honestly JT
For P.D.' s "Any Poem Goes #6" Poetry Contest
Which is better? To love or not to love
(a woman)? To love--and love well--is good
so long they who love love without falsehood
and count the other as their heart's pet dove.
To befriend (her) is better; never shove
a lady-friend into a lover, should
her virtuous friendship and womanhood
belie an injury that rob her love.
However, to love God is best. Not I,
but the claims of this life--O Destiny!--
make it so that men like us must decry
love, and sin, for a life of poverty.
Although, if God wills it, love will find me
in heaven's field,--in heaven's golden lea!
I have tilled the soil Lord
brought forth manna for the world
dug trenches for young seeds
instead planted my little girl
she was just learning to sew
starting on her very first quilt
begged us for a proper education
my heart beats with guilt
how shall I understand
the message thou has sent
trying to remain strong and erect
my spiritualism has been bent
but my wife is steadfast and true
she's with the devil's parents glorifying you......
Bob Shank-Oct 10th, 2006
Dedicated to a pained Amish father