As if by magic the words appear
like gentle whispers that I hear
they blend together like perfect paint
sometimes whispering ever so faint.
With each brush stroke or tip of pen
the magic flows like peaceful Zen
ink pirouettes upon my page
like a Prima ballerina upon her stage.
Stanzas created as words come to play
forming together like poetic ballet
sometimes moving with beautiful grace
sometimes running to another place.
Words dance and slowly unfold
like a ballet story that needs to be told
starting with a Plie, done with ease
Poems form and aim to please.
There may be days you want to stop
just like The Nutcracker was once a flop
but now it’s famous, shared worldwide
so keep on writing, chasse or glide.
Let words appear without the strain
gently does it, you don’t want pain
Choreography & dance all take time
never rush performance or rhyme.
Went to a concert last night, across town,
To see an old favorite of mine, Jackson Browne.
We slogged through a downpour of thunder and rain,
Where the opening song had a “deluge” refrain.*
The show was amazing; the singing so fine
That years fell away with each lyrical line.
The fans were enamored; we clapped and we cheered
As our younger selves, as if by magic, appeared.
For more than three hours, the music fulfilled
The crowd’s expectations, with most of us thrilled.
Yet still, there was texting on cell phones a’light
From various seats, which just didn’t seem right.
It put a slight damper on what was, to me,
An evening as special as any could be,
For certain performers tap into the past
With a power that, over the years, seems to last.
*”Before the Deluge” by Jackson Browne
(Written for a contest “Write a poem based on a poem.’
Inspired by: “My Cat Is High, and So Am I” by Thomas W. Case)
Honey, I was stoned, so stoned.
I hardly knew what was going on.
That’s when I saw it was gone.
The moon, I mean - hold on -
Takes a swig of tart, but sugary lemonade
I watch the moon - when it’s there - you know?
I’ve always loved the moon - its reflective glamor,
the way it seems to bend light around it,
like a beautiful woman walking into a bar.
The moons like my cat, she has beauty, without vanity
- and without much gravity - like, you know - the moon.
But as I was saying, it was gone - suddenly?
It felt sudden - and visceral - like I’d misplaced something.
I know what you’re thinking, and no, it wasn't behind clouds.
So anyway, man, I looked around and there it was, as if by magic,
it couldn’t have been any clearer and it's never looked nearer,
than it was, right there, in my rear-view mirror.
I had to laugh. You see, I was stoned - so stoned.
Stoned - but I’m never alone, when I can commune with the distant,
inconstant, love of my life, the ever-argent moon.
One of the first things we noticed when we arrived at our cabin…
besides a chillness in the air…
was the purple color on the ground…asters blooming everywhere.
With roses, daisies, sunflowers, orchids, tulips and lilies too,,,
it’s been difficult for the aster to receive the praise she’s due.
But in the Fall when many of her better known flowers fail to survive
this is when the aster and her beauty comes alive.
We see her purple hue along the roads, the rivers and the trees
adding beauty to the countryside…she’s the last source of pollen for the bees.
Legend tells us the Goddess Astraea…from her throne up in the sky
when she saw there were no stars upon the Earth…she began to cry.
Her tears rained down upon the Earth during Autumn’s time of year
and, as if by magic, asters sprouted from her tears.
So as this year progresses…as Fall we’re about to greet
I think it’s time the aster takes her place among the flower elite.
For when most flowers are gone…the aster can be found
blooming, to Astraea’s delight,
as little stars upon the ground.
The picture
She bends over the lace making table
Fingers swollen knuckles hard and round
Silent conversation hands to cotton, cotton to hand
Weaving and wefting
Curling and carping
Each lazy loose strand.
Arched back and shoulders
Eyes squinting to see
The old lady with the crochet shawl
Turns as if to see.
A chill screams over my body
I watch that which cannot be
An aged long dead woman
Is looking straight at me
With withered face and pigeon eyes
I feel her go straight through my frame
The picture from the curio shop
The woman with no name.
The senses screech the body tight
I stiffen like a corpse in my fright
And still she stares, then creeps a smile
From that worn and wrinkled face
As if by magic she emits a glow, a grace
Then turns to her table and all is still
I will give her to my mother in law
Tomorrow I certainly will!
pastel monarch butterflies flowed out of the lily pad as if by magic
explosion of a kaleidoscope of colors, mostly lavenders and pinks
heralding the unexpected but delightful return of the Goddess Athena.
Athena had not graced Earth for four thousand and thirty-one years.
reverant admiring azure sky turned coral and pink in her honor
animals and bugs in the meadows and forests stopped moving
Listening for the sound of wings, a flute or a harp
Athena arrived straddling two pure white unicorns with silver wings
Even if roses are no longer seen in winter, she manages to make them bloom with a smile.
Even if the sun should stop shining she always manages to bring the light with her wild side.
Even if the night were to obscure the most beautiful thoughts with nightmares she prays and as if by magic she survives.
Even if she has to be too much with her head in the clouds, she manages to float there as if there were a party, like a young Dorothy.
She younger than all her brothers, everyone knows that for Emily it's always summer, her cheeks abound with kisses and caresses and she sees nothing but petals and beauties.
Even if it doesn't always be like this, she melts hate into honey and becomes the sweetest drink ever made, oh Emily she sees summer everywhere.
Even on the stormiest of days she's just end up being extraordinaire.
Her laughter explode and grow stronger like a thunder, she's just walk gracefully enchating each male gazes. She's got a heart of fire, she's just Emily.
oh Emily, with a mind of diamond and the innocence of Wendy Darling, she was born to be seen moi petite cheri.
I KNOW A PLACE
I know a place wherein a wild time grows,
Where ale and wine and spirit freely flows.
Quite uninhibited behaviour there,
Whilst swinging rock band music fills the air
And couples wildly dance the night away.
Lost to the world until the break of day.
But sometimes, fuelled perhaps by excess booze
Or petty jealousy, a fight ensues.
The band stops playing, dancers stand and cheer,
Till someone shouts, “Look out, the cops are here.”
As if by magic, peace descends once more,
And, when the officers burst through the door,
They find not a hint of trouble of course,
As the band strikes up a Viennese waltz.
22nd May 2023
This or That, Vol 18 Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Edward Ibeh
Little boy goblin living deep in the woods so happy and gay.
I like to think of you when I crunch the leaves every which way.
Sometimes you appear as if by magic and it is so keen to see….
The way you are lively and fun like a friendly goblin can be.
He gently touched his cheek to hers…
at a time when sadness interrupted their nights
and spread throughout their days…
and the moment their tears blended into one…
as if by magic…
so did they.
as if by magic,
night transforms to wonderland.
stars fallen from sky;
fireflies swarm by the thousands.
children chase with eyes, transfixed.
Firefly Tanka Poetry Contest
Sponsored by JCB Brul
Date written: 03/12/2022
I screwed it on and it went right up the bank.
Hey! Said Crankden Cramden, was that mink named Hank?
The one who lost his head and needed a new one? I asked.
I think so said Bogland Bagomire, as he baited and basked.
I am irritated when strangers get in on my conversation of course.
So I gave him the bug eye, and got back up on my horse.
That is cheap cheese you are using for bait, Betty Beatercheese said.
I gave her the fisherman eye that said clearly “you’re dead”.
As if by magic Shabolina Pilford suddenly appeared in Rockah.
She said “tighten up the chain and wheelie for a block’ah!”
The self appointed experts began giving Shabolina weird advice.
You can’t ram the car son! A voice yelled, and not very nice.
I’ll jerk the keys! The son yelled at his father, Crankden Cramden.
That’s when I smelled the odiferous cat box, put there by Jamden.
Fonkland O’giglocard yelled “I thought you were going home to me.
I decided to stay a bit longer and watch this crazy nightmare comedy.
How wonderful it was when young to stray
and find sweet springs to sip from on my way;
to get to stroll down summer lanes and touch
the cattails’ fuzz that tickled me so much!
My childhood passed. I got to cross a sea
and see green mountains tower over me;
see sunlight streaming on a Spanish plain.
I FELT it too upon my face, and rain
I also got to feel while ambling
down Paris streets; I loved my rambling
from west to east and back from east to west.
My youthful days of rambling were the best!
I’d wandered, yet I somehow always knew
I’d make it back - my rambling days all through.
I was not made for wandering too far
nor making many wishes on a star.
I settled down. Most wandering left my mind.
I never guessed the future I would find.
One day inside my empty nest I found
(as if by magic) I could get around
to other places! Thoughts would fly to me -
the lovely vagabonds of poetry!
I do not have to leave home; there’s no cost.
Creating, I am wandering, not lost.
Dec. 22, 2021
I'm compelled to view some media, such as,
FAUX NEWS, like an illusion they portrayed.
Since their deception is masterfully crafted,
With multiple diversions . . . & truth is belayed.
As if by magic, they've given an audience,
Tasty morsels of manna, to satisfy heartache.
While they coddle and cradle those of privilege,
And true by definition, it's all FAKE!
I saw him standing on the limb and I wondered about his sanity.
The last time I had seen Green Bat Clock Man was on my vanity.
I’ll jump! He yelled to the crowd of robins gathered around to stare.
I watched him do an entirely crazy summersault high jump in the air.
He’s chained! Ted yelled; He’ll break his neck; fall in the inner cove!
The chain unraveled as if by magic as the Green Bat Clock man dove.
He’s a wizard one screamed as he landed on his well-endowed feet.
He’s a mystical clock, yelled my cousin Jeb, love child of Uncle Pete.
Green Bat Clock Man flew up to the limb and did it again and again.
What do you think of him? I asked my not-easy-to-please identical twin.
She sniffed. I think he’s still a show off, and not to my taste at all.
She was still angry that he had left her broken hearted in the fall.
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