How peaceful is the snowglobe village
resting in its protected place
high atop grandpa’s knicknack shelf,
the one he keeps out back in his private space
The woodshop smells like new cut cedar
while the old radio plays jazz-time concertos,
outside the birds take turns at the feeder
and grandpa tells stories of days in the village.
He remembers the names of children at play
and the brook as it rambled and babbled nearby,
he said he’d go back but the village was razed
then pavemented over for a super-highway.
As dark clouds dashed and clashed in the sky
Thunder began to boom and rumble
Sensing an impending rain, frogs started croaking
Cows stopped cuddling and began to moo
Soon pitter- pat came down the raindrops.
landed on roof tops with a heavy thud
they broke and cracked into tiny droplets
gurgled and gushed through canals and drains.
And joined the brooks that babbled,
merging with waterfalls that whooshed.
Along with the rain, came the roaring wind
as it passed, the bells clanged
windchimes whispered, wires on poles whistled
doors slammed shut and windows creaked
grasses swished and leaves rustled.
Birds fell silent and stopped tweeting
When the pouring rain came to a sudden halt,
The rattle was over with everything falling silent.
Written: May 6th 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's tough to revel in delight, but I grew!
Dreams rouse me, not in an aphonic view.
Nature provides her bounty every day,
I extend my hand and grasp her sway.
I perceive my youthful self in that place,
Her offerings were serendipitous grace.
In her sphere, blooms, and waterfalls,
A supple deer, an oaring raptor, in altar calls.
Each contributes to a feeling of calmness,
She was a fountain of pure suaveness.
Yet wars and famine steal my breath away,
A sight, luring amid a rutted path of ruby clay.
A moody inquiry into the root of my being,
A fleeting time of pure delightful feeling!
Thus, I wound up shooting my future ego,
Lift a glass, not a pistol, in a sky-dip indigo.
I rise again, and the sun surrounds me,
I can predict zodiac signs and lunar spree.
Along with Mars, Venus, and other oddities,
My mind spills, leaving no room for prodigies.
I shot for my destiny with this radical rhetoric,
Pulling me up a path reflected as historic.
A flash of his pistol, a gaze that said, walk,
My handgun babbled in its wandering talk.
How endearing the innocence of life was,
When blissfully it started, with a blank canvas,
Cherishing in mother’s love and warmth,
Happy as can be, cuddled in loving arms,
Flaunting vigor of adorable, zealous charm.
Life ran into hurdles as it learned to walk,
Stumbled, yet got up, after every fall,
Giggled and babbled, learning to talk;
And from gibberish, as cogent words formed,
How flawless, pure, beginning of life was!
Soon, as it donned unique shape and form,
Colors adorned fabric of once empty canvas,
In brushstrokes of inspiration and resolve,
Enlisting hope, amidst despairs of loss,
And beams of light upon tenebrous clouds.
On ambitions it thrived, braving passionately,
Yet, encountered unbearable abyss of grief
As doubt and dismay churned in defeats
And failures sprouted within complacency,
Deviating from path of purposeful deeds.
From inner peace, as wisdom vibes chimed,
Life freed from mundane, agitation of strife,
Triumphant when dreams and reality rhymed,
Questing for tranquility in eternity of time,
Retouching feats-unfinished on canvas of life.
Your tumbling forth was a joy.
None asked, then, you're a girl of a boy;
We never cried when you cried.
Rather, each one had a smile of pride.
You cried when you felt hungry.
You cried for all and sundry.
All you needed was everyone's care.
And of your every need, each one was aware.
You learned to smile too, but that was less.
The angels are blessing you; each did guess;
Did anyone ever feel upset
Though they found you often wet?
Each day, your mom and I eagerly counted,
Whether your growth was health-founded,
You started sitting straight without falling.
You fell to your face and rose while crawling.
When you gradually stood up and toddled,
And, very pleasantly falling swaddled,
For walking, you started finding your space.
In each step, we could find grace;
There was a celebration when you babbled.
How beautiful your toy horse you saddled!
We could find, yet annoyed and sad,
When, with your toys, someone else played
When with other children, you expressed your wrath,
We know all these are part of your growth.
All these happened, dear. Now you’ve started to school,
We still watch over your growth, though we look cool...
The whoosh of the wild winter wind
wrapped me within swift swishing swirls
whipping me on till there it stood,
a lonely cabin in the wood.
The shrill shriek of the screech owl split
the whoosh of the wild winter wind
and he swooped about the cabin,
stalking his prey with clever wit.
The cabin’s shutters banged about,
no shelter from the whistle or
the whoosh of the wild winter wind,
and whined of the coming whiteout.
The burbling creek where graupels splat
babbled past the lonely cabin
as the birch creaked their welcome at
the whoosh of the wild winter wind.
I have counted all my blessings, even when they’ve made me cry.
I’ve held onto my faith and never questioned why.
I’ve woke up with no lights or dial tone on the phone.
My life has been a struggle, but I’ve never been alone.
I’ve always gone to work and done the best I can.
Sometimes I’ve made bad choices and never had a plan.
I’ve watched my loved ones die, close friends of mine as well.
I’ll always love my God, that’s one thing I’ll never sell.
My path has not been straight, I’ve wondered far and near.
I’ve often put on blinders, so my sight was not that clear.
We all have had our troubles, most far worse than any of mine.
I’ve spent time in the sand, but I’ve never drawn a line.
I guess I’ll make my point, I’ve babbled long enough.
I would never change my past, it’s what has made me tough.
I’m loyal to my friends, for those I love I’d surely die.
This is the honest truth; I’ll never question who am I.
1/8/22
Who Am I Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
How did it get late so soon? It’s night before it’s afternoon. December is here before it’s June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon? — Dr. Seuss
REMAINS OF TIME
the moment i landed,
time, my time, started.
meant nothing when i cried,
when i babbled,
when i fell,
when mom kissed my un-wells.
then i was educated
and time moved slowly
as i stared out the schoolhouse window,
waited for Pavlov’s bell…
in time,
time was fun,
floating on a ship—
friendship, kinship,
proverbial ship.
time took a turn
as kin withered
and stoned
or decomposed in windblown ashes…
time taps me in places—
head, nose, shoulder bones.
i shudder…i shun,
in wonderment i run.
time finds me
in tears…on my knees,
beholden
to clarity.
i stare in its face—
its remains.
11/7/2021
“T” Contest new or old
Sponsor: Constance La France
The Babbling Brook
The babbling brook was very loud.
When people saw her first, she drew quite a crowd.
Usually, brooks are relaxing and smooth
This brook was different, but not to be rude.
She always kept the villagers up at night.
But they were very kind and didn’t put up a fight,
She babbled and spoke from dark till light.
In the middle of the village, where the brook was in sight.
Though everyone could see it, it was still overlooked
They had the wrong impression on the babbling brook.
One day, a girl, who was small and kind
Sat by the brook and a question came in her mind.
“Hey Brook, Why don’t you tell me a story?”
Then it started talking about its former glory
It chatted and chatted, and it wasn’t boring.
The other villagers noticed and starting to listen.
At the end of the tale, their eye sort of glistened
When they snapped out of it, they started to cheer
They asked more, for more they wanted to hear
Everyone started to like the babbling brook.
And it alerted them from every thief and crook.
Their lives got better, and the reason is quite clear.
A key to happiness is just to open your ear.
As I was walking in the woods, admiring the beauty,
I saw a brook that babbled nonstop, so incoherently,
Humming as I strolled the summertime most fruitfully,
I noticed gay purple hummingdirds, accompanying me!
A meadow revealed yellow butterflies so aptly named,
Swarming in the golden sunshine, wild and untamed,
Enjoying their moment of bliss, before sunset flamed,
Putting an end to the hour, that nature had acclaimed!
Then I saw pretty ladybug, refined and full of grace,
Dancing to enchanted breezes, in Queen Anne's lace.
A sudden sound alarmed me, but it was only a rabbit,
Running like the wind, as if it was customary habit!
And when I turned my head to an emerald green tree,
There sat a blue mockingbird, that was teasing me.
The colorful day wore on, until long shadows finally-
Which I became aware, were now shadowing me constantly!
Written on August 11, 2020
For: Craziest Time at the Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
WISHES
Beloved of mine ...
May your thoughts
be flowers even
that not always
sprout ...
What your words
be heard even
that just babbled ...
May your brightness be
always present even
may the sun not be!
A long hard look softens to the touch
life lines rivers that ebbed and flowed
the midstream upstream fight
has left its nicks and scars
but the brooks that babbled batting lashes
that sent splashes over laugh line rapids
and pooled in floods of pain
have all eventually
come to swirl
in the curled corners
of an ultimately unerodible smile
11.26.2019
The Metaphor of your Face Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless
In-between the babel of a troubled soul
In abeyance, the thought of neglection arose
The blood boiled, the body cooked
The figure fell in flat command
The jurist justified themselves unjust
multitude babbled, the wise bundled
Oko-Oloko dun Pokete
Prita Iyalaaje, Aloo apaamo
The world, the storyteller
No baccalaureate for success
Potentials would have been seen
We fear no test or challenges
Drive not us like cabby
We own our world, we rule our world
in pain of the real, you laugh
Children will clap it in moonlight story
Our mouth will be open in laughter in your tears
The world will read the reality
Painting life like it has no remaining
Hope traded for bread, hunger present
Faith traded for cloth, nakedness covered
Sleeping-waking, friction projected
They laughed our wacky life.
A Poet’s Eye
Do you wonder what a poet sees
Soft moss rocks and twisted trees
A foggy mist, perhaps at dawn
Imagining goes on and on
Perhaps he sees an eerie sight
Where love was lost some lonely night
Or maybe creatures big and small
Who through the underbrush do crawl
A face, a foot, perhaps a limb
A curse imposed on a wayward him
Is there a stream, a babbled brook
He begs a reader “stop and look”
There’s more than what the eye can see
If you just let your thoughts run free
Ah! Love at first sight,
Impossible, you spurn. Listen, you'll concede I'm right.
A chance cancellation, I should not have been teaching,
But being the junior I must not sit idle.
So thrust off into the class I was, preparation non considered vital,
It was a level I'd never taught,
For her it was a circumstance she had not sought.
Left alone she was, a classroom of one,
My relief as I realised my incompetence would not have shone,
I'd bluff it and blag it and some how get by,
She was equally out of her depth in a level far too high,
Plucking up courage I marched on in,
Stopped in my tracks by the beauty sat within.
Her smile filled the room, her lips a rhythm like the sea,
I didn't know whether to scream or jump with pure glee.
Her body seemed perfect, her persona all warmth and joy,
I couldn't shake off this idea of a reincarnated Helen of Troy.
I froze, I babbled, dribbled, tripped and almost fell,
But for the first time ever I believed in God and the Devil,
I was in Heaven, so there must be a Hell.
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