Best 6Th Poems
Medicine Hat Appaloosa
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Remember free will too has been gifted,
with freedom allied to fate's fickle choice.
Tendered words uttered still..now uplifted,
God provides each one a life and a voice.
Ere life ebbs and scrimshaw scrolled hands beckon,
find strength in Medicine Hat horse's paint.
Flesh prized and spirit bold, yet to reckon,
respectful head bowed, pray it isn't too late.
Of sarcasm's sharp sword, one can ill afford,
cursed hubris' price which is never repaid.
The cost of soul's vows torn in broken chord,
word's sting or solemn praised tapestry made.
To cheat one's own heart with standard-less staff,
turned now to stone, to write lone epitaph.
Poet's note: The Medicine Hat Appaloosa is the poem.
Quoth TheRaven - 7 July 2019
What is holding you back?
What is stopping you?
What is making you uncomfortable
about asking?
about wanting?
about dreaming?
about wishing?
about expecting?
about planning?
about setting new goals?
about learning new things?
about figuring out other ways?
about being your most excited self?
about opening yourself up to new opportunities?
New possibilities? New people? New places? A new job?
Or is it a who?
Laughing, dancing, having the time of her life,
Faerie Fun went from mushroom house to toadstool cottage,
Spreading joy,
Playing with everyone
In a kind and pleasant way.
There was going to be no sadness
In Faerie Forest today if she could help it.
It is up to me, she said.
I am the catalyst for happiness today.
She ate breakfast with the Nymph family,
And they laughed about silly stuff,
But no people.
She watched Lila Leprechaun’s Lilliput dance,
And she clapped and clapped while
Mama Leprechaun took care of the
Unhappy baby. Baby calm. All is well.
Faerie Fun was soon skipping
Up the walk to the most challenging
House of all.
Change your attitude! She warned herself.
Change your attitude!
Her jaw was clamped tightly shut now, and she
Was already filled with dread.
Pixie Dust! Her internal voice yelled. NOW!
The sparkly particles surrounded her, and settled down all over her, calming her instantly, and
Changing her attitude from not-so-great to wonderful.
Before she left Grump-Eater’s house, he gave her a long, lingering hug. No one gets me like you, he said.
Progress at last.
Sometimes it is simply a matter of us changing our attitude.
Secretly, I watch the neighbors,
From my well-advantaged location.
Mrs. G. is complaining about her husband to Mrs. S.
No one's drama is ever as vivid as Mrs. G's.
They full-body laugh, tongues out.
Mr. P. is going to be late for supper again;
I can hear Mrs. P. cussing.
At 4:15 I hear the all-day waited slam of a backdoor.
My girl is running toward me, flat out.
She is carrying a white pillow and gray blanket.
There's a plastic bag swinging from her arm as she climbs.
Prior experience tells me the sack holds a book, a drink
and her favorite sandwich - mayonnaise, peanut butter and lettuce.
After smashing a few ants on my floor, the girl flops down,
and begins to read.
I smile as she devours the sandwich like a young starving wolf.
She's ten, the perfect age to devour.
Every day is the same except Saturday.
On Saturday my girl spends the whole day inside me,
reading two to three books at a time.
It is our favorite day.
Her sister runs out sometimes and begs the girl to play,
but we are fighting pirates, conquering Asia, taming macaws.
We are so in tune, she and I.
When I hear "CANDICE MILLIE STREET COME IN IMMEDIATELY!"
I know my girl has to climb down and run for the house,
leaving me alone,
to spy on the neighbors.
Date: 8/28/2018 What the Hell Throw One In John Lawless, Sponsor
In a gorgeous meadow chock full of butterflies and daylilies there lived a
sassy happy beautiful dragonfly. She was loved by the tulips, roses, and coneflowers. The monarchs revered her, seeing the joy she brought to the meadow. This little dragonfly did her best to fit in, nurturing each aspect of the meadow as was her right.
pretty dragonfly
spreading love to the flowers
expecting nothing
Out in the desert, late at night
The stars and moon are shining bright
The coyotes sing,
While crickets keep beat
Cool night's joy, replaces heat
The owl sets out on nightly quest
"Who, whoo's my meal?"
ever his jest
The man in the moon
witnessed escapes
Wild dashes
for thorn bush drapes
The merry stars
with twinkling eyes
Laughed at the hoot owl's
great surprise
Kangaroo rat leaps in delight
Out in the desert late at night
Faith is not a blind belief
But a trust in something unseen
Faith is not a wishful thinking
But a hope in something real
Faith is not a passive acceptance
But an active engagement
Faith is not a rigid dogma
But a living relationship
Faith is not a burden to bear
But a gift to receive
Faith is not a weakness to hide
But a strength to share
Faith is not a solo journey
But a communal adventure
Faith is not a destination to reach
But a path to follow
I had an alien for two weeks before I realized how unusual she was.
I wish I could be a mouse in the corner, I had said, and I was.
My alien gave me a cracker, patted me on the head, and reminded me
Once again, how important it is to keep her earth-visit quiet from the masses.
I nibbled on the cracker nervously, wondering how long I would be stuck
Wearing this smelly fur suit, dragging this ugly super long tail?
Praying that Shark, my killer cat was out hunting somewhere else.
Poof! I was back in my normal body.
What other talents do you have? I asked my alien friend.
Not in words because aliens from the two-galaxies-over talk in thoughts.
I am a tripartite, she tele-pathed to me.
What’s that?
Her body immediately transmogrified into three separate, untouching-pieces.
Before I could close my shocked wide-open mouth, she had transmuted back into one complete alien.
Can you disappear? I asked her.
That was the last I ever saw of her.
Some days, however, I feel that she is here, invisible, watching me,
On those days, I wonder if I am going to find
Myself munching on a cracker.
The witch and the tiger sat on opposite sides of the moon,
Starring at each other, wondering who would eat whom
The witch was cagey, wily and wicked,
And she had magic powers, so she was not afraid.
The moon shook the witch off.
She had a broom, which she grabbed at the last minute.
The tiger was fierce and majestic.
He had sun-like yellow eyes, and stripes that moved.
The moon was going to let the tiger stay,
But something weird happened.
The tiger gave the moon a little bite
Because that is what a tiger does.
So the moon shook the tiger off too
Luckily, the tiger had wings, and flew.
So you never know
How a story will end.
faeries in the air
elves fixing grass quietly
soft springtime magic
lit up with the power to attract and excite
and framed by a window of the toy shop that night
a miniature world of trains, bridges and hills
took my mind off the cold from the late autumn chills.
there were signals that moved and tables that turned
and lights in the engines as if coal had been burned
frustrated by others who had gathered there too
I pushed them aside for a much better view.
I stood there transfixed and stared through the glass
at the landscape of plaster and fields of fake grass
I watched as the locos passed by on the track
to then vanish through tunnels somewhere at the back.
there were small plastic figures all standing in line
frozen on platforms and frozen in time
they weren't duly bothered they'd missed the last train
safe in the knowledge it would be round again.
Christmas was near and if things worked out right
I'd be playing with trains Christmas morn, noon and night
but I let out a sigh before turning to go
- I had already asked and my wife had said "no".
Santa Claus’s Elves were dancing and singing
Beautiful gifts they were aptly bringing.
Warm fireplace heated the workshop cozy.
Red poinsettia the Christmas posy.
Melodic singing as angels got near.
Highest of high, feature Jesus so dear.
Holy feelings felt by reindeer outside.
Christmas happiness way down deep inside.
Joy, hope, unity and faith in the air.
The presents all wrapped with ultimate care.
Merry Christmas! Santa yelled out so clear.
Gave a squeeze to the wife, Mrs. Claus dear.
December twenty-fourth, a busy night.
I smiled as I watched them fly out of sight!
A fox was a kit and a dog was once a puppy.
Don’t throw a fit, but a fish was never a guppy.
A horse was a colt. And a hen was always a chick.
How about banana split’s scoop, could we call it a lick?
A butterfly was a caterpillar,
A green spotted frog was a polliwog.
A child was a well-loved neonate,
Piglet was once the name of a giant hog.
Fawn instantly tells you something of his age,
Pony is not an indicator at all.
Lamb gives you a wonderful clue so sage.
Animals are delightful to me, big and small.
In the dim-lit alley of the soul's bazaar,
Were jazz and jive spill from ajar,
We tap our feet, snap fingers, under stars,
And speak in verses, raw and without pause.
The city breathes, a living, pulsing beat,
Its heart a drum, its voice a saxophone,
We weave through streets, our words a rhythmic feat,
In its sync with life yet distinctly our own.
We are scribes of midnight's whispered tales,
Our ink, the dreams that dance in smokey air,
Each line is a track on which our spirit sails,
A journey deep, beyond the skin, we dare.
So let us write, with passion as our guide,
Some beat poems, where truths cannot slide.
Then we'll take a carpet ride,
Sail across space standing side by side.
When I was little I thought the older a person was, the more brain cells you grew.
Thus, older people are smarter than little people.
That thought was long gone by the time I was four or five.
At eight I was so confused by big hand and little hand on the clock, I thought I would lose my mind.
Big hand to me was little hand, because the big hand they were talking about was the thin longer hand.
Thinner to me meant little, not big.
The thick hand they were calling little hand actually should have been referred to as short hand, but it
Was not. To the big people it was little hand. To me it was big hand because it was the fattest hand.
I did not know how to tell time for about a hundred years, because it did not make sense!
I could not get it, so of course, this was the unit I was elected to teach when I was a student teacher.
And for those of you who like math, do you understand a bit more why the word math strikes terror in my soul?
Big hand. Little hand. Good golly, Miss Molly.
If they had only used short hand, and long hand I would have immediately understood
Because I KNEW words.
Not math, not telling time, not numbers, but I did know words.
Teaching me to tell time would have been insanely simple, if the right words could have been used!
Why did they not understand what I was trying to figure out?
Because they did not LISTEN to me.
I was a child, after all.
A child who knows her words.
Big hand for long hand?
Long hand for big hand?
Everyone was too busy shaking their head and telling me ‘no’ to realize what I was saying.
Listen people, listen, because your children are smarter than you know, and they are
Trying to talk.