Best Afternoon(A) Poems
Moody Blues is playing through my speakers
And my mind
A gentle tune of yesterday that feels so
Very kind
Tuesday afternoon, a fairyland
of awe
Plays scenes of yesters' visions
From youthful dreams
I saw
I close my eyes, time drifts away
Aloft a tune,
of yesterday
In the land where children play.
A boy named Roy would sleep all day.
No matter what his friends all said.
The boy would not get out of bed.
For he was very bored with toys.
The ones for little girls and boys.
He said that they were all the same.
The cars and trucks and every game.
But then one day Roy got a book.
He figured he would take a look.
And when he opened up the cover.
Of books he soon became a lover.
He read the book from front to back.
He read about a boy named Jack.
And all about a silver train.
And then about a place called Spain.
He read about each moon and star.
And just how far away they are
He learned of ancient histories.
And many science mysteries.
Soon he had a big collection.
Of which the boy had great affection.
His favorite thing to do was read.
He learned to do it with great speed.
One afternoon a friend came by.
And asked if he could also try.
To read a book instead of play.
Immediately, Roy said, ‘You may.’
Soon his books were being read.
By Sue and John and little Ted.
That’s how the land of toys became.
The land of books instead of games.
For Francine Roberts' Children in Rhyme contest, by Samia Arroyo
*** Yes…Obscessed with Poetry! ***
As the moon was releasing finale beams
And the sun was dressing
For her later, post-solstice, winter rise…
I had not yet slept, kept
Awake by epiphanies of poetics —
My tireless pen scribbling
Down
the rushing lyrics to their
Rising
score.
Then, as the clouds refused to part
To reveal our sun’s well-warming
light at her mid-day height,
I was excitedly expounding
About the knowlege my night
with poetry had brought, revealing,
So i thought, some meaning
about the human psyche,
More than just matters of words.
But, beyond the import
Of Poetry growing a range of spring
Violets across my nigh clear pages,
An afternoon’s gust replete
With January hail,
Fell over me after
I exclaimed, “Amazing?”
and to hear in response:
“Look, you’re obscessed with poetry.
I’m not. And I was
just wondering how long
before quiet would —“
Eliminate the wondering…
As (justdays before Christmas), on
A cold afternoon, a storm passed through
The city with little warning.
Flashed lightning twice over
The sky, and sounding but once,
Thunder struck us dumb.
Quiet?
I hear inner gusts
Smack my tears against the windows’ panes.
My amusement is drowned within the room.
Quiet?
While I could scream — Yes!
Yes! I am obscessed
With poetry
With God
With my beloved, and our pups
With drawing, dance and music, too…
But, foremost, I am obscessed —
To say and stay so,
With living
With surviving
in blessed Hope —
on past the trials of ailments
and the hard gales of age —
While
Thankful to poetry — perhaps
anong the least of most of these,
For its patiently waiting ways —
Within the All and everyone one of us —
So we hold images in our dreams of seeing
Violet buds spring their heads
Above a layer of January snow,
And we might hear the poems’ rise
In its brilliance
From each opening purple petal.
—————————————————————————————————————-
(c) sally you g eslinger 1/ /2023
Thanks be to God…
Asleep at night, tucked into dreams
Waves retreat, the water beats
Soft awake, whispered words
The water's there, waves silent prayer
A wintry morn, the sun's rays bright
Waves glisten, the water listens
Late afternoon, a chill return
Waters merge, whitecaps surge
Moonlit eve, hearts on sleeves
Waves subside, the waters glide
REFRAINS OF WINTER SONATA
When fallen brown leaves brush a sepia picturesque
and the bubbly breeze blows a heated winter sonata,
the giant roses of clouds are teased, they shed
icy petals tumbling, drifting like little ballerinas
dropping to rest on branches of trees, grasses, houses
and down to window ledges clustering in lily-white hues.
Frosty mornings and nights lure the need for warmth
from brewed coffee, a kiss or just a minute of touch...
Absorbing the air, alone, I wander to the cover-walks,
I see children tramping and playing on hills of frost,
some couples carelessly sliding, they laugh out loud,
yet afar, some robins, deer and beggars frown in despair
as they are homeless. No fire nor a person to cuddle with.
No adequate food to eat nor a flowing water to drink too...
Cold. Wet. All white, frozen snow-tears are in their eyes
and so I am one afternoon, a year and six months ago.
The winter atmosphere can stir love passions within
but how can it all be when the only woman, I love.
I wanted to marry and ready to give my all: refused me?
She, slowly walking away, leaving me crying-- a snow.
________________________________________________________
~~SPONSOR: Broken Wings
CONTEST: Write ME A Winter Poem~~
__Olive Eloisa Guillermo__
8:16 pm, November 14, 2015
Farmer Father's Words To Beloved Son
(LECTURE, WISDOM, PRAYER PASSED ON)
Hold your horse my son, lets pull in tandem
united is better than single and random
You feed the mules, I will sharpen the plow
later you may rest, while I start milking the cow
With that done, we feed the chickens and pigs
then you carry dirt away as my shovel digs
Next we rest and have our noonday dinner
morn was great, we shall make afternoon a winner
Supper will call, come and enjoy a meal
thus we can know true, how fantastic life can feel
Day done, with pride we can hold our heads high
before we sleep, pray our Lord our souls should we die
Dawn comes, rise to enjoy its great blessing
say another prayer before we start dressing
Back to work well before the first cock crows
this my son, is farmer's life everybody knows
Cherish time together for life will end
know my deep love and know I am your best friend
Hold that thought in true faith, the live long day
all we say and do, we must some future day pay
You are best fruit of our family tree
this family's love and our farm-work sets us free
You feed the mules, I will sharpen the plow
later you may rest, while I start milking the cow
Robert J. Lindley, 4-04-2017
LinRhyme, 10/12/10/12
Syllables Per Line:
0 10 12 10 12 0 10 12 10 12 0 10 12 10 12
0 10 12 10 12 0 10 12 10 12 0 10 12 10 12
Total # Syllables: 264
Total # Words: 216
Note: I was born and raised on a farm. I am keenly aware of its positives and its negatives..
Much can be said about both, but I know this, the hard work, long hours and
low pay(if any?), did not kill me and certainly taught me responsibility and to be a better man when making my own way in this dark and cruel world..
You’re in that special position you crochet yourself into when you hear me
coming up the steps , a whole breath between each plod of my
bare feet as they tackle the stairs with all the energy of an alpine climber,
day weary, the rewarding peak still somewhere beyond the mist.
I know you’ve been thinking of this since dinner, in between ladles of mascarpone,
bacon bits and spaghetti you asked at least 4 times if it was your turn tonight,
to which I always answered with profound insistence and a toothy smile that it was.
I know you only ask to stoke my interest, not that you need to.
And now we’re here, pink and blue sheets beneath us both, a spare pillow folded in half
to support your head as the story rolls out familiar, yet warm like the smell of muffins
from a sunlit kitchen on a cold afternoon, a bare branch dangling outside the window,
not unlike the hand you lean upon, your fingers spooling your hair as we go.
Regularly – when you think I’m not looking – I see you peek up to gather my reactions like
a squirrel gathers seeds put out for the cardinals when they think they’re alone, your eyes
clearly hoping to glean something of my day, even my life which I haven’t chosen to share,
two passengers on a train busy pretending they’re not reading each other’s newspapers.
All the while, the story bubbles on until it ends with a drop of tone and a soft clap
of the cover, you slide it to the edge of the bed where all favorite things live privileged,
kiss me on the forehead and wish me goodnight, switching off the light as you leave,
still mulling a twist or two in the plot which you clearly weren’t expecting.
THE DAY FERGUS THE FROG CROAKED
(A Children's Rhyme by Joan Donnelly Ellis Oct. 2015)
Fergus the Frog was lazy and fat and a worshipper of idleness
He'd lie on his lily pad all day ...refusing to work ....didn't care to play.
Had no interests...no not one.
One afternoon a visit to the swamp Uncle Fred made
Saying Fergus you are useless and better off in a grave
Precisely in that moment a crocodile scooped Fergus up
Both Lily pad and frog slid in croc's mouth headed for lockup
Croc closed his mouth on the pair as Fergus kissed his rump
As croc swallowed his noon day snack of shiftless frog juicy and plump
That's precisely when the reptile begin to jump
He leapt to a branch on a very small tree
Where lizards and snakes slithered to get free
Then crashed head first in the mud down below
He lie there stunned for a moment and rose real slow
He coughed so hard out from his open mouth flew a slimy green lump
It was Fergus the Frog that staggered to the nearest stump
Then crashed on the lathered shore
With a heave and sigh critters watched him die
Now Fergus Frog is no more
Hushed nature stood reserved,
with no'ne to appreciate its beauty,
but placed for ages, preserved
and for ages following its duty.
When at the brim of verdant plot
some reaper, move at range
to charm but to depart
with sublime thought exchange.
With many unseen flowers
blush, shiver, and dies
peeping for someone from its bowers
and spread beauty, serenity, charm and flies.
Conserved water flow on its rugged path
and leave its lively mark
Each day as Sabbath
With reflected gleam of golden arc.
The grace of the lily swan
as it flies above heaven
above this mankind dropping and wan
between sun rays all seven.
The small plant which shiver at night
just sooth their soul with silent sun's gleam
and all new born plant which might
have died, now sleep deep, and innocently dream.
Bad and good are juxtaposed ones,
if one prevail the next one wait
if good is present you cheer and dance
and if bad, you curse but your fate.
Good sooth the soul
as winter sun after dull night
and bad effects all
as in summer afternoon, a yellow sun bright.
What's an Easter twofer?
Rose and Ted celebrate
Jesus first, then bunnies.
Bible story done, then
read the Sunday funnies.
What's an Easter twofer?
fancy hat Rose will wear,
new clothes, they go to church.
Mid-afternoon, a feast,
as candy eggs they search.
What's an Easter twofer?
Rose's hat serves her well;
morning - it warms her head.
Better, this afternoon
hides her goodies from Ted.
April 19, 2022
Sponsor Andrea Dietrich
Contest Name ALL APRIL in MONCHIELLE
Theme: Anything to do with Easter
The Free Dictionary defines "twofer" as an offer or arrangement in which a single expense or amount of effort produces two returns.
Strains of chamber music fill the air
Invited guests have come to share,
Cozied pots filled with steeping teas
For the Kitties, Collie, Bear and me.
A table filled with a sumptuous fare,
Cakes, scones with cream, and a torte with pears
Served on plates edged in filigree
A perfect afternoon, a jubilee.
For Eve Ropers Contest: Rhyming Me a Poem Poetry Contest
11/12/21
Photo#4
Placed 1st in contest
Caution taken (lathering
exposed epidermis with sun screen)
against harmful innocuous
rich (Times New Roman)
12 font ask tick sun yet sen sate)
refulgent radiant balm
unequivocal panacea medicinal luxuriant calm
on par with a old
sister wives tale remedy me late mom,
would magically construe
to alleviate home sickness qualm
post pledge initiation invocation befriending
Jason the Argonauts and Major Tom
dizzyingly zipping thru space
in search of the golden fleece,
(which acquisition
ranked as a no brainer)
which recollection, sans above exploit flashed
(at greased lightening speed) this peace
full May afternoon, a pitch perfect spring day,
one adequately oxygenated
air supply crowded house
legendary fete of the rising son momentarily
sol limb lee flared concluding with reverberating
(though decades elapsed
since fortuitous galactic heralded
world wide web panegyric
broadcast cosmos wide),
then with just as quick
memorialized recollection
prominently recalled,
said remembrance as things past
vis a vis denouement across Universe
with Poof! lifelong (black hole sun hopping)
capping achievement did surcease.
Ah...such blinding realistic provocation sparked
via pure imagination
upon one earthly terrestrial beast
Sunkist soaking raiment sequestered
within corner nook decreased
with onset of dusk, a mind bending
dreamy experience least
expected while nonchalantly fantasies take flight
basking (with robins)
in an angulated nook sky height
upon premises of Highland
Manor Apartment out of sight
from the buzzer (I may as well be
a million miles away),
thus poetic justice end trite.
My mom has surgery this afternoon, a hysterectomy, to remove cancer. Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers. Thank you!
He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.” Mark 5:34
STORMING THE ROCK
such lonely life in the dumplings,
clingstone as a cancerous mass —
robotic fingers
like a precise hurricane
must excise, smooth out, set straight
12/15/2020
From wikipedia: Clingstone is a house built in 1905, perched atop a small, rocky island in an island group called "The Dumplings" in Narragansett Bay, near Jamestown, Rhode Island. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clingstone
One afternoon, a meeting goes endless
With all the long talk, it seem meaningless
The man seated next to me,
Buzzing like a bumblebee,
Makes a loud snoring sound, rousing the guests
17 October 2017
MURDER AND REVENGE
There was once a man called Ben,
Who was wed to a woman named Gwen.
They lived in the country out of choice,
To avoid the hustle and bustle and noise.
Opposite their very big house,
Were a huge number of crows,
Which his spouse
Didn’t like, A murder of them,
Who flew around all day,
Soon I will have my way
Said Ben – Amen!
Both mom and dad were afraid to let
Young Benny,
And their younger Lenni,
Outside to play for they had heard that these
Birds were rather aggressive,
Both became completely obsessive!
One Sunday afternoon, a crow visited their garden,
Unbeknown to Ben, I beg your Pardon,
Lennie came out to play, they made friends,
She wanted to make amends,
But her father rushed out and shot the crow
Crows seek revenge, this he did not know!
Suddenly the murder of crows arrived
To grief for their friend, each carried, a twig,
A branch or a leave, young Lennie put
Down a flower,
Again her Dad rushed out to grab her but the
Crows surrounded him in a furious manner!
Their mood was one of wrath and anger ,
They had marked this house like a ship
Dropping its anchor!
Ben had acted in an aggressive way,
He should have then realized that he had
Better begin to pray!
The crows continued to hassle Ben,
So they moved to another house which Gwen
Liked, but none of them knew, that crows
Have a definite form of communication,
And pass on information,
From generation to generation.
They are so smart, they can outsmart
Us all,
Ben had made a wrong call
By shooting a crow, for the intelligence,
Of this inexplicable creatures
Is surprisingly alike to human like features,
And even though the family had
Moved to a new abode,
The crows were now in revenge mode
Not for Gwen,
Little Benny
And not Lenni,
Just Ben!
So Ben could never leave his home and go outside,
For the remainder of his life had to stay inside!
The reason why is because crows handed down the
The news of this killer to their sons and grandsons so
If Ben ever put a step outside of his house
A murder of crows
Would force him back in,
For how long, who knows!