Best Allotted Poems
I could map you
against your shadows
measure diminishing echoes
check allotted expectations
or offer you recognition
paint you in
be deliberate in observation
unwavering in conviction
that you belong in this place
and this time
does it matter who your witness is
are you undone if I discount myself
when without question
I see you
I could fixate forever on co-existence
an ache for canvas, paint, words
to secure immortality
missing completely
how fleeting forever might feel in reality
~ witnessed for a moment
but meaningfully ~
I might call out more
call out to the rows of trees
how I see them
each and every one lining a path
bouncing the light
grasping pieces of solitude
that might otherwise swallow us up
I can do nothing about my ache
but I can see your beauty
and be absorbed by it
Once upon an ancient time,
in long gone languid days,
when distant misted myths bechanced
in lovely rhym'ed ways,
when time was so much freer,
less allotted to the minute,
‘twas then the mighty Big Mac got the gherkin in it.
The night was one made fit for gods,
and stars made white the sky,
and drunk, dylsexic old McDonald
sang Oh Eee, Oh Eee, I.
His greatest yet creation
sat on his barbie plate,
it was the mighty Big Mac with no inkling of its fate.
McDonald thought the pattie lacked
a certain...
Il ne savait pas.
He decided what he'd give it was this green thing from a jar.
But Big Mac cried out, ‘Hang about!
I like the way I am!
And I think that what I need the least is a prostate gland exam.'
McDonald growled, ‘Don't be a sook!
It's not gonna hurt a bit.
Just close your eyes and grit your teeth and keep loose where you sit.'
Big Mac firmly grasped his bun
and held it really tight,
he had Phallicvegiephobia and would resist with all his might.
But McDonald was too smart by far,
Big Mac was not his match,
the old bloke snuck up from behind to by surprise him catch.
Beneath an unsuspecting arm
he gave a little tickle,
the burger gave a little laugh and got a little pickle...
So the Big Mac we all know today
was born of subterfuge.
And although the gherkin in it aint really all that huge,
remember that it's only there
by the skullest of skullduggery,
and that bit we discard's the fruit
of midnight burger buggery.
Why should we
be allotted a day at all
there is no allotment
we carry the load
we always have
we always will
it is au naturale
we succeed
the pain, or,
somehow
just proceed
despite it all
the ripping open
of seals, torn -
the message crowns,
at the opening
the trident
at the door
inside, revealed
we are
the strength
potentate
high above
the little man
the smaller
sacrament
the Mother
that birthed
it all
Candide Diderot. ‘24
“Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children.”
Barber, Samuel. Adagio. Strings.
William Makepeace Thackeray.
International Womens' Day.
There was a little dog one day,
Who ambled on his aimless way.
He didn't have a house or home:
A doggy bed or fine meat bone.
His coat was mats and full of fleas.
He owned no boy to try and please.
Near garbage bin was where he sat,
Along with one sad, homeless cat.
His human threw him out you see.
This person wasn't you or me.
For we would never be so cruel,
Or act like some poor, heartless fool.
The winter came and with it cold.
Dog's airy ways were put on hold.
He shivered in the dark of night:
A sad, pathetic, needy sight.
And then a storm blew in with snow.
It left dog with no place to go.
He sat and whined beside the road,
For someone kind to lift his load.
Then came a car -- slow passing by.
A young boy warm and loved inside.
He saw the freezing, half grown pup
And begged they stop and pick him up.
The winter passed and next the spring.
Now please behold a wondrous thing.
A boy and dog romp on the grass.
All mats and fleas now in the past.
It's joy and love and fun we see.
The way that God meant it should be.
Both run and play, all pain now past;
This bond of dog and boy shall last.
The sad thing is allotted time
Of man and dog will just not rhyme.
The boy will know sad loss of friend,
Long years before his own sure end.
Then in a time that's yet to be,
They'll reunite both young and free.
Forever will their bond go on,
In timeless sunsets, countless dawns.
© 2015 Diane Lefebvre
I Committed Suicide
I stretched out weary hands.
Melisa, who considered me
like a big brother, quickly ran away from me.
My heart writhed unto me;
I longed for a swig of water.
Noise danced, rumbled inside me in thunder.
But the whirlwind heard
the swoosh of the knife as my eyes blushed.
But why didn’t I die instead?
I placed the knife back
in my rusty pocket.
I recalled she told me,
“No, don’t kill yourself.”
“Stress is like chess;
either you play it, or it plays you.”
Vinegar boiled my blood,
though my bones
were hit by the daily rocks I ate.
My suicidal act was lured with its bait.
But why didn’t I die instead?
Swarms of flies consumed the skin of my throat.
My fleshes were allotted to stresses atop a fire.
My fur was tumbleweed and chaff before the wind blew.
My mouth became a thirsty land.
I turned blue. I cried sandy tears.
My ivory screams were smokes.
But why didn’t I die instead?
“Christo,” I heard as I reconsidered.
“Melisa bloodily committed suicide,”
an old man vociferated.
I fell to my knees.
The blood in my head was a rolling sea.
Reconsideration ebbed away.
I was a zebra running away from a lion’s teeth,
but in the lake, caught by the crocodile’s jaws of death.
My muscles fainted in decay.
My soul ran away from a fowler’s snare.
Wails went higher than an eagle’s wings.
But why didn’t I die instead?
Dedication: Thanks to all of my dear family and friends who share the joy of life with me!
The Enjoyment of Life
To find the enjoyment of life
For the moments we live
It matters not what we do
It is who we do it with
As we should find our joy
They say for every situation
Bad times can even feel good
Being with a special someone
We are filled with joy at birth
Spiritually given from above
Most folks forget it’s there
Looking elsewhere for love
We are also given friends
Along our allotted path
To remind us of the joy
Deep within we all hath
Cherish your special friends
Treasure moments you share
To find the enjoyment of life
A true friend will take you there
Let go of all your worries and smile
Then you’ll start to feel the joy within
Though you can always double the joy
When sharing it with a good friend
Florence McMillian (Flo)
My Gallery
In upper part of my body
A cognitive bell rings
From a dial-up connection
of live wires
The modem is working just
To repeatedly provide
the facsimile of
Barren and bald paths
Inner lumbering of daily freight
Coiling, clutching upward
There is no vivacity
The vital force has parasited
How I inhale life?
My days and nights are bolted
Inside a brain cell,
My voice has held back
It lays a plan to brawl my soul
Residing in my own skull
Dictates notes imitating my tone
I couldn’t disintegrate my recall
As my shadow has left me
There remains Just I, me and myself,
Why is my brain a black hole?
Could it not be a universe?
Of a constellation of migraine, tablets
Syringe, backache and insomnia
Dream has become a dead pattern
As worn out as fossil led glow
Everything has become identical
Except the weight of consequence
That has variations of endurance
As I go through perdition
My imbalance will be rectified
Hang my art on the wall
As after allotted time
My gallery will end
Unfortunate circumstances made me a weekend father
Two parents separated by a marred history,
now had to care for a child ...
an innocent victim who received emotional shrapnel
as collateral damage from our argumentative battles
Our destructive habits fell onto her,
but children are very resilient, thank God
I loved being a weekend father
There was no bitterness about allotted time of custody,
none of that foolishness
My wife and I settled our divorce amicably ... no courts involved,
except for the legal formality of having a divorce decree issued
by the state
We worked things out between us much better being apart than when we
were married
It's funny how that works
So I got my daughter on the weekends, but over time I had her
more than the weekends
We bonded pretty good
And anyone with kids will tell you, that four-year-olds are a quirky bunch
They're old enough to do enough things for themselves,
but they still want you to do a lot of things for them ...
y'know, they still want the baby treatment
My daughter, she really only demanded two things of me when I first
started having her every weekend:
she wanted us to watch movies together, movies like "Lion King,"
or play video games together, video games like "Lion King"
And she didn't like the part of the movie where Simba's dad, Mustafa died
She always cried, and told me to skip that part ...
that always touched my heart
Because it told me, in unspoken words, that she loved me and didn't
want anything bad to happen to me
When she turned five, I enrolled her at my alma mater college,
in an art program for kids
My sister and father told me that my daughter had artistic ability
So every Saturday, we spent half the day at the college,
because after she got out of class, we would get something to eat,
then go to the main library on campus and get on the computers
To make a long story shorter ... she received an art degree
when she became grown
Becoming an illustrator and computer graphic artist
That's what being a weekend father means to me
We write to you, your elfin crew,
To wish you joy and cheer!
For Christmas is upon us now -
The climax of our year.
We've toiled together - unified,
In our allotted crews.
And now we're stuck in training,
With barely time to schmooze.
The toys are wrapped, the sleigh is packed,
And Rudolph's fidgety.
Soon you will be making rounds,
As is the policy.
But though this yule is almost nigh,
Our merry Christmas vibe,
Is tempered by the memory,
Of those whom we survive.
Let's not forget the bristling sprite,
From northern twinkle-land.
Who's wisdom and composure,
Helped our vision to expand.
And over waves, across the sea,
The imp with shiny pate.
A knowledge store of rare repute,
And empathy, innate.
We can't forget the trollish clown,
Our western-most remote.
Who's antics in the darkest hours,
Kept our hearts afloat,
The reindeer trainers will be missed!
So poised and capable...
Were they in their instructions -
Irreplaceable!
So Santa, sir, we write to you,
That you may not forget.
The legacy of our brother elves,
And the hole which they have left.
Please strive to know our jobs' detail,
With depth and clarity.
And leave us not unbalanced,
Chasing prosperity.
Enjoy your well deserved respite,
As you rest and sip your brew,
We wish you Merry Christmas,
Your wearied elfin crew.
Lonely
When wandering alone away from crowds
I find it most soothing watching high clouds
Fascinating as they meander by
An outdoorsy movie held in the sky.
Only the lonely discern why we cry
We're sadly lonesome is the reason why
It’s well known that puffy eyed clouds cry too
They cry because desolated folk do.
Once upon a high cloud I was dreaming
Faraway from swarms of folk appearing
A dazzling castle was there on the cloud
With music and dancing, tears disallowed.
Over the rainbow Prince Charming came by
To claim his Princess right there in the sky
Venus the bright shining Goddess of love
Waved her magic dust o’er the night for us.
Angels came from somewhere, it was so grand
Dancing to an entranced castle dance band
We waltzed in the moonlight amongst the stars
Did a galaxy jig with planet Mars.
Too soon we were out of allotted time
At stroke of midnight bells began to chime
My Prince then got down on his bended knee
And began sweetly proposing to me.
Suddenly there was an almighty flash
The cloud it crashed and the castle collapsed
My dream disappeared into forever
Flown off to the land of Never, Never.
I woke to find myself sad and lonely
My dream cloud had been only boloney.
15th September 2021
''L'' Contest New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
* *
Time is the most precious possession the universe holds.
It is powerful beyond all measure.
It is loyal but also very unforgiving.
Time will test our strength and will power.
It will expose our weakness.
Time will challenge our thoughts and emotions.
It will be relentless in its endeavor to prove love unstable and lacking.
Time will push boundaries.
It will surpass limitations and barriers.
Time will change you...
Time will possibly break you...
Time may even heal you...
Time is not to be undervalued or assessed.
Time can not be exacted, it is a gift, an allowance.
We are given time so that we may discover who we were, who we are, and who we long to be...
We are given time to uncover the endless possibilities that lie before us.
We are given time to gain enlightenment, to learn, and to teach.
We are given time to be free, to be liberated, to be alive!!!
But, in time, you will always find a profound truth...
Time is borrowed, only a certain amount allotted.
It is owed all of your energy and spirit.
You have to explode every day.
Only slow down for those magical moments.
To absorb all the character needed to become a philanthropic warrior.
A guardian and a leader to those who do not understand the true concept of time.
GRAIL
each has their own prize
tucked away in a wish
deep in the inscrutable heart,
it rises from time to time
like a treasure only seen
by the eyes of innocents.
it rises up unbidden
to remind that there is more
than a, nose to the grind stone life.
allotted to a new babe as it is born,
a grail fantasy is implanted,
a carrot on a stick of sorts.
whilst we live, unaware for most
except, for the ants that
occasionally attack our thoughts
cause restless legs to strain at
the conformity accepted as life.
wanderlust without a goal.
daydreams that seem to have
no righteous home.
all dismissed as silliness
or insanity depending,
on the strength of the call
to leave the bonds of uniformity.
that golden seed we have from birth
is the poets goad,
the musicians lost chord
a writers perfect tale.
it is not for fame and glory that we seek
but for our holy grail.
They stood there holding hands
Young faces wrinkled with worry
Their little boy was born too early
Neo natal unit now held the key
Their son was in a hurry to be born
Couldn't wait the allotted time
Now so fragile, their hearts were torn
No hug or kiss was theirs to claim
Two long weeks they waited
At his cotside prayers were held
Christen him Michael they had stated
So the priest did as they had said
Next morning the nurses smiled
Michael 's battle was over and won
They could hold their baby at last
That first kiss, said hello son.
Penned 28 July 2013
[True story]. Read notes please
Is this the foothold you sought
when love decayed and left you wanting?
Avenged in miniscule degrees, each vindicated
moment a trivial gilded victory...
The stars align in nonsensical patterns
incouraging this gazer to find
fascination in fabricated Andromeda flirting.
Sweeping up shreds of delight to amass
a semblance of happiness melded
together with lint and common dust~~
We wont discard this...the loveliest
loving we know....a taste of wine
for the deprived and ignorant.
blissfully swirling this singular sip allotted
...mindful not to spit, but relish it.
This sun will suit the pale skin
from abandoned rainy days present and forever.
Not fully basking but splashing past blinds
in a dark house as we ran back and forth
to know the warmth from these sparing, yet splendid, beams.
Always the starved will be longing,
chasing the sated-the heartfilled complacent,
an impossible seperation, upstairs to basement.
No empty lust filled affair could ever replace it
...but must suffice today, as we are just so
...Hungry
Sweet Spring just knocked upon my door and now it’s mid-July.
I’m jealous of each passing hour since I told her good-bye.
Youth stays for just the shortest while and then it's claimed by age.
Before the last is written on, we've turned another page.
As that most precious gift of time is grudgingly allotted,
The story of a life could end, long before it's plotted.
No man owns so many days that one day should be wasted.
No matter quality of wine if it is not tasted.
Now's the time of life when I appreciate the flavor
Of each day as it arrives, ere it is gone forever.