Best Amiably Poems
When imbalance of life churns hapless poignancy
And the zephyr of inequities breezes melancholy
Dissonance reverberates echoing pathos of grief
Seeking exaltation within metaphysical profundity
As hushed posture conjures up humbling catharsis,
Leaning in quietude, questing paranormal vitality,
Liberating from bounds of mundane, the ordinary,
Energizing calming bliss of unfamiliar, extrasensory.
Mortal soul steadily crosses limits of understanding
Reaching deep into unknown, unexplored territory,
Daring to search for knowledge in mystical obscurity
Pursuing enlightenment from supernatural intrigue,
Discovering newfound acuity blossoming internally
Adulating freedom of shedding narrow boundaries
Gaining divine wisdom, postulating own doctrines,
Comprehending missives in blissfulness of sagacity.
As laments mellow in teachings of superior intellect
And bawl of distraught soothes in heavenly solace
Finding ambrosial tranquility in endearing calmness,
Physiological longings amiably, peacefully dissipate
And gradually soul enlightens, unafraid of mortality,
Yearning for permanence of purposeful inviolability,
Meaningful beyond self, detaching from materiality,
Synchronizing harmoniously in idyllic, placid sanctity.
January 21, 2022
Placed 1st: This or That, Vol 9 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Transcendence
Somehow I had loved you so,once…
When we relished vintage cherry wine until
The last pitch of a guitar man drifted along
harbour’s bay…and how our shared wishes
gushed around Trevi fountain, tossing coins,
rummaging new souvenirs that became
endless conversational pieces in our inner loft.
Yes, I held other thoughts about us, keeping
My voice low as angry words snuffed the
Fragrance of candlelight: but in a flash, time
Paused while you smiled to brush my hair amiably.
I loved you well, perhaps …maybe more,
Yet deep in my bones, leaving me alone kept
Rainy nights unbearable where we passed
Like abandoned ships at night… then what
About those evenings that won’t let me down?
This feeling of uncertainty, suspension, pain
Led to catharsis: because for all that was real,
The ghosts of old souvenirs ended love's glory.
Gren's Evergreens (Golden Oldies) # 1
Inspired by the song: ‘And I Love You So’
Contest of Teppo Gren 4/21/2016
A debris engulfs this mind
when a chuckle, a pirouette, a dream
ransacks wired thoughts--
and for once, I am a shrill :
Though weight presses on hardened back,
images dig dig through shovels of the past
to unearth replays from a year ago--
This breath throbs knowing not
how this grill of questions might assuage
brief frolics , as I look at birds migrate,
for whatever it is…
two parts from my heart of spade
remain divided , asking --
dear time,must I linger on
or forget a sister's once childhood romp?
Night withers amiably
still, the raking in my head persists, unless …
~
3.08.2019
A Scraping Of Shovels for john lawless
Sensuous as a kiss, gift of romantic dreams,
Your essence I feel as you tiptoe stealthily
Alluring sensibilities, revealing amorously
Silken ruby lips sparkling on work of beauty
Embellishing tiny dimples upon rosy cheeks;
Oh! the mystical you, loving you is euphoric.
Unannounced you titillate my life’s revelry
Mellifluous alike spring’s giggling streams
Occupying me happily on perilous journey
Lending your hand when I am trekking hills,
Jubilant visage of my life’s pristine prairies~
An enchanting emissary of proffers amatory.
When I asked a favor from a lonesome night~
Despondent, starless gloom of moonless skies
Clamoring earnestly to speed-forward time
So, bearing Venus high, the dawn could arrive;
There you stood fondly, donning flirty smile
Mesmerizing amiably in hypnotic hazel eyes.
Ah! what a bliss it is, in your endearing glee
When moments of joy life’s upheavals steal,
My darling I so adore you~ real as imagined
For you never fail to answer my every plea,
Questing realm of ecstasy elated you spree
Amid riveting reveries thrilling my fantasies.
October 6, 2021
Placed 1st: “R” Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme chosen: Romantic
Old Mr. Nicholson
totters across the town square
to the barbershop where
Clive has cut his hair
for the last forty years or so
Not hardly needing
even a trim
but pretending
he has a reason besides
the gossip waiting within
Inside, the shop smells like hair tonic
shaving cream and old leather
and the only noticeable things
that Clive's changed
in the last forty years
are the calendar, magazines
and gumball machine
Tall and gaunt, Clive stoops and
shuffles around the shop
a bit slow and shaky, but still
the cheapest and best around
as he drawls out the latest
scuttlebutt from all over town
Harry Van Hoorn leans
sideways in the old barber chair
hanging on every word like an old hound
ears flapping in the breeze
making an odd squinchy face as he
holds back a sneeze
bits of loose hair tickling his nose
While old Arnie Bruner
broods in the corner
his usual sour-faced self
like an old prune
all wrinkled and dried up
without a single good thing to say
“Well, hello Ed!” Clive stops and says
as Mr. Nicholson sidles in
he amiably waves his comb in the air
continuing to work on Harry's hair
thoroughly ignored as he
continues to speak
“Long time, no see!” Harry sings out
even though they were both
in here just last week
“Hiya Harry!” Mr. Nicholson says
in his high-pitched little whine
“Have you heard about-”
“Oh wait, lemme guess-” Arnie breaks in
in his growly bass
“...it's about that place... next door to-”
“Jim and Grace” Harry cuts in
“No, I was going to say-”
Mr. Nicholson chirps
a bit snappily
“It must be about Jenny Mae...”
Harry chortles gleefully
“No, it's gotta be about Faye!-”
Arnie belts out grumpily
Meanwhile, they're missing
all the scorching details
of the greatest scandal
as Clive croons on
amid the din
of his gabby, blabby customers
each desperate
to get a word in
Back and forth, in and out
with bickers and shouts
hums, warbles, trills, groans
solos and accidental duets
their crazy cacophony has become
a funny (albeit gossipy) kind
of barbershop quartet!
I asked a scientist to make an olive's leaf,
So green with its juices,
Smelling spring and sweat from gatherers hands.
He answered that he couldn't.
I asked him to make the light of the sun,
Reflecting its warmth in morning's appearance.
To make a sun enslavor of the sea,
Of breathing trees and eyes,
The eyes of those who stare its dream.
He answered that he couldn't.
And when I asked to form the air of dawn,
So heroic, sympathy air on faces of those
Seeking the dew,
On mainsails following the wind,
He answered that he couldn't.
How could ever human hands, so shakily and small
Give birth to miracles, when their lines
Consist of a hidden mystery delved from ages unsure?
Where human says 'I can't',
Nature raises and rules among Glory and Triamph.
If people think that they live with power and safety,
In houses they built with tractors and iron muscles,
How could they live when road will be their only home?
When they will be forced to run to mountains
And lie down on stones and windfalls
How oh how could they live?
If people think that they eat because they cook
Aseptic food in their high-teck kitchens,
How could they eat when a slice of bread will be
All they have?
If people think that they can adjust their warmth
By pressing a single button,
How could they feel warm and enlighted
If the Sun won't raise, if darkness fills the air?
When people think that there is nothing they can't do,
Replete with egoism, relying on their hands and their brightness,
A huge laugh is coming from the sky.
Because they forget that when all is gone,
Floated down the stream,
Only God can stay still, unbreakable and wise,
Smiling at their ignorance that they own life.
And if they can't be satisfied with theirselves,
How could they embrace others
When time force them to be united?
Creatures excesses with passions and ambition
They want to change their roles and become
Gods in the place of the One.
Yet, their hands are so weak to carry world's weight
And their minds so human to judge fairly and amiably
The sins of us all.
Quaint town, orange sky and spitting roosters,
a trail of mosaic remembrances translates
into lavender hints of folks’ spiraled notes:
women balancing baskets of corn
strewn on the hips, a siege of fluted weeds
meshing with tropical winds along the lake...
being there, just there among ruined cathedrals
and flared umbrellas I cannot touch: I think
there is never an after… for cruising along
roads leading to papaya huts,
the numbered days wrap my flesh with a
repertoire of flora, sitting upon the magic of rapture;
amiably watching a madrigal of a fiesta…
the carriage of lifted chants rippling
on anointed elements of earth and fire.
Those blessed statues, these I cannot caress,
not even the letters in the museum
which tamed stars of centuries’ quest:
it can be cold just watching without holding.
My eyes swallow the moon
beautiful with some kind of soulful whiteness;
my own river of reverie tipsy. Misty.
For Silent One's Contest
Enter the Your best poem with metaphors
TINA'S BIRTHDAY.
I am so excited,my little hands prepare,
For a party magical,unique that will be rare.
Its my dearest friend Tina's birthday,
A pixie cutest and tiniest of today.
Sunshine amiably reflects a smile like a pogo baby,
Daisies,lilies,roses in my garden get flowy.
Flowers wear makeup for Tina's bouquet,
Devoted fairies cook bake dishes and croquette.
A diminutive magical gnome takes charge,
For garden's ornamentation,he is incharge.
In collaberation with all,my garden gleams,
All well dressed,my pride beams.
A grand occasion its gonna be,
Birthday babe in pink frock,is happy to be.
Contest:Little People.
Sponsor:Shadow Hamilton.
28/06/2016
I’m lodged in this train on a top spot
yet alone...while others trace a blue noon amiably,
As dewed mist holds me immovable
From my row ... the toot of a loud whistle
makes me want to peep out restlessly.
This journey is intermittent through my solos of night,
where most wayfarers gig on-- animated, pleasant--
and they know where they're headed to, come eve,
this clear level of certainty... a destination so sure
relishing coffee, time's sagas with much fervor:
Here I am, listening to their seemingly deified hums
as the tenet of my life idly churns like rusted wheels,
that a hazy eye gazes at an aching moon
its glint wondering about my self- imposed deed of alienation.
Palindromes Contest for Joseph May
5/20/2018
The woodland's sights and scents add a piquancy to the affair
By the moonlight's inky, starry gaze, so fleeting to retain
To dawn's fragile light shadows benignly filtering through
The damp, earthy undergrowth a mossy bed convenient
An ample, rough bark, redwood tree and gnarled, dry spreading roots.
A humble haven for primal, abandoned, wanton display
The foliage green canopy conceals a multitude of sins
Anton, my lover, you are the saviour of my heart and soul
Truly I love to breathe your masculine scent and hair
Struggling to restrain my appetites when you are nearby
Alone I desperately yearn for you, it's my private fear
But today I am ecstatic , for you have proposed to me
To imagine having you all to myself in body and soul.
Anton, I shall prove my love for you is of the constant kind
All those sacrifices we have made could surely only bind
Let the headiness I feel pirouette me into your arms
To feel your consuming ardency continue on and on
I love our bit of heaven we experience when alone
Continually let us revive that special passionate spark
Passions do fade allocated to dusty memory banks
But my love so rejuvenates me as we meet every day
My dear Anton I am afraid to live this life without you
I want you to reiterate that you feel the same for me
Totally enveloped in your entire world implicitly
Once an old fortune teller asked me to cross her hand with gold
As she had a precious gem of knowledge to impart to me
Her vivid, streaked, carmine red mouth grinned amiably
As she tightly held my hand and peered at my outstretched palm
Perusing it lengthily said advantages there would be
"Look into my eyes, oh yes I see a grand passion madam"
Seeing my doubtful gaze, she said "it is all here in your hand"
"You must tell me when shall it be" I vocally did demand
"Patience, soon, very soon, the man is quite a suitable match"
Excitedly I jumped for joy "in life you mean", I questioned
"No, never that, it shows an equally passionate pair".
I watched the “news” this morning.
Chicken Little ran around squawking
Two women talked amiably after describing
scenes of horrific violence.
A homeless puppy was found
cared for and now needs a “forever” home.
Thousands called in looking to adopt it.
A homeless veteran was stepped over
in the entrance to a shelter
he/she was not cared for or allowed entrance.
Three kittens sang “Jingle Bells”
Chicken Little squawked a bit more
Climate change, global warming yadayada
The weather persons told me of storms
in the Midwest, floods in the south and
high temps in Arizona….
I had to look out my window
to get the weather report here.
The station manager made a Public Service Announcement.
Paraphrased : “If you’d all just do as you’re told
everything would be just fine”.
(the commercials were for Erectile disfunction, tampons,
birth control and condoms….oh….and childrens breakfast cereal))
John G. Lawless
1/4/2022
COFFEE IN A CAFÉ CALLED CONTENTEDNESS
He’s content…….
Yet uniquely unrepentant
He’s content with his surroundings
Content to do that which he must…….
With trust
Content,
occasionally,
to do something he actually enjoys
With poise
I suppose ninety-six years tempers one’s desire and demand for delight……..
Ninety-six years is midnight……….
Come what might
He’s content to café a coffee
Or bear the man he sips and sits aside
Another soul he takes,
contentedly,
in stride
Ninety-six with dementia denied
Ninety-six with death defied
While his contentedness is dignified and defined
Ninety-six is ample time to become so well- refined
Long ago having cast off the mighty nine to five
Content solely to still be alive
While others may see half-past midnight as looming but a fortnight away
Come what may
I hear him say
“Please, may I have another cup of coffee”
A gent content with his beverage begotten
Fearing not,
nor too often……
His coffin
Ninety-six and my heart is warmed by an oven of admiration for a man so amiably content
With contentedness, by comfort, so long ago lent
A gent
A gentle gent who throws a breeze of ease into life’s midnight mix
Oh so very gentle at ninety-six
No more hide and go seek, no more marbles and no more pick-up sticks
So content………..
done taking his licks
……………at ninety-six
© copy write PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
i am posting this in hopes that those who entered my contest with more than one line of poety will correct their line to read as only ONE line.
One of my examples was this:
Accepting, diligent, and alert, I am dedicated and almost always amiably deliver.
The idea was to create something similar to a monoku. Right now I have received only eight entries done correctly in the contest, so you have until the end of February to revise your one line if you entered my contest. I made a blog,but I fear not many people will see my blog. MAybe more people will see this now. The title I would give my line is simply A D.
I had given a second example, but i guess I confused a few poets who believed I wanted two poems from them.
Please test your lines by posting them to see if they come out as only one line. If it does, I will give your too-long line an HM. Those who do more than two lines will get N/A. I guess i am someone who makes my contests too particular? So sorry.
That really was not my intention. I don't know how much clearer I could have been with my instructions . Hope people see this. Tell your friends in case they do not read nor my blog. Happy Monday!!
Minutes in, days out, I would succumb
To an electric wave of heat: this once
Tidy dress lined in cotton and quilt now appears
Scratched like a hand-me-down cloth;
My upper ribs tossed into a furnace
While the sizzling smoke chokes this neck…
Yet, Milady is not done with her slew of cuisine.
She tightens my back amiably in fetal position
Carrying jars, kettles, and pans ... with me
As her absorber from the burn of summer;
Her food tester masking like an undercover aide.
Yes, we are both overworked. I observe her
Lounging on a pantry chair inclined to cleanse
My body reeking of oil, grease, and pepper.
O Milady is genteelness, that skin so milky white,
Her fingers patting my dry cheeks before night breaks
While she glides out the door in lilting hums…
And only then can I lie on the sill to rest quietly
Under the glittering weave of tender moonlight.
--
Potholder Contest of Craig Cornish
5/15/2020
Framed moments zoom, a night of review
as vignettes glide on frazzled woodland
of her mindscape like leaves brushed
in violet before moonlight’s pause.
Every motion, every image bursts
into tints of life- stages...
Embers within her flash: a peachy tot
screaming for jelly ; eighth birthday flops,
escaping from the party clown—
How the mirrors of light enter the marrow
and gracefully recite the stories and poems
from parental death, aborted friendships
to love’s waning kiln. The hum inside her
becomes quiet, awake and fearless...
she inhales dusky breath when musings
fall like twigs and brambles on her bosom.
Yet, the air’s chill hugs her shadow,
moistening her thoughts,
eyes reflecting time's montage...
glassy though amiably refreshed.