Best Amounts Poems
Twice a month on our tiny little Isle
A group of heroes go that extra mile
Wearing protective clothing they clean the beach
Removing vast amounts of rubbish within their reach
Plastic bottles, fast food containers and tins
Items tossed away so thoughtlessly – it’s a sin
So many marine animals can get tangled in discarded plastic
They need our protection, or the results could be very drastic
Hundreds of bin bags of rubbish are removed from our beach
Restoring them to beauty, now they are as pretty as a peach
Volunteers work tirelessly with amazing solidarity
To help ‘Beach Buddies’ which is a registered charity
Contest: Stuff Thomas Martin
10th June 2015
Do I dare look at you when I walk these streets?
Chase your shadow as it crawls under my feet?
For I have walked my way through
These pleasant, summer nights
Trailing any trace of you in amber
Street lights.
Hearing the laughter of men and women
Drunken behind bars, their obliviousness
Billowing with the smoke of cigars
And once again I begin to wonder
In these thoughts that shatter, asunder
Of how unvoiced these nights have become.
The scent of scones melting in tea
The sugar, the beach, the creamed coffee
How foolish do I ought to be?
How much emotion becomes too much for me?
And the sun that strokes the clouds at sea
And hides its rays amongst them-
I watch… as all this beauty encircles me.
My eyes see not the glamorous dream
That has been haunting the lives of many it seems
The loveliness of love and its glimmering gleam
The word that is only word
That dream that is only dream.
For I have seen it on all these smiley faces,
Hurried looks, and warm embraces
Can’t you see?
How we all have been entangled in one giant
Web of emotion?
Is there ever a place between Wordsworth’s
Daffodils and Poe’s Raven?
I walk these streets listening to a busker
Play his harmonica-
As I flip a coin into his flipped hat,
I wonder
How different we are, him and me
Or are we?
Restricted we are to language and time,
Enslaved in memory, engaged in rhyme
How much easier it is to think of you and me
Rather than the misleading amounts of
Separating land and sea –illusory-
I observe and am observed as I walk these
Streets, and I feel I know nothing of
Neither you nor me.
You have my voice that sings
My eye’s that love to see
My heart beating when it believes
My hand writing poetry of what should be
My steps walking boldly thinking of thee
My minds consumption of
vast amounts of time
My work that tries providing
Any attention that I can find
A victim of love
Happily and sadly am I
I am like Samson
Believing every lie
Being like Romeo
I’d surely die
What a substance is love
As reachable as the sky
With fears and rejection
That might cause my demise
My childish suffering
This disease called shy
Yet monotheistic my soul
Itself cries
Day after day this feeling
Will not die
Only one half of what
God says am I
Could you go with us,
My God and I
Could you put your hand under my thigh
Let me promise before I die
The climb of the mountian
That reaches your sky
hope and joy
sprinkled liberally
in generous amounts
butterfly magic juice
summer holiday shine
dragon flits mercifully
sunlit orbs
rainbow feelings
heartfelt spirit man
garden entices
marigold's ruffles
teasing the honeybees
faeries tiny secrets
hidden forever
mystically sound
peace and hope
calm above and beyond
earthworms heaven
sigh comes from soul
I feel the music
of the vegetables
pushing their way
realizing their truth
nurturing us forward
butterfly magic juice
enjoyed in all aspects
on a summer day
Plant a seed of hope, courage,
strength, patience and love
Dig a big hole in the garden of your thoughts
Cover well with soil of fertility
My garden philosophy is
to make the garden simple, practical,
nice, lush and beautiful
in collaboration with nature
A garden that will grow over time
Water it from the source of satisfaction
I choose to have several types of flowers
Marguerites, Lobelia, Scabious,
Rosemary, Foxgloves, Petunia and Chives
The best flowers for bumblebees
plants rich in pollen and nectar
When you focus on the possibilities,
you will only get even more opportunities
In return you will get unprecedented
amounts of happiness and peace
Some of the most annoying I know
are the days when daydreaming
constantly being interrupted
while I climb my ladder
... one step at a time
My garden is my temple
30/07/2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Poetry Contest
Petal, buds, blossoms, bees, birds, butterflies
Sponsored by: Silent One
2nd place in the contest
- a fictional poem :)
Dedicated to my Dad Jerry W. Niday 3/20/1952 - 6/18/2013
I am who I am because of him
He’s the reason for my son’s name
He gave me my courage & my strength
To stand tall even when standing wasn’t easy
Stand for the ones who can’t
To think and fend for myself
I’m my Daddy made over
Taught me to fight back
To never back down
How to pick myself back up
When I’ve been knocked down
Fight for what I believe
I’m my Daddy made over
He gave me my stubbornness
Gave me my pride
Gave me my temper
Taught me not to take crap
To speak my mind to no matter who
Work for what I want
I’m my Daddy made over
How to keep my emotions in check
How to handle large amounts of pain
When in trouble he always had my back
He knew how my mind worked better than anyone
I got it from him
I’m my Daddy made over
Even though he’s gone
I’ll stand and continue on
I may stumble I may fall
May even get hurt along the way
But I’ll pick myself back up
I’ll dust myself off and stand tall
I’m honored and proud to say
I’m my Daddy made over
Another Christmas day is finally here
The very thought fills me with such fear
I have to try and control my old Aunty Mable
Once she hits the gin she gets very unstable
Uncle Arthur rushes in and opens the sherry
then sups half the bottle and gets really merry
He begins to sing carols at the top of his voice
I put up with the din… I don’t have much choice!
The last to arrive are old Gladys and Bert
Bert always wears his distasteful Santa shirt
Gladys walks through the door and starts to moan
I wish Bert would leave the old cow at home!
She whines from the moment she removes her coat
And heads for the sofa and grabs the remote
Demanding she has her dinner on her knee -
There’s some crap on the TV that she wants to see
I politely tell Gladys the dinner table is set
And the film will be repeated of that you can bet
So she sits at the table and picks at her starter
then moans very loudly to poor Uncle Arthur
The table’s soon laden with wonderful food
But Gladys is seething, she’s so blinking rude
She says the turkey’s tasteless and it's bone dry
So I pass her the gravy and I try not to cry
Bert finishes the bowl of chestnuts and sprouts
He’ll be passing foul wind in copious amounts
After rich figgy pud he crams in six mince pies …
It’s no wonder he’s gross with huge wobbly thighs
They descend on me each and every year
And eat all my food my wine and my beer
Then we open the gifts that lie under the tree
As per usual they bring just one present for me
Gladys has knitted me a horrendous jumper
it's two sizes too large, I just want to thump her
I dutifully put in on and I feign my delight …
but it will be in the rubbish bin later tonight!
At three we watch The Queen on the telly
Bert’s farting begins; the room gets so smelly
Within minute’s they’re snoring away in their chair
I retreat to the kitchen and silently swear
By the time they wake up all the dishes are done
The doorbell rings; thank god their taxi has come!
This is the LAST time they'll take advantage of me …
Cos I've booked a yule cruise on the Caribbean sea!
Fiction write
12/14/17
It is a fact that before I wrote True Colours,
I was stuck in a world of black and white bipolar,
encaged in my seat on a non stop rollercoaster,
eating one meal a day cooking bread in a toaster.
Do you know if from here I should.....
Nope wait, if it was you then would....
No I hesitate, before I wasn't sure I could
write so shall I carry on with doubt I'm good.
Should I continue to write?
Stick at it and improve I could?
Would I get better each night?
It's tricky to know if I'm good.
I wish for a talent but it's not apparent,
it's something I want but maybe I haven't.
I'm a thoughtful fighter
with a physical dominance,
who puts pen to paper
with a mental confidence.
The anxiety causes stress
and that makes me a messy mess too,
nonetheless I guess all I can do,
is pursue hopelessness whilst I continue
to harness this writing skill and improve,
while I remain myself and stay true,
or I could give up what do I choose?
It's amazing how the praise can make me lazy,
and all because the bar was raised.
To think that that's where it remains is crazy,
without the application my skill decayed.
Living off past glories and falsely self assured,
hides the fact the present leaves them bored.
The reward is forgotten without consistency
and the reputation plummets into history.
You need to bounce from test to test like a ball,
contest with the very best and prove you're no fool,
then you must not allow the standards to fall,
you must allow a new hunger to be installed.
I continuously doubt what I am all about,
I'm a drought that sprouts limited amounts,
it's the same bounce of the ball in all my bouts,
my mouth shouts in repetition and I've lost count.
I continuously doubt what I'm all about,
I'm constantly worried and living in doubt,
I'm in a black hole will I ever get out,
I continuously doubt so that's what I'm about.
Why would I refuse to continue after I didn't refuse to begin.
I'm just a little particle created so long ago
I swirled with many of me to help your Solar System grow
For many years I spun I thought in never ending spin
From that marvel the nebula your Solar System begins
For those who are not very sure a supernova could have set the reaction
A core attracted me in then collapsing in a fatal attraction
The speed of which this happens picture a skaters arms by their side
Rotational forces so massive spinning in ever glide
This causes the cloud to flatten as me the dust is being drawn in
Around a dense core it travels a star is pulled in to begin
The more mass that is accumulated towards the centre of the disc
Enough energy is now created nuclear reactions react so brisk
In basic simple terms Hydrogen atoms in Helium fuse
Releasing enormous amounts of energy your Solar System sings the blues
The outcome of one of these bursts was the forming of your sun
Granted, it took another ten million years but what you know now has now begun
The next step in the journey of this incredible science feat
Is the formation of the planets that you humans will eventually seek
Eventually us dusts we stuck together to form the many of many rocks
This process is known as accretion created by the science clock
Forming in the flat plane over millions and billions of years
Electrostatic forces allured creating your Solar System spheres
I'm just a little particle created so long ago
I swirled with many of me to help your Solar System grow
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/space-3.php
Fated to Love
Best to simply weigh the heart with a poppy seed
Counter balance on granite
All its rhythmical surging
Its expeditious life
Amounts to nothing
Better then, not to believe in its enchantment
For it is fated to love
And do little else but lead
To ruin
Well-worn to stop up your ears
Lest you hear its background murmurings
Brooding upon devotion
Lacking the power to change anything
But weeps constantly for dreams
Do not then, be deceived
For all the hearts will to achieve
It cannot
But burst inside your veins
Only half remembering what once you never held
Though its truth persists
It lays persecutory back against a lie
The heart would try
But cannot defy the world
Beware then my friends
For that muscular aorta pump and valve
Will lay you stark
And rend open beneath your ribs
And grant you no solace
Or escape
For all in the life of steady beats
It knows nothing of fact
And through your nights survival
Will stab at you with yearning
Brooking no compromise
It shall continue
Craving
Damnable heart I say
To leave me no place to rest
If I could but tear it out
For it taints my eyes with longing
Converting my hours for its keeping
Playing poker faced with deliverance
Trying to cheat destiny
With the price it paid to see me
Counting the cost in when’s
And when
When all the loneliness
Will end
Beware of when; then my friends
For that muscular ventricle pump and valve
Will lay you star-dream-gathering
And break open daily beneath your ribs
And yield to you no solace
But only escapism
Damnable heart I say
To leave me no place to rest
If I could but tear it out
You will remove the roadblocks that block my paths each day
You will not hamper what I do to succeed in my own way
You will not play your high pitched notes within my deafened ears
And take your hands from off my mind, and stop it with your fears
You will stop harassing me because I belong to Him
You will remove your minions now who paint the shadows grim
You will realize I have power that goes beyond this realm
He who shared the victory is stationed at the helm
You cannot overcome Him or steal me from His Father
You do not have the power to take my soul, don't bother
You will listen to my orders and heed the words I say
I know my place within the kingdom and don't get in my way
You will stop it with the H.A.A.R.P. toy and taking people down
And cease from tearing up the homes in neighborhoods and towns
And halt your little puppet show in Washington, DC
And get your hand now off this nation's blood bought liberty
You better realize you're in for a fight, a fight you will not win
I've been bought with sinless blood, by a King who had no sin
He's the one you came against and failed to win His throne
But that belongs to no one else except the Cornerstone
You will stop your taunting that amounts to nothing good
And leave this house and take your bones that wear that dark robed hood
Ever since the dawn of time you’ve constantly deceived
But I know Him whom I’ve believed so consider yourself relieved
June 7, 2013
He was six. Brown hair, brown eyes, with a round freckled face that longed.
His mommy had died two days earlier, in a tragic accident on her way to work.
I did not know him, we’d never met, but I knew his 16 year old sister, a friend of my daughter’s.
And she needed a break, some time with friends, time to grieve.
I offered to keep him, for the day, for a weekend, for however long she needed.
Her stepfather was too cocooned with sorrow to be of any help now.
We had a delightful play date, this darling six-year-old soldier and I.
We drank lots of pop, ate crazy amounts of sugar, cooked food, and played board games galore.
I wanted a smile. I wanted him to know that life goes on, even when your mommy doesn’t.
We both needed to play; him more than I, but my heart was aching; he was such a good boy.
His name I have forgotten.
This was twenty-one years ago, and it was only one day.
I was worried it would take him all day to smile. I was wrong. He was six, remember?
When his sister came to get him, I did not want to let him go.
We had become best-ies, this six year old soldier and I.
We were giggling like seven months old, at this point.
I hugged him really tightly, not wanting to ever let him go.
Anywhere without his mommy.
At the last second I yelled, “See you later, alligator.”
He turned; his face split into a giant grin. He ran back for another hug.
And he said, “That’s good! Can I USE that?”
“Use it all you want,” I said.
I am still smiling about this boy without a name twenty-one years later.
My boy.
Fingers toy with my nearly worn out bank card.
Not too confident, I hold onto my nerves, hard.
Ahead, petty items in her trolley hold me slowed.
The cashier stops, lengthily examining a bar code.
I glance around at the growing queue, blindly.
I bump into him, behind me, and I apologize kindly.
I let him precede me, my morals climbing high.
He hesitates with three items, as if not sure which to buy.
I tend him a basket which he aloofly ignores.
Disconcerted, my eyes divert to the store's doors.
The cashier waits for the cash, visibly well trained.
He fishes in a pocket then empties another, unrestrained.
Some coins roll and find the cashier’s impatient fingers.
But she waits with smile fixed as he lingers.
At last he finds his notes, all bundled.
His shaking hands proudly tug one crumbled.
He peers at it and slowly returns it back to place.
Another he places, unsure, in hand tended with grace.
Suddenly he pulls it back, deciding it was not the right one!
Now this, he checks carefully; it is a larger one.
He gave it away, not looking very happy.
The cashier’s patience is waning, visibly.
But she amounts the cash and helps him as he packs.
Then he gets annoyed as his long bread roll cracks.
He halts and decides to break it into three; it goes into the bag.
The cashier turns with a bright smile to a queue in lag!
Close up you can see the colossal amounts of energy
it took to grow this plant from a seed
An even closer look through the microscope,
inside lies the complete genetic information
Images of texture I can almost feel
Spikes that pop up prickly come alive
I have no limits to magnification
I can see vibrant stars dead center
Elements of sunshine tan and green
Sediments of gill filaments in V-shapes
Arrows in grooves with silver linings
Natures details to resemble filigree
Mucus glowing its sickle-shaped petal lobes
Milky sap growing within, aligning
milk vines and perfect pinwheels
Nature’s own flower arrangements
Under a microscope
In the beginning there was a lonely word but soon after
there was no room at the meagre hostel for the saviour
Sanguine hopes flash-flooded the sanctuary of hearts
sacrificial blood of Christ awaited to be spilt in vain
Spelt out the message of rusty nails corroding on cross
bones mounted the flesh ready for vanishing memories
Lest we forget Christmas it amounts to summits of wrappers
luxurious gifts opulent indigestion after a vainglorious feast
Reindeer and global delivery services occlude the notion that
taking stock is not about counting presents but reducing the cost
Jesus flashes from i-pads I this and I that please give me more
extra goods additional abundance mince pies and stuffing
Belching and flatulent Tim reaches for his heartburn medication
tastes uppers and downers sniffs white powder on bank cards
His wife smears the makeup she grabbed from under the tree
her new perfume a bountiful offering of disguised scented myrrh
No sense for frank frankinsence as she sniffs expensive fragrances
from benefaction bottle’s decadence and reduces benediction to myth
Gift wrap explodes from the fireplace in the mix of unopened packets
just after Father Christmas has made a lucky escape from the scene
Arson of gluttony self-inflicted suffering self-immolation of sorts
sorts out this unholy communion followed by smouldering mourning
The insurance company refuses to pay as they insist that the couple
had backed the wrong course of action in vile contempt of true faith
They however donate a beautiful bible of careful calligraphy
with gilded ornamentation bound in leather and lather of time
There are no walls standing for wailing when Tim and his spouse
and it remains to be seen whether they might find a mangled manger
To resume business as usual or take refuge in meaning and truth
when the word in the beginning had become a sorry blank canvas
18th November 2018
Contest Christmas Mourning
Sponsor P.S. AWTRY