Best Arranges Poems
Trembling in the silence of a fresh snowfall, awaiting the struggle of laughter and tears, the beautiful that comes from stars shadowed by flakes so gentle they seem to speak silence into the spirit – like the voice of a vision, preaching peace ~ quote by poet
Secreted beneath the gentle fragments, shivering,
Blown in piles, demanding as January’s piercing light,
Silence caressing the stones, the oaks, the pines,
In glistening reflections, hearts possessed,
By the indigo skies who are burning with grace,
Speckled with sensations, amazement –
Sweltering in the 12 degree rays, where moments
Tend to breath in the crispness and release brilliance,
In waves, wisdom from the hunger
Ravenous appetites, awaiting the colors of light,
Friendly aromas of souls, newly blooming,
Emitting sounds that go on, unnoticed, echoes,
Vibrations trembling in soothing sighs…
Melodious blessings, ranging from hearts to insights,
Lifting the nights on wings of angels,
Promising the heavens to release the broken hearts,
Send comfort to the earth in the form of snow,
Who breathes a quiet truth, silence…
Beaming from the tender scales, shavings of ice,
Glittery and crisp, crumbling into moments,
When the laughing sun kisses the blanketed ridges,
Stirring the scene so that only the blurry vision,
Squinted from eyes who remember –
On the snow covered land there is plenty to glimpse,
But only the blinded eyes can truly remember,
How the sparkling snow seemed to shudder and shake,
In silence… deciding just how significant
How consuming is the silence of a shadow,
Reflected on the land whose bathed in fresh white,
The frosty sheen of hope breathing its lasting glance,
Over the peaceful promise of this kind and graceful spectacle,
Commotion in brilliance, awakening the spirit,
With a wonderful white home where the fires crack,
Popping so that even the wood can feel the flames traveling,
Deep into the bones, risking tragedy…
To be lauded by the sensations of Winter’s amazing,
Winter chasing the dreams, the belief, the faded hope…
For those silhouettes who follow the moon,
Ride the stars and twinkle like the deathlike grief,
Who arranges for even the darkness to be plucked from the earth,
By the fresh fallen flurries who break away the brittle,
Soothing souls so that they’re sanctified by the sentimental.
A female tongue pushes me down from the swing of sleep.
Rain kids rouse the stink of railway track in the dawn.
A long chain of complaints tinkles on her lips.
Worries about her female children at home
rise up like the black smoke from the train.
His liquor reddened half opened eyes gaze
at the life-like-fan – its rotation makes him dizzy.
His sweet brown lady drags him into his duties.
She arranges attractively jasmine garlands
in her basket on the floor of the compartment.
Basket never enjoys the fragrance, but only carries.
First printed in my book, Kanoli Kaleidoscope, by Punkswritepoemspress, US.
Coughing here and there
Sick and in pain from last night
Sleep is all I want
A bright red sunrise
Filled with beauty and delight
Arranges my heart with hope
Induced Interludes
Twilight disrobes a soundless star
It claims some gentler theme from me
Caught lingering in a unified bestilled embrace
Beneath a unique spotlight of its gleaming afterglow
gently now, gently
thus footprints bare none
alight butterfly rest on a finger
spilled words occasions the breeze
the gist of me shadows alongside jaguars
Morning star glint after dawns flow
Challenge arranges yet another measure
An opportune solemn hymn ingratiates breaths
Stages of a day follow blissfully edge to edge quietly
gently now, gently
a better course grace me
fingertip traces a fashioned grin
a made verse set rhythmically whispers
a softly caressed infant coos towards silence
Sunsets a mimed score entertains
Review disciplined superbly portrayed
Persuades descending rays an eyeful adieu
Nightwings greet dusk, whorls up into absence
gently now, gently
ebb star pivots another
penitent pose cradles prayers
pointed at fingers in lieu of sheeps
eyes seals behind dreams, genteel cast...
I have a weakness for golden blond hair,
and light shade of blue in mascara eyes,
that new recruit in office next door,
I brushed past her as I came up a floor,
and she is got them, she is got them,
She has bloody got them… all of them!!
four decades into life, still out for a mate,
with a good job, house, a car.. well rich!
that girl next door could be my unscratched itch!
opportunity knocks they say but once,
I have to look at this with a magic lens!
there must be a way I could speak with her,
may be an official call, a business deal?
may be pretend I walked in to wrong office?
may be go and try their brand of coffee?
but a morning came when God had better plans,
Walking to my door who should I see waiting there?
the golden blond goddess all on her own!!
million gun shots could not have stunned me more,
I smiled to say a happy hello but sounded like Eeyore!
She returned the smile with radiance of sunrise,
And killed me with a surprise handshake - “Hanna”!
I shook her hand, and must have said my name,
Wished shaking hands could be a lifelong game,
but she soon disengaged and said if she could come in?
She was changing jobs and moving to our office!!
God is kind and in his wisdom, He arranges jobs too!
Itches come, and itches go, some high, some low!
but an itch of the heart is hard to reach,
there are no fingers to go deep and scratch!
So my unscratched itch that I bore with fortitude,
would it be resolved? thank His heavenly grace!
We spoke with eyes and professed with our smiles,
All was looking good till the boss spoke one evening,
he was marrying Hanna, and next week was wedding!!
and my unscratched itch? well, it will remain!!
Who said goddess?? that bloody b**ch!!
Bondage was good for us.
"Master-me,
you are me taking me.” She was right,
I would lose myself in her.
She’s related to George Washington,
A man of his time.
A black girl for all times.
George is silent.
Mind brings her to me now
as she arranges
the form and flavors of desire,
her flesh a sensual braille for shaping hands,
limbs a binding chimera,
flesh capturing flowing silks -
a choreography of her muted history.
Inarticulate passions lock us together,
we are deep sea divers
pushing against an erotic gravity.
Somewhere in another story,
an aged Washington shoves his shriveled member
into another young black woman.
Should we honor both?
Dark is the page we now turn.
Truth or not, love or maybe.
Once we were most pleased
to burn down the president's mansion
again and again.
AUTUMN OUGHT NOT BE SO ORIDNARY
Setting now is another Autumnal sun
Another late October day is nearly done
And now I’ve another night all alone to face
Without a lasting and loving embrace
Sans a kindly kiss good-night
And a “sleep well my sweet” wrapped in delight
With sincerity sequestered in each word and her last smile so blueberry bright
No, just another very lonely night
Tonight my desires matter not since I am alone
Yes, of course there is always the telephone
But then all I hear is a disembodied voice
And if I had a choice and were I to make that choice known
I’d choose not to be quite and quietly so alone
Pictures of the past hang on a wall bare but for images of yesterday
Scenes of what sorrow and celebration had to say
Some in color and some in burnt sienna brown
Most that make me smile and only some that make me frown
The sad ones are photos taken while I must have been envisioning the sorrow of this day that has
so suddenly set in
And the darkness yet another twilight has let in
Another night to chase away with sleep and a prayer for serenity
An evening made imperfect for a perfectly maudlin man like me
Sereneness that may never arrive for a lonely man who longs for long-term love
Yet finds only fleeting lovers who are tourists in and out of a life made from madness and too many changes
With all the obscurity uncertainty arranges
As I think of all the good times I must begin to be forgetting
But alas, yet another Autumnal sun is just about setting
© 2012 copyright PHREEPOETREE…..~free cee!~
Autumnal mist quivers over meadows
like a galleons sails billowing gently
on calm seas of jade green and yellows,
steering it's ghostly mirages deftly,
hedgerows with wildlife masked in shadows
preparing for expected change of seasons
from amicable warm winds to soft arrows
discharged from cumulus depressions,
Celestial star low in Crimson sky blinding
light from cloudless horizon, exposed
hills in silhouette, oil painting of defining
brush strokes created in webs disclosed,
birds desert undesirable climate changes
hibernation becomes natural performance
elongated sleep, calm heartbeats arranges
thought patterns of survival from romance,
long warm days turn into long cold nights
bracing crisp air scented with burning wood
from smoke filled chimneys such delights
burning embers changing mood to feel good.
it's a beautiful day
and i'm passing through this cursed place:
they are celebrating free lunch at crack land today!
on the dirty and horrible street,
zombies walk around wearing rags.
gathered in small groups,
they burn crack rocks nonstop.
small arguments on street corners,
two bums exchange punches
and nobody cares about the guy knocked out,
moaning and bleeding along the gutter.
a charity institution decided to help,
made food for this horde of desperate.
watching the chaotic line for lunch,
I saw a girl who was once beautiful
and beside her a gigolo smiles toothlessly.
when she notices my insistent gaze
she tries to fix her hair
and she arranges her disheveled clothes.
finally, she throws a can of beer at my car.
I soon realized that this was not an attack:
she just defended the dignity she still had
as if she said: I'm not exactly that!
and your eyes have no right to judge me!
I accelerated and got out of there.
Legend Of The Black Dove (Part 10B)
"The Unknown World"......Continues
Norrington and Jenkins look around to see if they are near some volcanic
island somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. Captain Owens arranges a landing
party to try to get some supplies, food and water and anything else they
can find. They also take their guns for protection. Flying above the ship
are two large birds, but on a closer inspection they observe flying reptiles,
Pterodactyls: it seems they have been transported to the prehistoric times.
They decide to carry on moving towards the island. Owens, who is leading
the men, realises they have to go in, get through and out as quick as possible
through the rainforest with its strange vegetation and small animals. Moments
later they notice a Stegosaurus eating foliage. Avoiding confrontation they
walk around the trees only to encounter an Alosaurus- a flesh eater which
notices them. Growling it starts to chase after the crew. They shoot their
pistols at it. While running Jenkins falls to the ground, Norrington turns
and decoys the beast away from his friend, the other crew members help
Jenkins escape the beast's clutches. Without being noticed Norrington is
transformed into the Black Dove and is trying to lure the beast in his direction.
The other men are now on board the ship, while the Dove is playing a
dangerous game of cat and mouse with the Alosaurus. The Dove uses his
super strength and speed to jump onto the monster's back and render it
unconscious. The dinosaur slumps to the ground. Becoming John Norrington
again he rejoins his friends. Captain Owens is successful in getting fresh water
and some plants for their voyage home. The storm is approaching the Columbia
giving them another chance to return home to England. Everyone is on board,
knowing not where they will be going to next.
Will the Columbia's crew finally arrive in England?
Or will they end up in another time zone again?
The startling answer is in Part 11...."Destination Unknown"
Posted the beginning of next month (December)
In last night's movie, a young writer
and an older, married with children French woman
fall in love. They did not meet during a village massacre
and money is no object, Manhattan
the place I was priced out of. But after everything has happened
she cannot leave her children, not even for love, because of love,
the love that brooks no serendipity.
Here, in my family, love is taken for granted
except when it's withdrawn and then even the trees lose all meaning,
familiarity. Now it is almost dawn:
this and that must get done in committee or alone.
Don't reach, go slow as the day will allow.
But that's not what I came to say.
Perfect rest v. having a destiny.
A complete breakdown in self-discipline.
It begins by saying nothing I do matters under the eye of eternity.
Hamlet x 5 centuries.
Add to that all the science--chemistry, physics--calculus and music
I don't know. I have sat next to, at weddings,
brain surgeons and robot engineers. I hit the street
choosing a church on Fifth Ave. or Trinity Cemetery, walking the
heartless city.
In the subsequent late night movie, a wealthy
altruistic doctor arranges for the murder
of his neurotic concubine. His guilt provides us
with an opportunity to consider
the concepts of faith and forgiveness, that all will be well in the end
after a period of meaningless suffering.
In this way the seasons have been circulating for eons via convexity.
I don't know what I'm doing but I'm doing it anyway.
You trust in genetics, God, prosthetics or prayer, whatever
gets you to the morning. That's when the sun,
a billion trillion nuclear detonations per second
warms your bones.
You may remember an old lover who's gone before
or continues to exist on another plane, in another ecstasy.
Having installed a new toilet seat
and made a few philanthropic donations
I can kick back tonight and watch movies, right?
Not. I'm ridding myself of another addiction
like illegal drugs via caloric restrictions
getting enough sleep for two people or more
and reading none of the dry words in books from the library.
When there's nothing to do, when I'm bored or dreary
I'll sit still and watch from the window, I'll wait
for the weather to change, which it will.
A chorus of the hungry
Father, we are here, singing choruses
To a crowd of witnesses
A scattering of utterances among crows
Muttering things
About this and that
Unknown quantities of baloney
Seasoned with desert salt
As the scene arranges itself with the usual players
Preachers, Pimps, power brokers, pen pushers
Worshipers and whisperers
It will not matter whether I lived
Or died begging. What matters is that we are here
Unnoticed
Watching with the watchers
Herds of putty faced plutocrats filing past us
Past decorous doors
Into the depths of the pleasant places
Inside
Lettered sous-chefs salt
And season yet another crowd of butchered beasts
Where lingers another hearty feast
For hunters, gatherers and whisperers
Armies
Of half butchered waitresses with painted faces
And battered souls attempting to hide
The bandages and splinters that hold together
Their fractured internal structures
And ignoring the empty laughter. Like us
And they try hard not to stutter
There may be a tip at the end of the shift
And chatter hovers
In the many places, above the clinking of glasses
On the other side of other doors
Cutlery gathers and clutters
In the able hands of busboys and dishwashers
And more grease spatters
Love resides in the heart,
adjacent to the soul.
And if unrequited;
levies a heavy toll.
It feels incredible;
to hear someone loves you.
And downright magical;
if you should love them too!
Every caress and kiss;
leaves you yearning for more.
And dreams intensify;
in the depths of your core.
Hope arranges love's tune
to the beat of two hearts.
And surrendering youth's
innocence, romance starts.
Forged within passion's flame;
two souls merged in its heat.
And sharing but one heart;
together, they're complete.
When comes an encouragement
Heart really gets enjoyment
It cancels every resentment
Laying for hope a basement
Life daily suffers bombardment
Comes to boost no compliment
Gloom lives in heart-compartment
Memory brings only disappointment
I see the souls living on pavement
And I wonder God's life-management
Many live with really no employment
Giving to poverty an appointment
Under this vast God's firmament
All the souls have disagreement
Peace of mind is never permanent
No Universal laws' enactment
Loving is not done with commitment
Lives are not lived with involvement
In heart, happens no improvement
Only wickedness is in brain-segment
Affection is an invisible ointment
Loving is the best temperament
Kindness does lovely anointment
Mercy is the greasing sentiment
When heart attains contentment
Soul will never foolishly lament
As 'enough' is the finest element
Bringing bliss equal to an elephant
Helping is the holiest entertainment
Patting saves from a sad predicament
Prayer appeals to God's department
God arranges for a safe settlement
When God is there to affectionately cement
Great ideas, we surely can easily invent
Tragedies' occurrence, we can ever prevent
In case we supply hope to kindly augment
Using soothing language if we supplement
We will contribute to souls' betterment
Mr. Jack Ellison has made a kind comment
So to thank him this poetry is now meant.
mvvenkataraman
The Puggily Smidgeburner and the Prettisome Guru
embark on finding Pug love at the town's rare breeds zoo
The guru’s desperately trying to find sad Puggily a date
and if things go to plan perhaps they’d eventually mate
They pass by many enclosures, stopping at the Jangaroo
but Janga was busy bouncing; as a mate she wouldn’t do
Poor Puggily’s crest starts to fall as they peer in every cage
guru says he mustn’t give up hope - he’s such a wise sage!
At the end of an overgrown path they see a big red sign
It says ‘endangered species’, please do not cross this line
But to Puggily Smidgeburner’s amazement and surprise
There’s a female Smidgeburner right before his very eyes
Prettisome Guru has a quiet word with the zoo keeper
he arranges a date so that lonely Puggily can meet her
Puggily’s date is Delicassa she is beautiful and sweet
and Puggily’s determined to sweep her right off her feet
They agree to meet next day on the dot at half past two
but Delicassa arrives a little late, as females often do!
She’s got tiny rainbow braids adorning her blonde hair
Puggily holds her paw, they chat away without a care
Very soon they are inseparable, he’s found his mate for life
after a whirlwind romance Delicassa becomes Puggily’s wife
In time she gives birth to Carena, their family’s complete
and both of them agree married life just cannot be beat!
The Puggily Smidgeburner and the Prettisome Guru Poetry Contest
Contest sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
3/24/19