Best Arranging Poems
Meeting my homegirls Wilma Neels
and Kim Van Breda with shrieks and squeals
hasty introductions and we're on our way
for a night of reading at Poetry Café
We've Yasmin to thank for arranging the meet
with fellow Soupers, a veritable treat
Yasmin the sneak had their names withheld
we're apprehensive yet still by curiosity propelled
My fingers are crossed to meet Eileen
fave poetess mine, the Passionate Queen
dare I wish to meet hamsome Ryerson
not to mention Anne-Lise Andresen?
On first glance the café seems somewhat rowdy
from one of the corners a chorus of "Howdy!!!"
heaven help!! I'm rooted to the spot
all my fave poets from the Souper pot
The Queen of Passion, my special friend
Eileen Ghali, an angel heaven-sent
with open arms and that beguiling smile
that's touched us all over thousands of miles
I spot our Father Christmas, Jackie Ellison
Oh my, mercy me, the hamsome Tim Ryerson
then the beautiful being, Anne-Lise Andresen
and our pretty young doll, Anne Poetess Currin
Andrea, crack writer and popcorn freak
and Nette Onclaud, Madame Linguistics
the talented and sweet Leonora Galinta
oh, for a long time I've longed to meet her
There's the much-loved Reach-Out Lamoureux
a stylish gentleman, delighted to meet you
our very own Linda who happiness spreads
memorable the day as Brown Licia meets Red
He who writes poetry with a golden pen
bestest, fantasticest, hamsomest friend
Rich-Heart Seal-ed Door, my bruv from abroad
by his smile I'm bowled over; by his charm I am awed
I'm jumping with joy at my fave poets meet
befuddled, bewildered; who first to greet?
midst the mountain of talent I'm on a positive high
overwhelmed, I simply break down and cry
This one needs a whole lot of polishing and smoothing
out, but I was too excited to submit it. I'll iron out the
crinkles soon. LOVE TO YOU ALL, LICIA
When I gaze far off into the night sky
The chaos is not pleasing to the eye.
Seems there was never an overall plan
When the beginning of time began.
I don’t mean to sound so high and mighty
But the stuff up there’s not very tidy.
Yes, there are luminous constellations
But it needs cosmic configuration.
When figuring out just how to plan it
I started on the jumbled up planets.
It’s not a stretch to say they need sorting
And here are a few things I’m purporting.
First I thought they should be alphabetized
Or at least ordered according to size.
They could be arrayed by number of moons
But I think that’s getting too picayune.
Sure, there is a listing of other things
Like arranging them by their colored rings.
Or by what lie’s hidden beneath the dust
That entirely coats their outer crust.
I settled and placed them by dimension
As said plan will cause the least contention.
Starting with the sun, since that big old orb,
Can’t help but lead; being so self absorbed.
Petite planet Pluto, this time is first
Mercury’s next, then trodden Mars comes third.
After that Venus, followed by our Earth
Which were in that order, now they’re by girth.
Let’s jump up to Neptune, then Uranus
Which happens to rhyme with Ignoramus.
Yes fancy Saturn, you go next in line
Jupiter’s last, since so easy to find.
Let’s continue this celestial tale
By systematizing the scene, broad scale.
We’ll journey further than Venus and Mars
To coordinate the world of stars.
We can array each pulsar by brightness
Which doesn’t interest me the slightest.
Or chart them based on their distances from us
Though why on Earth quibble with all that fuss?
Instead we’ll do what the globe mappers did
And arrange every star on a grid,
We’ll plot a rough draft on large graph paper
Like olden times, by light of a taper.
Now, you can choose a square and stick by it.
Worry free of the old cosmic riot.
Where each and every star is viewed best
Whether gazing to north, south, east or west.
The sky is looking much better by now
And all the skeptics will have to avow.
That once you know how to rework matter
Like here on earth, it’s the size that matters.
~
If I gave you my heart on a big silver platter
would you sit with me here at the edge of the moon
Arranging the stars in a musical pattern
singing along as they whistle their tune
Then could we climb to the top of the tower
counting each step that we touched as we rose
Looking out over the valley in slumber
trying to guess every dream that they chose
Maybe then sail on an ocean of petals
riding each wave made of marigold leaves
Dropping our anchor just next to the garden
tied to a web that an old spider weaves
Or we might pick up a brush filled with laughter
painting a kite on the chuckling skies
Run with the string as a masterpiece follows
chasing a tail laced with blue butterflies
Kiss in a rainstorm of umbrella whispers
splashing in puddles reflecting your smile
Wake up the sun as it snoozes till lunchtime
rest in the shade holding hands for a while
If I gave you my heart on a big silver platter
showing you life is a beautiful view
Promising all you could ever imagine
would you give your heart on a big silver platter… too
~
"One can speak poetry just by arranging colours well,
just as one can say comforting things in music"
~ Vincent Van Gogh
You sing of beauty as you paint
in colors bold, with scant restraint -
poetic truths that harmonize
with tales of hope in the reprise.
A human symphony in oils,
of workers weary in their toils -
depicted honest, good, and true,
and your most loyal subject: you.
Compose a masterpiece to cast
poetic fragrances that last
one generation to the next
that parlay comfort to the vexed.
Though you were versed in tragedy,
you showed us, Vincent, what could be;
in vivid, dancing hues. Your goal:
portraying beauty of the soul.
Written 29 Jan 2022
With my words I love to play
rhyming everything I say
inside my head words squawk and rage
'til they're released upon the page.
It fills my heart with pure delight
to watch them growing as I write.
Oh how I love to make words rhyme
arranging them in metered time
until I have a perfect line
it sends chills up and down my spine
and I am blessed with endless joy
to use this gift that I employ.
Some of the things I write about
I know must leave some minds in doubt.
"Not good enough" some must claim
but that's ok I feel no shame.
I'll still write the way I do
and to my heart I will be true.
My knowledge of great works is small
in fact I don't know much at all
and I would never dare profess
to be a gifted poetess
'cause when it comes to poetry
I write just what comes naturally.
Born to rhyme, that is my game
and that is all you'll hear me claim.
To me this game is so much fun
it is my picnic in the sun.
It may sound lame or even sappy
but that's all right it makes me happy!
She is a dark skin girl
who sings in the church choir
He would see her passing every day
and she sets his heat on fire
He fell in love with her
But they never talk before
He would waits to see her
every day from his front door
He is an Indian boy
Works in his father company
He is an only child
from a very wealthy family
She is just a poor girl
Living down by the train line
She's a down to earth girl
always so polite and kind
One day he sees her walking home
so he went over to say hello
but then sees his father car
So he stop talking and leaves to go
But his father sees him
And at home started to yell and shout
He said "if you to talk to that girl again
You leave the house and get out
Why are you talking to her
To that poor girl who lives in the trace
If any body see you talking to her
you will bring me shame and disgrace
we're arranging marriage to a rich family
With a nice educated girl in san Fernando
We already made the arrangements
and this Sunday we have to go
Well he didn’t sleep all night
He love this poor girl so dearly
And if he don’t do something now
He knows how is his futures going to be
so he lie in bed all night awake
waiting for the break of dawn
then he packs his cloths in bag
and as the sub came up he was gone
Next morning he knocks on her door
her face lights up with a smile
He said if it’s ok with you
I really need to talk to you for awhile
I have always been in love with you
But was to shy to come out and say
but that you know "if you love me to
I will leave my father house today
His father disown his son that day
because their love was forbidden
But they married that that same week
and now have two beautiful children
Parents needs to understand
You can’t control your children mind
When they are grown and seek love
Their own happiness they will find
God created a world for us
With such beautiful nature
Life would be so boring?
If we all were the same color
We live in a world today
Every race thinks they are superior
But no matter what religion you are
There is only one Almighty savior
The path was long and arduous
And night began to veer
O’er trees, and lanes and rusted gates
Its' shadows breeding fear
Unbridled Wind wisped ‘round
Tombstone crosses where
Hissing its’ frustration
Loudly in despair
It sought to nourish fears
The shadows did create
Searching everywhere to find
It’s soul-less night-time mate.
Moonbeam light kissed the Night
Claiming shadows as their child
Together then in lock-step
They bent on running wild
And there, where he awaited
Their cold inspiring touch
With doctrines of all Evils
Firmly in his clutch
The blackness in his heart,
Thumping ‘neath his frock
Soon it’s rancid maladies
The Wind would there unlock
Thoughts of what’s to come
Then twisted lips to smile
Revealing stained and yellowed teeth
Trapping breath so rank and vile
‘twas then The Prince of Avarice
Rose and stood erect
The world would soon be his
To ravage and infect
His eyes of snake, both bespake
Behind their reptile lids
The embrace of the doctrine
For no Evils it forbids
The Wind increased its’ howling
Icy fingers pushing fro
Arranging fallen hopes
Into a dead rouleau
And you and I so un-suspect
Of pending alchemy
Believing we were safe inside
Cocoons of normalcy.
Our naiveté so firmly grasped
Caused us to belie
The chaos we knew not …
‘twas there, and drawing nigh
As Wind fingers touched him
He yelled out his decree:
“ The Prince of Avarice shall reign
And destroy Democracy!”
His school of ghouls, dunce and fools
Clamored to his side
Greed having won the day
Was about to take It’s ride!
Greed, first blessed the banks
And Wall Street did rejoice
The Prince of Avarice then silenced
All protestor ‘s voice
With lies and propaganda
All fabricated well
Then all the bankers rang
The borrowers death knell
Morgan Stanley, AGI,
Then ‘twas Goldman-Sachs
Raking in what Greed gave out:
Billions in green-backs.
Glutted bankers,
Through laughter Greed had honed
Uncaringly showed the world
A prediction - their prodrome
Of broken dreams, foreclosure schemes
Insuring that which failed
But jobs the cost, as homes were lost
And not a banker jailed.
Smith and Wesson’s cool steel kisses my right temple. I cock the hammer. The slow clicking of the cylinder’s turn is amplified through the barrel into my ear. Finger resting on the trigger; and I reminisce.
Striking that young maiden and the bright red trickle from her cheek, giving my flesh the appearance of eternal youth. How lovely it was to immerse in the warm blood of so many young virgins sacrificed for my vanity. And being left to die alone in my castle. What a waste.
In my lust for recognition I relished in terrorizing the streets of London. What a rush it was to baffle the authorities, putting my handy work on display; artistically arranging the bodies for my twisted desire. They say it was around twenty women strangled and mutilated, if they only knew the real number. But that passion weaned quickly. In my urge for a grandeur macabre I overdosed on heroine in hopes being able top that in my next incarnation.
As Feuer of an entire nation the delegation of wholesale slaughter didn't quite measure up to the ecstasy of someone else’s existence being extinguished through my own hands.
The era of free love lent to an easy spree of killings in northern California. In my need for some recognition, I teased the authorities with cryptic messages; to this day and my great disappointment they have not been able to decipher. The most that came out of it was a marriage of Clint Eastwood and Hollywood in the name of Dirty Harry.
Hugging my finger to the trigger giving it a strong, swift pull I can’t help but wonder, how do I achieve a higher satisfaction than when I delivered the Kiss of Death, sacrificing the Son of God for just a few shillings?
"Everything Halloween Contest"
Falling out of bed
Reading the headline
Drink Tea, cereal and a juicy fruit
Watching the clouds teasing to spit
Dressing quietly arranging lunch in my head
Locking the door
Walking, shuffling,
Looking straight ahead.
Come off the train when it starts to rain
“I have arrived” I tell myself but of course my colleagues don’t hear,
They all fell out of bed too in seems.
My employee mask is slightly loose today
Did it ever fit anyway?
At my desk writing a poem
Humming a song
Another working day has begun….
clippings fall onto the page,
arranging themselves.
ivy loosely parades
around a thorny rose stem,
tickles the chin,
entices the shy bud —
a blush,
potently pink, blossoms.
baby’s breath
and Queen Anne’s lace,
like bridesmaids,
intensify her beauty.
a pond of water
in a shimmering vase, nearby.
possibilities.
11/1/2019
Written: July 10, 2023
______________________________________________________________
The rain poured, a symphony of tears.
Washing away all the pain of yesterday.
Each droplet is a harbinger of hope and appears
As it danced upon the windowpane and sway.
Every storm is followed by a rainbow.
A promise of beauty after the decay
Colors burst forth in a vibrant blow.
Reminding us that joy can always find its way.
Every cloud passes through such a mirage.
A fleeting moment in the grand design.
Even the darkest sky holds a corsage.
A reminder that the sun will rise and shine
Each morning, the world awakens anew.
As the sun fills the earth with warmth.
Its golden rays caress the land view
Creating a tapestry of light forth.
and shadows that dance on the ground,
A symphony of colors and textures was found.
Fresh horizons beckon, waiting to explore.
As the sun's rays paint dreams upon the shore.
Nothing remains the same; it is ever-changing.
As a river that flows through the valleys and plains.
The light of day will prevail, arranging
Guiding us through the darkest lanes.
We find the strength to rise above our pain.
To embrace the beauty that emerges after the rain.
For in every storm, there lies a hidden grace,
A chance for growth and a fresh embrace.
Still as the color gray, stone cold
And unfeeling,
Like a sorrow that has been paid
By the heart who loves, loves gently,
Gladly, with sincerity and affection,
A trembling sense of joy and generosity
Raining light full of blessings.
Silent as the crisp, cool winter, bitter
And stifling the feelings
Who bleed light, soft and gentle,
Into the heart of each snowflake that settles,
Beyond the dark night,
Beside the shimmering stars, the moon
So bright it seems to sigh it’s phantastic,
Wonder so bright it grows wise in its song.
Soothing away the darkness, the night
Softly glowing with heaven’s delight,
Insight into the realms of peace, so alive,
Like butterflies and winged creatures,
Angels who abide past prayers,
In shadows, so graceful, arranging for love,
Trembling adoration, awake and calm,
Shining as bright as the morning sun –
Pouring out joy, on and on…
Nevertheless, there in the whispers
Fondling the darkness, the memories
Exploding on hearts who hear her quivering,
Breath, flowing like the enchanted truth,
Wings winsome, bringing beauty,
Souls marked by hope – spontaneous light,
Freezing in place the joy, the grace,
Unaffected by the doubts,
Deception all around, yet it cannot wound,
It is here and now, where we see…
Through the hesitant words, into the rhythm
Homeless poems, making a way through the deserts,
Wilderness of verses unknown, unheard, unbroken
Words, dead like the promise of a heart…
Seeking peace from the dark – seeking
Light from the murky waters of doubt,
Seeking love in the cold winter of a past,
Where love was trampled out of hope’s grasp,
A past where love never was asked…
Could it last? Oh, dear… could it last?
Clocks
Remind us
How fast
Our lives pass
Clocks
Throw numbers
In our faces
Seconds and minutes
Clocks
We glance at them
In the beginning of the day
And often at the end of our work day
Clocks
Always keeping track
Re-arranging our day
Without fail
Clocks
Always watching
Keeping time
Reminding us
Our constant
THE MATRIARCH
(In Memory of Eva Vescovi Dixon 1910-2010)
by Tina (Vescovi) Lasley
She was a Sister, Mother, Aunt and Friend
Someone on whom you could always depend
She was Counselor, Advisor, and Mentor to all
There to pick us up if we should fall
She was persistent, tenacious and so strong willed
Not one to be stopped or one to be stilled
She was ahead of her time in so many ways
Working on war planes in her early days
Owning a restaurant and a Florist too
When it was an uncommon thing for Women to do
Arranging flowers each and every day
Making sprays and bouquets to earn her way
Raising two Sons all on her own
Without self help books and how to be shown
Working long hours, six days a week
No time for vacations or much rest to seek
She made time for us all, to sit and chat
Telling stories from the past about this and that
She remembered all the names in the photo book
When we would ask as we took a look
Her homemade ravioli’s were the best around
Her sweet potato pie could always be found
Family recipes passed one to another
Learned from the great Italian Mother
She kept regular hair appointments, clear to the end
Her “Beauty Operator”, more Family than Friend
She was loved by her neighbors and all that she knew
Long standing friendships through the years that grew
Each year, her garden she’d tend
Sharing her bounty with Family and Friend
There wasn’t a plant she couldn’t revive
Even when you thought it would never survive
She tried to retire at age 75
But missed being around people and feeling alive
Back to work she went for 17 more years
Working part time at a Florist that happened to be near
She retired a 2nd time at age 92
Finding ways to keep busy with things to do
She befriended two robins that followed her around
Moving from window to window, until she could be found
Grandmother, Great Grandmother, to such a big brood
Her hugs and kisses sure to lift your mood
She will always be remembered at the door waving goodbye
Trying hard to smile with a tear in her eye
She saw so much in her 100 years
Even outlived all of her peers
But the good Lord said, “Eva, it’s time to go”
Heaven is waiting on you to show.
So much for my ideas of slowing down,
Taking it easy just sitting watching TV.
I moved to a peaceful seaside town,
Since then I have found a few things occupy me.
I play bridge at least three times every week,
Read poems with a group on Thursday afternoons,
For extra fun I can find anything I seek
And I can write about it and put it to tunes.
On Tuesday mornings I see my four men
In the U3A song writing group that I run.
They compose their music on my key board and then
I write some words and another song has begun.
The women visit Fridays. We have fun,
Writing rhymes, banging bongos, blow didgeridoos,
Each week there are many things waiting to be done
Bells to shake, guitars to play, so much to choose.
Hairdressers, library, lots of jigsaws to do,
Trips to town, trips to do weekly shopping,
Mah-jong, Scrabble, flower arranging, cooking too,
Tea dances, line dancing from foot to foot hopping.
Each week at the local coffee morning
I get to hear about all that is being planned,
There’s knitting, card making, keep fit and it’s dawning
NO TIME FOR TV I’m too busy, understand!