Best Assembling Poems
French Bread
Your index finger
draws figure-eights
in the dusting of flour
on the counter top
where you lean
quite casually,
watching as I make
a loaf of French bread.
Then, laughing a bit,
you insert your powdery finger
into my right ear.
I’m startled...
I was so very focused
on assembling ingredients
that I wasn’t aware
of my surroundings,
at least not enough to see
your finger inching its way
toward me. I laugh too,
realizing the intimacy
of your floured finger.
Somehow,
I don’t believe
your interest is in my baking,
but I proceed on to
proofing the yeast
in warm water,
watching carefully
for the always-shocking
bloom’s suggestion
of the possible,
our palates fine-tuned
to the perfume
of earth and damp places.
Thus begins the slow tango
of dryness becoming wet,
a touch of salt-taste,
elements bound together
by the slippery
until there is inseparable oneness,
deep warmth in the joining,
the inevitable rising,
swelling seeking relief.
But not yet, oh no...
First there must be a pause,
a relaxation of the engorged,
consummation delayed,
then the pressure of my hands,
pressing-on,
pressing and shaping and pressing.
We sip our wine,
talk quietly, anticipating
the inevitable increase,
saying between us,
“We’re ready for the final phase:
the heat that binds,
coalesces the disparate ingredients,
yielding at last to the
inevitable delectable finish.”
Later, cooling as it always must,
we can’t resist
nibbling still-warm bits
dipped in melted butter,
feeding them to each other,
transcending words,
finding new ways of seeing
one another.
Written November 23, 2013
for Charlotte’s Scorchers.
Categories:
assembling, sensual,
Form:
Free verse
Creedence aligned along the corridores of passage
Which usher in through the portends
This Autumn's door....
Such colourful banners a latitudes sprinkling
Flowering waters of repose that still echo
Inside, these sanctuaries walls
Guarded by the sentry whom stands at their gate
The entrance unto the destined temple
Of the blessed, as eternal Soul....
Silver and gold adorning nativities scene
A sacred reminder of divinities call
To have and to hold such prophetical promises
Profound, laid afore this starlit altar
Treasures as verse whose words do echo
Atop the tumbling of her organs keys....
Assembling choirs their Angelic voices
Proclaiming these melodies in harmonic chords
Whileas the infant smiled, and gazed into the future
***********************************************
..In, through the Autumn's Door ~
Categories:
assembling, birth, light, love,
Form:
See this girl in the painting, this skinny girl
working on a puzzle at the bottom of the stairs.
With big rimmed glasses and her plain brown hair,
she’s an ordinary girl, with nothing seeming special.
Now see this girl. . . really SEE this girl.
At age 12, she’s just been fitted with new glasses -
They are black horn-rimmed - an utter disappointment
in the life of a young girl.
Some guys now call her four-eyes, and they don’t even notice
the beauty of her light green eyes and
long lush lashes behind those big-framed glasses.
But still she likes to fantasize, and in her dreams
she’s idolized by every boy she likes.
Always having wanted to be part of the “in” crowd,
she was a girl that struggled for popularity.
However, she’s been learning of another way to be!
Seeking out girls more like her, she hardly has to try
to fit in with her new friends. And now she’s much less shy.
With fun new friends, she is witty. She makes them laugh.
She’s even feeling pretty, wearing lipstick frosty pink.
She’s discovered she is smart in all her classes.
This girl who now is wearing black rimmed glasses!
She gets into the Glee Club, even sings on PBS!
With her athleticism, she also has success.
She makes Top Twelve in tryouts for cheerleading.
And though the student body does not vote her through,
she’ll soon get over it. She’s blossoming!
The glasses she will change for contact lenses,
and she does not know it yet,
but soon enough - a number of boyfriends she will get!
Also years of dance lessons and being in recitals
has boosted her self confidence.
Both her body and her spirit are transforming!
See the girl in the painting; a puzzle she assembles.
She does not know that one day
her mind will be on puzzles of a very different kind:
She will be assembling many words inside her mind,
and she will be partaking in an art called poetry.
I know all this because
the girl inside that painting - that ordinary girl -
is the one I used to be.
Based on the painting "Assembling the Pieces"
from Contemporary Figurative Artiste Stephanie Deshpande
for the Contemporary Free Rhyme Contest of Cyndi MacMillan
I hope you will see the painting at this link. When I saw the girl, I was
struck by how much it looked like me as a young girl: http://www.stephaniedeshpande.com/porfolio/
Categories:
assembling, character,
Form:
Free verse
My muse had a good idea,
Let's flood the world with Ikea!
Dysfunctional kits, there and here,
For guns and bombs,
No one would care,
They would be assembling Ikea,
Each kit, four missing bits,
Wrong pictures to give them the blip,
Globally occupied with dysfunctional Ikea,
Now isn't this a good idea,
Peace on Earth brought by Ikea?
Categories:
assembling, dream, earth, peace,
Form:
Free verse
Credence aligned along the corridores of passage
Which usher in through the portends
This autumns door....
Such colourful banners of latitudes sprinkling
Flowing waters of repose that still echo
Inside, these sanctuaries walls
Guarded by the sentry whom stands at their gate
The entrance to the destined temple
Of the blessed, and eternal soul....
Silver and gold adorning nativities scene
A sacred reminder of divinities call
To have and to hold such prophetical promises
"Profound," laid afore this starlit alter
Treasures as verse, whose words do echo
Atop the tumbling of the organs keys....
Assembling choirs of angelic voices
Proclaiming these melodies of harmonies chords
While the infant smiled, and gazed into the future
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In, through the autumns door ~
Categories:
assembling, life, love, time
Form:
The ground rumbles, ominously, I'm on the steep side of a Mississippi River Bluff, mid-August, gathering bursting crimson red trophies of Staghorn Sumac for my favorite sumac-ade, a spright, invigorating tonic I enjoy this time of year. The smell in the air, forest-sage beginning to dry and ripen, the bitter tang of scattered paper-birch bark chimneys...must keep alert for the origins of the earthly rumble.
The unsettled earth, sweet and bitter smells...mix with my age and I sit down as if in a trance and drift asleep...harkening back to my training as a young man in a Manhattan Bagel Deli, assembling prep-stations for the customer onslaught about to descend. Proofed bagel dough, seeded and rotating in the elevator slate-shelved oven after a frothy malt-bath in the bubbling giant kettle, delectable aromas of fairly vibrating paper-sliced spiced meats and piquant aged cheeses, briny sheets of smoked lox, pots of sweetly acidic capers and luminous heirloom tomatoes...
But I'm much older now, my mind remembers, but my body can't function like it once did, I can't perform the once-easy configurations effortlessly like before.
The rumbling, just my imagination...
I awaken, gather my bunch of fluorescent sumac, which I am still able to concoct, mindful of God's Grace in my spiritual and physical evolution...He
Has Blessed me with.
8-13-20
6:03 am
Categories:
assembling, age,
Form:
Narrative
I want to see the America, my grandparents saw;
The promise of freedom, and justice for all.
Where to be an American, a privilege, from "sea to shining sea",
They left us a gift, to protect, our priceless legacy.
Where constitutional laws were created; intended to be upheld,
Not amended, for an egregious agenda.
Where freedom of speech, was once our natural born right,
Assembling in peace, without fury or fight.
Where facts in journalism are restored,
And politicians don't ignore, the voices of "We the People."
Where a kaleidoscope of cultures, a human tapestry,
Now, hangs in the balance, of fragility.
Where history is not in the shadows of disgrace,
It is the key to our future, to move forward and embrace.
Where the anthem of our nation, brings us to our feet,
And our pledge of allegiance, we all repeat.
I want to see the America, my grandparents left behind,
Where again, there is opportunity to find,
"Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness."
For "What You Really Want" poetry contest.
Sponsored by: Richard Lamoureux
March 23, 2021 - C
Placed 2nd in contest
Categories:
assembling, political,
Form:
Political Verse
It saddens me to gaze upon the stars
I see them blinking, fighting back their tears
Reminding me our distance is so far
Their numbers are the days without you near
Assembling pieces of my scattered thoughts
An image comes to me in stained glass scenes
Subconsciously I gather shards embossed
Create a picture of you here with me
Then suddenly a sign from fate appears
A shooting star takes flight across the sky
I close my eyes and wish that you were here
To stay with me and never say goodbye
I think about the happiness love brings
Then go inside to dream my stained glass dream
an original poem by Daniel Turner
Categories:
assembling, longing, love, stars,
Form:
Sonnet
As I travel through my storied life on Earth
My Reflections become more pure and valued for what they're worth
Strength, depth, purity and serenity of those traveling with me on this entity
Give so much totality, spirituality and utter calm to my reality
It's like assembling a puzzle that has no picture for guidance
But with each passing day and new Souls that I find, times infinity shows providence
With each new piece that I put in place
Memories of that experience I can't help but retrace
I write so often about the love I have to give
But in this moment perhaps I've realized how to appreciate the love I've received to live
So all those who read this in this time or the next
Thank you for the love you've given and the love the future reflects
Categories:
assembling, best friend, care, feelings,
Form:
Narrative
Did I ever know that I would be born?
Did I decide my psyche and physique?
Why is a rose shielded by a sharp thorn?
Providence creates each creature unique.
I think of building a castle for me.
I end up assembling a thatched hut.
When I, like a sparrow, wish to be free
An unknown force, from within, keeps me shut.
Untimely rain signs on the summer breeze
Floods and droughts play tragedies unannounced.
Earthquakes shake the inmost shrines of the seas.
Divine verdict is wordlessly pronounced.
Events, like gift foils, wrap my existence.
Existence, in turn, is wrapped by Providence.
Categories:
assembling, fate, god, life,
Form:
Sonnet
**A WINNING POEM**
That night, my heart pleaded i should
Wait over and pass the night at grand pa's
Old inn.
Enormous was my concern to reach home
And see Constance La France.... the rambling poet.
About "create your own form, may be?"
I embraced the night and darkness mingled
With my eyes;
Yonder are night workers,
Here and there they wander,
Seaching for who to plunder,
Oh! what a mighty wonder.
Look at that supermarket,
And a man with a mask,
Gun and matchet,
He most be a burglar,
Oh! i must be undercover,
Or else i step into danger,
For the night is in dark anger.
"Ahh! ahhh!! ahhhh!!!" the cry of a victim,
Something must have wrought a cry,
Who will be the rescue?
For me, this night walk must linger.
Look at the police, having me as an
Accomplice, they need my identity and money,
Yet yonder is the victim crying....
Look over there! drug users
Assembling in dark corners,
Swaying like feathers,
In the midst of their daily rituals,
That is never beneficial,
Oh! blind earth leading to an open death.
Group upon groups, stationed in their post,
Looking so malicious, looking so vicious,
Brandishing weapons, ready for the slaughter,
Gun shoots clatter as a group fight starter.
Charles melody has seen wonder
And endless palaver.
Knives mingled with flesh, blood and bone,
Men eager and bold,
Heads bounce like ball,
Suddenly, calmness......
Gba! gba!! gba!!! another trigger's verdict?
Lord when will these pass over?
For i am likening to salt in water,
Never to calm and ponder,
The night walk seemed not to be over.
For the night is in dark anger....
BY CHARLES MELODY (Lightening Ink) **14TH PLACE IN
CONSTANCE LA FRANCE CONTEST,
WITH THE THEME; "DEEP, DARK AND DRAMATIC".
===============================
The form of this poem is called,"stream of consciousness."
i formed it so because the thought kept coming
like a stream or river of consciousness in my mind,
i was conscious of the dangers i knew, especially in my Little
African village and the war that covered it.
For "Constance La France, the Rambling poet's contest.
Categories:
assembling, adventure, confusion, death, faith,
Form:
Lyric
The Tal-Dareem are fighting-mad;
They've realized they've just been had.
Expect soon Zealots and Stalkers,
Immortals and those "cliff walkers".
Zerg Hydralisks are assembling just out of range,
Supported by Roaches, Infestors, Banelings,…
The Mutalisks are hovering beyond our turrets,
Brutalisks are moving—it’s looking quite desperate.
What matter's most: who'll be standing last,
So let's hit 'em hard and hit 'em fast.
There’s a silver lining for each “end of the world”:
My shift’s almost done and my Siege Tank’s been rebuilt.
I could spend my last hours paralyzed in fright;
But no, I got a date with that cute medic tonight.
Protoss Carriers and Voids will fill the sky,
And Dark Templars may be sneakin' by.
Double the turrets, add more bunkers--
Fill them with Marines and Marauders.
What matters most: who's standing last,
So hit 'em hard and hit 'em fast!
I took several stim-packs off a dead Marine,
And I’ll take a few jolts if she gives me the green.
So all those bug-eyed-monsters better stay out of sight…
Better not mess with me and my Medic tonight.
So we’re all out of minerals, almost out of Vespene.
We’re training our last Marauders, building our last Viking.
But if our Ghosts and Banshees hit the Zerg and Protoss just right,
I might still be around for my Medic tonight.
Got a date with that blue-eyed young medic tonight.
You know, the one that I’ve had for months in my sights.
If my Siege Tank’s a rockin’, don’t come a knockin’.
Got a date with that pretty sweet medic tonight.
Jim Raynor's Raiders will soon be back;
Load your ammo, get ready to counter-attack!
So train more Reapers for rear missions:
Sneak around back, take out their pylons.
Make sure we're the ones left standing last.
Just keep hitting 'em hard and hitting 'em fast.
Categories:
assembling, games, science fiction, space,
Form:
Lyric
I walk this earth, unbeknown to human kind
an heir to Legends, men of mighty deeds
who through the force of fire and stars we find
those such as I the offspring of their seeds.
Hercules, his power and strength unmatched
was challenged by the Gods, challenged in vain,
the Hydra by his own hand was dispatched
and Nemean Lion, too, met fate the same.
Achilles, near invincible I'll admit
(and yes I know he sometimes dressed like ladies)
sent countless warriors into the pit
ne'er to return, unseen the realm of Hades.
Fin MacCoul took on Aillen, Tuatha De Danann,
when each year on Tara the creature rounded,
but finally fell by the spear of man
and sleeps until Dord Fiann thrice is sounded.
With Hammer, Iron glove, from Nordic stock
the mighty Thor showed Jotnar who was boss,
until his end foretold at Ragnarok,
a testament in stone on Thorwalds cross.
From such as these who stories shall not end,
these champions and Gods, what e're their names,
I also by my deeds now do descend
to stand among their ranks and stake my claim.
For I, too, am Hero.
I change a three pin plug without a thought
without referring to a diagram,
assembling flat pack furniture is nought,
no need have I of cryptic two page plans.
Foregoing sleep, no need for sustenance
household spiders with glass I stalk and snare
then fearlessly propel them over fence
to neighbour's garden where they languish there.
The lids of pickle jars cannot withstand
onslaught from twisting sinews in my wrist,
abhorring a vacuum, by my command
they pop, admit defeat, cannot resist.
The elements and I stand face to face
as windows I squeegee atop a ladder,
my maiden below holds me firm in place
yet fearful lest I should relieve my bladder.
My Lady is thus pleased I wield such powers,
I take her approbation with a nod,
happy she won't now nag me for an hour
for by these feats, for once-
I am a God.
Categories:
assembling, humor, myth,
Form:
Rhyme
The top ten reasons not to go to church,
Clingy Christians may come and lurch!
It is so boring that I’m sure to fall asleep,
The Pastor’s message may make me weep!
I am too busy with sports and stuff,
In my life, I have enough!
They want all the money I labor for,
Or they think they’re better, for I am poor!
I am too tired, from a week of work,
The singing and dancing, they are berserk!
And the number one reason in the nation,
they are hypocrite’s, crying tribulation!
With ten more reasons, I’ll sum this up,
to why my friend you should drink this cup!
Church is a place where love abounds,
A place where the lost can be found!
Church is made up of God’s people,
that gather together under a steeple!
Yes, they stumble, sometimes they fall,
But given the chance, your phone they’d call!
Every person who does attend,
Has had a hurt they’d like to mend!
There are fellowship and spiritual guidance,
When all the laughter has subsided!
It is a place that does help others,
Everyone is called sisters and brothers!
But the number one reason to go to church,
Is to draw close to Jesus, and yes it works!
I remember the day I first walked in,
I knew they could see my faults, my sin!
I thought they judged me from the start,
But oh so wrong, on my part!
Now I myself am one of THEM,
And NO my friend I don’t CONDEMN!
We have all made mistakes,
But thanks you Jesus, he gives and takes!
He gives life to all who ask,
And took the sin in which we bask!
He showed me love, and now I can share,
Will you come, my friend, I'll save you a chair!
And let us consider one another to provoke unto love and to good works. Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is; but exhorting one another: and so much more, as you see the day approaching.
Hebrews 10: 24-25
Categories:
assembling, christian, relationship,
Form:
Rhyme
Zone
By Kieran Pavlick
26 October 2012
Stitch me back together,
whether it hurts me or not.
I still don’t know if I was
Blown up or shot.
The brain plays tricks,
maybe a bullet or
shrapnel from bricks.
I ain’t afraid of dyin’
I’m in a macho clique.
We expect the worst to happen.
Part of that is Rappin’ and
Some of it is Shtick.
You doin’ it with super glue?
How modern of you.
From assembling model airplanes,
To jigsaw puzzles, Dude
Technology took away stitches, so
I won’t look Frankenstein crude
Categories:
assembling, war, me,
Form:
Rhyme