Best Bequests Poems
I know you're out there
I can hear you ... typing, rat-a-tat-tat
I echo it, but place with intent
each finger-step just SO
each notion a necklace of keystrokes
individually-knotted
pearlescent beauties, round ...
~ I squeeze my mind of chaos, tamped and blessed
Thoughts gossamer, these tapestries I've pressed
'Tween leaves of crimped reprieves, if dispossessed ~
I scream without a face
my voice of subtle silence howling windward
I scratch messages on cell walls
my red breath burnt with the truth of negligence
exquisite sculptures ...
the words dripping like stigmata
Madonna's bloody tears, each precious ...
~ I place these golden dreams in phrased bequests
Bright dazzled shining gems of hearts expressed
Adorned with tender odes to thrum their breasts ~
How do SUCH ears not hear?
How can such breath-embezzling eyes not capture?!?
Should your own gray matter dance a-tongue
its metallic tang of truth would be lost
I would BEG you hate me ... with every fibre
but that is not love's opposite
THAT demon is the monster called 'Indifference' ...
~ I knot the rope wrapped 'round my throat, aware
That you and yours are pleased to kick the chair
Is there naught ONE poetic soul ... should care?? ~
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Does Anyone Care" Poetry Contest, Emile Pinet, Judge & Sponsor.
A Taste of Paradise
Passionate, moonlit nights ensconced in my beloved’s embrace,
A feeling of exquisite pleasure … we’re totally consumed by desire’s fire.
Restored is our faith in the enduring power of true love,
And the gift of infinite joy it bequests to the heart and soul.
Drunk on emotions, delightfully we soar, wrapped up
Intensely in these magical moments, glowing in rapture so divine, we
Sing a harmonious duet to enthralling heavenly music; so
Enchanting and eternal like stars is our love … we taste Paradise.
12-22-2015
Contest: Paradise - Acrostic
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Placement: 3rd
To be immune from aspersions mean and vile
May assuage our hurt feelings for awhile
But to really uphold the Golden Rule
We must also withhold words harsh and cruel—by poet
In an upside-down world
Where self-victimization
is a realization and hatred lingers, it goes nowhere
May not yet get it, and still not self-aware
Now some may think that healing is
Ignoring what is destroying and go on enjoining
others near them to do the same, their end game
Using, medicating with words as ammunition stored on a shelf
Toxicity is there, taken aback, down deep in yourself
Hatred lingers, collecting dust mites
Imploding, suffocating smites and is on reserve
In a mindset where glory they deserve
Personal gut-wrenching bile packaged
Collecting more dust, disgust has an impact
It only makes you a stronger hellcat
One that hasn’t let go of the baggage
Is in an upside-down world of their own
On their own and may think they’re OK
Flies in the ointment, stagnant, a delay, decay
In a world where “making it better” ails, and means
Undoing what has taken lives in time in details
Only bequests, and is deeded
A new form of healing is much needed
Healing is embracing the newest challenges
There are bigger issues, bigger things
Then just you, heed the warnings
It begins within
“Civil war tested the proposition that America is one nation indivisible”—from the book “With Malice Toward None"— Stephen B. Oates
I know you're out there ...
I can hear you ... typing, rat-a-tat-tat
I echo it, but place with intent
each finger-step, just SO
each notion a necklace of keystrokes
individually-knotted ...
pearlescent beauties, round ...
~ I squeeze my mind of chaos, tamped and blessed
Thoughts gossamer, these tapestries I've pressed
'Tween leaves of crimped reprieves, if dispossessed ~
I scream without a face
my voice of subtle silence howling windward
I scratch messages on cell walls
my red breath burnt with the truth of negligence
exquisite sculptures ...
the words dripping like stigmata
Madonna's bloody tears, each precious ...
~ I place these golden dreams in phrased bequests
Bright dazzled shining gems of hearts expressed
Adorned with tender odes to thrum their breasts ~
how do SUCH ears not hear?
how can such breath-embezzling eyes not capture?!?
should your own gray matter dance a-tongue
its metallic tang of truth would be lost ...
I would BEG you hate me ... with every fibre
but that is not love's opposite
THAT demon is the monster called 'indifference' ...
~ I knot the rope wrapped 'round my throat, aware
That you and yours are pleased to kick the chair
Is there naught ONE poetic soul ... should care?? ~
... not one?
Sunrise in the morning fills the heart with glee,
a new day, a new start for you and for me.
Quote - Poet’s own
To Each Devottee
Sun raised her head in a blaze of glory
Rising from behind a picturesque tree
I stood in awe as she rose to her space
To shine down on the world with lustrous grace.
The sky was a sight to glimpse this morning
Bright blue with wispy cloudscape adorning
Sunrise is stunning, as is the sunset
Alluring bequests of which earth is blessed.
Ofttimes I ponder o’er planets mystique
How round the universe asteroids creep
Of the moon and stars that light up the night
Though by morning have disappeared from sight.
Praise to the magnificent creation
Being viewed worldwide from every nation
In different time zones though it may be
It’s God's precious gift to each devotee.
* * *
23rd October 2022
G ifts of the heart are worth more than gold
I ronically possessions are what most behold
V isions of beauty surround us in so many forms
I nspired by grandeur should we not all be transformed
N ature bequests images that leave us spellbound
G lorious and breathtaking views that astound.
T reasuring the exquisite bond with one's soul mate
H appiness and serenity, memories that you create
A doring children who show unconditional love
N othing in this world compares or takes place of
K indness of true friends, is a priceless treasure
S uperior to none are these gifts that bring pleasure.
Contest Name ~ Counting Your Blessings
16/ 11/ 2012
Spring Rebirth
Spring wakes from hibernation on warm days
which March allows, near closure of her reign.
But, since she's fickle, wind and snow regain
the right to visit, spread their frosty glaze.
Yet, mostly, we will see new growth displays,
encouraged by spring air and April rain,
that splendidly repaint the dull terrain,
with verdant wash and lovely pastel haze.
Our reborn spring unveils her youthful glow,
unfolding on the plains and mountain crests.
Along the valleys and their streams below,
her blooms and leafy trees grace each plateau.
And coupling among creatures soon bequests
new life...to multiply, replenish, grow.
Sandra M. Haight
~10th Place~
Contest: Petrarchan Sonnet
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Rhyme Scheme: abbaabba cdccdc
The Journey
To save the criss-cross that lay ahead,
Set in epoch the traveller throng along,
With equestrian gallantry to solve the puzzle,
In divine supplication to attain the obligation.
And thus desire to maintain direction require,
With all the might and plight that attach instill.
Like Gulliver’s travails,you avail adventure,
Permeating municipal boundaries along magnificent rat-a-tats.
A hope for destination drives the traveller enroute,
And thus a large heart bequests the end.
The air of benevolence a promise of succour,
Trailing on surveillance and sourvenir alike.
Looking behind for memories of root depart,
That is left to romance the caress of bellow.
Like the colours of rainbow,you are clogged in entrepots,
Trodding the weary lanes with valiant approach.
Every hurdle scaled,every mantle attained beholds,
The valour of reminiscence on labour rend.
And seams renascent on time will concur,
The journey to the realm aspire.
Expectantly and nervously
I sought an empty chair.
Cousins I hadn’t seen for years
Were already gathered there.
We had come to hear the reading
Of Great Aunt Katie’s final will.
She had been left a wealthy widow
By my mama’s Uncle Bill.
We’d heard throughout the long years
That our Uncle Bill was loaded.
He was growing richer every day
Until his heart exploded.
Aunt Katie retreated from us
After Uncle Bill had died.
We heard that she was sorrowing
And every day she cried.
The lawyer cleared his husky throat
Before he began the reading.
He spoke to a captive audience,
Which every word was heeding.
I heard my name and was surprised
At the very princely sum
I would receive conditionally….
The conditions yet to come.
When the lawyer finished reading
All the bequests to the heirs,
He told them the conditions
Before inheritance was theirs.
Each would be given money
To be used for one in need.
We’d have to wait for our bequests
Until we’d finished our good deed.
It was not to go to a charity
Or individual that we’d known.
The money must go to someone
Who was struggling on his own.
As the daughter of two teachers,
I thought it might be fine
To seek out a worthy student
To fulfill this task of mine.
The school principal was happy
To tell me of a worthy lad
Who was struggling in his schooling
Without help from Mom and Dad.
He’d won a scholarship for high grades
But it wouldn’t be enough
To pay all of his expenses.
And it would be mighty tough
To keep up with his studies
In between his work and sleep.
I awarded twenty-five thousand,
Bargain with Aunt Kate to keep.
The young man is now the owner
Of an enviable degree,
And a job in his profession
With a future that’s debt free.
He says he’ll pay it forward
And I hope he surely will
In gratitude to our Aunt Katie
And her husband, Uncle Bill.
For contest
Help the Needy contest Won 2nd place
Signor Fellini
Imagine us
Respectful of your shadows
Held in suspension by your cinematic mirror
These dreams of yours
Realized through creation’s gift
Offer such ethereal answers
To those of us aroused
Beyond the screen
Your genius remains omnipresent
Extended for touching by hearts and minds
Beseeching all to embrace
Granting acknowledgment and insight
Beyond usual cinema bequests
Yes Signor Fellini
You brought your vision to our eyes
Asking not we accept
But merely contemplate the little boy
Made man behind the camera
For such curiosity
You granted patience
Never asking we believe your honesty
But to consider our own truth
Your essence remains present
Resounding quietly above life’s noise
Easily accessed with but memory
Thoughtfully embraced with smiles of trust
May the purity of La Dolce Vita’s final scene
The echo of silence
From distance unamplified
Whispering from within
Ever haunt those unable to listen
Those unwilling to hear
Seven was my number,
When you first gave me that gift,
The tunnel you forever fixed in my heart,
I can make you remember,
At home from Jean’s where I’d gone to mother play,
You thoroughly dribbled a hot stick on my entire,
A warning for me and my friends never to jumble,
It was the first day my mind tried a prison getaway,
Like you read my mind,
And discovered my intended road,
You welcomed me to a dinged home,
A hell a little girl had to face,
Daddy the respected name I called you,
And pleaded every moment to pass through,
You understood well what I wanted,
But you only jazzed plastics flames to my hands,
Like a refugee I sneaked my eyes as they played,
My chemicals dancing in pain whenever I moved,
The soar laughter my mouth wheezed,
With the aggregating pain whenever you mined deeper in my land,
They were never an outcast as you made me see,
Truth is they were the best bequests one could ever have,
The fine memories you prevented me from creating,
A slanted life is what you certified me to living,
You polluted my entire life,
From the day mum went to live in the skies,
That day I became an urchin even with you by my planes,
Even though am twenty now I still curse the heavens,
The sky that took away my life; bequeathed it to the monster,
My father a swine who instilled pain to always remember,
The punches he muted my cries with are cropped memories,
Too large to fit to the folder of my recollections,
The fair judgment belong to deity but this is my case,
The girl who swam in torture in many years without justice,
Am not ashamed to drive my own flesh to many years in jail,
Why should I free the man who censored my breath in his cell?
You tilted my world turning my head to a toddling object,
My soul bleeds from the stabs enterprised by your conducts,
My heart asthmatically dancing to rhythms of its sad songs,
Perhaps someday I will find my shadow; and forgive you; maybe then I shall decant this fuming pain,
“A penny for your dread?”
Bequests the breath of what is dead.
A wretched reek bequeathed by foul beasts,
Whose beaks do spread the fuel of feasts.
Lack in threat by the vacant mind,
Despite the curse of that which space provides.
Cheers to fears from fearless queers whose thirst is but a wish to quench,
The dearest tears shed in ashen shores who share the depth of an endless trench.
Fill the folly of cavity with silver serpent spies,
Whose eyes are lights of posted lamps aglow by slithered lies.
“Whisper, whisper, hear me mister,”
Says the pervading voice of an elder sister,
Twisting the skin into a coagulating yellow blister.
A Conquest- Last line prompt
When ink of romance
subdues respect for nature,
Exploitation begins
treasures seem perpetual,
Obliterated thoughts
drop down the curtains,
Devastation knocks
on constant failure to unveil,
A wake up call, wake up
with hunger to introspect,
Satiate this appetite
howbeit, the fancy foods,
A conquest ....
for luscious bequests
bestowed by Him,
Instead of drinking coffee
in cafes of Berlin.
Written Jan 28th, 2016
For contest by Julia Ward
Avoiding Pain? Suicide Might Help!
I don’t like to get hurt, grok this path that most walk,
so write poems for strangers (I never will meet,
verse few friends do abide short of formal requests)
that reveal mind in verse (where hearts bathe in the light
of exposure on page). Am I loading a gun
life might point at my head? Will my readers see threats
to their lives in a verse filled with blanks that roam free
or find fault I’ve ascribed trumps the guilt I’ve explored?
Though life’s problem at times, I adore, get adored.
Does fact many bright ships pass at night on time’s sea,
south stars missed in North Hemisphere, call for regrets?
Let me celebrate all that God grants - light from sun,
dreams encountered sleep whispers in sojourns at night,
threads muse follows in wisdom or folly, bequests
laced with sorrow and joy that frame truth bittersweet
I’d fain hang on this wall when I’m talking the talk!
I implore each dear friend to extend grace to pain,
for pain’s truth holds life lessons (that spurned pose grave risk)
Might pain hint you’re remiss in pursuit of some bliss?
Could a toothache suggest sweets close kin to decay?
Does a love that’s forbidden just heighten your burn
and imply you’re afraid of available love?
Is love real that would trick, dare to bribe heart to yield,
would love author a love that denied love a voice?
There’s no touch (one survives) that divorces real gain
though the strength of love’s contact seems long, is too brisk.
Would a lover of pressed flesh sigh, “too hit or miss?”
Pain, I ban for all life, courts a brother’s, “Hurray!”
and a sister in ‘left field’ asks, “When’s it my turn?”
What of pain felt by Noah awaiting God’s dove?
It’s a measure of love, that worst pain gets concealed,
most incredible love known whose pain stays your choice!
Long Tooth
February 19th in 2021
Be not becalmed, but busy, buzzy, bustling;
bedazzling but not bedraggled;
beloved, bewitched but be not besotted.
Be bewitching, but not belittling nor besmirching.
Begin to be -
become, belong, befriend, beseech, beget
Bewilder, befuddle, bedazzle,
Make bequests - beguile, beseech, bestow, bequeath,
to belay fate bedeviled with
what is not to be.
Beyond the buzzing, hustle and bumbling
be businesslike, but not belligerent nor bossy
Be bespattered with pollen begotten in harvest.