Best Betook Poems

The horizon was brewing ominous clouds,
Dark as if they came out of hell.
The once azure sky became hazy
As the north wind chilly breezes
Puffed up more stratocumulus,
Rain-heavy clouds signified storms.

I rested against the balustrade
Of the promenade, looking down at the sea.
Waves upon waves dashed at the...

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Dawn spread iridescence hues,
Dancing on nooks and crevices
Of the high mountains.

Down in the verdurous vale
In nooks of winding paths
Grew all sorts of fruit 
Like honeyberries, blueberries,
Jewelweed and yarrow.  

I was more interested in the berries, 
And picked as much as I could.
Before the shy...

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Her name was Brenda Bates, a novelist
bewitched from burrowing inside her book
of fiction 'bout a boatman, Bo Barist,
the character who botched her life...betook
control of him believing he was true. 
Becharmed, beguiled, she wanted this bold man,
who she had brought to life as best she knew,...

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It was said I was born of quenched love,
almost vanquished by a storm along
the Red Sea in a  din of gray  November.
Wandering around  dunes, a Maiden
kind housed me comfortably--
O she, laughing among lilies in the quiet
and wild  current; nourishing my psyche
with...

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Impossible mission to sleep on opposite side of marital bed...

Oddly enough even 
when frolicking in the autumn mist
with seasoned super tramping 
cheaply tricked out goo goo dolls
some resembling Indigo Girls,
one foo fighting beastie boy
unable to adjust snoozing 
on the left bedside.

Don't ask me why,
cuz we...

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By morning, I could feel the first hints of warm air,
Relieved I took my bath and dressed for work.
There was no music in the block of flats,
But in my head rumbled a hundred old time songs 
That tantalized me into a stupor of great expectancy.

Down...

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It was me, Cleo and you.
Occasionally hugging, occasionally kissing.
Along the promenade we walked, 
Enjoying the light breeze from the sea,
As the crimson sun began its silent descent. 
Arm in arm all three, elated, we approached 
The ancient tavern at the end of the stroll. 
People...

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oft times ('specially 
   these latter un-sainted days and nights) 
   death doth haunt me zeitgeist
which thoughts of my demise
 
   crowds out purposeful thinking  
   in the twitching mind kempf
   paradigm of this...

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Up up the fly away wig doth go revisited and revised April 19th, 2023

IM pen named Pilot Jane A. Rug
who ascribes to writing poetry
as opportunistic, holistic, and cathartic
warming me body electric
courtesy an outsize 
warm brimful coffee mug
I savor and slowly chug.

Toupee piece blew off me...

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Increase In Head Size

impossible mission to encapsulate notion 
flitting hither and yon, to and fro
within cranium attached to mine body,
whereby irrefutable proof prevails
predicated when yours truly
scrutinizes other people visibly aware,
I a modest married male 
blessed, gifted, whence   
after Scottish Tartan welcome mat unrolled...

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The moonlit night echoed with the tireless thrill
Of the camouflaged cicadas chirping the time away.
A small tear fell downwards wetting her soft down
In sheer happiness.  He kissed her tenderly,
Brushing her luscious lips with tender endearment.

Here and there fireflies danced to the cicadas tune.
The leaves...

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noah wide dee ya when,
where, why or how then
thine ark of in sight fullness, pen
(viz uber taurus), men
sans quirky physiological ken
focus a ford did afore hen
chosen poetic themed word den.

this tire less un escort head
eureka moment (regarding
figurative crash test
dummy awakening) drove home
this aye opening
pissed tin,...

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An image of the netherworld envisioned by a misanthrope

Mein kampf fraught re: 
emotionally/psychologically challenged 
impossible mission to cope
compared to classmates, I felt like a dope
and entertained escapist fantasies,
whereby Miss Rainbow 
(sixth grade student teacher),
though robbing the cat's cradle, 
she would abscond with me, 
a shy...

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Night had been short, I still was highly tired
for my bones had been badly maltreated
during exhausting marches. I admired
comrade John who recently had cheated
the Reaper in the north at Stamford Bridge.
I left the troops and headed for a beech
where I relieved myself. The coming fight
transformed...

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Deep within Earthen bowels
immensely distant from sheltering sky
amidst a thick fog enveloped landscape
with here and there a projected
craggy, derelict chasm

precipitously crooked 
rocky claws pointing toward
an infinitely wide yawning abyss
dwelt kindred spirits 

comprising soul asylum
where grateful dead (albeit marked,
via weathered tomb stones) 
hermetically sealed
once vibrant corporeal...

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