Best Big Poems
Set your sights high
Follow what your heart desires
There’s nothing you can’t do
With your deepest breath
Take in the universe
There’s nothing you can’t do
Dream your dream in vivid colors
Make it all come true
There’s nothing you can’t do
Live the life your soul desires
There’s nothing you can’t do
There’s nothing you can’t do
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~STAY TRUE~ 2023
AP: 1st place
December 22, 2018 POEM OF THE DAY
Originally posted on December 20, 2018
Your theory makes quite the impression
But I have this nagging obsession
A huge mass of matter
Explodes in a scatter
This is a layman's 'dumb' question
From whence came this gigantic ball?
Just how did the whole thing befall?
What was there before that?
And before even that?
And so on and so forth, et.al
Blank space, only vacuum you say?
Endless void? Flat nothing? Okay
Is nothing just nothing,
Or ain't nothing something
And what made the nothing I pray?
The difference in saying you,
a great big unseen pointed finger, or we.
I didn’t know. Some figurines
wave while others scrutinize with wizened eyes.
The analytic panics, hairs raised by static.
The simple leans in to catch butterflies. One is cynical.
The other sensuous. One slaps your hand away.
One squeezes it. Personality
like the word itself broken in pieces, a flotilla.
In the storm the words like jigsaw waves.
In placidity, the sun’s too hot or doldrum’s ebb and flow.
We will make it!
Still, even in this exchange, coarse sand,
a castle with a moat. Your motives sought - there I go again
“Y O U R…”
Sisterly size-up. Am I trying to win? I didn’t know
we were preparing to arm wrestle. I’m unshaped,
neither the flat piece of a puzzle or linked.
The dreamy sky from the beach. Salt in the air,
eyes on the horizon, lap of the waves —
the same lift I feel when swinging high and higher.
The excitement of adventure, no one’s judging
my every word. I’m breathless…it’s breathtaking
when my feet float above the ground.
There I’m in the arms of love. There I point
and God answers with his digit reaching out, touching mine.
I am reborn by the finger of God.
We will make it!
12/19/2020
If there should be a pot hole as deep as Satan’s pit
appearing as I’m driving, I’d run right over it!
My husband’s luck is worse than mine, but we’re a package deal.
So every bad thing that befalls him, I can also feel!
One day I lost my best cat ever; needing a new pet,
I looked and looked to find a cat, the best that I could get.
One person getting desperate with no new owner found
was feeling sad he’d have to take his poor cat to the pound.
His cat , though not a lap cat, was pretty, sleek and black.
The guy was leaving town; there’d be no way to give her back!
I like to look to numbers for the logic that they show.
Two negatives makes positive; that’s one true fact I know!
So if a person has bad luck, it stands to reason that
perhaps his bad luck could reverse by having a black cat!!
I got that cat! She loudly purrs, which I find comforting
It’s like my mom is right nearby with lullabies to sing.
The cat’s my charm when in my arms; my luck has turned around,
for she’s become the second best of cats I ever found!
So if with many problems you’re always getting stuck,
just get yourself a big black cat to cancel out bad luck!
For the Create an Idiom Contest of Jesse Day
(For those who don't know about this contest, the title is an idiom I made up for this poem)
My favorite cousin named Marge
is almost as big as a barge.
So one would assume,
not knowing the groom,
the guy would most likely be large.
But he was a small man named Tim
“As thin as a broom” describes him.
While Marge would guffaw,
Tim would watch her with awe
and just smile for he was so prim!
When the preacher addressed him and said,
“You may now kiss the bride,” Tim turned red,
for their lips could not meet.
With high heels on her feet,
Marge stood towering over his head.
She leaned down while Tim stood on his toes,
but for being in such a strange pose,
Marge then came toppling down
crushing Tim neath her gown
while the whole church erupted in “Ohhhhh’s.”
All was well, and thereafter, we ate;
then we planned next to dance until late.
But none could foresee
the small tragedy
that had us all leaving by eight!
Marge had tossed off her heels for a glide
on the dance floor, but when they both tried
to dance, Tim got snagged
by that dang gown and dragged
as his bride was beginning to slide. . .
Now shoeless, poor Marge could not stop.
Toward a table with candles on top,
they slid, and the groom
then set fire to the room
by landing with a belly flop.
Poor Tim by the candles got lit,
and we were all having a fit,
for the fire got spread fast
till the Best Man at last
got us all wet extinguishing it!
Inspired by the title of the movie: My Big Fat Greek Wedding
& : Joann Grisetti's "My Cousin's Wedding" Poetry contest
Once upon an ancient time,
in long gone languid days,
when distant misted myths bechanced
in lovely rhym'ed ways,
when time was so much freer,
less allotted to the minute,
‘twas then the mighty Big Mac got the gherkin in it.
The night was one made fit for gods,
and stars made white the sky,
and drunk, dylsexic old McDonald
sang Oh Eee, Oh Eee, I.
His greatest yet creation
sat on his barbie plate,
it was the mighty Big Mac with no inkling of its fate.
McDonald thought the pattie lacked
a certain...
Il ne savait pas.
He decided what he'd give it was this green thing from a jar.
But Big Mac cried out, ‘Hang about!
I like the way I am!
And I think that what I need the least is a prostate gland exam.'
McDonald growled, ‘Don't be a sook!
It's not gonna hurt a bit.
Just close your eyes and grit your teeth and keep loose where you sit.'
Big Mac firmly grasped his bun
and held it really tight,
he had Phallicvegiephobia and would resist with all his might.
But McDonald was too smart by far,
Big Mac was not his match,
the old bloke snuck up from behind to by surprise him catch.
Beneath an unsuspecting arm
he gave a little tickle,
the burger gave a little laugh and got a little pickle...
So the Big Mac we all know today
was born of subterfuge.
And although the gherkin in it aint really all that huge,
remember that it's only there
by the skullest of skullduggery,
and that bit we discard's the fruit
of midnight burger buggery.
I'm out to impress
It's a tutu, not a dress
Big night, I confess
Dad had threatened for some time, to reclaim the land behind the shed,
where rubbish over many years, had stockpiled but now instead
of being easy to be shifted, blackberries, docks and thistles grow,
entwining history of ours… and you know we didn’t know.
Mum cracked the whip one Sunday, handing out the different tools
for us to shovel, fork, pick and slash; of course she made the rules.
We weren’t to stop until the rubbish, had been cleared and left to show
a barren space to be landscaped… and you know we didn’t know.
Johnny parked the truck close to where we’d easily load the tray.
First we had to slash blackberries, to open up a pathway.
Old fencing wire and bent droppers, we pulled and tugged. The work was slow.
Plus bits of motors, old oil filters… and still we didn’t know.
The ‘Old Man’ knocked a stump out I can’t remember being a tree,
it disintegrated into pieces; white ant workings I could see.
Plastic pots and old fuel drums, onto the tray we heave and throw.
Just on half the plots been cleaned up now… and still we didn’t know.
A concrete trough and a mattress spring, mesh from an old birdcage.
A kitchen sink broken in two and a pushbike at some stage.
Sardine tins, a barrow bowl, and a seized up mower that won’t mow,
now there’s just one corner left to clean… and still we didn’t know.
A stack of roofing iron near the fence; the last that had to go.
One by one we dragged the rusting sheets… and still we didn’t know.
Dad picked up the final sheet, and then he quickly threw it down again.
His face was white and ‘cripes’ he shook… we ‘bloody-well’ knew then.
The dwelling place is in lofty mountain peak,
hidden from protruding human eyes that seek.
A lonely figure the Yowie cuts,
All contact from the outside world he shuts.
I saw him once, this hairy fellow,
a face so sad and eyes of yellow.
He stood on a ledge in sunshine's glare,
I dare not move, I could only stare.
His seven foot frame, large outstretched arms,
My fear set in I recited the psalms.
The agile beast toward me started,
My belly boiled and then..... I farted.
He got so near my eyes did close,
I peaked and saw that he covered his nose.
The fart I did, boy did it stink.
It caused the yowie's eyes to blink.
For just a moment I thought I had him cold,
but he recovered quickly and became quite bold.
With a sweeping motion he did pick me up.
and around his frame put my face at his butt.
I was upside down and in an awkward spot,
then he let one rip, gave it all he got.
On the richter scale, I'd rate it at ten,
It was the fart of about a thousand men.
So if you're out in the mountains for a quiet stroll,
beware of Yowie, big foot or some other troll.
If they encounter you, turn and their butt cheeks part,
they will surely unleash the most abominable fart.
big strong furry brown
fishing for salmon with paws~
prancing through flowers
Date Written: 4/12/2022
3 Place
Howmanysyllables.com
Wild Animal Haiku Poetry Contest Haiku poetry form only. Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Energy is neither created, nor destroyed
but does transform
witness the log burning in the fireplace
cellulose and lignin combining with oxygen
yielding heat, water and CO2
and with you sitting so close beside me
another transformation's coming on.
Yet cracks appear as we age,
time and entropy take their toll,
and these days we go to more funerals
than weddings and christenings.
We've made arrangements to smooth
our affairs for those who remain and
laid up good whiskey and cognac
for our last remembrance.
I've chosen green burial
in a 500 year forest;
you cremation,
with your ashes
pressed into
a forever
diamond.
While we know our genes
carry on in our children
and our atoms will still cycle,
but there remains the question
of how the bit that makes us
us will merge with the cosmos.
When I was little I thought the older a person was, the more brain cells you grew.
Thus, older people are smarter than little people.
That thought was long gone by the time I was four or five.
At eight I was so confused by big hand and little hand on the clock, I thought I would lose my mind.
Big hand to me was little hand, because the big hand they were talking about was the thin longer hand.
Thinner to me meant little, not big.
The thick hand they were calling little hand actually should have been referred to as short hand, but it
Was not. To the big people it was little hand. To me it was big hand because it was the fattest hand.
I did not know how to tell time for about a hundred years, because it did not make sense!
I could not get it, so of course, this was the unit I was elected to teach when I was a student teacher.
And for those of you who like math, do you understand a bit more why the word math strikes terror in my soul?
Big hand. Little hand. Good golly, Miss Molly.
If they had only used short hand, and long hand I would have immediately understood
Because I KNEW words.
Not math, not telling time, not numbers, but I did know words.
Teaching me to tell time would have been insanely simple, if the right words could have been used!
Why did they not understand what I was trying to figure out?
Because they did not LISTEN to me.
I was a child, after all.
A child who knows her words.
Big hand for long hand?
Long hand for big hand?
Everyone was too busy shaking their head and telling me ‘no’ to realize what I was saying.
Listen people, listen, because your children are smarter than you know, and they are
Trying to talk.
Sail ~ Sail away
Blue Sky and Ocean
On a Bright and Sunny day
Sail ~ Out to sea
Big ship's coming
Time to leave
Goodbye ~have to go
To see ahead ~
What future holds
Please ~ don't be sad
Soon come a Whats-app~
"Pack your bags"
We're gonna be together ~ Despite stormy weather
Sometimes seas rough ~ that's when tough gets tough
Everything will work out fine ~ give it some healing time
There'll be a new tomorrow ~ joy comes after sorrow
Round and round ~ the world spins 'round
In a galaxy of stars ~ there's hope~ no doubt
"Hasta la vista baby" I'm on my way
Waves are ~rockin 'n' rollin ~ Big Ship sails....
Sail ~ Sail away
Blue Sky and Ocean
On a Bright and Sunny day......
Why not the dreams of castled kings
With rubied thrones and emerald rings
If treasures of a certain greed
Would satisfy your aching need
Or corporations far and wide
With CEO’s all by your side
What you could do would still amaze
If power sets your heart ablaze
Perhaps, a superficial win
The velvet touch of supple skin
To sensitize a brush of whim
Against an eager, waiting limb
Dream big or why to dream at all
Your dreams could still then be too small
Yet, think before a granted plea
Before a Genie’s one, two, three
Why not the dreams of one who’s poor
Whose vision would be to assure
That hunger in our world would end
With just these very words, I’ve penned
But dreams are dreams and truth is truth
And though there really is no proof
I still believe they can come true
As surely as the sky is blue
It isn’t the big celebrations,
Enormous dinners or huge gifts.
Parties never rouse foundations,
Jamborees or festivals.
It isn’t the life-sized creations,
Who impress kings, rulers or monarchs.
It’s the little things, a gentle expression,
When hearts meet in the deserts,
When dreamers discover their profession,
When simple reaches into the heart,
Pulls out a feeling, an impression,
The beautiful that inspires the light.
It isn’t in the impressive,
When a life gets made –
It’s in the thoughts, so obsessive…
Which bring feelings we want to save!