Best Braiding Poems
My eyes wide open, all I see is Ebony
A white hot Light, to the left : "to the Past"
A Heavenly bright White Light to the right "to the Present"
I know the path of the past : I live it every day
Holding LENORE’S hand entwined to Forever ,Forever
Her Heart and mine beating as one for Eternity
A Loving Kiss : Heavenly Bliss : Teardrops’ Mist
I walk the path to the right, toward the Heavenly Light
The mirage I see, behind the White Light, unhued colors, unformed shapes
I quicken my pace and run toward the place where I can see LENORE again
She sits there , braiding Her long auburn hair , Emerald Eyes glistening with tears
“LENORE” ; whispered from my mouth , why so sad; we are together again Forever
She puts Her finger to my lips “shh my Heartbeat My LOVE, My LIFE , ALWAYS
You are here only for a minuscule of time, You have to go back It is not your time”
We embrace I feel the warmth of Eternal LOVE : a Heavenly glow on Her Angelic Face
We kiss, memories of a distant past flood my mind I remember the sweetness of her lips
LENORE fades away: No , NO , Noooh then I awake to the glare of Hospital lights
Shimmering off the tears streaming down my cheeks
You have yet to see the bountiful ornaments in my orchard.
Perspiring perfumes of the passion we play and preview,
Weaving wonderful whispers of the wishes we ought to do.
Let me show you the silky thread of our poetry,
As I wear your handwriting all the way
Down to the very slopes you dare to kiss,
Demanding my eyes, to stay stoned into your hazel soul.
What my thoughts could do to your tempting traps, to your luscious lats—
When my lips could read the rhythms you bleed through your throbbing teases,
Braiding beautiful ballads on the nape of your neck,
Surely , an invitation for an appetite,
Oh, beauty of a beastly back.
WHERE FROZEN EMBERS STILL BURN
When will periwinkle dreams entwine with my lifesong?
deadly winter has blanket me? [Long, ah! so long...]
Has bloody ferns swirl then froze me as falling snow
for acrid critiques cold cloud? [T'was wrong, Oh so wrong...]
Doubts and worries weaken my weary feet
but teeming catalysts from a compassionate God
activate talent embers, once frozen to heat--
telling: "TRUST, GO AND START!", an alarm from above.
Bearing a faith anew, I spread my wings to fly;
walking even over blitz agonizing talk for ply.
Cracking myself from iceberg of fears--
twining myself to God's glory, a clear dear!
Braiding faith and hardwork in cornerstone steel,
spirits shoot hope that guards, a powerful feel.
Unfolding gifts from long frozen hearts to burn,
now mightily restored with heaven's love way turn...
(c)
10:16am
August 22, 2014
Kids Love For Animals ( Poem )
Children’s favorite shows are of animals
I have hours in a playlist that are laughable
Like a camera pecking rooster and fun monkeys
To a mom and a baby miniature donkeys
Videos of wild turkeys and charming geese
Ducks in water and chicks learning to speak
Dazzling ostrich and many free birds
Some you would not want to move towards
A large unique animal is the alligator
The total opposite of the caterpillar
Camels and alpacas are tall and exquisite
But they spit at you when you try to visit
There are also hornpout and catfish videos
and a painted box turtle that is really slow
Beautiful miniature horses and elegant ponies
Border collies herding sheep to earn their trophies
Little kids pig scramble is stunning to see
and a little fawn as precious as can be
Cow’s hair that needs braiding is fascinating
With the most assortment you’ve ever seen
Come to my view with me youtube channel
If the kids are being hard to handle
Just start it up and walk away
To get your housework done for the day
By : Doris Anne Beaulieu
At : https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLWSq_PMWxD9q2V0UVqzX50Y6Y2pDaKISv
I
I knew a time when my sister, tall and fair
with her sage sense of humor, dull and non-existent
Seemed positively,
metallic, blessed with flowing shackles, a gift, extended only to me.
Limiting my growth past 8 years, haunting my dreams until age 21
always advising her younger sis, to teary boredom
“Do as I say”, “whereso’er I may”
Lend me your shoe to prove my superiority.
By night or day,
I am your stone Buzzard and I will pick your bones
II
This I suffered
The rainbow might as well have been between us,
For the roses lost their petals long ago
I can no longer feel their thorns, my toughened skin
Yet lately when I turn to cry for you,
The pain is far greater than I should bear
For (you) seep, from my tear ducts, a bloodless water driblet
Injury that keeps finding its way out
Purging the likes of you
In twin tissues
III
Infuriates me.
Each night from my pillow writhed
Come darkened silhouettes of your pigtails
I inhale one, in each nostril,
just so I can blow you away
Are you a sister of another mister?
My tormenter, my thumb umbrella
Cleanse me from your sticky sight
Allow my legs to find that gentle breeze called freedom
Before the very bone that we share dies
Making us look upon our mirrors
To find the frozen cordial face
As we pretend to plant, a history, of fond remembrance
When we are but plowing, our indignations in the ground
IV
Unbeknownst
I knew a time when my sister, tall and fair,
Sat braiding her curly brown hair
Finding me sleeping, without nary a sound
Wrapped her tight braid, around and around
Laughing as my life was slipped from sight
Dragging me constantly, round that night
So what if I, but a babe in skin
Was found by Dad, in the playpen
Hence, since, even now, my skin, crawls
Afraid of the hair in red overalls
He looks of far and in between
White hair with diamonds from the sky
A wood of wiry glow around
Expressive fingers, braiding braids
Forgotten strands of gold-spun hair
His feet swept pebbles in the surf
Small indentations filled with silt
With every look I hoped to see
His eyes on me with how I wished
To will his want to be for me
Be loved without a shred of doubt
To have his golden eyes on me
To magic shameful into proud
***
© Darren White
4 foot iambic blank verse
I'm raising babies all alone.
Doing this thing, because Daddy's gone.
Rubbing cocoa butter on my knees so the scars you can't see.
They come from staying and praying and being all that I can be.
Gone being absent or being absent because he's here.
I wanna cry, I wanna cry, but it ain't no time for tears.
Good guy, bad guy, I answer to both names.
But I ain't got no picture in the Hall Of Fame.
I'm washing clothes and making beds.
Cooking food and braiding heads.
Sweating all night after working all day.
Being who I am, and giving him his way.
Now I'm off to work on a few hours of sleep, but that's routine.
I begged, fought, and worked for my title queen.
Drug addict, Jesus fanatic, professional talker, street walker, your boss, high cost.
His lover, their mother, all shades, custom made, homemade, self made.
Deserves all her proper's for the price she has paid.
She can't be killed because the memory lives on.
Like straight black coffee, always strong.
She, her, female, lady, let me describe this again.
Lost is where this world would be without W-O-M-A-N.
Sweetgrass is primal
braiding shows how to connect
see value in life
“You showed her your love by bringing her into the world, now show it again, by softly walking away.“ ~~The Poet~~
I wonder who is holding her soft hand.
I wonder will she ever understand.
Why it isn’t me braiding her hair with a soft touch.
Will she ever know that I love her so much?
As a newborn so soft and warm, it broke my heart,
To know that I must give her up, and then depart.
I wonder who is cooking her favorite meals.
Playing dress ups, watching her stumble in their heels.
I wonder who has loved her all these years.
Softly held her and dispelled all her fears.
Who is it that tucks her in softly at night?
Tells her stories that bring her so much delight.
I wonder if they cried on her first day at school.
Who taught her to swim in their back yard pool,
And dried her with the softest of towels.
Who gives her piggy- back rides because they are pals.
I wonder who hugs her softly and tells her of their love.
And who teaches her about our Lord above.
My heart breaks softly, and I swear to stay out of sight.
My love is soft and true, I know I don’t have the right.
I am garnet Aphrodite,
vampire rose ~
the huntress of halcyon
wrestling with love and limerence
bleeding for the soul and spirit
of smoke-kissed sepals
stretching towards the sky
drawing you in delicate dreams
lost in luscious light
while these lips tremble
to taste the tight temperance
of true temptation…
and in the ache of aloneness
I still am fluent in
the dialect of devotion
the sacred symphony
to serenade a shield-maiden saga
choosing inner battles
for I belong where
the balm of burning balance
blooms to the sound
of thriving thorns
and murmuring myrtles...
I am not unstitched by silence
but tested by the trials
of wild-woven withdrawal ~
a sun-soaked sapphire
aligning the anguish
swirling through surging spells
connecting scattered
cosmic brushstrokes
to beautifully drape destiny
in pulsing pixels
pigmented with Seijaku...
I place my fingers
along the charismatic chest
of soft fuchsia walls,
tracing the tints of tremors
climbing as addictive vines
amidst cold crevices
to reach my skin
sighing to be within the
palms of patient passion
I will remain warmed
in the kaftan kismet
of a longing laced
in cobalt peacock promises
beaded with golden amulets
carved with cursive cravings
we are the wishful flares ~
the world cannot fathom.
but in the starvation
of collided touch
we do not phase ~
we fearlessly swell
into the deathless space of faith
where the spring breeze
phrases our
initials in sunset mauve...
O fragrant field to my mind,
paint me within the
stirring sentiments of your spine...
I own your signature ~
starry-silver strength
braiding my henna-hued hair
into a universal bun
of beloved blissfulness…
Mourning tools
clasped, and woven
directing
nailed fine pointers
marking place
tapping tunes now
knitting lives and braiding hair
Birthing tools
glorious signs
passing words
keeping all time
patting cheeks
rubbing wet eyes
fingers steeple and crown me
Contest: The Crown of My Body -- A Whitney
Date: 6/18/12
Languishing in a limbo of roles
perpetually gleaning
reading ripe tombs and myths
a child, a child dreaming
parroting fancies in pretty pink
braiding wisps on a razor straps edge
the perfect daughter to become
when all that was wanted was a son…
life passed by for the adult child
caring for mother, sister, brother
never really finding a meaning of she
mothering mother
friend and companion to father
oh where was she?
excel… a touch tones sympathetic plight
graft the colors, the paint the light, the mold
the seemingly endless mission…life
languishing in a limbo of roles
captured waif, soldered wife
pie baker, clothes maker, gardener
twist the seam of an unknown dream
thirty years on hold
half a lifetime, square peg in a round hole
then she came, who was she you ask
why me, myself and I
bloom on a rose I saved me
stepped off the cross
and became.....me
Contest The Right Time
Poet: D. Guzzi
Walking among the fragrant roses
And overhanging hibiscus so red
Dropping by the delicate posies
As through the garden, she led
The smell of gravy from the kitchen
And fresh bread being rolled
The clucking of the tame hen
And all thru her warm hand to hold
Scribbling on walls newly white washed
And catching fireflies at night
Stepping on frozen grapes, until squashed
Sleepily waiting for that golden morning light
A gentle smile, a gentle push
Gentle hands braiding the long hair
Picking white jasmine from the doorway bush
And decorating the braid with flair
Memories of so long ago
And age past, an age gone
Come flying in with the flow
Of a new day and new dawn
30/4/13
We arrived, it was 7 a.m.
Then I was just a small girl
I still don't know why it made her angry
I will never know why
She bashed my head into the sink
After undoing my braids
My head was flooded into icy cold water
My body heated up with hatred and fear
The visuals of her yanking and scrubbing
Remembering that nobody stood up for me
My cousins and sister
They watched tv in the other room
I was stripped naked, she was screaming
I was thrown into the shower
Still nobody stood up for me
And I always wondered
Why my mom put it in my hair, did she forget
How much my grandma hated hair spray?
Late that night
I should never have told my mother
From then on
Every day I was only fed
Chocolate donuts or fruit cocktail
My stomach still churns at the sight of either
Never will know why she did those things to me
She didn't do them to anyone else
I resented all of the the days that
I was stuck with nowhere else to go
My mother couldn't afford a babysitter
And off I would go, sent to her regardless
The irony is, I still wear hairspray
I love it, and not just because she hated it
I understand now
What I couldn't comprehend then
Hairspray doesn't destruct
Or tear people apart
It is made to keep something in place
Unlike her it offers stability
I may never
Eat certain foods again
And I may still cringe at times
When I see a certain knob on a sink
But when I feel like it, I do have
One thing I do that makes me smile
I will stand infront of a mirror
Braiding my long tresses
I smile and spray
Hairspray
Life's greatest heated human tragedy
the one we are likely taught not to see.
Our wide-ranging worlds are well connected,
as atoms wiggle we're all effected.
Separation is optic illusion
a fitting end to one's soul seclusion.
Gurus say I am you and you are me,
that's the way it's supposed to be.
If I am Abe, Alice, Aron, Abu;
are they really me, how can that be true?
One respects collective society,
pledges to individuality.
It's in us to foster global good will
hold high hopes for oneness not to stand still.
Compassion is the real eternal key,
the single most important reality.
In the rays of moonlight truth shines so clear
allays all our unstated oneness fear.
When face to face, touch hands to then embrace;
stand up, stand in, alone and take your place.
So don't be offput by any confusion;
you're not separate, it's an illusion.
Lots of wisdoms will surely come to pass
while we lay lulling the scent of sweetgrass.
167 words 24 lines couplets
Reference: Albert Einstein quote, "The greatest tragedy
of human existence is the illusion of separateness"
Reference: Robin Wall Kimmerer, "Braiding Sweetgrass"
author, indigenous scientist, native American
Reference: Dalai Lama, teaches the importance
of compassion practice
Reference: Thomas Merton quote, "We are already one.
But we imagine that we are not."
Pen illustration by G. Gaul
September 2022