Best Brainchild Poems
Where on Earth or far beyond do we poets go, you ask.
My thoughts willingly stretch my imagination with this task.
I would reply...in any direction our ink chooses to flow.
To the light of dawn or to dark telltale shadows of Poe
There are no boundaries that could rein in a poet's mind,
even if we have the mournful misfortune of going blind.
A poet is not harnessed by sight like a horse to a carriage.
From memory our vision serves us in a sort of marriage,
a bond without rings and vows that gives us wings to fly
among stars, or to realms a common man cannot descry.
To know sin's sorrow, we would walk through a fiery hell
if it would give us the insight that living could not quell.
Inspiration is our weapon, feathered arrows we shoot,
aiming for the rhyming words and chasing in hot pursuit.
Though our muse flees, and crumbled pages lie at our feet,
our mind struggles in unrest but will not concede defeat.
On ventured missions, traveling where our hearts will lead.
Among distant galaxies, where we collect poetic seed
to plant in fertile delta land or in sandy deserts on Earth,
cultivating cogent lines, to which our scribing gives birth.
Fathering or mothering verses from infancy to fruition.
Editing until at last, our brainchild is worthy of submission.
We see far beyond mundane realities of life and reason.
Writing from the heart, rebuking the penalty of treason.
We wind through mazes of each personal poetic anecdote.
Exposed is our nakedness in each lyrical line we ever wrote.
June 20, 2022
2022 Marathon Mile 4 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney.
My prankster, older son, came home from college, just the other day.
He saw such great possibilities, in how, he, with the Trolls, could play.
Now, you must remember, my son, has always been, a tad bit wild.
But, he truly is a charmer, when he has a new brainchild, compiled.
The Postman had been so Leary of dropping off mail, with the Trolls about.
So daily, I would greet him, explaining, they were really harmless, big old louts.
And I complained a little, of the time spent, to convince him, back at the house.
So my son took up the cause, yes, he was actually going to try to help me out.
Each day, he got the mail, I was so proud that he was trying to solve my plight.
He said he had an idea, which he would try, the last day in town, to set it right.
Of course, I believed him, he was my son, and I felt such pride, as he drove away.
Then I waited for the surprise, he’d set with the Trolls, to make everything OK.
The postman made his rounds, as usual, until he came toward our house.
Then he shot off like a rocket, which was truly outward bound… the louse.
So I ran out to catch him, for in his hurry, he’d forgotten to drop off my mail…
But he was so fast that I missed him… so back to the house I did sail…
In front of the garage… sat 3 Trolls in bib overalls in their rocking chairs.
Across their laps lay shotguns, yes, the really heavily gauged ones…
And there before my eyes were crickets playing banjos all around…
With ‘Deliverance’, the song they’d used, to make that mailman bound…
But don’t worry; I got even with my prankster son… To end this tale…
The next time he ask for money… I said… the check is… in the mail.
1st place in the Contest: Smile Your on Candid Camera
Babbling bantering behind bashful backs
Bolstering bizarre behavior between brawling brothers
Before bogus betrayals bragging both bravo
Benevolent beguile beginning bequeath
Borrowed broker buoyancy best brainchild
Beneath broken bureaucrats breach
LOL
Adorable-angel. Mild.
Charmed with golden lips,
The world at my fingertips,
Clever. Classy. Curious.
Beautiful. Bubbly-brainchild.
© April 12, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Caption: I Am Me, Linda-Marie
Such a devious plan we concocted one day.
Kind of mischievous in an ornery way.
The goal was to throw an innocent curve,
knock people off the routine that they serve.
We showed up early to church that morning,
with no indication, without prior warning.
Some surely thought we had set our clocks wrong.
We’d never shown up before the first song.
The early-to-risers were there hanging out.
No clue what our sinister scheme was about.
We brought doughnuts to share in reception hall,
a diversionary tactic that served as a stall.
It worked to perfection, they didn’t even know.
We ran to the sanctuary and filled the back row.
A peace calmed the room, as we eagerly waited.
A family connection was somehow created.
They came in together, the back-row-brigade,
bewildered to discover the prank we had played.
The looks on their faces was priceless to see.
How could this happen? How could this be?
Glancing around, with their smiles now erased,
they weighed their dilemma, feeling displaced.
“They’ve taken our seats,” one gruffly replied,
as they shuffled back out to regroup and decide.
We burst out laughing over what we had done,
then moved up one row after having our fun.
As they sauntered back in, to their cheerful delight,
somehow the world had again been made right.
Sliding into the row, one leaned up and said,
“Thank you for putting that thought in our head.
We've taken for granted our comfortable place.
God wants us moving and sharing His grace.”
Our newfound friends still claim the back pew.
At times we bring doughnuts, to see what they’ll do.
What started as a joke was a blessing in disguise,
the Sunday we took the back-row by surprise.
The Back row Conspiracy, was the brainchild of my wacky youth leader, Mont Toon. His
unusual ways had a way of drawing kids in, then showing them the way. I’m not sure where
I’d have been without his influence. I’m sure he’s stirring up something in heaven at this
moment.
Even now, Pigeons stool surprised
while ensconced in dovecote
whose twittering translated as coo coo not bright
asper Icarus aiming for mythic cull magic did excite
popularized notion to take winged flight
And for twenty first century mortal to wax poetic
this January 2018 bitterly, brutally day and night
Stymied sans principle
contradicted laws of Physics
soaring to limitless height
Away from temporal axon light
Into the infinite cosmic dendrite
Realization to soar above heavenly vault
spectacular sight
Brainchild of anonymous genius minds
left stratospheric legacy
To witness awesome might
break away, sans gravity
tacit Obeisance acknowledged
this hundred year plus anniversary
Aero planes success got off the ground
Pardon saying may come across as trite
More than a century elapsed
since machines first attempt to remain aloft
Man made invention glittered silvery white
Beauty, grace and poetry in motion
excises Luddite trace
Despite countless fatal crashes
Tragedy to those loved ones lost in fiery plight
Invisible ethereal essences dwell
and hover some place
Occupy a netherworld housed
with fellow nymph and sprite
Return to Earth to deliver miracles
and prevent near disasters
Although many a skeptic
may ascribe phenomena to luck despite
Angelic visage impossible to dispute quite.
You are pregnant now -- the way a poet is, with brainchild.
He pupmed a life in you,
And you are pregnant.
I whispered a thought, and I am pregnant.
I am being stuffed witha wind
That swels in me with my nutrition;
In you, came, a blood-clod apparition.
The fetus grows inside
With the germs of life.
Beads of moments pile up,
And you become a mom.
Thus I fathered an art.
Unlike yours, I feel no end of my cyclic pregnancy,
By day, and by night;
Unlike yours, I can blow it in the wind.
BECAUSE
Your one is a shape;
My one is a spirit.
Dancing and singing along with the rest
With the sun beaming down
It’s Glasto at its very best
****
The teatime slot my favourite spot
Iconic performances from idols past
Still going strong as they sing all night long
Never dreaming their fame it would last
****
Sir Tom at 80 still wowing the crowds
his voice so strong
may he go on and on
****
Resplendent in pink
Dame Shirl gives a twirl
that young lass from Wales
with her voice she regales
****
Dear Dolly lifts the crowd
still begging Jolene
****
Whilst Kenny is lamenting Lucille
****
And sweet Caroline
Well she's a favourite of mine
Still shines like a Diamond
Sweet Neil
****
Barry alone now
still reaching those highs
seeing their smiles as he looks to the skies
****
And Lionel still able to go
All Night Long
strutting the stage
like a man half his age
****
Sweet Kylie
petite
A perfect package
complete
****
Nile Rodgers and Chic
sing along to Le Freak
Nile is such a cool bloke
his look so unique
****
Then finally the master
As darkness descends
On that stage he appears
and for many brings tears
For just like Major Tom
his soul has moved on
but his genius survives
in every word
of every song
****
Not even Covid 19
Could ever stop this show
As I behold the very best
of 2020 Glastonbury Fest...
Written at 3.00 am this morning on 30th June 2020
after watching and dancing and singing to Glastonbury 2020 those images still rocking in my head…
*Glastonbury is considered to be one of the biggest and finest music festivals in the world today. 2020 would have been 50 years since its humble beginnings in 1970. The brainchild of Michael Eavis a farmer from Somerset England, who decided to host an al fresco concert himself after see Led Zeppelin at an open air festival. First artists to appear were Marc Bolan and Al Stewart
1970 ~ Attendance 1,500 ~ tickets price £1 with free milk from the Farm
2019 ~ ticket price £248 ~ capacity 203,000 ~ 135.000 tickets sold in under 36 minutes…
Contest STRAND completely new 3
Sponsor Brian Strand
HONORABLE MENTION
I once had an idea
Thought completely off the wall
Replacing the piggy bank
I would have myself a jar
And instead of silver coins
I would deposit tokens
Coded different colours
For every conscious effort
A bright visual reward
An investment in my health
Or maybe more in kindness
Or just any goal I’d set
Couple years since my first thought
Brainchild still sounds rather good
Time is ripe to implement
AP: 1st place 2021
Catharsis
A cautious, yet deliberate, experiment of the mind;
fleeting thoughts considered,
then quickly left behind;
a brainchild of emotions cached within the heart;
I finally have relinquished
that which took too long to start.
The motive from inception was to recognize my grief,
achieving, through just pen and ink,
soul-cleansing relief.
Jubilantly now among the shadows of my home,
I clutch, with blue-stained fingers, my goal...
a finished poem.
The passion for alleviating pain has now been quelled,
and many facets of my anguish
have finally been felled.
it took more than myself to save me
i was a narcissist without an independent confidence
with the wrong type of thinking in my brain, i chose to take the plunge
all i got in the end was the honest answer to my imagination's figments
it took more than myself to save me
i was a brainchild genius without a blueprint's thorough thought
with the wrong mode of strategy written lack legibility, i chose to jump right in
all i got in the end was a sweat stained pillowcase and icy drool by sunrise
it took more than myself to save me
i was grown man without a clue as to how to properly display my presentation
with the wrong method of approach, i chose to pursue and go for it
all i got in the end was a broken heart and my own lonely space to stare in
it took more than myself to save me
i was a lost soul without any type of concept of an adequate plan
with nothing left in my arsenal but an overwhelming collection of prayers, i decided to just fall to my knees, let go, and let God
what i got in the end was the naked truth and a slap in the face as a wake up call
Those words
Yes I wrote those words
But I could not remember when I wrote them
Wild thoughts flew into my head
Like mad rabbits
And my mind expanded like the cosmos
Yet I could not remember
When
I wrote those words
With inspiration from God
And I wrote those words
Like I was tutored by the Muses
Beautiful words
Which I said to the young lady
Some were true
But most was not
The words were matured due to the experience I brought
Yes I lied
I can not hide
To seek attention
And can I mention
That the words I wrote was a brainchild of my mind
Because when you find wisdom
You leave all that wisecracks behind
I will wrote on till a grow and gray
I will pray that this wonderful talent
Will stay
Words can deceive
And It may make one wiser
Words can be harsh
But some are nicer
Hunter
Ears are prone on the ground
To catch vermin's motion sound.
Up empty skies, eyes are cast-
In the dark sea they're steadfast .
On the veld, the long nose,
Trails to catch a whiff while close.
*
Writers are a Natural Hunter
Of Gist and not the blind punter.
Fishing Gist in the deeper wild
With Guts is his or her brainchild.
Sometimes, the hunt of the day
Bestows Hunter no bag to flay!
Hardly, a Human Being!
Get a hammer and garrote that
brainchild,
That demonic smartphone, I propose.
That mutant who seduces you,
With most amorous rings!
Put the sultry siren to rest,
Tune into the real world, as it's
simply the best!
Above all else do not invite family or
best friends over for dinner.
Place the sultry siren on it, next to your
sweaty palms on the table at dinner,
Then start taking calls, checking messages,
and avoiding human contact, you dolt!
If you are alone with this devious device,
have at it, play with it, stay up all night!
But never avoid human connection!
Thinking, mistakingly that the human
is less than that interruptive thing?
See...there you go!
Already?
Like Road Runner racing, entranced by
ear bling,
Lost to its call~ to her captivating
insidious ring!
Panagiota Romios
4/9/2019
A plethora of attention
focused on twentieth anniversary
regarding terrorist attacks
upon American soil nine eleven
two thousand and one,
thus Schwenksville poet
opted for his best métier write.
While riding atop a yak
both feet went wickety wack
trudging beast of burden a throwback
to the brainchild
of John Mauchly and J. Presper Eckert
devised Electronic Numerical
Integrator and Computer
otherwise dubbed ENIAC
cumbersome invention
programing machine no easy knack
also impossible mission or fit in pocket
book versus handy to tote
laptop perfect fit inside day pack.
As an aging long haired
pencil neck geek baby boomer
who reckons himself
as schleppy (snoop doggy dog) self groomer
cannot escape scornful passersby
sneering, snickering and snorting
at me, an utter embarrassment to humanity,
who also sports sophomoric humor.
Unfair for yours truly
to saddle anonymous readers
which travails of mine
analogous overburdening
an old decrepit ass,
hence lumpenproletariat
marxist (brother) fellow,
whose insensitivity
could be interpreted as crass
subsequently aiming figurative sights
upon fresh fields,
where leaves of grass
harvested by me one
Norwegian bachelor farmer wannabe
ofttimes dashes off to Lake Woebegone
to escape madding crowds who harass
him, cuz he accentuates whole foods
with plenty of fiber to avoid
experiencing lower gastrointestinal impasse
acquiring moniker windbag
courtesy humongous formed rectal mass
necessitating the expertise of Nass
(another name for Nishga -
a member of a branch
of Tsimshian people
of British Columbia inhabiting Nass
River basin and/or dialect of Tsimshian
spoken by Nishga)
homeopathic remedies outclass
those of 21st century medicine,
said indigenous people
interpret objection toward their
age old medicinal practice as sass
even consider disagreement violation,
a figurative criminal mind to trespass
and the subject in question
a veritable, (albeit harmless) wiseass.