Best Breasted Poems
Tiptoeing towards the edge of the towering cliff
I flap my wounded wings and fly
over tall two hundred year old oak trees
up to the top of the highest of mountains
scanning a never ending sovereign sky
I glide effortlessly in the strong southern trade winds
watching the fawn and her doe in the wilderness
My heart starts to beat, and I write
I write of the fragrant fancy free daisies growing unrestrained
of the sun smiling down
reflecting in the fast flowing babbling brook
of the doe munching on the savory green and yellow grasses
oblivious to her surroundings , the fawn firmly within her sight
I hear the songs coming from the red breasted baby Robin
calling to her mother wondering when she'll return with dinner
my heart beats lovingly and I write
I soar higher and higher heading for the heavens
past the mammoth yellowish orange coloured moon
through the mysteries of the milky way
all along thinking of the mysteries lying inside you
I open my eyes, imagine I'm with you and I write
06/01/2015
...to the finessed fowl
humming by my ear tell me
Did anyone ever tell you
just how glad they are
to have you here?
Poignant eyes, azure crown,
that lightasapenny frame...
(how monstrous we must appear!
our human eyes like soccer balls)
We have only God to blame...
...and our senses to thank
for perceiving such a lovely scene
right here in our midst:
organic motors in a danceswirlblur,
taking quicksips of wine
through a toothpick straw
(do I need to make a list?)
Well, how about this:
pleasantly economical,
tenderly blue-breasted,
(quicker than a shuriken star?
you guessed it!)
And O how I would shield you
from anything that came your way
My palms would be your perch...
My fingers be your bars...
But alas, none such as you,
could ever be cast into a cage
(for the angels would rage!
and even the most committed readers
would surely turn the page)
But rest assured
I wouldn't dream deprive you of your feast
of purple watermelon splendor
(those pretty pearls of amethyst
are yours to conquer!)
O Caffeinated Contraption...
O Sweet Dream of Buzzing Thoughts...
You could be crushed like a pop can
at the flippant cruelty of man...
...but who would dare?
blasphemy to merely think it,
'twould be an acceptable breach of free speech
to burn the words that expressed it
(fly free, oh sweet heresy,
into the ashen breeze)
"There's nothing more beautiful than you."
said the God
who placed each feather in
with such gingercare
and thoughtful pause--
(His Cosmic Hands caught
in the Avian Lego Jar,
smirking at the plasticity
of His own laws)
Fluttering beneath the newly cut
Festive green hollies,
Decked out with heaped drapes
Of freshly fallen snow,
A bold little red breasted Robin,
Busily searching,
Cheerfully hops to and fro.
Darting between the soft, swirling
flakes
Of unique crystalline, driven without
respite,
He alights upon his sheltered
perch
And begins to shrilly trill:
Against the on coming, long
Drawn out Christmas night.
For the drawing darkness is
deepening,
Whilst the harsh wind blows so chill;
And, gently waking
From nonsensical dreaming,
I harken to the old dog Fox,
As, barking, he pads on down
Through the gorse strewn hill.
Suddenly stirred from dozing
Idleness,
As the charred log shifts and
settles in the grate,
I recall with vivid fondness:
Some old memories, good times,
The well meant promises
I did so earnestly to undertake.
Of old acquaintance...
Not forgotten,
And those that were
Or are no more,
Of circumstance and friendship:
And of they
That daily come
To pass through my open door.
But now the flames from the fire,
Dancing in the frosted window
panes,
Are calling for the poker
So I may stoke the blaze again;
For turning my warming back
Upon the locked out winters keep...
I hear that steadfast little Robin
Sing once more -
As I fall back into uncontested sleep!
With the incoming sounds of spring, a resurrection of life,
the chilliness flees. Quote _ by Poet
Ready for a new season, Spring birds
Shake off winter; embracing
The bonniest warmness weather,
Babies born, and color of nature's crowns.
Scarlet Tanagers chatter, flying round,
Feasting on caterpillar’s slowness
And beetles boring away that are found;
whilst
Eternal sunlight reft through sturdy limbs
And myriad leaves of the mighty old oak;
Rapid rhythm clatter drum sounds
Of the Woodpecker on its breast shout.
A hum, a garden faintly woo a smile
At song sung by pretty red feather Robin dancing.
A sweet kiss, a seed, the male Cardinal
Feeds his blush pretty mate favor.
Yonder pond, tree boughs
Teasing the water's edge
Whilst
Little Mallard ducklings
Follow mamma to the bank.
Bluebird builds her nest
Right in the heart of the sprouting
Redbud flowering tree.
Camouflage in the red begonia
An orange breasted Oriole
With its sweet enchanting sound.
On the horizon the fire fades out,
Hush around in high perch, tiny roosting
Cold blue moon comes into sight.
2/26/2021
Poetry Contest: Spring Birds
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Man so mighty and wise
still has to define this
that another living being's life
has the same value as his
Boasted, brazened
written in stone
raised above
these highest places
where power reigns
crushing down
in white
clenched fists
gripping so tightly
to "history"
squeezing
draining the meaning
out of good intention
Those stones are weeping
as grass grows quietly around the edges
The future
chipping
crumbling
forgotten
Differences
are best listed
to be used like lines in the sand
some seen on the skin
most are though beneath
tracing
tearing
a cross marking
the surface
this land of the free
that the privileged paid for
from sea to sea
with the lives of lesser men
and their women
up for "grabs"
The women
best when big breasted
beautiful and begging
feeding their daughters
dreams of a better tomorrow
when that white clenched fist
stops squeezing her ****
before slapping
lips against her
drooling over her
in her ear
whispering
something sweet
like
"Honey
you're mine"
What lines of defense
Those lines lie on paper
written, signed and etched by those
elected and chosen
statesmen stating authority over your body
their dolls
their toys
smiling
serving their purpose
the good Word stenciled in stone
Equality
carved out in flesh
fresh cadavers
swept under the rug
serving their purpose
Gravestones weeping
as grass grows quiety around the edges
The memory
chipping
crumbling
forgotten
Keeping their hands clean
they wipe their mouths red
blood on their stained sleeves
the polish from their shiny shoes sully
the stars
and stripes
stripped of the value they once held
when they stiched us all together
and brought so many strangers home
How white clenched fists
hold power and privelege
held so high in esteem
like our stars
and stripes
teetering, unraveling
the threads shaking
as if stripped naked
and forced to wave
above that Capitol Hill
pivotal
and still
unchanging
unmoved
Our Lady
liberty
holds a tattered gown
Out back on that old tire swing
drifting to and fro in the springtime dusk
reliving childhood memories
she swings and smiles
free as the red breasted robin
singing love songs as she soars
from limb to limb
in the that mighty oak tree
her hair blows silently side to side
dangling ever so softly off her
olive basted silky smooth shoulders
her caramel coloured eyes twinkle
in the fading sunlight
as the fireflies start to sparkle in the auburn sky
I sit quietly drinking my freshly made ice cold lemonade
soaking up all her splendor
knowing I'll be holding her tight tonight
red-breasted cherubs
nestled within mistletoe ~
holiday feasting
scrubbing with her hands
red stains from the priest's collar
- strawberry picking
choosing wallpaper -
the red-breasted cardinals
in my shopping bag
Last night of harvest -
reflection of red blood moon
in his empty glass
red cherry blossoms
before next winter follows
-his last picnic morn
soft vermillion wings
flutter on her bare shoulder
- the first glimpse of Spring
Its vermillion wings
perching between rose petals
sips of ambrosia
scarlet wings flutter
upon a dry corolla
unsweetened nectar
Inspired by Silent One 's haiku /senryu 5//7/5 syllables
using the colour red - not for the contest
I await your coming
for the flowers are blooming and the grass is high…
lilac branches still bare and shivering
in the laggard lion’s breath of March
they await your kiss, Monarch of summer.
purplish buds
sprout from gray lilac branches --
daffodils bloom
Though all the tulips are gone
having served as desert for gophers,
the worm and the grubs stir in the wet spring soil…
and the hyacinths have replaced the crocus’s blue
the paper narcissus now, scent the air.
red breasted robins
hop between hummocks of grass --
bird bathes fill with rain
From the within the green pupa, soon
you will stir ..the membrane will thin, sheer as a curtain
in a spring breeze adorned in polka dots
and wings like the crinolines of spindle legged
virgin daughters at first communion...
you will emerge with lash long antennae ready to fly.
leaves of cone flowers
push through the brown soil of spring --
anthills rise
I await your coming
for the flowers are blooming and the grass is high…
lilac branches still bare and shivering
in the laggard lion’s breath of March
they await your kiss, Monarch of summer
butterflies born.
Forms: Free Verse & haiku
Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat!
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?
Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...
After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "
Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!
My theme is: Happiness In Childhood
Searched within the walls of my feeble mind
In brain matter scattered, but could not find
proof that orange is just humdrum,
To this conclusion I have come -
if orange is ordinary ~ I'm blind.
Brighter than most, it stands out in a crowd.
Bold enough not to be bullied or cowed.
Tones of setting sun refined.
Shade of ripe cantaloupe rind.
Don't accuse it of being brash or loud.
Lilies and tulips massed in flower bed,
More lovely than roses of crimson red.
Tangerine citrus and its zest,
fruit that many consider best,
Breakfast juice, orange marmalade on bread.
Not ordinary is orange to me.
If you think so look again and you'll see
Orange vest could save your life -
Fields of yams and pumpkins rife -
Coral breasted robins who fly so free.
:::............:::.............:::.............:::
3/4/16 Color Contest: Orange
Sponsor: Silent One
Jack was sitting poker faced
With bullets backed by bitches.
Neal hunched at the wheel
Puttin everyone in stitches.
He was braggin 'bout
This nurse he'd screwed,
While drivin through Nebraska.
Said that when she came,
She honked the horn,
And Neal just barely
Missed a truck
And then he asked her
If she'd like to cum like that
All the way to CalifornY?
See a redhead in a uniform
Will always make you horny.
With her hair net and her white
Shoes and a name tag and a hat,
She drove like Andy Granatelli
And knew how to fix a flat!
And Jack was at the bottom
Of his second 2020.
Neal was yellin out the window
Tryin to buy some beannies
From a Lincoln, full of Mexicans
Whose left rear tire blew
And the son's of bitches
Prit near ran us off the road!
Well the nurse had
Spilled the Manischewitz
All up and down her dress,
Then she lit the map on fire
And Neal just had to guess.
Should we try to find
A bootleg route
Or a fillin station open?
The nurse was dumping
Out her purse looking for a kiss.
Jack was out of cigarettes,
When we crossed the yellow line.
The gas pumps looked
Like tombstones from then on.
It felt lonelier than a parking lot
When the last car pulls away.
And the moonlight dressed
The double breasted foot hills
In the mirror, weaving out
A negligee and black brassiere.
The mercury was running hot
And we were almost out a gas,
Just then Florence Nightingale
Dropped her draws and stuck
Her fat ass out the window
To a Wilson Picket tune
And she shouted "get a load of this! "
And give the finger to the moon.
Counting one eyed jacks
And whistlin Dixie in the car,
Neal was doin least a hundred
When we saw a shootin star.
Florence wished that Neal
Would hold her 'stead of chewin his cigar.
Jack was noddin out and dreamin
That he was in a bar,
With Charlie Parker on the bandstand
And not a worry in the world,
And a glass of beer in one hand
And his arm around a girl.
And Neal was singin to the nurse
Underneath a Harken moon
And somehow you could tell
We'd be in CalifornY pretty soon.
Singular snowflakes spread-out
blanket a dreary barren berm
that overlooks the dormant meadow
bringing a brightness to fields of grey.
Smiles overcome me as I watch
the proud red-breasted robin
pick at pieces of weathered brush
choosing just the right one
to comfort her nesting baby.
Whistles echo out of the rustic kitchen
where a steamed up copper kettle sings
waiting patiently to pour into perfect tea.
The first sip commands my attention and
wraps tightly around me, leaving a feeling
like your precious smile on a cloudy day
Quietly I sit absorbing the peaceful morning
like the baby robin in anticipation your return
Silent raindrops trickle
down her window-pane
on a frosty winter day.
Red-breasted cardinals
tweet in distance
as children ride the sleigh
Smoke ascent from chimney-tops
amid shrubs and evergreens
Leaves leap through the wind
in chase of distant dreams.
Waltzing swans in calm streams
touching beak to beak
Squirrels in their grey nests
playing hide-and seek
Grandma baking apples
with cinnammon and spice.
Young lady thinking of him
Snow angel with warm eyes.
An old oak wooden cabin
filled with laughter and liquor
The flicker of a candle
shows her,he's still there.
A hush-hushed tender whisper
'neath harp strings of the moon
Calls his arms to hold her
as crimson hollies bloom.
A cheerful song of Christmas
shared between two hearts
A mistletoe , proposals
They've kissed to never part.
Pastel droplets fall from
Pink sprinkled sunlight on
Ponds and meadows blooming
Pathways of color as
Pearly breasted bluebirds
Perch where past springtimes have
Painted my heart with hope
3/27/23
Writing Challenge P Words Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France