Best Bulging Poems
You, my homeland
Are of a beauty unrivaled
From one coast to the other
Your plains and rolling hills and pointy peaks
Cry to the heavens of freedom
Your jagged coasts and sandy keys
Offer the arms of welcome and opportunity to the world
And teem with the gifts of the oceans
Lakes and rivers and streams
Born with purity in the snow-crusted mountains
Are the lifeblood of the people
Bubbling with earth's finest bounty
And carrying the breath of all creation on their backs
From cities bulging with people
To a wilderness, untouched and untamed
You are the envy of the earth
And the bosom of liberty
America.
I live here
In the United States
Yes, I'm proud
Proud of where I live
Blessed to have been born in a place
Where I can chase a dream
Where I can speak my mind without fear of punishment or death
Worship, (or not), in the way I choose
Get healthcare, schooling, and assistance in a number of ways
Learn to drive and get a license when I reached 15
Vote at age 18 in a democratic process
And follow the interests I decide on, freely
These are extraordinary things
When you think of the restrictions
Of much of the rest of the world
I was taught from an early age not to take these things for granted
And that many of my opportunities and rights
Had been paid and fought for
By the energies and lives of our people in military service
I'm thankful for that
Whatever others may say, to me this is the greatest country
We are usually the first to be called upon
When another country needs help
And usually the first to respond, in any way we can
But we are also the largest target
And take much of the blame for negative things that happen
No matter where it is
And yes, that bothers me.
There IS no perfect place, and certainly not this
But it is a land of freedom and opportunity
And people move here from all over the world for those reasons
I was blessed to be born when I was -
When a kid could go for a walk and not end up on a milk carton
But I was even MORE blessed to be born WHERE I was
And I thank the heavens every day
That I am an American.
The Unicorn
Once upon a time…
an incredible event occurred that was so sublime.
On a warm summer night many years ago,
awakened by the rhythmic tempo
of hoof beats coming from the yard below,
I peered outside my bedroom window.
There on my lawn I was astonished to see,
a silver-white unicorn peering back at me.
Dressed in only a nightie, I dashed out my front door;
and found him frolicking, prancing to and fro.
Sparkling as he was under a silvery moonbeam,
I wondered if this was only a surreal dream.
He was handsome, noble, and dignified,
so confident and assured trotting to my side.
In awe of this mythical creature, I couldn’t speak,
but gently patted him from cheek to glowing cheek.
His well-groomed mane felt like satin and silk,
with a faint scent of harvested hay and fresh milk.
Then I heard from inside my head,
a deep, masculine voice which stately said,
“Your Majesty, it would be my great honor
to take you on a tour of celestial wonder!”
Reverently he bowed, as I, completely taken aback,
hesitantly mounted his muscular unsaddled back.
Time stood still as he swept me away,
right through the heart of the magnificent Milky Way.
We flew past amazing asteroids, planets, moons,
and zillions of stars looking like fiery, bulging balloons.
In flight, we traveled at the very speed of light,
and I was exhilarated with unbridled delight.
Returning me to Earth, he bowed his gallant head;
and as I dismounted graciously said,
“It’s been a pleasure, my dear Queen;
so long, and I’ll see you in your dreams!”
But even though our voyage of discovery was over,
that mystical experience changed my life forever.
Never again have I seen the unicorn on my lawn,
but from time to time, between midnight and dawn,
in my dreams, I hear a voice that’s oddly familiar
call out my name in a velvety whisper.
And somehow I know that it’s my old friend…
who’ll be watching over me ‘til the end.
02-03-2017
Contest: Once Upon a Time
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Placement: 10th
I'm afraid
So afraid
Of being arrested
By the thought police
Their rules are many
Think this
Think that
Don't diverge from the normal
Stop playing on the street corner of tomorrow
Let sleeping dogs rest
Do not question
Do not burn on passionate bonfires
I watch as they ready their weapons
They display arresting warrants through clouded glass
Fifty shades of bland
Cuffs dangling from bulging belts
Bound in self rightous blunder
They wait outside my door
Screaming bull horns command me to exit my paper freedom
I am blinded by search lights, forced to use my third eye
Fearful of their uniformed presence
How long will they be held at bay?
I hold their preconceptions hostage
They cannot see beyond their script
Trained in the warfare of ignorance
They say "who are you, to question our authority?"
I answer
"I am the poet
The one who dreams beyond here and now
My words push through yesterday like a plow!
Yet I am gentle like the rain
Equal parts of pleasure and pain
A powerful detergent
I remove ancient stains
With my words I shake the ground
I will not be stopped by another's sound
Arrest me, yet you can't stop what I think
Within my mind I determine what I drink."
The thought police
Turn to another
The writings of our sisters and brothers
They wait, with cuffs in hand
Unable to understand
The few
The many
Who have joined hands
The poets
The thinkers
We take a stand
Inspired by Eileen Ghali's poem "The Hidden Woman"
Catie Lindsay's Heart of the matter contest.
Spunky squirrels gather up nuts,
stashing them safely out of view.
In a hurry to stuff their guts,
spunky squirrels gather up nuts.
With bulging cheeks and furry butts,
you love watching them passing through.
Spunky squirrels gather up nuts;
stashing them safely out of view.
You love to watch them passing through,
scampering around the garden.
And though they'll dig a hole or two,
you love to watch them passing through.
Storing nuts, they'll bury a few;
before the ground starts to harden.
You love to watch them passing through;
scampering around the garden.
So if you make time in your day,
Quietly spy on them at play.
Unafraid, they won't run away;
Instead, they tend to be quite bold.
Remember to watch, but not hold,
Rabies is something you should fear;
Enjoy them from afar, not near,
Loping along from tree to tree;
Scurrying free for all to see.
The bells are calling as the snowflakes fall
Illuminations twinkle with delight
A goodwill message sent to one and all
The joys of Christmas fill this festive night.
Excited children gaze with gleaming eyes
They think of Santa and his gifts galore
Their hearts fast beating at each wrapped surprise
Anticipation of what lies in store.
The smell of cooking, stuffing, sweets and drink
Pervades the nostrils, tempting with desire.
Food in abundance, bulging glasses clink
The ambience pleasing, by a cozy fire.
In glaring contrast, by deserted docks
A hobo shivers in a cardboard box.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: Shakespearean Sonnet
Hosted by Carolyn Devonshire
Placed 6th
© 21st October 2018
Ellie was just three months old,
When she was brought to our sanctuary,
A safe haven was our fold.
She was an orphan, her mother,
Her sister, her aunt, her brother,
All chased and shot, and left to die,
From our sad experience we knew,
That probably a foul mouthed,
Red faced, sun frazzled man
Whose muscled legs would look
Disgusting,
And who with red eyes bulging
Would say,
What a booty,
We have in the truck today.
He would generate an excitement,
Of the atrocity they had
Committed, saying they would
Receive a bonus this month
Added to their pay.
And what was their booty,
A truck full of tusks
Elephants killed when it
Was still light,
Until dusk
Too dangerous at night.
A war between poachers
And rangers
How could rangers,
Gentle souls, who loved animals,
Equal the poachers trained brutality,
Who had not a trace
Of humanity.
Baby Ellie
Was found,
Starving, scared and cold,
Somewhere in the African bush
Almost dead,
But she survived a shot to the head.
We had other young orphans,
They all would play
As baby elephants do,
And slowly Ellie became stronger.
Her mummy who faced
Horrific slaughter,
Would have been so proud of
Her daughter.
Rehabilitation was done,
It was both work and fun.
Eight months later we all
Thought that it was time,
For Ellie to be with her own kind,
And knew she would find
In the African bush, a new
Family who would care
And love her.
Clumsily she got into the truck,
Perhaps it was fear that
Brought the smell of death near,
Awkwardly.
And hesitantly she walked
Down the ramp,
A mama elephant spied her first,
And with their recognizable gait,
And heavy weight,
Walked to one another,
Swinging their trunks,
And so, they met,
And side by side they walked
To the nearby water pan,
Our hearts sang,
As Ellie turned and let out
A loud,
But proud,
Thunderous trumpet,
Thank you she meant,
I love you too.
Ellie had finally
Come home,
To her own.
"Who's woods are these anyway'.
Who's woods that I dwell?
The house of Usher I know so well.
I seek to skate on the frozen lake.
These woods are deep, dark, and weak.
Though I would dance like a swan if I could.
The lake is always frozen this time of year.
How I love the night woods that cover me.
Under the bulging night skies of death.
Beyond the place of wrath and tears.
I would dance upon the lake till not.
Alluring, always caressing in a gentle touch.
I would be remembered as " The Great Swan".
Though here I sit in my bed chamber of death.
And wait for God to call my name.
1 pm wed. 7 / 24 / 2013, " House of Usher" stands for death, " right" the woods are a metaphor for the sick body.
MR GREEDY
Mr Greedy could not eat any more
His bulging stomach was swollen and sore
Needed hospital care
But he couldn't get there
Cos he got wedged in the frame of the door...
SPOILT BRAT
A spoilt young daughter was having a moan
Santa didn't bring the latest I phone
Her dad said" hand me that
You ungrateful young brat"
And sent her off to her room to atone...
MA KELLY
Eighty year old Ma Kelly passed away
Her mean family didn't want to pay
So they filled her with concrete
Then put supports on her feet
And sold her as a statue on ebay...
SINBAD
For twelve camels Sinbad purchased a wife
But she gave him lots of grief and much strife
Tried to give her away
All his friends they did say
"A wife's not just for Christmas but for life" ..
CLIMATE CHANGE
Eskimos igloos started to buckle
Global warming for them is big trouble
They got home one day
And to their dismay
Their village had turned into a puddle...
NEW YEAR
If you go out celebrating new year
Do go easy on the whiskey and beer
Make sure you drive slowly
Cos you don't want to be
Stuck in a snow drift right up to your ear...
Written 30th December 2019.
Better still if you're driving DON'T DRINK.
Happy New Year to all.
Hell belches out more black-hearted ballads
than the accord of heaven that releases
only the innocent and wafting
lofty dreamings of a population
unversed in the ways of emotion.
They simper and insipidly bow and release
delicate praises to the air as perfume... oh joyful
white roses. Sweetly sing with your monotonous harpischords.
Not we.
We are the fire in the blackest midnight...
the mud that births monsoons of a terrible beauty.
We tremble lest our own fire overtake us, we are the torrents
that pain your face with every gleefull beat.
We are the dreamers of dreams.
We are lovers, burning holes in sheets of purity and
invincible morality... we scream and shiver to our toes...
oh haunting electricity.
We are intense anger... the fury of emperors untold...
we shatter our enemies into the oblivion they beg for mercy
fists bulging, contorted eyes stinging from the battle.
We are howls of bitter triumph, the sweet partakers of the
lost cause. We are brazen to the thought.
We are the aroma of sadness that arises from the blackest pit,
we are the oppression that snuffs out the candle.
We praise from the very depths of our cavernous abyss
our own masochistic knowledge... the fiery knowledge that burns us
as we consume ourselves.
Belt in hand
Red of face
Eyes bulging into space
The children scatter every place
His temper is in full bloom
They know they will pay for it soon
Tiny hands and tear stained faces
They silently pray from their hiding places
"Someone, anyone, please come and protect them" they plead
"For if not soon they will bleed"
The father rises and calls to each one
And so it has begun
Tenatively each steps forward
Knowing their fate
With a sadistic gleam in his eye
The belt finds it's mark
On soft skin, it leaves it's stark welts
Tears flowing fast
Live rivers in spring
The terrified kids can do nothing
On and on he punishes them
Until they lay like broken toys
They lie so still
But he continues to enforce his will
There is no help
No reprieve
And worst of all
This isn't the end
Tomorrow it all begins again!
We all enjoy the apple, grape and cherry
We all eat the orange, as if it was air
We never forget our favorite berry
But what about the bulging pear?
As I remove the banana from the cut glass
I leave my poor little pear
like countless others, in this worldwide farce
It lies alone in its cut glass lair
I taste the banana, long, firm, almost white
But I see it's mournful green spotted eye
I have finally realized the lonesome plight
Like some old, forgotten half baked pie
I place the Banana down upon the table
and I grip my long forgotten Pear
Like a scene from an old story or fable
I engage the fruit in my lustful stare
I pierce the skin with my long sharp teeth
I hold the fruit, now naked and bare
I re-discover the joy that lied beneath
I am sorry, my vastly underrated pear.
While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
from branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
your soul, a beggar’s blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
with dangling pearls and diamond studs in dripping crimson clots,
midst gaping wounds and bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
for wrapped like rope around your throat’s the Reaper’s grim garrote.
"It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God." (Matthew 19:24)
DREAMS OF YESTERDAY AND TODAY
Leaves falling during autumns years
they bless my ribbon memories of how it was
childhood shadows brown like withered grass
for now am old and soon shall breathe my last..
I sit quiet to travel on bygone days,
on the streets before, I have ropes to play
blend of dolls and bubbles also made me gay
but the child in me still yearns to pass these ways.
From curves of mountains to nations across the sea,
to journey more, I ask God to direct where I'll be...
I passed a plant its leaves swaying with the breeze,
years fold, the same plant is now a fruit-bearing tree.
I view the puffy-feathered skies and its blue,
I smile each breaking dawn for it's silvery new.
I tackle each task fast and through but before I knew,
hours gone and done, I finished some-- I missed a few.
When evenings globes of wordless speech shine
allowing me to run, run into garden of dreams,
of childhood once supreme but they shoot away
in flutter flash on life's fluctuating stream.
I hugged my knees to stop my tears a while
remembering decades when my body is still a child.
I keep the tears to my chest as I go by,
if only, good times replay... I want them again.
Each bulging grin that rise unto east horizon,
Each satellite, modelling slow on her turning points
in stellar of green, and her clouds of powder white,
I quench my thirst drinking the beaming tides.
Down earth, I linger to verdure adorned of rosy blush
even from the arch where the gentle winds is seen
to dwarf liquid curls that roll near the shore,
I dreamt yesterday and still am dreaming today...
Twenty years ago, blooms and fruits hang on vines
so fragrant, so fragrant were those days of mine
Now no more; their traces I could not find;
Today, I need to make more golden memories
etched to time as later, I'll be leaving them behind
And if someday, one wanders in my lifes forest
despite blowing winds and thunderstorms,
like the tiny plant, may I be that fruit-bearing tree.
___________________________________________________________
Open Poetry Contest - Poetry Contest
Sponsor Charlotte Puddifoot
~~~3rd place~~~
OLIVE ELOISA GUILLERMO
9:15 pm, July 11, 2015
Continued from Part 1
“Upon your knees in golden naves, while peeking through the slots,
You horded thirty silver pieces, downed a whiskey shot,
Then crossed yourself and wrapped yourself in furs of ocelots,
And danced on cleated cloven hoofs in purple polka-dots,
Then drank His blood from chalice cups with pious afterthoughts.
“You’ve treated men like mongrels chained, like little flies to swat,
By doing what you wanted to, instead of what you aught;
You’ve wiped your nose with dollar bills and paid your serfs with snot,
But when you’ve paused to preen your pride, you’ve scrubbed a scarlet blot.
“In ashes of our victories: the diamonds that you sought,
The crock of gold, the Golden fleece of bogus Argonauts -
In mirrors of your lifelessness, the evils you begot.
“The haunted winds strew leaves of time across a shallow plot
Where now, beneath the frozen stones blanched bodies bathe in rot,
Disintegrate, return to dust to feed Forget-Me-Nots
Amidst the bane and pits of pain where broken bones lie caught.
“In fields above the catacombs and tombs of Camelot
The black and withered tree of Death arises from the spot
Where oft beneath a bleeding moon you hid your gold in pots
Embedding doubts neath barren bogs where roots of wormwood squat.
“While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
Your soul, a beggar’s blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
With dangling pearls and diamond studs mid dripping crimson clots
And gaping wounds with bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
For wrapped in chains around your throat, the Reaper’s grim garrote.”
Yes, that’s the fate of all your kind, disclosed by Wise Men taught.
But that was, oh, so long ago, by now you have forgot…
End
Your face and rotting teeth and heavy jowls
and sunken breasts with bulging waist and
wooden legs
betray
Your image of laughter, lovemaking, seeking
bourbon tweaked philosophies
of life begins
at forty.
The hands that tremble as you tilt
the glass that begins another
day of
Tirade thoughts, empty lies, money spent on
lipstick coated leeches who prey on
your diminishing
breath.
Through these wintry days pass faces long past
into what was then
while with the coming spring ...
at last! at last!
One can remember
and want no more
what could never be:
a Mother.