Best Bulky Poems
Fight hard
as long as you're not too defensive
or worse, stronger than him
so we can't tell that he hit you
so we don't have to pick up your slack
Speak your mind
as long as your voice isn't louder than his
or worse, too assertive or contradicting it
so you say something worth listening to
so he can get his word in edgewise
Make it rain
as long as you don't make more than him
or worse, take his
so you're not a gold digger
so you can't get out from under his umbrella
Be a damsel
as long as your inevitable distress doesn't cause unrest
or worse, distract from his
so you know how to fend for yourself
so we don't have to hear you whine
Stay in shape
as long as your muscles aren't too bulky
or worse, bigger than his
so you're easy on the eyes
so you don't hurt his pride
Seduce sweetly
as long as you're not a ****
or worse, a whore
so he wants you
so you think that's what your worth is
Make this house a home
as long as you don't forget who makes the bread around here
or worse, forget to put his dinner on the table
so that you're a good homemaker
so that you have no valid claim to what he makes
Be everything
Be nothing
two bible-blabbering, prattling pastors
from two denominational sectors
ended up in stitches and bloody plasters;
those around said it actually began
when one yelled, "faith alone can save a man!",
the other screamed, "only charitable acts can!";
swinging bulky bibles, shouting curses,
they whacked each other's eardrums and noses,
bludgeoned and bloodied their righteous faces;
so ironic, how they maimed each other
for faith, for charity and didn't bother
to heed the Lord's words: "Love one another."
(This is a "childhood" poem, written many years ago.)
High above the pristine falls
the looming mountain lifts its walls.
A monolith of stony gray,
with bulky lips, it seems to say:
"Eons passed since I've been here;
nothing have I seen to fear
while above my walls, from year to year,
about the world below I peer.
My walls so high, so steep and strong,
protect me well from all that's wrong.
Would that Man below could see
how I keep all harm from me.
Would that he could build a wall
about his home, his family -- all --
to keep them safe from Evil's charm,
which causes Man unending harm."
A GIFT
You've given me
a piece of your soul
inside a sunken brown envelope
written handle with care
as if I was born heavy-handed.
You've telescoped
my soul once more
in its caravan
on a mountain slope
stooped by a bulky backpack.
It's good you've frozen
that portion of my long journey
I could have missed the sun
just because I stooped too low
that I could only see my heavy footsteps.
I've always known
when I unwrap your love
with my crystal-pure letter opener
I've trapped a powerful force
that allows me to forge ahead
with its timely smiles.
what I just received
is static showcase of a dynamic love!
NOW I KNOW
Now I know
you covered yourself
in coming to me
for I was too green
to know myself
that outgrows my form.
I am sorry
if I hated anything
that didn't speak
my unfulfilled language
though what it attempted
was to enrich it and my world.
You spoke my language
nonetheless
and maneuvered me
into marching
to my inner heart.
How could I resist
from following
strangely familiar footprints
to a wide lawn home
almost forgotten
in the dark smoke
of my activities.
WHY YOU
Could it be
That my footprints
Have lead me
To meet and see you as beautiful?
I could have seen you
any other else
If these noise
would have stopped crowding
about my sensitive ear.
Maybe I was formed
To see you as I do
And there's no way
To be otherwise.
Or if there is
It could be a slim probability
I could not wait
For time to unwrap
Your true worth
For I have my heart
Filled with pregnant rose
And to wait a little longer
Would mean forever.
It could be
that you are an eclectic
of personalities
that lighted my footprints
or, perhaps, watered them with tears.
in my case I chose you
and that's a footprint hard to erase!
Dalila Agtani
Deep in the Florida steamy everglades,
A single blue heron strides in cobalt blue water;
Regal and grand with grey and azure plume feathers,
The call- a harsh croak that penetrates the calm.
On the water's edge amongst wild grasses and ferns,
Perhaps a bulky stick nest is hidden with pale blue eggs;
The landscape is graceful, quiet and oh so beautiful,
Rich with hues of green foliage blowing in the breeze.
The atmosphere is soggy, humid and hot,
And in the deep stillness the blue heron stands majestic;
An image held in time- the beauty captured,
In a photograph that I will treasure ever.
________________________________________
February 14, 2015
Poetry/Verse/A Photograph Captured
Copyright Protected, ID 02-640-879-14
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, New or Old 3
sponsor, Eve Roper, Judged 04/2015
Second Place
The weatherman is trying hard to find
Another way to say rain is forecast.
He knows we hate him when he must remind
That we should be prepared for rain to last.
Two weeks ago we thought spring had arrived
And stored our bulky sweaters all away,
So eager were we to welcome in spring.
Enchantment was short lived.
I’ll find a happy way to spend my day,
Into my house the sunshine I shall bring.
This day is mine to do with as I please.
I’ll not fill these hours with idle fretting.
My cozy house envelops me with ease,
Time a gem within a simple setting,
To be used entirely for my pleasure.
Without guilt I raise up the thermostat
To the degree that meets my comfort zone.
And for extra measure
Treat myself to cup of hot chocolate,
Preparing for a pleasant day alone.
I mute the phone that no one shall intrude
Upon these precious moments, once unknown.
It has been many years since my young brood,
Took so much time, I had none of my own.
I pluck an unread book from off the shelf
And settle down to plan a magic hour
I revel in the novel feeling of
A relaxed, unrushed self.
Behind my ear I place a perfect flower
And pour a second cup of drink I love.
The roof seems to have come alive
Raindrops now treading softly on tip toes
The skies clouded with cottons full of water
They drip down as though they are squeezed
Black turns white and so they pave way for others
From little pitter-patter to heavy thuds and splashes
They have grown, graciously engulfing everything
I turn over, not wanting to leave my warm covers
I pull up the quilts and try to drift away
But I can’t resist it any longer, the rain tempts me
I’ve always been addicted to rainy days,
Today is no exception…so I jump off my bed
Still encased in my quilt, I settle on the sill
Arms around my knees, I stare at the heavens
Oh! So wonderful, so magical, almost fairy tale like
The line seems broken yet steady, bulky yet graceful
Departed from home, they splash on foreign land
Soon, they seep into the depths exploring the layers
Some fall on silky leaves which make them their own
Some others join their fathers, flowing to the unknown
It all happens with a blink of the eye…
It continues to rain as I shed my warmth
Looking around I realise I am alone,
Except of course for the little raindrops
Who keep me company on lonely days
My only solace on teary mornings
My inspiration when I’m about to let go
My mentors when I need a hand to reach out to
The raindrops are falling and I know today is good
My morning cleansed pure with the flowing elixir
The rest of the sun, still awaiting my arrival
I’m full of spirit…I’m alive with fire fed by water
The raindrops are falling and I know today is good
After all it is raining…raindrops are falling
What could go wrong?
Train whistles still call me
in the dead of night
recalling wanderlust
days of youth, tugging
something
inside me tight
Vacant curiosity of what
might have been
another place
another lifetime
remembering when
I was free, with
nothing to lose but
The Sadness
I carried overseas
(and back again)
like a bulky bag of
dirty laundry grown large
Older now, I thought I'd
done my washing
dried, pressed, folded
put away... And yet-
suddenly I feel that
familiar weight
on my back
gunnysack of Sadness
fraught with longing
daring me to break away
for destinations unknown
leave today- this
temporary madness
of suburban ways
____
Even though I'm pretty "settled" at this stage of life, train whistles always stir that restless part of me that refuses to accept that I'm too old to jump up & take off for 'regions unbounded' like I once did...
A newborn baby
fresh from Heaven is sent here
with wisdom beyond our own.
We’re fools to think it
is dumb because it can’t speak;
but, babies are very wise.
They possess knowledge
of the Heavenly realms and
angels will watch over them.
The only problem
with newborn babe’s, they must learn
to cope with bulky bodies.
HE STRUGGLE
Heated walls Suffocating air
Warm bed sheets
Soft, steaming pillow.
Prickly heat, Trickling sweat
Crossed midnight, exhausted body
The cock’s crow disturbed my rest
Need to rush to the field ,
For the day’s bread.
That’s the life of a poor man.
The rich have a life
Just contrary to it. How do you feel?
They hold one, a pot-belly.
Beer and whisky
Fatty special for a bulky body
Persecute the vehicle,
They often travel
Unlimited consumption
Air-conditioned bed rooms
Soft beds with fitting companions
Rich and poor, you need
Only six feet of soil.
What do you say?
Written: September 330, 2024 For Edward Ibeh Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A brown ribbon-like road with a blue sky.
A jungle of green, with the sky peeking high.
Asters are velvety rich, as a grasshopper's call.
Time flies—today is heat and tomorrow is fall.
Do you beguile me erratically, Hope?
The day of your birth has just waned.
But its white wings are full of scope.
With eyes that sang rhapsody, light reigned.
Grew bulky and bright and my path was clear.
Under their calming beams and smiles, dear...
A path going to some guilt-free land.
To which a star drops from the nightstand!
When did I leave the prisonhouse of clay?
My cantankerous spirit will vanish away.
We bestow all praise on the eternal elixir of bliss.
Oh, don't bury me amid rotting bones diss.
Amid a moon icy light, marble slabs shimmer.
Where a hapless mourner will always simmer.
Upon the graves of those who lie in peace.
While basking in the sun on a woodland lease.
Indulge in the September and fall faith.
September is unlike every other wraith
Colors and weather swing over the day.
No other month can claim the same way.
Season of hazy and luscious ripeness.
Loyal ally of the sun as it earns rifeness.
Crafting a scheme to load and bless him.
Vine-covered thatch-eaves surge, full of vim.
Using pears to twist the mossy home trees.
And yield every fruit its full, deep bloom breeze.
Inflate the squash and cram the hazel seeds.
With the tasty kernel, deeper buds will breed.
And further, later blooms for the bees.
Until they believe warm days will never cease.
The summer season has clogged their pores.
Who hasn't seen you often in your store?
You can find me
Hidden in plain sight
Through the ebbs and flows of life
Through the cracks and veins
Of the Acropolis’ stones
You can run into me
In the most shadowy corners
Of suburban alleys
Skating fluidly on metal bars
Impervious to any scratches and scars
You can spot me
At the first bolt of sunrise
Skimming over the water
Until the twilight fall
You can come across me
During your rest at that cozy inn
At the end of the downhill road
Or
During your usual antics in that rowdy tavern
Lit by endless stained-glass lamps
Whilst drinking from a bulky glass of beer
Enjoying the company of your peers
Who am I?
Perhaps
The reflection of the light
The darkest shadow of the night
Wandering freely before your eyes
It is me, right?
The one you claim
To be hard to find
To identify
To pinpoint in space and time
Well
I am all over the world
I am the elephant in the room
Boldy and gracefully stepping outside
At all hours of the day and night
For I
Am the essence of life
Always hidden in plain sight
Let me tell you a story
From a time gone by
The tale of a greedy butcher
And a pig that could fly
In the little village of Piddle Brook
There lived a butcher named Mr.Ham
He was bearded, bulky, and a belcher
And was rumored to eat his own toe jam
A lover of all meat
Pork,beef,duck,chicken, and mutton
All this gorger did was eat
He was a professional glutton
But Mr.Ham’s appetite was not satisfied
He longed for some thick greasy bacon
Just a few strips, nicely fried
Served with pickled daikon
He peeked through his window
And with one beady eye
Spotted his neighbors hog
And pictured a flaky pork pie
His mouth watered
"What a delicious midnight snack!"
"I will barbecue,braise and fry her"
"But first I will launch my attack"
"Oh but I shan’t become a thief!"
"T’was only a whim!"
But Mr.Ham’s thin scruples vanished
His growling belly got the better of him
He grabbed a pitchfork
And the hefty hooligan set out
He advanced on the sleeping hog
And grabbed her by the snout
Her piggy eyes shot open
And in a flash
She darted past the butcher
And ran past the fence in a dash
Mr.Ham bellowed in rage
And waddled after the beast
But the pig was too quick
Yet Mr.Ham never ceased
And so the chase continued
A wild game of cat and mouse
They ran through the streets
Row upon row,house after house
Finally the swine was cornered
The escaped pig let out a squeal
And great feathery wings sprouted from her back
Said the pig “Thou shalt not steal”
And with one final snort
Two leaps and a hop
The winged sow flew away
And Mr. Ham collapsed with a plop
"I suppose it was a sign from above"
Mr.Ham sighed with defeat
From then on the rotund carnivore
Gave up on eating meat
Here on display, one million twinkling lights
Brilliant designs with colors that delight
All for a holiday that’s met with heart
Giving is the key, sharing is the part
Bulbs that are used vary from year to year
Started with larger, bulky ones endeared
Now becoming many smaller ones shown
Lovely LED’s ignites the unknown
Beauty is the key word, collection’s bright
Covering all of my house that’s in sight
Top layer solid blue, the middle…red
The bottom is the Christmas green that’s said
Each color shown in their separate parts
Shines as one in the end, bright to impart
Russell Sivey
The Aged Man
Authored by Chuck Keys
There is a sadness inside of him,
Draped by layers of heartaches and disappointments,
Insulated with his long beard, thickly white eye brows,
Unkempt brushy long dense white hair,
Dry peeling cracked lips, slightly ajar,
Showing his smoke stained chipped teeth,
Wearing a dark, soiled, bulky long scruffy ankle length coat,
Two buttons were missing,
With a 2" uneven tear at the bottom of its left side stained pocket,
A dirty powder-blue weathered wool and leather hat, with ear flaps down,
It was a long cold night, in mid-January, the month of his birth.
He moves like a man covered with fear and age, and maybe hunger too.
Mornings and evenings are but doorways
In and out of his leftover forgotten soul,
To the long endless days and nights, forlorn and grey.
He meanders about with a slow cautious gait, head down often times,
Eyes more closed than open, squinting even in the dark unlit night,
Torn gloved hands (with a large irregular frayed hole in the palm of the left),
Each hand fisted tightly for warmth,
Arms tightly at his side, stationary, not swaying,
Protectively wrapping himself inside,
Or just holding himself, maybe for warmth or some unexplained reason.
His life is full, the years buried deep inside.
The pounding aches inside, remembers his early years,
Ages ago, wrapped and protected inside his large family,
But never a part of it, not inside,
Always outside searching, for what can't be found, ever.
His own family that slowly left him was remembered,
Material children today, groundless at best,
That have no memory of what was,
Only what is or what will be.
Grandchildren that lacked life inside his hug.
The pounding aches inside; smirks, sometimes,
Knowing time and space, loving and giving, peace,
Remedy for all that ails.
He knows only what he knows,
He loved, loves and will always love.
Even alone, he is in joy, at peace.
The old man walked into his last mile, a short while ago,
His slow cautious gait, one small step after another, and another,
As the gates opened, he turned and looked behind,
Frowned and smiled,
With nothing left to say.