Best Calendar Poems
the calendar page
still showing the last month....
a clock ticks
© 2011 kashinath karmakar
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Placement:1st ;(Nov. 2011)
Contest:Whatever any theme(max. 12 lines)
Sponsor:Brian Strand
By:kashinath karmakar
The Long Count Calendar, Cycle One Ends
December twenty-first, two thousand and twelve –
The Mayan long count calendar sets sights on that year.
Are there ecological and cosmic questions to delve?
Is it time for modern man to panic and fear?
The reckoning at hand, according to Mayans,
Began with the creation of the world.
Then, the sky still lay on the primordial sea, black
And the long count calendar began time’s whirl.
Man has traveled a long way on life’s stage.
Throughout time to beyond the information age,
Amazing discoveries have and will come to man
Since before and after the scientific method began.
End of the world theories run rampant these days.
Promulgated by televisions entertaining ways.
History Channel’s “Decoding the Past”
Brought on many doomsday sequels…and fast.
Did the galactic alignment of nineteen, ninety, eight
Begin the wake of a super-massive black hole fate?
Or will a geomagnetic reversal mark earth’s end?
Can we know when the apocalypse will begin?
The Holy Bible says no one knows when.
Upon that premise, hope over fear may win.
Have faith and see what NASA has to say
About that previously predicted calendar day.
Polarity change takes thousands of years.
And it doesn’t affect planetary alignments
There is no huge planet heading for earth.
So, predictions need realignment.
Be faithful; and with Christ live a thousand years.
Even if the apocalypse does start, put fears on shelve.
What will really happen in two thousand and twelve?
Cycle two of the Mayan long count calendar will begin.
© August 26, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
RELEVANT SHORT VIDEO: http://www.jpl.nasa.gov/video/index.cfm?id=876
Black and white Advent calendar
I will make you red and green
Haven't you heard the red oleander
Dropping its last leaf for December sheen
Growing up with bullets in the Taliban
Blood spills into the streets of Kashmir
Still the Calendar craves and calls for
Gold, Frankincense and balmy myrrh
Whenever the birds are all gone
Open the crimson card door
See, when the star will return
As the Bethlehem angels soar
In the centre of the white frost
In every cube of icy story
Look at the pink loving bouquet
Smiling to greet the glory
I do remember the pine tree
I had planted on such a day
So that he can keep green
Whether December or May
He will come he will come
Chocolate of assurance in every window
Tender palms and the face handsome
Soft yellow with sunrise glow
Advent box of twenty-fourth December
Leads me to the Angel moonlight
Echoes of the Migdal Eder
Shining star in the ebony night
What is in the last box
Christmas tree or red cherry?
I kept waiting with wonder
Like the child like strawberry
A photo came out depicting Jesus
Almost as a man like we are
With personality as the Mount Everest
And a heart with cucumber care
We will light the waiting candles
Deck up spirited Christmas trees
Lay our ears to the vibrant voice
I come back with the Christmas breeze
The voice rises from the seas and rivers
Also from the stars above
In spite of bullets and pistols
What prevails are his wounds of love
'______________________________________
13/12/2018
Originally published in all poetry.com
Sharing with soup friends here
The Calendar
A calendar hangs on the wall.
A clock beside the bed.
Another day is about to dawn,
But all my world feels dead.
With pen in hand I cross the date,
We’re one day closer now.
I check the clock lest I be late.
‘Tis the working hour.
These two things now govern my life.
Inanimate objects though they be.
They keep me from my loving wife,
But slowly set me free.
My Birthday,The Calendar Speaks
Since January 4, 1951**********
(Written for the Shanks, the Youngs & Jim)
“...Raging glory...Forever young...”. Bob Dylan
————————————————ttt———————————————————-
The calendar speaks
Of this day, seventy years ago, when
I was born. Around 6 p.m.. Wearing a crown
Of thick, black hair. And a never-stop smile,
Instilled to fight the blues. I will not
Want to imagine my mother in the pain of birth...
Only her joys in holding a daughter. My mom
Without any clues (thank God) to imagine all
The pains and demands
My growing would cause. Over and over.
Whoever would have had the thought that
My growing would go on this long?
Most likely, only God, who put the maps before me
All along the way. But, easily I can see
How his plan unfolded perfectly:
From my doings to the coursings of my heart;
From illnesses to ecstasies of my spirit’s growth;
From palettes to pirouettes to poetry.
Who would have prognosed I’d live this long?
Certainly not I. From outrunning my mistakes
To fighting beasts; churning through shadows,
Longing always for the light;
Praying for friendships with angels, and to be
Worthy enough to hear the psalms of Eden — which
Would have taken longer than this long — but,
Whoever would have guessed I’d live this long?
Not my doctors, not my teachers, not my neighbors.
They never saw life’s lessons feeding me to scream
Survival, then passion, and desperately to keep Knowing the smiles that blessed me from birth!
Thanks. Thanks, then, to life and God, and
Love, yes...
Love has held me all along. Thanks, too, to
New Poetry soup friends, so great
********. ************ ********
(c) sally Young eslinger for 1/4/2021
Thanks be to God
*For Deborah Guzzi's The Twining Contest...
*Co written with Linda-Marie Bariana
"Calendar Caviar"
Windy Winter,
Snowy, chilling cold,
Shivering frosty flakes blow.
Winter runs from Spring peeking back
With childlike eyes, seasons hide and seek.
Showery Spring rains,
Thunder, lightening on window panes,
With patriotic claims to so inflame.
Summer beckons breezes wave,
Vacations in deep warmth enslave,
Autumn delights with changing leaves.
Trees must answer with colors of
Yellow, orange and red; Fall daze.
Nature's Royal Flush,
a potpourri of season's flair,
The shining star, of calendar caviar.
While looking for Viagra
with passion on its brink,
I dropped the little box of pills
they all went down the sink
Now on the pack it clearly says,
40 minutes take to work, so I
was keen to find them quick
and haste I did not shirk
My love was waiting in the bed
I knew for not too long, for pretty
soon she’d be counting sheep
and I with rampant dong
So out I wrenched the U-bend
tube, such water everywhere,
but could not see the little pills,
now patience running bare
So to the all night chemist, I drove
like man possessed, twenty minutes
there and back, and one to get undressed
I swigged one down immediately, looking
at the clock, and hoped the little devil, would
start work on my cock
Ten minutes still to go, perhaps foreplay would
be best, I slid to bed as she smiled and removed
my cotton vest
My love smiled up so sweetly but
then looking rather sad, she said it was
the time of month and sex could not be had
So older chaps beware this ditty, comes the
mannish urge, check your kitchen calendar,
when the hormones surge
Where has it gone
Those lazy days of sunshine
Making the flowers excel in their presence
What has happened, where did it go.
It's alright, just a seasonal change
The calendar is slipping towards Autumn
Soon we will have those shivering, wet days
Some sunlight, to begin with then
with the shortening days, the sun loses its way.
Before the hoar frost raises its white head,
the frozen dew, can kill a plant at once.
We will bring in the abundant harvest of corn,
the allotment holders will, pick their runner beans.
To take into their kitchen and cook in hot water
Drain, dash slithers of butter, twist or two of black pepper
Heaven on a plate.
Morning awakens, I look out of the window
Amazed to see a dusting of light snow
I rush to the garden, with icy fingers
I brush the white cold snow from the delicate plants
Covering them with special wrap to keep them warm. "
This is definitely a message advising us
To keep warm, take care
Remember the old folk who live alone
One day you might be the one living there.
Dated 14 September 2015.
Twelve Months Calendar
January
January Dawning
Polar vortex abounding
Winter continues
February
February ends
With war breaking out
Invasion of Ukraine
March
March madness continues
The war intensifies
COVID fears fading
April
April fears intensify
The taxman cometh for us
Deadly Yellow Dust
May
May ends with her birthday
Preparing to travel again
Ready to see the world
June
Time to go back home
See my homeland again
Berkeley beckoning me
July
This year I want to go
To Boston and check it out
Just because I have not been there
August
Hope to spend August
In Oregon and Northern California
Before the fire season burns it up
September
September memories
40 years ago I met her
When she walked out of my dreams
October
Always feel a bit pensive
During my birthday month
Want to spend it in Paris
November
November wants to return
To Korea for a while
Avoiding the US. election madness
December
Hope to spend the year-end
In Thailand, Vietnam
Cambodia, Laos for the winter
Days grow into weeks
Our weeks evolve into months
twelve of these yearly
Haiku Calendar
(January to December in the Southern part of the U.S.A.)
snow and more snow falls
cold wind and more cold wind blows
all branches are bare
starving and weak birds
a chill grips before sunrise
fall from bare branches
warm afternoon wind
thin morning ice melts on pond
a song bird is heard
poppies hide in grass
drink from early morning showers
bees drink from open buds
warm ruffles new weeds
clover covers budding ground
crickets find their song
hawk hunts small rabbit
green hedges give good cover
blood drips on clover
sun waves off dark soil
flowers grow only in shade
bees hive drips sweet wax
in shade cow chews cud
waits for dark to find water
sleeps on top of mound
east winds pull cool rain
quinces bright hill flowers thirst
streams roar then fall quite
squirrel hides acorn
digs hole at foot of oak tree
barks at gray wet sky
leaf fall from elm tree
vacant bird nest are exposed
geese sound over head
deer move over trail
fawns loose baby spots and jump
graze on holly leafs
Per the Mayan Calendar the world was to end on the twenty-oneth of December!
I called my preacher who knows about celestial things and he couldn't remember,
Receiving any such revelation from his Boss Up There about any pending disaster!
I breathed an unfeigned sigh of relief since I have great confidence in my pastor!
Well, the twenty-oneth of December came and went with no change that I perceived!
The only amazing thing to me on that day was how the population can be deceived!
The Good Book espouses over and over that "We knoweth not the time nor day!"
I reckon all we can do is behave ourselves 'til that day or there'll be 'ell to pay!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Another three hundred and sixty-five days,
I give thanks to God when I pray
New chances to take; new memories to make
Let’s start new with a clean slate
Time for love not hate
Family and friends have come; and gone
I’ve learned to leave the past and move on
This year feels reminiscent of the last
I’ve noticed how time moves so fast
Every day I pray for a better tomorrow
Hoping not to face grief or sorrow
Yes, I cried a few tears
Faced a lot of fears
Thank God a new year is here
Life’s too short to dwell in the misery
Let’s write a new chapter to our story
The lessons learned and memories gained
Another year, but it’s never the same
Here’s a quick reminder
Very soon we’ll be changing our calendar
Calendar cats are the Pussy élite.
Silky or spiky, or butch, or effete,
Calendar cats are a privilege to meet …
They’re, oh! SO beautiful!
My Bubble’s a bit smelly, and he doesn’t seem to care,
And his poor old baldy belly has got ‘flying-away’ hair.
He quacks and he sneezes, and he dribbles ev’rywhere –
It’s not pretty at all …
Calendar cats have immaculate hair.
It’s sleek and it’s clean – not a flea anywhere;
But they’re paper, not real-life – it’s true, and you can’t
Hear them PURRing at all …
Bubble’s greedy and he’s lazy, and his fur gets up my nose.
He gets it in my dinner and he gets it on my clothes.
He isn’t too hygienic at all, BUT – he PURRs
Like a pneumatic drill …
My Bubble does nothing, and he does it all day.
When he’s not on my lap, then he’s still in my way.
He sleeps in my garden, and dreams of the old
Days, - when HE had it all …
But calendar cats only hang on the wall,
And when you need a cuddle they’re no use at all …
So I’ll cuddle my Bubble ...
Yes, I’ll cuddle my Bubble …
And I won’t want a calendar pussy at all …
No, I won’t want a calendar cat
At all!
This is a waltz (3/4) rhythm, and verses 2 and 4 are in double time (6/8)
Sadly, Bubble is no longer with us, but he did live to nearly 20!
Committed time brings change
Chart of days within months
Chain of weeks for the year
Column and rows, time flows
Circle the days those gone
Capture good memories
Cherish life till it lasts
August 24, 2016
Pleiades C - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kim Merryman