Best Canna Poems
En France, les demineurs
still search the fields
removing shells,
grenades and bombs
of two World Wars
Would that we had the same
for affairs of the human heart
to defuse munitions lurking
under a landscape of civility
I’ll forgive but canna’ forget
A dangerous occupation
more than six hundred have died
removing millions of explosives
and each year farmers die
tilling their fields.
We’ve laid the mines
of icy civility
to restrict crossing
this no-man’s land
yet your smile lights a path
through this treacherous passage
to the warmth of your embrace.
En fin, les demineurs, ne travailent pas
______________________________________________________________________My poem to remember this week. I wrote it years ago on reading an piece on Les Demineurs in the newspaper.
I’m here.
Holding up the sky
It will not fall on you
Not again
In these days once more
When you tell me you canna do it
Not again
Stuttering intakes of breathless oceans apart
Yet so close as to tingle fingertips
Gasping at familiar melodies of desert songbirds
The smell of earth after a rainstorm
Two thousand miles of trust
Between us
And the origin of this collaboration
Of souls
Back to the beginning
Of recognition of you of me and
Me of you and
There is no end
Not this day
Nor tomorrows ever will I
Leave you
For I would cease to breathe.
For my Devin
too much on the bloody mind,
canna concentrate half the time,
write about the demons babe,
put in words what eer ya crave,
let exageration calm the wit,
pump words out a little bit,
n have a great time....
thanks you p.d.
Don
Sunlight shines within the folds
your red and orange hues display
your brush upon the canvas spoke
of beauty words could not relay
Lost within this burning flame
I'm wittiness to the joy you saw
the beauty of your fire etched
within this heart now left in awe
Inspired by Brian Strand's Picture Poem contest
Red Canna 1923 Georgia O'Keeffe
http://www.artinthepicture.com/paintings/Georgia_Okeeffe/Red_Canna
"I found that I could say things with color and shapes that I
couldn't say in any other way - things that I had no words for." Georgia O'Keeffe
Written in Scottish dialect.
Jack, Bernard and John, the Bandit Kings,
Hae handicaps wae too high.
Each o’ them score four points a hole,
Ah canna tell ye a lie!
Me, ah’m Rabbie, the bard o’ the course;
Ah’m lucky tae score yin point.
Ah feenish the game an’ come in fur a jar,
ma boadies awa’ oot o’ joint.
Jack, Bernard and John, coont up the scores,
Tae see which yin o’ them’s won.
Me ah look doon at ma pitifu’ caird.
"Nae guid wi’ a hunner an’ one."
Bernard says, "Jack what have you scored?"
In his posh Yorkshire dialect tone;
Jack’s lingo is great at a rugby club bash
But no’ sae guid oan the phone.
The Caverley Poond is played doon the last,
The lowest net score scoops the lot:
They’ve aw hit great drives right doon the middle;
Noo they wait for a shoat frae the Scot!
Ah dinna let them doon, ah’ve duffed ma ba’,
It’s flown fifty yairds, nae mair;
Ah tak’ oot ma five wid an’ gie it a heave
An’ they aw begin tae stare!
The ba’ flies superbly, as tho’ it had wings
An’ sails richt intae the hole!
Ah’m happy ah’ve taken these bandits doon,
At last ah’ve achieved ma first goal!
The moral o’ this tale is keep yer sporran zipped up
Dinna let them see a wee groat:
They’ll hatch oot a plan tae help themselves
Tae aw the shillin’s ye’ve goat!
Me slob clob be a dirty grey
me school an open alleyway
no sissy pens; we wield 'em guns
me canna count but me's no dunce
Clompers bare; me sneakers hocked
jiggle barefoot roll and rock
breathe in deep me dead-rat whiff
and suck me wacky backy spliff
Workavoidic be me graft
pleasure be a tankard draught
a willing gape to lard me wand
in Pete or Rex or busty blonde
Me rolled the slapper in the buff
caught the clap; she's up the duff
me downs no drink not alcoholic
comfy in me world shambolic
*******************************
You're a horse with an idiot paint job,
all zig-zaggy blacketty-white
you stand out when you're in a snowdrift
and can't even hide in the night.
Outrunning a Cheetah you canna
not graceful like any Gazelle
for living out on the Savanna
your life must be probably hell.
I once tried your flesh on Safari
at a camp where we had barbecue
so to add insult to injury
ugly Warthog tastes better than you.
For contest 'To a …... ' sponsored by David Lindsay
I have a dream of.....
Meandering paths and water lillies
Topiary hedges and mazes of green
Splashes of color across the lawn
Succulent fruits all for the picking
Bleeding hearts, buttercups
Elephant ears, paperwhites
Canna, easter, and daylillies
Caladiums and flowering grasses
Perfect meter, perfect rhyme
Balanced into beautiful blossoms
Ressurection of perrenials
Springtime treasures and autumns follies
hummingbird drinks from
orange canna lily bloom...
jack decapitates
jack=Jack Frost, Hoar's Frost, etc.
Undiscovered poets hear me, to PH draw near,
This just might be a good chance for your views to ring clear.
An email address you need to get up and running,
Huge monkeys it‘s said could really write something stunning.
So grab paper and pen, come as soon as you canna,
But don't forget please sir to bring several banana.
Enough monkey typewriters might just supplant Shakespeare,
Given enough time (and assuming plenty of beer.)
We don't have all day but trust me. I have a good hunch,
With banana enough friend we don't think about lunch.
So let's all hop to it just see man what we can do,
If monkey shenanigans truly carry us though.
Show literary typos the ace in our pocket,
By lighting the fuse to our post(English) grad rocket.
Brian Johnston
May 6, 2014
Poet's Notes:
Brian's bastardized Jamaican English explained….
...'PH' - PoemHunter (you know man, the site you be on right now)
…‘Huge' - a synonym for ‘a great many' or ‘a large number of'….
…'canna' - a synonym for ‘are able to, ' or slang for ‘smoke a joint, ' dare I say
...............it 'cannabis! ' (Serendipitous luck I assure you. I'm not that smart.)
…'banana' - the plural form of banana. Hey it's my poem!
…'supplant' - a synonym for ‘prove to be better than' as in ‘my pot's better .................than your pot'….
….'beer' - an alcoholic beverage you always think you can drink more of….
…'shenanigans' - an Irish? word that means ‘horse play' or ‘sculduggery'….
…'typos' - a new hip word comparing Poetry snobs to a misspelled word….
…'ace in the pocket' - a way to cheat when playing the card game Poker….
…'post(English) grad rocket' - a new poetry craze that English majors can't
..........................................crack! ....
Orange cosmos flowers inside a circle
along with the canna indica flowers;
A big smile of welcome at the front entrance. Followed by Pink, red and yellow ixoras,
the fully bloomed harlequin wonders;
Enthrall butterflies and sun birds
Violet, Red and new comer pink Balsums
are the evergreen shrub
The nonpareil Marvels
Night blooming jasmine flowers
adorn the sideways of the garden;
Meant to engross the moths
The bright yellow alamanda,
the heroine of our garden.
Made us fall in love with yellow
Glittering stars in the morning,
blaze like the diamonds in red and yellow;
The spectacular magic of sun plants
The black night shade plants
bear the inky purple sun berries;
Food for the red vented bulbuls
The Red hibiscus at the corner
attracts everyone's sights
by its innocent grin
The 4'o clock mandharai flowers
unfurl attractive perfumes
and embellish our garden in the evening
Grass green climber braces,
trumpet shaped madevillas,
The small stabs on flowers,
connote attendances of sun birds
Cutest creepers I've ever seen,
amidst the tall green grass;
The metallic blue Verbena
Sometimes our old friends Asian Koels
and our migrating friends Brahminy starlings
visit for their breakfast.
Mynas sing like parrots
and sometimes imitate Koels;
Mimicry Experts they're
Some plants are hostplants
of the common mormons, jezebels,
praying mantis and the signature spiders
Yellow billed blabbers,
the king of our garden;
The faithful defender of our home,
none can step in without their consent.
Squirrels scamper here and there,
and elegant butterflies in the air
proliferate happiness everywhere
Have you ever seen a place like this anywhere?
To embrace glee, you no need to be a Billionare.
Just Visit our garden, you will feel the real bliss, I swear!
Golden Glowing Biscuits
Eohippus at the dawn of history rides off the earth
His son the dawn horse rides out on the day
First through a lush field of heather up ahead
Guided by shifting westward winds
Then over the hills of clover running to the cliff
Down labyrinths of canyons crooked paths
Past the canna, columbine and hollyhock bursts of reds
There, just over long green grasses beyond the pastures
The animal takes a break
Relieves himself, releases golden biscuits to the earth
Which aid the fertile fields to grow and flourish
Enough to make
The heart quake…
The smile on Ruby’s lips
Enough to cause
The pulse to pause…
The curve of Ruby’s hips
Enough to light
The darkest sky
The sound of Ruby’s sighs…
Enough as such
The feel and touch
The heat of hands and thighs
Enough…and yet not quite
The most stunning sunset
Canna’ match the light
Not the brightest moon
Nor the brightest star
Nor the warmth of love on a night in June
Are not the equal of
But only a sequel to love
…The lovely light in Ruby’s eyes…
Remembering how the sweet scented garden stood
Straight stemmed Canna Lilies with pale yellow blooms
Follow the Fluer de Lis Iris spring's passion understood
Before Iris' purple, a host of Daffodils' sweet perfume
Then the saliferous warrior sprayed Roundup fumes
Now only weeds are plentiful in my sweet garden
Looking through the window to enjoy a sweet view
This heart toward the piquant warrior became harden
Knowing a sweet garden is gone~ only weeds spew
Age says to just give it a sweet kiss adieu
Sponsor:Andrea Dietrich
Contest: Sweet Or Salty
Written October 25, 2013
Tae A Mouse
(Whit wid Robert Burns say!)
Ha’ where ye gon ye cowrin feartie
Your impudence protects you sairly
I canna say but ye strut yer stuff
And quite honestly we’ve had enough
Where ye gon ye cowrin farce
Back tae Brussels to kiss their A...se
Yer fair oh face an hair untinted
Half mass trousers and they say yer minted
That chain aroon the neck you wear
It’s heavy, speaks volumes A’ truly swear.
The vision o’ you tied tae the mast
Is something we should hae done in the past.
Pow’r up the engines on the private jet
Scramble the forces we’ve tae get oot oh debt.
Or so she says without a glance
29th March we’ve tae take a chance.
No Deal there say the yins in the know.
Didnae matter if you said Yes or No!
Politics at perties a definate question
tae bring amongst us a bit o digestion.
But take O’leary the King o cheap flight
No managing ony sleep at night.
His massive fleet there stuck on the ground
Doon beside our trusted pound.
Now haud you there while Ive got your attendance
Remember we tried for Independence?
Nae faith back then because we were told
BP’s stopped drillin - We’ve nae black gold
The barrels a’ empty the drillin a’ stopped
Increases in Asda, the penny has dropped!
O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blinder free us,
An’ foolish notion:
What airs in dress an’ gait wad Free us,
An’ ev’n a Devolution
Written by Jinty
13.01.2019