Best Cartwheels Poems
The space between stars contains countless hidden gems
A locked tight treasure trove, opened up by our lens
Prisms split apart light spectra, and dopplers change shifts
We watch galaxies do cartwheels across great rifts
The space between stars, zooms us backwards in time
Before gods arrived, to claim the cosmos divine
In turn challenged by telescopes on trellised stilts
Optics probe heaven, to find it’s still being built
The space between stars is empty, No! not a chance
Black holes wolf down photons, spinning neutron stars dance
on nebulous clouds, stirring up pillars of dust
Remnants from a time, when supernovae went bust
The space between stars, is black magic synergy
Far-out matter thrives, tripping on dark energy
All goes unseen, beyond the human naked eye
Minds can sense its presence, but are stripped bare of why
Of course we share gravity, and are loosely bound
Tests our reason, so hermetically profound
The draw of the universe will never expire
Its paradox tears apart, yet keeps us entire
Inside twinkling eyes of nights bloom
Garden flowers whisper
Peeking through tree branches, heads nod
Vines twine graceful arbor crown
Rows covered with pretty petals
Faces of sunflowers
Dream of tomorrows honey bee
Sleepy yawns of sweet peas
Early morning darkness shrouds daisy
Happy go lucky petals
Spin cartwheels across the night sky
Honeysuckle smiles grace fence
Veil of mist twirling through hearth
Maiden’s shy smile sleeping
Exuberant gaze waiting brightly
Bluebell colors swirl
Dew drops dripping off Iris tongues
Moon beams warm tulips
Kiss of starlight rejoice each rose
Pepper nasturtium petal
Under Hostas' green leaf shelter
Nestles dainty slippers
Woven of heaven’s sweet scents
Garlands adorn the sky
Pirouette back down to earth
And open the garden gate
Dawn’s an hour’s chime away
In mystical days of June
BRIAN'S CHOICE X,any form,any theme Poetry Contest
2nd Place
written August 23, 2019
You cannot say tinker now.
It's simply not allowed.
If we are to be PC.
Not stand out from the crowd.
I love the way tinker sounds.
Memories from my youth.
Shrouded in woolly blankets.
Scary to tell the truth.
Turf fire smell and welly boots.
Bare legs beneath long skirts.
Strange accents from strange places.
It made them seem uncouth.
Wooden wagons on winding roads.
Cartwheels clanking in a row.
The clip clop of horses' hooves.
Their campfires all aglow.
"Spare a copper for the wane,"
is what they used to say.
The baby tucked inside the shawl.
Perhaps another on the way.
You cannot say tinker now.
That's a word from long ago.
A proud people with unique culture.
I was there, that's how I know.
You know we’re very poor, of that we have certainly, never denied.
Then the ‘Obama-I-don’t-Care’ gave us another whammy, Yes, indeed! Oh My!
Now, it’s Peanut butter we will have for supper, and even that we’ll spread thin.
And the little birdies we gave a cup of bird seed, occasionally, when we dared…
Well, this morning they got a handfull of Fruit Loops, and they were really stale!
With the sugar they have in galore, now birdies are doing cartwheels at my door.
All that crazy energy, they’re acting just like my kids. Hey! Is that my old phone?
They’re texting wildly! Not watching where they go! Hey! There’s a tree! Oh No!
Some are doing cartwheels… While others are staggering back and forth!
But bird seeds not an option, under Obamas new plan, now! Don’t you know!
We ate it all last week, on our free cheese, from the Food Pantry, Not! A! Joke!
He was supposed to make it affordable, now he put food… WAY out the door!
Hey! We WERE the poor ones! Now we’re worse, as he runs away! By Darn!
OOOPPPS! Maybe Fruit Loops weren’t such a good idea, after all, I surmise!
The Dirty Birdies, are walking upside down, in circles, saying they want more!
If only they had hands! I’d get out my camera, but I hocked it, for the food store!
We had good insurance before the ‘Obama-I-Don’t-Care’! But Now it’s gone…
And our small paycheck was cut in half! So I stopped my cable!… Well, Darn!
Hubby walks miles to work, in the snow, backwards, no shoes, uphill! It’s true!
Excuse me! I have to go! For it’s off to the Food Pantry, with others I am bound!
I’d impeach that silly idiot! But I’d rather, he had to eat, just like us, at our house!
Hey! Maybe that explains his crazy actions… Take his Fruit Loops away, By Gosh!
And when you’re done, make sure he uses the same ‘Obama-I-Don’t-Care’… As us!
Then take away that raise from Congress… to fill the Food Pantries… Yea! I SAY!
When you’re done! Remember to vote Them ALL OUT! For what they have done today!
Then send them Dumpster Diving with me… Because they’ll need to learn the art!
Darn! What Now? Oh Oh! Those little Dirty Birdies… Have learned how to fart!
On a Sunday in the evening
The old barn becomes a hall
Social place where every weekend
The town folk go for a ball.
The inside is decorated
Lights are lit, the banners sway
By the walls barrels and cartwheels
Wooden stools and bales of hay.
Everybody loves a shindig
Where square dancing is the craze
Violins, guitars and banjos
Loud hillbilly music plays.
There’s a guy who’s always present
He’s the handsome Cowboy Kurt
On his head a leather Stetson
Dressed in jeans and chequered shirt.
Carol comes in golden pigtails
Gorgeous looking in flared skirt
She stands out; her smile is charming
She is hot and likes to flirt.
Cowboy Kurt looks quite appealing
He taps his feet to the beat
As other couples are reeling
Pretty Carol takes a seat.
Kurt decides to mosey on up
And lay his heart on the line
See if Carol would share some grub
Perhaps a swig of moonshine.
Tiny Carol surprises Kurt
Chugging down half a bottle
She eyes him coyly, looking pert
Then starts to jig full throttle.
Stunned Kurt is reeling to and fro
As wee Carol takes the lead
Dance floor clears; they put on a show
Kurt looks like a tumbleweed.
Music wouldn’t stop fast enough
For Kurt who couldn’t square dance
Carol is made of tougher stuff
And has high hopes for romance.
Totally lit and loving it
Carol trots to the outhouse
But when she returns, Kurt has split
“Where’s my man?” Carol does grouse
In his truck Kurt has hit the trail
Head still spinning from the dance
Carol sits upon a hay bale
Hoping he’ll return to prance
After the hoe down was over
Banjos and fiddles tucked away
Cowboy Kurt was still a rover
Out cold on the hay Carol lay.
------------------------------------------------------------
Written 6th October, 2014
A collaboration by Paul Callus and Carolyn Devonshire
You were always happy, always on the move
with a great zest for life and a heart full of love.
We loved you too and checked to see if you’d get mad
if we mimicked your habits, but you laughed instead.
When we were in school together, you often horsed around;
I ribbed you about eye trouble, eyes too close to the ground.
You lived life with gusto, knowing your time was short;
playing hard, working harder, often with a jolly retort.
Honest to a fault, you saw the positive side of things;
kept things in order, solid rock with no mood swings.
Cut off jeans, gray tee shirt, tinted glasses, baseball hat;
great big grin, teasing quip, a big hello, a friendly chat.
You were the best teacher any student ever had;
I could call on you to help as though you were my dad.
You drove my school bus on many a winter morn;
dressed in brown coveralls, bottom legs frayed and worn.
You were there in summer, helping coach baseball games;
at football with your camera or turning cartwheels in the gym.
You taught us how to care, how to study, how to play;
how to work on the computer and make the most of every day.
So determined to learn, spending hours at a throw;
self-teaching all the things a teacher needed to know.
You are the poem of my life, who you were tells the tale;
your poem will last forever, healing memories never pale.
You wrote the words of this poem, pages of my life tell the story;
you will read them back to me, when we meet again in glory.
Here I am without a moonshine
in a room painted in black and white
Cursed and Blessed
Abandoned Caressed
I smile ... I cry...
With two halves of my brain interwined.
Hush -Hush I Silence the voice
Hush -Hush I do not have a choice
Do not sing a song or Do play along
Hush-Hush Hush-Hush.
The yang within me still swirling with passion
The ying shadows my heart
Be gentle Be strong
Be right Be wrong
Depart or Belong.
Cursed and Blessed
Abanoned Caressed
I smile... I cry...
Rain is falling in his front porch
Clouds have covered my sky
Sunset thoughts have drifted with stream flow
Dreams have shifted into sleepless nights.
But Suddenly Was it meant to be?
Outside my window paper -lanterns rise -up high
All emotions are turning in cartwheels
As time keep passing by.
So very soon a new dawn will follow
All alone I face it's light
I feel its warmth Its rainbow colours
Once again a fairy spell
will make our lives shine bright.
The ying within me still swirling with passion
The yang shadows my heart
Be gentle Be strong
Be right Be wrong
Depart or Belong
Silence my voice
or sing me a song
Nocturnal butterflies chase anguish deep,
Mascara trails darken powder-white skies,
Peering t’wards nowhere unwilling to sleep,
Fearful lost visions seen within her eyes.
Within her eyes had love long ago deep,
Traipsed color cartwheels in somersault skies,
Peering tomorrows where marriage would sleep,
Next to her soulmate seen within her eyes.
Nocturnal swimmers dove caverns too deep,
Well after twilight gave way midnight skies,
Peering salt-water caves where love would sleep,
Death buried cocoons bloomed within her eyes.
10/7/2016
Submitted for: Brief Memories
Is the honeymoon over
I’ll tell you what gives me a hunch
When I leave for work in the morning
She hands me my luggage instead of my lunch
Is the honeymoon over
What’s happening doesn’t make sense
When I put my arms around her
It’s strictly in self defense
Is the honeymoon over
While my heart is put through the wringer
When I come home I get no smile
Instead I get the finger
Is the honeymoon over
I can’t understand what she feels
When I said that I might leave her
She started doing cartwheels
Is the honeymoon over
Will I find my life in a rut
She said she wasn’t losing her best friend
She was losing a pain in the butt
Now I know the honeymoon’s over
And staying together would be too hard
When I tried to cut the grass I found
She planted land mines in my back yard
Just for fun
NO!! Don’t shoot!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Cartwheels
Back flips
Standing on your head
The splits
Swan dives ~
You first; go ahead
If I was part machine, a steampunk woman, or a steampunk dog, or a steampunk cat,
I would choose to have a machine heart, so I could be less soft.
So my feelings would not get hurt so easily, so I could
Stop crying inside when people get mean and mad,
Or a tsunami kills a bunch of innocents.
I would also choose machine eyes – big round soft brown ones,
Because of the floaties I have in my older green and hazel eyes.
Floaties could not get into steampunk eyes, right?
I would choose bendable, new steampunk machine knees.
They would jump and summersault and do cartwheels and
Other stuff I can no longer do after tearing my ACL and
Meniscus which never got fixed, because it happened
At work and Workman’s Comp told me at my age,
Surgery would not be smart.
They would call me Steampunk Annie, and I would
Run up and down alleys, saving people from the robbers,
And the drug pushers, and I would kick the drug pushers
In their petootsies and make them cry
Because they would not have steampunk eyes
Or anything. I would rock the Steampunk
World with sass and vim, and be
The super hero I know I can be!
When does Chloris Arrive
The marigolds were a twitter
The tea roses were entranced
The faerie princess doing cartwheels
The lambs ears were brushing sweetly against each other
The brownies rapidly helping the ladybugs get onto their mushrooms
Chloris was to arrive in the afternoon
The sun was ready, waving hello.
The garden radishes were inspiring their carrot friends to grow
Everyone was in a tither, a dithering tizzy.
Yard had not been this excited since the dandelions popped up
The first day of Spring
The Goddess was coming!
There was exuberant joy, as the grasses
and gardens and flowers began their happiness dance.
She has not been seen in Elysian Fields for a whole year!
Writing poetic confessions is akin to visiting a Nudist state
Well, the concept sounds good, but all this exhibitionism --
The Naked performing unsteady cartwheels, their dangly bits --
Makes it seem like a bad idea.
Taking a break in the pleasant air
Look at how happy they are,
Dancing in a circle and jerking up and down, like children,
Praising one another for being authentic and emotional.
Allowing the clean aroma strike your nostrils
And you say to yourself, "damn, all this Nudity is attractive,"
While also recalling the how much fun you could have heard
If only you became a Nudist earlier.
On a Sunday in the evening
The old barn becomes a hall
Social place where every weekend
The town folk go for a ball.
The inside is decorated
Lights are lit, the banners sway
By the walls barrels and cartwheels
Wooden stools and bales of hay.
Everybody loves a shindig
Where square dancing is the craze
Violins, guitars and banjos
Hillybilly music plays.
There’s a guy who’s always present
He’s the handsome Cowboy Kurt
On his head a leather Stetson
Dressed in jeans and chequered shirt.
Carol comes in golden pigtails
Gorgeous looking in flared skirt
She stands out; her smile is charming
She is hot and likes to flirt.
Cowboy Kurt looks quite appealing
He taps his feet to the beat
As other couples are reeling
Pretty Carol takes a seat.
Kurt decides to mosey on up
And lay his heart on the line
See if Carol would share some grub
Perhaps a swig of moonshine.
Tiny Carol surprises Kurt
Chugging down half a bottle
She eyes him coyly, looking pert
Then starts to jig full throttle.
Stunned Kurt is reeling to and fro
As wee Carol takes the lead
Dance floor clears; they put on a show
Kurt looks like a tumbleweed.
Music wouldn’t stop fast enough
For Kurt who couldn’t square dance
Carol is made of tougher stuff
And has high hopes for romance.
Totally lit and loving it
Carol trots to the outhouse
But when she returns, Kurt has split
“Where’s my man?” Carol does grouse
In his truck Kurt has hit the trail
Head still spinning from the dance
Carol sits upon a hay bale
Hoping he’ll return to prance.
After the hoe down was over
Banjos and fiddles tucked away
Cowboy Kurt was still a rover
Out cold on the hay Carol lay.
*Written October 6, 2014
by Paul Callus and Carolyn Devonshire
An expansive view of tumbling sand and lasting memories
make seagulls swoop in broad paintbrush strokes
over brothers bonded by baseball and a broken home.
Within a sandcastle, two boys taste salt on their tongues,
a savory blend of pinky promises, dolphin sightings
and an acute ache for adventure.
Innocence crashes between truths untold and manhood. Whether a plethora
of clouds settle in their sight or brown eyes squint in midday sunlight,
their bare feet roam through foamy waters.
Down the beach, over conch shells and starfish, freedom thrills.
With curiosity and cartwheels, spry minds and lanky limbs,
youth salvages its adventurous spirit.
Four hands assemble a paper sailboat, not seaworthy, of course,
but fine for fistfuls of fantasy with a deck wide enough to hold their dreams.
Sandcastles and sailboats, cartwheels crashing in waves, daydreams falling
asleep under charmed stars, wide eyes seeking sand crabs -
these moments salvage each boy’s adventurous spirit in swept
paintbrush strokes and shadows of silver-lined clouds in the sand.
We categorize innocence, oceans, promises, adventure, dreams of boys
and paper sailboats. We try to soak up an expansive sea.
I hung a painting on my wall and tried to unalphabetize it all.
Life is messy and beautiful. Without the taste of salt on my tongue,
I could only live vicariously through the art.
Rhonda J Saunders, written 11/15/15
for Eve's Oil Painting's 1-2-3 Contest
Inspired by painting #1