Best Cheekily Poems
Slowly spring sun caresses the land
As kowhais will softly provoke
Flushes of yellow to gently expand
Their buds of the season uncloak
Helping bellbirds escape from winter’s last choke.
Methodical beats of wood pigeon wings
Whoosh thru the quiet spring air.
Melodious trills as tuis’s sweetly sing
Fantails flitter, with hardly a care
While bush robins cheekily dare.
Fragrance of earth sweetens the breeze
New lambs adventure and race
Dragonflies linger, then floating past trees
Whio dart up the river with grace
My core just idolizes this place.
I climb up the mountain out of the trees
A kea, the comedian of the highland flies past
Does a sharp turn, lands on a boulder to tease
It’s green, blue and red feathers contrast
Their intelligence and pranks unsurpassed.
Day turns to evening; a morepork issues its call
A mournful sound that echoes the night
I descend in the darkness at the pace of a crawl
Then the hoarse cry of a kiwi just out of my sight
I'm relaxed. One day with the birds and I’m no longer uptight.
For info on these birds www.nzbirds.com
Slip
wine lips
like
the French
Tongue tango
angst of
sighs
Deep and
silky soft
Wet-whisper gust
tickles ear
with warmth
Sip
goblets
cheekily
Thirst lost
in
crimson
dusk
3/6/2023
Waltz Wave
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Checked with howmanysyllables
Sometime last night, resting
inside of my home
I heard a voice singing(?!)
I was not alone
Not sure what to do
I just tried to ignore...
But he went on for hours
in unwelcome encore
Oh, that freaky falsetto
went on for so long
in a shrill, shrieking, trembling
annoying song
That at last, I had had it-
how dare he invade
my home with his frightfully
screechy serenade?
I searched every room
behind curtains, under beds
if I found that intruder
he'd wish he were dead!
Then I began to wonder
if he wasn't outside
for I'd looked everywhere
no more places to hide...
But, at length, he grew louder
I knew he was near
so cheekily taunting me
offending my ears
'Til at last, he popped out!
Cheeky chap in plain view
so I swung into action
and pursued him anew-
Round and round thru the house
how I chased and he fought
until spent and exhausted
he finally was caught!
I carried him to the door
and tossed him out, satisfied-
when (to my horror)
three more crickets hopped inside!
How Are You Feeling? I
I feel yellow to-day.
I feel as playful as a child’s “Do you like butter?”
amid a field of yellow, waving buttercups.
I feel as naughty as the spiky haired, boldly invading
dandelion’s yellow head, nodding cheekily in the yard.
I feel as pucker up and kiss me as the tart and
tangy lemon’s yellow juices promising to quench my thirst.
I feel as brilliant as a sunbeam shining everywhere at once
without casting the faintest shadow.
Yes, I feel yellow to-day!
It is now ten minutes past noon,
So, I can wish you a good afternoon,
The clouds are gracefully displaying,
Whatever an artist imagines,
But my production manager is glaring,
Say your bit quick he mouths me,
Cheekily I replied, ‘let me be’,
I take a deep breath, and the sun
Peeps from underneath,
Playing hide and seek, having fun,
Oh, I see a cloud shape of a bunny,
That really looks funny,
Don’t forget to take your wellies,
For rain will certainly pour
At approximately three, maybe four.
Splash through every puddle,
Don’t forget to cuddle huddle,
Fun is in the air, a chilly Easterly
Actually no Westerly,
Breeze will later bring wild winds
Tell your mummy or daddy to pull
Down your window blinds,
Pack a warm jersey as well,
You can never tell ,
What will be the weather,
How ‘bout we get together,
Where are you going for tea,
Would you not rather join me.
Phones began ringing
I’m suddenly thinking,
Things look very busy on my TV
Slot, parents congratulating me,
Children stop homework
To listen and see,
My weather forecast,
Golly, a hurricane has just passed,
Aren’t we lucky,
High five and pinkie three,
I got transferred to kiddies TV
Where I’d much rather be!
Contest Entry: "You're a Weather Forecaster"
Sponsor: Matt Caliri
Date; 2022/03/21
Anna Redmond put her own death in the Irish Independent as a mischief - or maybe ‘a cry
for help’. She married into Mr. Webster’s hotel and worked there slave-like. Her beautiful
young face, her red hair streaming, cheekily curling, her laughter eyes sad - her husband,
boyishly drinking all the profits. They said she suffered from her nerves! They said no
wonder Tommy drank the way he did! They always referred to her as she – she was a bit
wild, she didn’t fit in, he could have done better for himself – no wonder he hit her. Her red
hair dulled in a mental hospital. Anna Redmond, full of promise, beautiful and lively had her
youthful exuberance quelled by life’s circumstances.
Tidal flats reveal their light grey heads
They replacing green-grey sea in dots and dashes on the horizon,
They toy cheekily with the extracted tide, enjoying their dry sun bathing
An island of ginger sand, void of seabirds, spoils the sea-mud horizon
The tide stands poised, ready for its return journey
Precursory quibbles, sent to shore, make birds at float bob
An easily missed, brief localised splash tells of a tern diving
Orphaned seaweed florets appear to move while submerged in the shallow water
Boats confused and beached on the mud, leaning towards their angle of choice
Paddlers explore the shoreline and water up to the ankle
Crystal white flickers from the water as the sun is reflected from the rippling sea
The tide returns stealthily and punctually, floating stranded boats and refreshing the sunburnt mud
he had often aspired to being a jester
the wise one of Tarot land
cheekily dressed with wit on his lips
as of late he has been caught up
in irreverent lies and half-truths
tossed at him in anger and drunken inhibition
and his glittery clothes soaked them up for a while
until he himself imbibed in retribution and pain
a toxic combination of venom and vile
far from the love that still is
distant from kindness and compassion
so much that when he looked into the mirror
a vagrant journeyman of feeling and thought
looked like a lost soul in the middle of nowhere
at first he shrieked and shouted his hurt
refused to believe that he himself had become
much more than numb
was far less innocent than his imagined whistles and bells
deceived him to portray
eventually the halfwit resolved to
accept his own imperfections
and called his purple garments blue and red
for the union was at great danger
violet and lilac notions turned into new ideas
at times his face contorted in horror
his hands portrayed claws
and his mouth vowed to stay mute at times
eventually there was hope
when he realized what to do
and what not to engage with
22nd December 2022
It’s the cheeky hair,
It’s the cheeky dimples,
It’s the cheeky smile,
It’s the cheeky look,
As you cheekily do something cheeky,
You can tell he has been out with Daddy – he is wearing his cheeky face
devastatingly, grievously, inconsolably,
got hexed, issued jilted livingsocial, a less
son learned to late, how maddeningly mess
say yon nick lee infuriated, not accepting press
sing ill fate, nor countenancing fatal injustice,
refusing to curtsy fiendish inxs did piss
her off (poisoned scorpion sting) remiss
cheekily peppering psyche as if Swiss
cheese, a once spunky Arthur Murray shored
dance instructor, who scored
door prize in the guise of thee less torte sured
near nonagenarian papa, where meanness poured
from grim mortal outlook parlayed moored
deadly reaper, quashed, ruined as lord
stole, sacred maternal tribal nurse, unfairly did hoard
final precious seconds unexpectedly meant un explored
positive rapport forever undergirded "door"
closed to resolve ambivalence with venerable bead
did association between
kith and kin, unfairly
dead poet society lettered deed
wrested a vibrant life despite zest that freed
a vibrant gal to coast along dialed up esprit
de corps spirit to live, yet greed
of metastatic cancer upended lead,
where mind over matter, sans power
in positive thinking rubric and plead
ding didst kill last ditch homeopathic screed
ambitions trumped, thus giving up the ghost
wracking sadness, sinking sorrow spilling most
lee tears of loss, among family, fellow Unitarians
of the Thomas Paine Fellowship
included with your obituary post.
dark allure
brash charm
her movements an acrobatic show
mannered rhythm
like her arched back of individualism
my black cat
stealing affection
or holding me at bay
complicated, contradictory creature
with hinges of ease
by the window, she stares at crows cawing
a chatter of secrets
quietly rehearsing a staged assault
like the release of dreaming
feathered intrusions from an other worldly out of doors
twitching whiskers to alarm
her presence
cheekily visible
fur soft, a sheen that elevates her
like the gentle soothing scrub of "purrs"
added to my comfort
a shared commitment
our glue
Poem written March 31/2022
Revised January 5, 2023
An Image of the Traffic in Kolkata
“Be careful, look out, swerve to the right, you’ll hit the oncoming bus,
Go slow, a rickshaw is in the way, don’t speed, there’s a frantic rush!
Honk, honk! A man is crossing chatting merrily on his mobile phone; He is insured; he doesn’t care losing a tooth or fracturing a bone!!”
“Look out”! We all shout, a speeding auto comes crashing head on,
Traffic ahead is stalled for Chief Minister’s visit from early morn.
The Up road is blocked; a procession is on its way for Victory Day.
Streets are choked by raucous hawkers cheekily obstructing the way.
The heritage trams, the rickety trains, the daring cyclists go past too,
The vehicles, the prized museum pieces invariably come into view.
Hear Cars sputter or else stutter, some dilapidated, a few brand new.
Don’t be surprised if you see a mangy dog or a monkey from the zoo!
It’s the daunting traffic in Kolkata, is what we may term “unique”.
To drive here, I warn you, one must know the skillful PC Sorcar trick! After the relentless mental shelling, soothing music one must turn on,
Stay unruffled amidst the cacophony, then your battle is surely won!
Brita Roy
8/D1 Loch Tower
Dadi
Sitting on the doorstep,
She looks at me with her loving eyes.
So weary, I ponder,
They seem to be holding so many mysteries.
They abound with untold tales,
I wonder.
I vow to myself; these stories, I shall hear someday, as she cajoles me to sleep.
She shields me from Rani’s slaps,
Every now and then.
She now snaps at me in a language; melodious song it seems at first.
But quickly it reaches a crescendo of all too familiar words which my ears were accustomed to.
Coming from the magnate of our family,
the revered one; who toils from 7 to 7 and can hardly stands a sound when he is back.
I feel the two have made a pact of some sort;
Otherwise why would they use the same disgruntled mellifluous words,
When they were cross.
Bemused I go on with the task at hand
Oiling the silver-haired roly-poly Dadi’s threads.
Yearning for another round of discordant bitterly words,
Strange why I found them amusingly endearing.
Cheekily I pulled her hair harder this time
With clumps of it ending on my sweaty palms.
Here they come the shower of the much-anticipated jingling jingling words.
To the skies...cries of have we sinned..the seasons spinned...winter grinned as before it’s really beginned...spring’s been sneakily binned..
That bitter wind does cheekily blow...delivers tingling..slivers of mulled wine mingling shivers..oh and..shed loads of snow..
You know it is nature's calling card...as the bleached flurries hurriedly dart. ...shards of frosty farts falling hard....
Slippery slurries beached...frippery start to beseeched.. billow wisps like waspish wafts of blossoming willow..
Chuffed to see a lush plush pillow..fluffed...puffed..buffed..kept aloft from mush.. with crystals soft..silky..stuffed
A natural ebb and flow gush...a smattering...then a rush...splattering to and fro..
Winter’s web.. gleaming coats of teeming white bright light beaming notes...
Dreams of fairies schemes….streams across mystic moats..dairy prairies floats...
Scoops of snowy soup spills..stoops and swoops…down the hills..droops off daffodil troops..
Everything swathed..bathed in wintry tiding...the sodden sky pours... hints of sly footprints trodden hiding…
Huddling crystal clusters grasping.. riding..gliding…deciding detours…
Blizzard wizard’s rasping rally…cuddling..clasping.. contours of the valley floor..
Last post gong of our winter host boast.. sounds like a love song..
In this Proustian getaway... adore the festooned foray..
Marooned yet cocooned…this wild hideaway soon shunning..
Being wreathed in bleakly stunning cunning..
Turns back to being shrouded..sheathed in meekly clouded mild...
Marching with madness, maniacal, music
Artfully agile and awfully active
Gyrating, gravitation, grungy goo
Imagine the imagery intervening interest
Children causing chaotic confusion
Melodies making the most of magical moments
Admiring authentic adventurous appeal
Gracefully, gently, goofily gigantic
Ice-Cream inspection, innocent ideal
Cascading, celebrations, cheekily cheerful