Best Chine Poems
I sat under the grey shadow of the gloomy night
Raising the closed curtain of the darkest day's flight
My heart subdued the voice of my inner shrine
Wiping the droplets of tears that wet my chine
I sat dumb hiding my impotence under the downy pillow
Unable to forget your pinched face that shot a thousand bolts into the clear billow
Would you forgive me if I just said a simple sorry?
Would that perturbed darkness on your mother's face bring back my glory?
Who is to be cursed in the stillness of this direful dream?
Who is to be put at fault amidst the leftover cherries of the melting cream?
Is it the almighty for his inhuman act of snatching your ability?
Or
Is it me for driving you into the envelope of the shooting debility?
I cannot forgive my ownself for this act of mine
I'ld like to one day witness your smile enlightening the global shrine
Yeah!
Only that can give me peace
Washing away the broken pieces of my guilt
P.S. I wrote this poem as I felt broken when I couldn't convince the head of our institution from sending a child who was differently abled away from the school. He has become so close to me and he loved me so much. He was kept in the school just for one week and I used to take very good care of him. As the boy behaved differently from the rest of the children, he was sent out of the institution. I couldn't do anything about that as I was not the decision maker. I couldn't convince the management as well. No one was to be blamed there. It's the management's duty to think about the other children as well. That night I couldn't sleep and something pinched me from inside. I still am not able to forget the face of that child. He gave a deep look towards me that asked me a thousand questions for which I had no answer.
Oliver often scolded Hardy, on a point of which he was
Never tardy.!
They had to have 'their daily fix' if not hourly? They were like two cats on
Hot bricks!
Their made up mayhem, garnered them gold, it was their milk and honey
A hit; 'they sold.'
Rich and famous, through their tears and quarrels, old Hardys kicks Stanley, made into Laurels!
The crowds, they grew' they travelled far! They lodged at the 'Chine hotel'
They fooled round its bar!
Yet did they take that 'new years swim?' As daybreak comes' as the waves
Roll in !
That hearty English breakfast, taken soon after.' Would sure have got Them ready; to raise some rafters.!!
Planning on crossing over
where footprints of night
are ne'er seen...
There fish are spawning
in clear blue stream ~
Surrounded by verdant green;
Nature begins speaking to me.
An antiquated chine-wood bridge
gracefully arches it back
with sturdy braids makes a path ~
That I may cross to a place serene
Where nightingales and crickets sing
It's a place where I do my thinking
Unafraid to shed my skin ~
by dusk as honey bear I may roam,
by dawn take flight as an eagle
I may be found soaring toward home.
Upon opening mine eyes
I come to realize the colors of the skies
Yes, I've crossed that bridge before
Melting butter
Luxuriously pampering
To my palate
Gentle stream with quiet ripples
Cool placid lake at summer’s end
Soft butterfly kisses on skin
Crepe de chine
~*~
Annalise
Weave a Rondolet Contest Sponsored by Nette
Lets see if I got this strait
trust no one but believe in fate,
take time to smell the roses
but don't waist time on stupid choices,
always keep you head up and don't let any thing get you down
but live, love, and laugh and try not to frown,
treat others as you want to be treated,
but give no one the bird they didn't mean it,
if you love some thing set it free?
but to know true love is to love youself that would be me.
no one likes Mr or Mrs negative
but don't tell them that's the way it is,
keep you chine up and turn the other cheek,
so let them walk all over you? thats weak,
first empreshions say alot,
but don't choose a book by it's cover is that for not?
put your best foot forward,
but don't step on no ones toes,
so lets see if I got this strait,
live life...good that sounds great.
I am the leaves in the trees
and the critters that crawl
when the sun is sleeping,
the pleasant and gentle wind
that tangles through your hair,
the writhing of your toes
in the warm sand.
I am the reason every kiss
feels like the first,
the exhilaration in his eye when he sees you.
I am the lighthearted laughter
you don’t recall enjoying this much,
the naïve i-love-yous
And the intensity of that summer fling,
the haze
of the days when it all
seemed so simple.
I am those forbidden late-night phone calls,
and sneaking out in the small hours,
that unforgettable feeling of fleeting beauty
and the man in the moon:
through crater eyes I watch
heartbreak sneak up
on you.
I am the delicate complexity of the web
and how effortlessly it can be destroyed,
just as trust and hope
can be broken with the flick of a wrist.
I am the uplifting optimism
of a young girl
laughing for a world with distressing simplicity.
She knows not the ugliness
it has yet to offer her.
I am snow,
crystallized beauty,
graceful gaiety in its finest,
mindlessly drifting through its short life,
soon to join the others,
the fallen soldiers.
I am secrets,
utterings you hear in the night.
I am the beast under your bed,
waiting patiently
for you to rest your feet near,
so I can consume you,
coil my way around your chine
And grey the flame
in your eyes.
I am fear,
loneliness,
depression,
addiction,
mutilation.
I am recovery,
refuge,
renewal.
I am your worst and your best.
But never your only.
nobody knows what defines once sorrow and pain without any gain
nobody knows the tears that dry with the wind as they fly to hide the pain deep inside
nobody knows the feeling of losing control of a role you must portray in order
to conceal the hindering truth to set you free
nobody knows when the doors are closed what happens to take place and make
the script that much real ready to deal with on your own
nobody knows the dark and lonely curtains that hang to keep out the light from
pulling the strings of a broken damage heart
nobody knows the fear to hear what once was whole is to be a half of what kept it together all some what years
nobody knows the bond that was tightly sealed would one day shatter the once perfect portrait of a long love affair nothing fair in love
nobody knows matters of the heart less openly discussed closely concealed
nobody knows when to chine in for respect of privacy and not feel like a third wheel on the outs looking in
nobody knows what grows together tends to drift apart all on its own circumstances be it right our be it wrong
9/18/12
By:Sami LaRose
Over coming Child Hood Tram's
Trains trains how you drive me
insane, it's like you've bit a
tumor into my brain
So powerful and filled with
courage until that time comes
along, where you by the tracks
but theirs been a miss match
and your on the wrong side of
the tracks
To run and jump and hope and
leap until your mission is finally
complete
To the other side you run with
the train while suffering a
minor heart attack in the brian
Fear is an over consuming
human emotion it can eat your
whole soul without even a not
chine
Do not let it conquer you, get
up an take a stand and
introduce yourself to fear and
shake his hand
Tell him all of the wonderful
things that you will do because
fear is no longer with you
You tell him all you have
accomplished and about all
that is yet to come, he seems
to know you are having fun
As he watches you grow older
he sees that his time is
through, fear is no longer an
element within you.
As he vanishes into a haze, you
only see better days.
Bright, sunny, and always new
this is how you feel without fear
around you
The days went on and you
never saw each other again,
who's to say it is not really the
end.
But the end for now, and let's
hope ever after I finally feel as
if I have gotten out of this
disaster
I sauce a capon
but chine a salmon
I spoil the hen
but truss the chicken
I lift the swan
but disember the heron
I side a haddock
yet disfigure a peacock
A mallard I unbrace
but a coney I unlace
Olde English terms
Now lost without trace
I am going to sea in a blueberry boat
That danced in the wind by the lee she did float
With vanilla sails and strawberry jib to bend her
Her chocolate chine hull held true on this double-ender
From starboard to port in a raspberry ocean
Her freeboard it romped up and down with commotion
The peppermint tiller was sticky to hold
My gimbals in irons I chose to be bold!
For spring tides it heeled her from stem to stern
While her yaw rode frosted waves of pineapple churns
She heaved and bellowed singing "Alive-Alive-O!"
As her rudder was a fishtail from a mermaid below
Over and under the jawbreaker swells
Listing like an upside-down candy apple she fell
To the bonbon trough she stumbled and waned
She crashed like a sugared angel melting in the rain
But I was the captain with orders to spew
I cried of marshmallows and graham crackers too
I could not give up and bend like a mushy banana
My heart was determined to sail the 'Susquahanna'
Alas she sunk to the deep down under
My pocket was her aftermath of all left asunder
While I swallowed candy with joyful jiggles
She melted away between nibbles and giggles!
September 13, 2019
Welcome to my Random World
Sponsored by Nina Parmenter
The Chinese (told to me by a South African)
They are all over Arica now building houses,
Railways and roads using their workers
There is little work for the local population.
If you take a train in Africa, there are many graves
By the embankment, of Chinese workers who
Died there they even haven’t got a name.
The Chinese buy-up farmland products are sent
To chine to feed the population there and the locals
Are starving.
Chine is not about individuals but the plurality
Like a locust swarm leaving the land bare and now
They are building a road the goes to Europe: and on
The way they buy farmland it until the last plant
and leaves behind devastation.
So, look out what is coming your way.
Three blank canvasses lean against a hallway corner wall
Upstairs are boxes of paints, brushes and knives
Finished signed framed paintings hang throughout the house
Woodcarved dragons sit on shelves in homes across the world
Each Boston Whaler built after the moon landing boasts a drying chine line
conceived in the cellar
A winged unicorn tenses to leap aloft as the naked nymph upon her senses
freedom each caught in a twirl of cut planed and polished cedar grain
Some things sensed are meant to be while others wait in hallways
Or clatter constrained in cloud castle courtyards
Hands yearn to shape the forms that sing in wordless passion
As frustrated creation fills an empty page with words
Ghosted shapes of shadows wait as yet unseen
Is art an answer or a question
Is poetry an unsung song
Or third eye view so far along
Through a window
Of this corner house
In passing
I. e., this unfortunate
mere erred reflection,
aye re: zine
(pronounced Syne),
cuz you Matthew Scott Harris
act like an old curmudgeon,
does nothing but whine...
this one dimensional mere silver,
copper film and multi layered shine
of waterproof paint
on back surface doth deign
as merely superficial float glass fine
visualization cannot detach itself
(analogous to a Siamese
twin engine eared ensign)
sullying for all the
world wide web to see mine
capricious, facetious,
and inglorious rotten chine
(vis a vis via,
sexually seedy, Nein
dynamic, salaciously scabrous,
spicily shamelessly pine
ning sultry rhyme
(without reason) attempting
to wax eloquent as nonpareil poetry
by futilely try'n
to make a silk purse out of swine
(actually a sow's ear), meanwhile dine
'n high and mighty trump
petting haughtiness hoping to line
up ducks in a row at mine
(your poor reflection), hmm...wondering
mebbe I can latch unto a stein
way praying for some means
to become divine
very aware that
no mirrored reflection can exist
from a corporeal entity,
who cannot ever hurt or kill me,
but,...yeah go ahead,
and take a fist
also aware nothing can undo
that banal, carnal, and offal dreck,
which materiel could be ideal grist
for erotica such as Hustler,
and/or Penthouse, where prurient
Lady Chatterley's naked lunch evocations
conjured behind wordy myst.
Three blank canvasses lean plastic wrapped against a hallway corner wall
Upstairs are boxes filled with paints and brushes and several sets of knives
Finished signed framed paintings hang throughout the house
Woodcarvings adorn shelves in Germany, Florida, and other homes
Each Boston Whaler built after the moon landing boasts a drying chine line
A winged unicorn tenses to leap aloft as the naked nymph upon her senses freedom
Each caught in a twirl of cut planed and polished cedar grain pattern
Some things sensed are meant to be while others wait in hallways
Or clatter constrained in cloud castle courtyards
Hands strive to shape the forms that sing in wordless passion
As frustration fills a page with empty words
The Plight of the Ghoul
Who is damned every night
Robbing from the grave
Many Souls not yet gone into Twilight
Cricket laughter,such a despot mocked
when a fresh spirit is not in rest
The Midnight hour chine is just about the clock
Meaning:HIS FEEDING IS DONE THIS TIME
Halloween is finished and his creepy
brethren has returned to the after-LIFE
Thy hunger is still until the witching
hour returns in another year
Rest the Mind
Shut both Eye
Now is the Moment where this creeper will DIE