Best Coddle Poems
Tour the mansions of Rhode Island
(And it doesn’t matter which)
And discover just how different
Life can be if you are rich.
Want to throw a little party?
Ask 400 of your friends
While your servants prep and coddle
For the fun that never ends.
Have some outfits made in Paris;
Order in the best champagne.
Bathe in water from the ocean.
(Watch the salt go down the drain!)
Walk on floors laid in mosaics;
Dance ‘neath crystal chandeliers.
Stroll through gardens planted solely
To outdo those of your peers.
Never mind the lowly rabble
Who are born to work and serve
For the really wealthy do believe
They get what they deserve.
I cradled his head in my arms and sang him a lullaby,
cradling the m o m e n t,
cherishing every second more,
then, when it was time . . .
I placed him in his f o r e v e r coffin bed.
An odd bed for a little baby boy,
his little head lay on a b l u e as the sky pillow,
he wore his new blue booties,
an ivory christening gown,
and beside him a b l u e teddy bear,
someone had placed there.
As I stood in the funeral home,
I felt so a l o n e and hallow,
although many people surrounded me,
I was l o s t in thoughts . . .
thinking of that empty baby room at home,
there would be no babyhood,
where, I would pamper, coddle and feed him,
no childhood fun, no youth or adulthood,
no ripe old a g e for this boy.
No days or years to cherish him,
no beginning, just this sad end,
so, on the day of his funeral . . .
I sang him a l u l l a b y to last forever,
and I handed him over to the Lord,
I whispered, Lord, cradle my boy in your arms,
until in your time, I can once more.
The cars followed the hearse in a long line,
through the ornate cemetery gate,
and down the w i n d i n g roads with BENDING trees,
even the birds in the cemetery,
stopped their s o n g . . .
until at last, we reached the place of tears,
standing there cradled by family l o v e ,
all that could be heard, drifting,
was the lullaby, I sang . . .
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June 29, 2016
Free Verse(lost love)
Submitted to the contest, Your Best Free Verse Love Poem,
sponsor, John Hamilton
Seventh Place
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Submitted to the contest, Free Verse About Love,
sponsor, Laura Loo
First Place
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Submitted to the contest, Free Verse,
sponsor, ?
NA
branches and leaves catch ultra violet rays
you can almost taste the cool summer shade
little hands and feet are there most of the day
marbles, jacks, and double-Dutch are played
suburbia served from the tray of life
beneath Miss Hunter’s tree
on the highest branch between the leaves
a fortress of twigs house chicks who plead
to their mother for the board they so need
to grow, survive, and one day leave the nest
a budding ethologist adjusts their shutter speed
beneath Miss Hunter’s tree
lovers descend upon this tranquil site
anticipation declares their hearts were right
they begin to coddle through the din of night
carved initials on the trunk reveals their plight
they share a kiss and a bit of moonlight bloom
beneath Miss Hunter’s tree
We've slogged through bog and briar.
To coddle the pond "tranquility".
This emerald within an emerald
of tender water~ lily harmony.
Indian paintbrush to whisk a memory.
Winged flutes seep gently from maple trees.
Her sweetened songs will tear the eye.
If you let it be-just let it be.
The sun glances of the endless green.
Speckles it with flakes of gold.
Soon shadows of the great unknown,
will chime it's time to head back home.
So, we leave thorned but blissful.
Eaten alive by this humble Eden.
Can we ever coddle happiness again?
Garnish both bog and briar.
Quail not at Death’s door if you wrought no wilful harm
Quail not at Death’s door if you wrought no wilful harm
Should turning back in vengeance be the Dead Man’s qualm
Though even as the end nears the comfort of proffered pardon
Will in no way replace the sacrifices to expunge the burden
Sure everyone wreaks harm by chance or through ignorance
During those moments when control depends on circumstance
The way the chips fall is not a matter for individual call
Is not that the way centillions of quarks knock into it all
Do the Dead turn back to set right their splintered houses
Or do the worlds keep spinning guided by original causes
Tell not the man whose wits desert him what’s really wrong
The punishment the Dead incur is a judgement well foregone
He who turns self-righteously around to avenge or to meddle
To set right the world’s injustices in the Manichean treadle
Might earn himself a life’s sentence to roam all over again
Dead people walking numb through friendless terrain
All they may be able to do is to warn you of a fiddle
Of some danger sapping your strength the key to a riddle
Even if friends and relatives who betrayed your confidence
Will cling to spurious justifications ever through repentance
Think not of the lives milling lost in the neck of your clouds
Is there no end to ramifications vilifications in livelihoods
Do the Dead take along with them the history of their lives
And in which distant sibling planet are they stored in archives
If only it were as easy as to look up and wish them all away
What good can this earth be with us all dead in it anyway
Bickering for pieces of molten land pieces of names in decay
Metals and rock on fire hurtling down minuscule Milky Way
What need has the Maker for such a vast and roving Empire
Even children give up playing with trains and coaches on fire
Do the Dead renew passports before entering galactic spaces
Or do they coddle up in comfort in inalienable birth-places
Wouldn’t our world be some thing else but for this baffling secret
The foregone fate of earth-born gods if it weren’t for this regret.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
you are on my train
I call you Rumpelstiltskin
you coddle your name
Six Feet = Three Bricks
Written: by Tom Wright
2/20/03
On winters night our mom would coddle,
keeping moppets warm was quite a trick.
Two feet always got the hot water bottle,
while the other six feet got heated bricks.
Heated and sheathed before finding beds,
neath quilts, that seemed in weight, tons.
With nothing protruding save burr heads,
too young to recognize we were lucky ones.
I start my life out everyday ,Often in the same ol' way,
I eat ,
I smile,
I bathe and crawl back n forth, Some days , I ride my rocking horse,
But nothing prepares for mt goal,
Oh my !! Do hurry I want to roll,
My wheels are the whitest , I have seen,
My spokes are the shinest , Oh how they beam,
I do love summer time,,
My shocks are the raddest, They bounce and they bounce,
My ride is way to cool,
I can't wait till ,I get to school,
I have to check my get and go,
Sometimes, Mom is kinda slow,
I coo and I coddle so she gets some gas,
I really want to get there fast,
My diaper bag packed and ready to go ,
We are the hippest , I want to roll,
We stroll right by the other rides, Mine is the Coolest mom confides,
I bounce and I giggle all the way to play !
OH My , what a wonderful day,!
Inspired by SAW, JR
You got me in rifting feel twists
of bits not yet on my heart’s list.
You got me with your careless ways
that my ways had not come across.
Yes, you laid our mess in pain’s toss.
Now I know my body swelled grips
wanting your sexy, sculptured lips;
your maleness was my need display,
your long, dark hair, my dared fondle,
your brown eyes, my eyes' prized coddle -
and, your movements flared my sway.
You got me in rifting feel twists
that sent me thru heart mirrored mists.
We dragged love mute thru wasted days
until stays were just trace loss
and no feeling words held hope-gloss.
Yes, you got me stuck where lost lays.
Now, I need remedies best tips
to strengthen my spirit’s raw strips.
Yes, I am lost in numbing rays
where my hope tilts on my wobble.
My honest thoughts steer full topple
and tend my breaks in tentative ways.
You got me with false act insists
and kissed me blind in dizzy frays
that my love-laced dreams failed to resist.
Trumpet the ethos of these wading warriors with the hollowed bones
of their panygeric prophets,resonating triumphant tones,
to forever honor,protect,& perpetuate the valor,virtue,& victory of this Holy Order,
the irridescent echo seeps from their Father's tombs,
for what extent shall I blaze myself and minions in the arrows path,
so to coddle an intangible hope made of a prayer's dope,
or in a mind where a prevailing vision roams,
nay, to avert that macbre nightmare of having my People's progeny becoming the pigmy
of a teething tyrant who condones the perversion of civilization's tomes,
a coalesced consciousness consummated by the last bastion
with a vigorous vigil on this Christmas Eve,
solemn and sacramental the emotion is which this of our hearts
the Almighty exhumes,
A dispatched soldier ploying as scout,remote, waiting ignorantly to be smote,
a far but not forgotten armored satellite being selfless,
his vanity enemy's threat consumes,
an unbridled but composed offensive of a triplicate terror delivered
by an indefatigable knight ,
an ultimatum presented simply but also strictly,
one at least his assault maroons,
J.A.B. - Part Four -
A poet’s soul dwells in my
heart
Composing the perfect rondeau
for this forbidden love
From the profundity of his hurt
I can hear the refrain: “The
Heavens assent.”
I HAVE found my
cornerstone
This to me was unbeknown
For I have held her in my arms
Through my darkest nights of life
Many say she can’t be mine
‘Cause she is covered up with
grime
But when polished she does
shine
None shine brighter than her
heart.
They fill my mind with worldly
thoughts
To seek for silhouettes of a
model
Ones you, forever, have to coddle
Blinds you from seeing her inner
light
“A perfect wife who can
find?
She’s far more precious than
jewels”
Face and skin you shouldn't mind
Even cheap make up can cover.
Seek for the purest in
heart
Since only God alters
the heart of a lover.
So, dear poet, write your poem
Show her she’s my heart’s desire
My lover is mine, and I am
hers
She will bear the kids I sire
Hurt no more, we are home
Cause she’s the one who trully
cares.
I will hold her hand to forever
after
Enjoy every breath and every
laughter
Smile and feel the warmth of the
sun
“The Heavens assent.” She is the one...
-----------------
Written 21/11/2012
S. Nuno Pereira
nun3ca©
Sweetness in the morning sun
In my memory
Angel eyes and silken wings
Awakening with me
Sparkling rays of glitter
Diverging on your lips
Gather to your hourglass
Of smooth and shapely hips
Melting to a sweet caress
The wakening is long
Rising to distinctly shapes
Hearts are beating strong
Ever loving depth
Feathering embrace
Coddle to your cleaven heart
Valley of your grace
Silhouette upon the scape
Rising ball of fire
Waking on a sea of love
Flowing with desire
Distinctly tantalizing
Shapes to face the day
Lay upon a flowing breeze
Slowly drift away
as turf wars go
here
the weapons concealed
before agendas revealed
and courtyard orders sealed
inside wetzel gooey goodness
grand central its not
maybe from the outside
but inside the buzz is low
the reverb high
lingering as smoke choking
on its own asthma
void of cache
or any semblance
of the character
chiseled into posts,
ceiling festoons
and the ethnic parades
chanting in uniform grunts,
silence and glares
required vitals from
their lost or stolen IDs
it isnt Union Station for nothing
a primal yack, spit and grin
flowing from the cakes of
baked commuters
forsaked souls
and a neighborhood watch
that drools in adoration
point a to point b (or c)
never had an intermission like this
then again
here
every director is the drama
they wish they could
coddle into love.
(10/30/13)
One fine day, me, Molly Coddle and my Goombah Pa Pa,
were sitting in The Cat In The Hat restaurant;
we gongoozled the men-you. " oh, I have collywobbles
in my tummy!" I said sort of loudly. (hint, hint)
Finally, our waiter Fuddy Duddy, (that is his name, honest)
so slowly, comes over, "What will you hatz?" He sayz;
I quickly place my odour, " I'll have a chocolaty lickety split,
a smellfungus burger with all the rigmarole with it;
and some fat-me-up fries!"And I slam close, the men-you.
Goombah Pa Pa lookz at his men-you for the longest time,
(oh la di la, whatz the brouhaha, just odour, I'm a thinking)
at last he sayz, "I'll have some kerfuffle tea, and some of
that skullduggary soup of the day and some shennanigan
pasta surprize!" And he slams the men-you closed, with a smile.
Fuddy Duddy nods and walks away with the speed of a snail,
(oh gobbleygook, my tummy is rumbling) when at last he;
is coming our way with a tray loaded with our meal- (rumble!)
when some doozy, klutz of a kid trips Fuddy Duddy, and
we have to skedaddle out of the way . . . or wear our food!
Goombah Pa Pa, canoozles me on the cheek. "Nevermind,
Molly Coddle, we'll just re-odour . . .
(oh collywobbles, I'm thinking, loudly)
Goombah Pa Pa, whispers, "patience is a virtue, Molly Coddle!"
(rumble!)
______________________
March 18, 2017
Narrative/Molly Coddle and her Collywoobles
Copyright Protected, ID 885485
I Need A Cup of Seuss
Jerry T. Curtis,
*Inspired by Cheryl Hoffman’s “The Skin We’re In” — Go read it!
On a turkey it's called a wattle
on a moose, "the bell," (not “the bottle”)
Those batlike things?
(too small - see wings)
dewlaps*, odd appendages we coddle
We're prisoners of the skin we’re in
some have it thick, some have it real thin
It may seem quite brittle,
when splatted with spittle,
it sloughs right off, again and again
So gobble some buffalo wings
fluffle up your wattle and sing,
“Don’t be obtuse.
I’m not a moose!
I’m a turkey, you big ding-a-ling!"
(*A dewlap is a longitudinal flap of skin that hangs beneath the lower jaw or neck of many vertebrates. While the term is usually used in this specific context, it can also be used to include other structures occurring in the same body area with a similar aspect, such as those caused by a double chin or the submandibular vocal sac of a frog. Source: Wikipedia)