Best Combed Poems
There was a time when I was young,
My cousin Glenn and I,
Did fall in love with one young man,
Whose face and form were fine.
He had a twinkle in his eye,
A movie star like smile,
And it was said we'd walk a ways,
To glimpse his fine profile.
He worked aft school a mile away,
From where we lived back then,
And we decided we'd walk that way,
And mayhap talk to him.
We dressed ourselves and combed our hair,
To look our very best,
To see which one that he might choose,
To be his special guest.
My cousin stole her mother's clothes,
A jumpsuit of bright yellow,
In hopes she'd catch his eye and then,
He'd be her steady fellow.
The one piece suit was very tight.
It looked like she had poured,
Her roundish form into a great,
Big, giant gourd.
She smiled and asked me if I thought,
The suit did show her figure.
She couldn't sit, could hardly walk,
"It could be somewhat bigger."
She didn't care for what I said,
And we set out to walk,
The mile to where "Adonis" worked,
And mayhap watch him gawk,
At two such beauties as we were,
As we set about a drill,
Upon the trampolines where we,
Would show athletic skill.
Glenn was first, she gave a jump,
Into the air so high,
And as she sailed aloft her suit did burst,
I watched the pieces fly.
Like a big yellow balloon it popped,
And flew in all directions.
She hit the ground and screamed and ran.
So much for grace and perfection.
I laughed until I wet my pants,
And so we both lost face.
She hid in the bathroom and tried to pin,
The pieces back in place.
With pins I got at the snack bar,
From Adonis, my face beet red;
For he could see I'd peed my pants.
We both wished we were dead.
Categories:
combed, childhood,
Form:
Quatrain
Dreaming through the night,
Until the sun shines bright.
Deep into sleep,
When your alarm clock makes a beep.
It's seven o'clock, time to start the day!
Get dressed, get ready, no time to play!
You've brushed your teeth, combed your hair,
Now, for school, in a comfy chair.
You head to the place where learning is done,
And soon exclaim, "Homeschooling is fun!"
Writing, reading, spelling, galore!
After history you shout, "For today, no more!"
But no, the day is not over yet!
It's time for fun you'll never forget.
Maybe you'll make a movie, or invent a game!
In a homeschooler's life, no day is the same.
Sadly, now, the day is done.
But to a homeschooler, the fun has just begun!
So my friend, show no sorrow,
Because there are many more fun things to do tomorrow!
Categories:
combed, fun, life, school,
Form:
Rhyme
It was the 17th century, and I was travelling with my family,
We were sailing to Europe and a new beginning;
Father had brought all our money and belongings on the ship,
Everything we owned was in the hull in chests tied down.
It was dawn when the Pirates came out of the fog,
The battle was short, and I am not sure how many died;
I was so afraid as I clung to father, shivering on the cold deck,
There was enormous booty taken from the ships hull.
When the Pirates finished, we were looked over critically,
I had heard tales of these rogues taking girls as slaves;
The captain touched my raven hair with his long fingers,
I could not look at him but I sensed his mighty strength.
He grabbed my arm and dragged me away screaming,
That was the last I saw of my family; I was a captive;
His ship was massive and the jolly roger flag fluttered,
I looked back as my boat faded on the distance waves.
I was sure that all my family was dead and I wept and wept,
The Pirate captain put me in a cabin and locked the door;
Days turned into weeks and weeks and still he did not come,
Then one night as I combed my hair; there he was.
In two long strides, he had me in his arms of steel,
And I was swept away with his passionate kiss;
I could not believe that I, a virgin, was in the Pirates arms,
Fighting was useless, and why try, this was my future.
So, I melted quietly into his embrace and I was his,
I let him seduce me with his body and his words;
Pleasure was flowing through my young eager body in waves,
And I knew that I was truly a prisoner of this man.
In the days and nights that passed, I loved him,
I was his slave, but he soon became mine as well;
He whispered in my ears, promises of treasures and gowns,
And in time, I grew to love this Pirate of my heart.
___________________________
September 3, 2015
Narrative
Submitted to the contest, 101 In A Row - 8
Sponsor, PD
Third Place
______________________________
Written for the contest, A Pirate's Life For Me,
Sponsor, Kelly Deschler
First Place
Categories:
combed, fantasy,
Form:
Narrative
It wasn't the usual Halloween night
Of parties and goblins, of which there'd been many
It was a year of big changes, for our family had moved
At ten years old, I was still struggling and shy
And, in a brand new school, where no one gave me an eye
I'd been replanted and torn,, forlorn and alone
Late in October...uprooted and lost
On Halloween night, it rained and it poured
It seemed the end of the world...I was unhappy and bored
Leaving what had been so familiar and sure
Where our old street had been filled, with a million new thrills
Now, here in the boondocks, ...no one came to the door
I was dressed to go out...but storms drenched the night
My mom understood....and tried to keep bright
She went up to her room, made up her face
She combed up her hair, until it stood on it's roots
Covered her face with black fireplace soot
She threw on her robe, and pulled on dad's boots
Crept out the back door, and to the front porch
When the doorbell rang....I jumped in delight!
Trick-or-treaters had come to our house this dark night!!
When I opened the door, at first I didn't see
It was mom, ...trying to hard, bring me some glee!
She grabbed me and laughed and pulled me to come
Out into the rainstorm....up the road we would run
We ran in the downpour, getting soaked to our skin
Laughing and yelling....such fun it had been!
Later that night, we warmed by the fire
She let me stay up....no one was tired
So cozy and warm...no longer so cold
With popcorn, and candy...and the ghost stories told
That one Halloween, on that night of the storm
Was the best Halloween....and reminds me of home.....
I'll never forget when each Halloween comes
The candy, the fun.... and the gift from my mom.....
Categories:
combed, childhood, halloween, holiday, me,
Form:
Narrative
for Chris Matt's
Favorite Songs and Lyrics Contest
“We were born before the wind”
Held by angels and given wings
To fly this world ephemeral
Every breath a miracle
“And oh, I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain”
Chased spectrums of the rainbows burst between
Held my arms around the thunder storms of lovers
Rode on river bends deep with loss and wonder
But still I’ve only ever found an aching that is you
In alpine meadows drenched with light inside the morning hue
And when the sloping sun sends golden kisses out to sea
I “shoot the moon and miss completely”
It seems I‘ve always drifted out or crashed and combed this life
A seeker gleaning meaning in the shadows left behind
Where night is sleeping softly round the lonely stars above
“Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?”
Van Morrison
James Taylor
Norah Jones
Fleetwood Mac/Dixie Chicks
Categories:
combed, life
Form:
Rhyme
Emma was a pretty girl,
And was pretty wild.
She never minded what people said,
Nor did she mind her mother.
Mornings when she left for school
She also left her books,
Everyone would look at her,
And also gave her looks.
She loved to comb through magazines,
Yet never combed her hair,
Her dad thought she should step it up,
So she’d step in puddles.
Now Emma wasn’t really bad
She just had had bad habits,
Deciding to turn her life around,
She turned right on the street.
Now as the child was trucking on home,
She saw a truck come at her,
The driver was screaming “Are you mad?”
It seemed he was mad at her.
She stood and watched the truck tip
Heard a tip, get out of the way.
The driver jumped out and flew in a rage,
While thousands of pies flew through the air.
As the pies began to land
On people and on land,
They all turned red, orange and blue
Emma almost felt blue too.
Now as she stood there looking sweet
Tasting the sweet from her dress,
Absolute anarchy went down
As people bent down to delight in a good old fashion pie fight.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
10.13.2014
Plenitude of Pies Contest
8th
Categories:
combed, children, crazy, children, fun,
Form:
Narrative
"Tender Years"
upon first meeting my heart felt a certain chemistry
though I was far from seeking love I vowed intentionally
needed to work and raise my sons as best as I could
being my boss gave me a chance to show my work was good.
a team of excellence we were and business was successful
my life was starting to take shape though times were very stressful
one night you offered me a lovely dinner to escape
surely I accepted not considering it a date.
years have quickly passed so tenderly we fell in love
you were my strong support, my Angel sent from Heaven above
as much as I tried to resist you said we were meant to be
our wedding day in Paradise and the rest is history.
our love balances all the bad and turns things all to right
when I am cold you cradle me and sing me songs at night
years ago I cut and combed your wavy wild black hair
but now you are my sexy Cupid, bald beyond compare.
as every moment of our golden years are cherished
our family has grown so close in love and flourished
and still we work together fulfilling lifelong dreams
I am the creative one and you pioneer financial themes.
these tender years have taught us both about why we love so
God is the center of our lives helping our faith grow
we thank each other everyday for love so faithfully
and the wonderful way you learned to share my poetry.
*For Gail Angel Doyle's Tender Years.
*Written by: Linda-Marie Sweetheart.
*Dec. 7, 2012.
Categories:
combed, love, me, work, angel,
Form:
Rhyme
(Base USO club, Zweibrucken, Germany, 1963)
Of a lazy afternoon, I sit
propped up,
Bones aching, sorely tired from
lack of work,
And dutifully read the comic
strips
With bored eyes while my mind
dozes.
I sit enveloped in my peculiar
Grayish pallor, which clings
And will not disappear,
And martyr myself to the gods
of convention.
I smoke acrid-tasting cigarettes and
Loudly chew a cud of gum, popping it
Absent-mindedly, and I turn the
crinkly sounding
Pages, one after one, slowly
and intently,
So as not to disarrange the sheaf.
The dryish smell of printed
comic strips
Irritates my nose, but I don't
sneeze --
Merely wriggle it a bit for some
relief.
My brightly polished shoes are propped
Upon the table and I lean back and tilt
the chair, and my hair
Is closely cropped and combed with care,
no strand
Out of place, pomaded and arranged.
My clothes are neat and clean
and stylish
And I brush away a nonexistent
crumb and
I slowly chew and loudly pop my gum,
Moisten index finger, moisten thumb,
And turn the colored printed page
of comics,
Snicker at the antics pictured
While I glance about.
And wonder.
Categories:
combed, absence, angst, anxiety, loneliness,
Form:
Free verse
Tears
(for A, I shed)
When I herd these tribes and fashion cities
With my words, you are what's missing.
- Mookie Katigbak, The Proxy Eros
I cast a brief look at you many a time,
Partly considering your noonday shadow’s silhouette a singular move far
As you pay heed in discreet agony to the old Angelus' chewed verses
and secrecy.
This dust-laden jalousie classroom spares me to steal quite a glance of you--
Trussed up in your chair, chin nesting on left palm
Time and again as against your emptiness.
Religious as your hair finger- combed in place all too often.
Seedless to say, before you’ll be hand in hand with your lover,
Whose teeth are those of metals,
On the following street to reach your home in Gusa ,
Let me tell you my itch:
If it is a misdeed that I travel from one antinomy to another,
Perhaps, you are the credo and the gospel on top of which
Of what I cannot write nor cite in the words of my poetics:
Drunk diurnal sobrieties, c(r)ooked metaphors
And jabberwockies, each verb I turn into flesh: darling, these are not
You.
If by chance, you’d come to notice the process
Of what I do and do all the time
Without my consent or other of a conscious effort,
Listen:
You are these paled viscid extracts
Resting lightly astride my lashes that are sure
Warmer than a breath and are yet to trickle down my cheeks.
*Gusa - A place in Cagayan de Oro City , Southern Philippines
Categories:
combed, introspectionme,
Form:
Free verse
Alone with no admirers to receive her,
with posters on the walls of Justin Beiber.
her iPod worked just fine except one hitch,
mp3's uploaded daily by a witch.
To receive her favourite music took some time
the old hag was quite slow on such a climb.
A lift would be ideal, even some stairs
but all for cheapness' sake she used her hair.
These tresses, in their teens and never touched
by scissors, looking after didn't take much.
Silky soft and combed three times a day
was all it took to keep her locks that way.
One morning a voice called in manly tone
up to her window, “Anyone at home?”
She put down her copy of 'Home and garden”
and shouted from the window, “Beg your Pardon?”
Now leaving, he heard her and paused his step
“Good morning”, he cried, “ I'm an Avon Rep”.
“Sorry I didn't answer for so long,
you see, I have no door, so no 'Ding dong'
and from that garish bag I think I see
you have some beauty products just for me? ”
“Why yes” he cried “and if your order's firm,
that would help, 'coz I don't do sale or return”.
No second asking needed, up he winched,
his sales pitch would make this deal a cinch.
And thus the story ends, it came to pass,
he left without the goods but with the lass.
Happy every after, they, since then,
sponsored by Clinique, Batiste, Pantene.
February 2nd, 2016
For contest, 'Once upon a time', sponsor Laura Loo
Categories:
combed, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
I will not be late to work today
I will get there on time
I will brush my teeth
Without singing songs
Without thinking about birthdays
About gymnasiums
About TAKS
About sound
About war
Republicans
Democrats
Independents
I will get there on time
I will eat my oatmeal
Without thinking of
Broken valentines
Strewn against a wooden
Fence
Like dropped goblets
From a robbers pillowcase
I will be there before the bell rings
My papers will be checked
My hair will be combed
My mind will be alert
Ready to begin my lesson
I will not wonder why
My oldest son doesn’t have a job
I will not pray too long
For my daughter who is taking the bar today
At 10:30 AM in New Orleans
I will not scar my knees wishing
For some alternate world
Where children are never neglected
Or hurt
Where there is no abandonment
What nonsense to try and order the world
Just get to work on time
Put your things in the car, your projector and
The white binders that you didn’t look at
All weekend although you were supposed to check the papers and put the
grades on the computer
I will leave now
Before it is impossible to
Be on time
I will cream my ashy ankles
I will not focus on the white
Cat on the black pillow
With the green eyes
I will not water the plant
I will not watch TV
I will not write poetry
Before work
I will not write poetry
Before work
I will get to work on time
I will be ready
I will not be daydreaming about fog
Wondering if I’ll get Alzheimer’s like my mother
Or colon cancer like my dad
I won’t be thinking about that stuff
I will be locking the front door and
Closing the gate and clicking the clicker
And starting the car and leaving
I will not be in my living room
Wondering if there is any reason to love
Because I do not love for reason
I love because He first loved me
It is not incantations or intoxication
Or imagination it is my life and
The structure will come with the
Clearness of Bajan water
So clear you can see the fish
Fly float across the Atlantic
It is time
This poem must end
I will not be late for work
This morning
Not for nothing
Not for nobody
Not for anything
Not for everything
This poem is over
the work day begins
Categories:
combed, education, introspection, life, love,
Form:
Free verse
2/8/17
Straight, curvy and bumpy roads
Some with cones
All across the globe
Tools made of stones and from bones
Got to stay in the zone
Wherever I may roam and rove
Certain boards bowed
And automobiles had to be towed
Money being owed
And loaned
Waters with or without foam
And lawns that do or don't have gnomes
Regardless of if the grass was or wasn't mowed
Above and below
Where waters flow
By way of the crow
Or as it was written in an ancient tome
In areas with buffalo
Troves hidden in coves
And groves
And other places unknown
Every since way long ago
Time has shown
Tasks done alone
And on one's own
Experiments involving clones
And surveillance done with drones
Faraway and nearby home
And any other abode
Hung up the phone
If it wasn't about money, then quickly came the dialtone
Due to the weather events getting postponed
Skills and wisdom are important to hone
Whether you're full of estrogen or testosterone
Coagulated blood was found on a robe
While it snowed
The full moon glowed
Near the motherlode
Located at a node
Time seemingly sped up or slowed
Objects getting thrown away and sewed
Meanwhile the population continued to explode
In and out of areas that did or didn't errode
Old and new episodes
Information and emergency calls being radioed
Items made with many materials, sometimes chrome
Or silicone
Stadiums with or without a dome
Capable of being able to fully close
Within and beyond areas that have or haven't been combed
Better stay on your toes
Continuing to row
As the wind does or doesn't blow
Effects ripple and domino
Despite if you have or haven't chose
Because that's how life goes
Stay sharp and composed
By: Dalton Ogletree
Categories:
combed, poetry, rap, word play,
Form:
Rhyme
*
It happened in a moment, during my 7th grade English class *
As we studied classic literature; “Evangeline”, the poem
A substitute teacher, wearing shoes of polished coal *
His soft style, hair neatly combed, engrossed in reading poetry…
Pubescence slumped around me, nodding off, slowly being lulled...
Young minds. filled with clutter, gathering dust, from ancient stories
With glittering eyes, he read each verse * *
The soft, eager voice, that stroked each word…
He would wait, on occasion, to look around the room *
With wistful hope, I would suppose, to reach one heart, one soul
At the start of the class, I had been watching the clock
But, as I sat more enraptured, time just seemed to stop…
I turned the pages, one by one …and slowly fell in love
The beauty of old words, drifted through the stuffy air
Like the gathering of dust motes, glittered, hanging in suspension
Filtered in the angled light, of the afternoon’s warm detention
Sun filtered through window glass,…while voice of bliss droned on….
My heartbeat sped, with growing passion
I restrained my hands from reaching,… grabbing *
To catch each word, and keep them captive…
Dust motes, and words, were spinning around *
I was head over heels…for my substitute teacher…
I was head over heels for an old man named Longfellow….
Thirteen years old, I loved two older men….
Fell in love with the classics,....on a mid-day afternoon
While gathering dust, and the magic of words
……………………………………….
For the Contest: "Gathering Dust"
Sponsored by John Lawless
Categories:
combed, love, nostalgia, old, ,
Form:
Free verse
We were best friends,
and I was so proud.
She was my mother,
and I was her child.
Then fateful words were spoken aloud,
diagnosis with dire consequences.
Changes came day by day,
remembrances lost, with pretend defenses.
Simple tasks became great chores,
challenges were impossibilities.
Alzheimer’s had captured her life,
and I... unprepared for probabilities.
Always searching for home,
caused her to wander and roam.
Fences, gates and locked doors,
for her protection we had to condone.
I was with her every day.
I wish she had been there, too.
We walked in her garden.
The question came, “Now, who are you?"
God needed her in heaven, but in his
great wisdom knew I needed a while.
He graciously conceded and gave compromise.
He took her spirit, and gave me a special child.
I gave her baths.
I combed her hair,
I clothed, fed, and put her to bed;
God and I sitting till morning air.
That fateful day sadly arrived,
filled with such pain and sorrow.
Goodbye my friend, my mother... my special child.
I’ll see you again tomorrow!
Sweet memories I’ve treasured since that day,
thank you for time to sort them in place.
I am now more endeared to those times long ago
when I was a child and she washed my face.
April 2, 2010
Categories:
combed, caregiving, mother, day,
Form:
Free verse
Sublimity ...
Bandit of my breath
Summer blond tresses, pure
Splashed with amber bands, aglow
Slowly twisting down to soft, stretchy curls
Bouncing on your shoulders with heavenly mirth
Like a child bouncing her bed Christmas morn
Exquisite texture, as combed Turkish velour
Meant for the delve of only tender hands
Loving fingers that honor privilege
Every touch savored, adored
Each strand a rarity
A golden thread
Ephemeral.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Choice 9 Any Theme Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
combed, beauty, hair, passion, senses,
Form:
Free verse