Best Contrive Poems
Don’t censor me and let me write at will
The longings of my heart these pages fill
You fathom not what lies there in my heart
So don’t contrive a way to ban my art
Unfettered let my fingers pound these keys
My passion and my strength these rhymes appease
I live to conquer fears that vex my mind
And solace sweet in written words I find
Those fantasies that lie within my breast
All naked now, they lie in words undressed
I ride the freedom born of words revealed
And cannot bear to keep these thoughts concealed
So don’t begrudge impassioned poetry
It is my life, my joy, my ecstasy
Eileen Manassian
Thank you, God, for making me a female,
one so strong, cheerful and alive!
The weaker sex? I guess! If being frail
can serve me, I will anything contrive!
A tire flat? Out of gas? I use
“femininity” when in a fix.
I do it oh so charmingly - this ruse-
used by clever chicks like politics!
Those that share my gender cast a spell,
and In our sex are pleasant aspects found.
In art of conversation we excel.
By friendship and by loyalty we are bound.
***** envy? Me? I like your plan,
I am happy not to be a man!
For the the What Makes You Happy old - new poem Poetry Contest
of Royal Ninja~
Merlin's wand brushes the sky,
As the sun rises with a groan.
The caw of crows are harbingers
Of brightening days tomorrow.
Full rightly is the special one
Seated upon the Stone of Scone.
Prayers bring full circle ancestors,
Whose Book of Charms they borrow.
In four more days is Christmas Tide.
Here Nature waits.
The tree alive.
These words are shunned
By Rome's contrive.
This good day gives each a gift
To the person by his side.
Sealed now with song of return,
May Earth, in wealth, be well-supplied.
In four more days is Christmas Tide.
FREEBORN
Now ‘cross the fields and woods bird songs ring out
Unbounded exultation to survive
Their voices each a freeborn joyous shout
‘I am still here, a presence, had you doubt?’
Through dark cold months to cling on then revive
Now ‘cross the fields and woods bird songs ring out
Each chant communicates to those about
Imperative intent: continued strive
Their voices each a freeborn joyous shout
No gentle air to sooth a fractious pout
But gesture to persist and so to thrive
Now ‘cross the fields and woods bird songs ring out
As sun ascends to reassure all doubt
Lives then with procreation will contrive
Their voices each a freeborn joyous shout
The cyclic shape of life yet comes about
With each repeat we greet all creatures live
Now ‘cross the fields and woods bird songs ring out
Their voices each a freeborn joyous shout
Said the Chipmunk to the Hawk
Said scared, little, tail-striped chipmunk to red-tailed hawk,
“I am hidden over there where you will not find me.”
Said hawk in a swoop to another branch, “Jiggle that
tail again, so I’ll dive and sweep you off to heaven!”
Crouching as flat to the earth as she could be, chip-
munk said, “But I am already there where all points
of heaven reveal bliss...” which did perplex red-tail hawk,
who gawked up, then scanned all around for
some clue of heaven in this forest he knew he knew,
as she provoked, “You see?” But with his instincts
darting everywhere, hawk replied, “You lie! You
make riddles of my threat!” To which she flashed to
the opening of her tunnel, quick as light, calling,
“Heaven does contrive for good in life!” Hawk
affirmed a new place of some prey and turned.
Was he not made to hunt? Not for dramas like this?
Hawk bent over his feet, lifted his wings into flight
aimed at rustling leaves not far away. Hawk, while in
his flash, asked his forest, “Heaven, does it spread
as far as over there where I go?” Forest said, “No know,
no.” Hawk did not understand...In her tunnel, chip-
munk dropped two acorns from her cheeks to eat.
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(c) sally Young eslinger 2/2021
Mind marooned in complexity
Intricacy singular in each living
The psyche shapes unique entity
On alien attribute it won’t cling.
In reserved recess riddles hide
Sub-conscious search can’t find
Probing plea of the world outside
Can’t contrive the closed mind.
A pining prisoner of own making
A cocoon in introvert isolation
I see all the faceless faces fading
Me wedged in web of self-adoration.
My morphed mind turns Nemesis
Makes a mirror of mirage for me
I look into it lurching to the oasis
It is only me that I always see.
In self-veneration, a false perception
I notice Narcissus in me lonely lurk
A secret switching over to obsession
Lies latent, languishing in the dark.
____________
February 10, 2023
For Brian Strand Upto You Contest
Something so profound,
Something you won't expect,
When she takes you be the hand,
Your heart she will infect,
Take me to the funeral,
I'll watch my heart buried alive,
I'll take my medicine,
Perhaps I can contrive,
She'll twist you to the floor,
Drag you to the bed,
Oh my god,
I have no remedy for the dread,
We see the stones falling,
They're falling from the skies,
Like rain from the storm,
It hits the ground and dries,
She's got eyes that stare right through,
The heart and through the mind,
The stones turn to fire,
As your eyes dry out and you become blind,
Sending shivers right down your spine,
Meet me at the roadside,
Pay the ransom or not,
I'll be waiting outside.
So tell me how well can you swim,
With ropes wrapped around your limbs.
Use it or lose it, but try not to abuse it.
Confuse it, amuse it, but you should not refuse it.
Lick it or stick it, but you should never pick it.
Deny it, defy it, but I know that you'll try it.
Take it and bake it, they say that's how you make it.
Fake it or break it, but no need to forsake it.
Shell it, repel it, hell, you can even sell it.
Define it, refine it, but don't you take it's mine it.
Prefer it, defer it, it might even be her it.
Forget it, regret it, but the odds are that you'll bet it.
Prepare it and share it, but you should never spare it.
Baste it and taste it, but you should never waste it.
Say it, don't spray it, but you can still display it.
Love it or shove it, put nothing else above it.
Contrive it, derive it, take control and drive it.
Hike it or bike it, what ever way you like it.
I read it so, the Bread of Life
without discourse, without contrive
did lighten, nourish, so arrive
that building up, to merit, live ~
That in my lines
I found your strife
did so surround with beauties hive
that honey of discourse revive!
This leavening of love's requiet,
that injured particle, that pride,
that unaccomplished effort's stride
that unforgiven song's abide!
That haste, that entry unrelied
were all a Godly plan, not tried,
that love unsettled so applied,
unmixed, unsettled faith ~ no bride!
Is love, thus meddled with denied,
pourous regrets hidden and shied,
how puffed up, spoiling shape's decried
this fatness trail, unholy mile!
Be waiting, like a homeless child
so love relinquished dies servile ~
to thee I give, last frenzied mile,
wherein thee walk, wherein thee . . . . smile!
There are things one must do in this world to survive,
If one's to get through this life and contrive,
Not to lean on the goodness of those that we love,
And expect them to put our own welfare above,
The things that they need for their own livelihood.
One prepares for one's future as everyone should.
A rebel is one who ignores all the rules,
And looks on the wise as sheep and as fools,
For deciding to follow a straight, narrow path,
And steer clear of trouble and clean up their act,
For in making decisions you decide your own fate,
And trial and error brings wisdom too late.
You'll lose in the long run unless you can learn,
Your mistakes must be paid for and honor is earned,
When you take care of business and keep your nose clean,
And follow the rules 'stead of fighting the reigns.
MY TREE - IT SHALL SURVIVE
Beside the Kinta River still it stands
Colossus of the primal forest panoply
Residing native of the fecund land
It’s limbs supporting graceful arcing canopy
A wondrous teeming aerial village live
It shall survive
A plume of smoke in still cool morning air
Warned of a threat to life of our dear friend
I dragged back fire and damped consuming flames
From perilled home of copious verdant life
Reprieved to face more challenges, and strive
It shall survive
Bearing scars, endured with grace of old patrician
Looking on unchanged, while all around contrive
‘til once more needing care of a passing physician
It shall survive
Each time I pass that way, I muse as I see
With warm complacent notion : ‘That’s my tree!’
13 September 2019
Writing Challenge 2, September 2019 - The Photograph
Sponsor, Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode
The skeeters have scattered all about once more
They hide among dragonflies while trying to soar
Nimble, they quickly contrive to dodge every swat
I can still hear them buzzing, afraid to get caught
Dragonflies are friendly, but if they turn their backs
Wily skeeters feast on their blood in devious attacks
But like every old skeeter, their time will soon come
There are too many dragonflies for them to run from
There is a moral to this story, which I am glad to tell
Careful who you bite; some will ring your death knell
Dragonflies are spunky and always stand their ground
You can’t pretend to be innocent with so many around
______________________________________________________________
Will I descry my consort before I settle?
Always ecstatic but never got a medal
Abide by the authentic route, even if slowly
I purport to originate, although closely
No difference in inducing if I am late
As long as I reach my destination, sedate
I won't strain to delight everyone I meet
There's always someone who goes deceit.
Instead, I contrive on my own fate
Leaving no whiff of evidence, a cold case
I strive to stay relevant, to clutch weight
Learning from past experiences as I retrace.
No one has sustained anything from me
Nobody ever got out with it, do you foresee
Justice won when my door was kicked in
Justice revealed the culprits were jailed within.
If you can't stand the heat, avoid the kitchen
Since the kitchen stove is waiting.
My hand folds in awe with every sigh, God-given,
I grasp and cherish life's depth relating.
A seething summer morning in the oil boom trailer park
Oral Roberts on the radio with the gospel told by Mark
The reek of raw petroleum is everywhere around
We little oil trash urchins play marbles on the ground
He drives out here most every day around the hour of nine
Checking all the trailer windows for a little cardboard sign
He parks the canvas-covered truck and dons his leather vest
Throws a tow sack o'er his back and shows his Sunday best
Down the drive comes Danny, on his mighty motor bike
Hanging on the handlebars, his bigger brother Mike
The engine makes a ton of noise, a dandy double stroke
Two baseball cards and clothespins, hitting every spoke
Our ragamuffin gang was gathered, just waiting for the time
To contrive our evil strategy and carry out our crime
“The iceman, the iceman!”, I hear my sisters say
“Y'all be quiet!”, I hiss to them,” You'll give us all away!”
The iceman sidles round the truck and casts the canvas back
Scores a hundred-pounder block and cleaves it with a whack
Tongs the icy burden to his back and laughs at what is left
Chunks and chips of frozen jewels, the targets of our theft
We want so hard to play it cool and act like we don't care
All our mouths fill up with drool and it's tricky not to stare
The iceman winks his eye at me and hides a little grin
Then walks up to the trailer door where mother lets him in
The moment that the door slams shut, the bandits make their play
With eyes lit up, we whoop and shout like kids on holiday
We suck up all the chunks and chips and with our bellies iced
We swagger off to brag about our frosty jewelry heist
It's true we didn't have a lot, perhaps enough to just scrape by
But the visit from the iceman was like Christmas in July
And when I pass through oilfield country, it never ceases to amaze
How the scent of raw petroleum brings back those icebox days
January 30, 2013
I kept those little pigs alive
to stall the beasty, pursed to huff,
while piglets fled and still survive.
They live immortal and contrive
the hungry masher to rebuff.
I kept those little pigs alive.
Their only goal was to deprive,
escaping sometimes in the buff,
the piglets fled and still survive.
My story told again to five,
while kiddies shivered at the chuff,
I kept those little pigs alive.
In rapt attention they arrive
to hear the tale, told off the cuff
of pigs who ran and still survive.
My sound effects resembled jive
as kids' excitement gathered fluff;
I kept those little pigs alive,
the ones who fled and still survive.