Best Cyndi Poems
Andrea D?...No brainer:
Dandy
Andie
Or in her younger, wilder days she may have been:
Randy
Andie?
(Just kidding! Just kid...Ouch!)
I have no choice but to categorize several poems by my mentor as:
Guzzi's
Doozies
(Now don't YOU start on me Deb!)
Ms. Macmillan's writing style is quite modern so here-to-forth she is:
Trendy
Cyndi
(You're not gonna' hit me too are you Cyndi?)
It is rumored that Mr. O is a care-free soul so some might name him:
Groovin'
Ruben
And be sure to keep up with current South African events in the:
Suzette
Gazette
A Christmas poem composed by Carol Brown could be a:
Carol
Carol
Writer's block PD? No sweat!...Just a temporary case of:
Souper
Stupor
Okay, that's enough...
Wearing wireless headphones as I listen to the news.
I'm outside watching children playing, taking in the views.
There is screaming in my ears two voices disagree.
A little girl serves her playmates imaginary tea.
They're speaking on the pod, unarmed victims shot by police.
Captives tortured in war. I hear our own. I hear their pleas!
There's screaming in my ear a few voices disagree.
Little girls sitting pretend to speak French saying Oui, Oui!
There are typhoons hitting an island, reminds me of a tsunami.
Also officials gathering parts of a plane shot down by an army.
What happened to the plane that went missing, no one remembers.
Teenagers on the street play basketball great kids, great neighbors.
The president uses his pen, makes some politicians angry.
There is screaming in my ears so many voices disagree.
The girls skip rope, laughter fills the air and singing too.
Pundits discuss, argue this and that it's what they do.
Night and day is closer then these scholars and their degrees.
Theres screaming in my ear, voices, everyone disagrees.
The guys still shooting hoops, living the life, always polite.
Protests on the streets, the police display their might.
Some back peaceful protests others speak accusingly.
There is screaming in my ears, crowds of voices disagree.
I wave goodbye to the boys, we'll talk, I'll see them again soon.
The children want me to skip rope I play along like a buffoon.
They laugh that I can't skip properly. I leave them to their play.
There's screaming in my ear, voices...might as well talk to clay
My sleep will be hard, in the morning the sun will shine, children will wake.
What kind of world will we leave, you smile and laugh but feel like a fake.
Look how well we have done. When did we stop being one, being mild.
What happened to being cohesive? It takes a village to raise a child.
There is too much screaming in my ears, too many voices disagree.
I can only pray, lend my voice to the calm, hope we can all agree.
11~12~2014
Maurice Yvonne
Sponsor: Cyndi MacMillan
Contest Name: I CAN'T BREATHE: A peaceful Protest, An Anthology of Powerful Poems
Just as days long ago, when decorum resolved,
before composure, and poise,.. were corsages, unknown
Where propriety mattered, and was favored as gold,
high society, has gathered to flavor their tea
There's a trellis, embraced by a rose climbing vine
Places are set, for dining in jade
beneath shadows that stretch under arthritic old trees
While slivers of sunshine, squeeze through the branches
of silver leafed limbs, in magnolia bloomed shade
Tea will be served, by large knuckled hands
at several round tables dressed with Swiss lace designs
Wearing lavender silk is our proper Grand Dame'
who fits her surroundings, as vintage as wine
Voices are lilting like the birds in the trees
Laughter and chatter, mingle with soft, summer breezes
A bouquet of old friends, around a few scattered tables.
Silver coifed hairdos, to make celebration
Crepe myrtle and wrinkles, beneath ashes and maples
Water cress munchies, and triangle creations
Sweet honey-suckle, tucked over the porches.…
Rose petal blossoms, are painted on china
Bridge cards, tumble by Blue Willow dishes
Biscuits from England, crumble sublimely
Large bosoms bouncing, and big floppy hats
Gossip dished up with lemon-sliced frowns
Up in the tree is the neighbor's calico cat
who catches a glance, and a chance to crawl down
Are they ladies of leisure, from a time that is lost?
Or a painting I've seen on the wall from the past?
______________________________
Inspired By the Garden Party Contest
Sponsored By Cyndi McMillan 6/6/14
I thought I could wow them with poems from earth
Poems of joy and humor, poems extolling it’s worth
So I laid out poems from Michael, Gail, and me
From Andrea, David, Gwen, and Ilene
From PD, Harry, Mandy, and Chris
From Jack, Craig, Cyndi, and Liz…
For I was sure once they read our beautiful works
They would embrace us and love our humanly quirks!
So last night I taped them all over my skin
Knowing they’d find them if they took me again…
When I woke up, they were gone and I had a reply:
“We enjoyed reading those poems last night,
And thanks for the names of the earthlings too -
We have many more experiments to do!”
2/7/13
For Michael's boomerang...send your poem for a ride contest
A torch carried on forever, indeed,
for the aggressive rhymer in me,
is alive again, unshackled and freed,
rising to challenge another day, I see.
As I found myself lost deep in Tolkien,
with epic Star Wars, never ending,
surrounded in a geek paradise, serene,
optical illusions before me, suspending.
Life's songs on guitar strings strummed,
an epiphany unlike they've ever heard,
euphoric dreams in my visions hummed,
as I pen archaic word after archaic word.
Artistry is born only to be my brother,
encircled this star, a pentagram made,
my day is done, I have conquered another,
as the sun slowly brings down the shade.
A Word Collage For Chan Hurst
(Cyndi MacMillan's contest)
A Magic Adventure of Peter The Pan/AKA Peta The Fwying Pan
Peter was a fine young pan with blue eyes
Like all the other pans his age, except,
Peter could not yet pronounce 'R's'--he tried...
And 'L's'...so hard he tried. He even wept.
School had been especially hard today
Peter had been poked, teased, and made fun of
More this day than any other school day...
And the ride home took so long on the bus.
When he came through the door, his mama knew
"Why the long face? Are you hurt? Are you sick?"
"No ma'am," said Peter, "Just tiwad fwom schoow".
"Some cookies and milk may just be the trick!"
Mama said, as Peter sat down to eat.
By now, everyone was gathered around
To hear of his day--and sneak a treat.
So he told them his story...and they frowned.
"How can someone be so cruel! Makes no sense!
You are the smartest and brightest of pans!"
Said Debbie Dishwasher-- then cycle rinsed.
The rest agreed and came up with a plan.
"Okay! It's agreed!" said Bob the blender.
"You need magic!--THAT--we can render!
Charles Chalice and Gail Goblet--my dear
Bring what you have, for this magic milk shake.
Michael Magic Grill...you go get us some beer
And also get Peter a great big steak!"
Then everyone sang together with cheer:
"A parr-ty! A parr-ty! It's a parr-ty!
We are all...having...a magic--parr-ty!"
Everyone was busy, hust'ling around.
Tams the Golden Toaster was making toast.
Tex Texas Tea Pot hummed a whist'ling sound.
David Dish and Sara Spoon danced the most,
Except for Marlon Mop--he could 'get down'!
Carol Crock Pot was fixing up the Soup.
Russell Rolling Pin had rolled out a crust
For a magic pie with love from the coop.
Joann Juicer made fresh smoothies--a must!
Suddenly...a sound was heard on the stoop...
"Who could that be? It's nearly midnight!"
Said Cyndi Chandlier all bright with light.
Christopher Cutting-board called, "I'll go see!"
Vienna Vaccume said, "Not without me!"
"Wait!" Debbie Dishwasher cried from the sink.
"Let's look at more options. We need to think.
It could be someone in need of a meal...
Or, it's a burglar--come here to steal!"
"Everyone else! Quickly! Hide inside me
Until we find out who that sound might be!"
deborah burch©
5/23/2012
*****end part I...conclusion in part II
On a peaceful isle of your hammock
Bring me notes from an old guitar
That I may share euphoric thoughts
Embracing a geek in silence.
Past Tolkien's edge, a rite I bless
While on sweet trail, God's pentagram
lights optical dreams to refine,
This after-life’s soft artistry.
Pour down on me, my brother Chan,
and fire my breath with your warm torch;
for an archaic rhymer glides
To nurture joy, fresh on my mind.
Cyndi Mac Millan's A Word Collage For Chan Hurst
by nette onclaud
Not pauses blowing hot, not the red kind,
Our seasons bear eternally a kiss,
Like fabric draped on time, never amiss
That from years' luster sweet kinship, I find,
Sweet dew to quell a thirsting quite enshrined
With gentle sways to learn, to care , I tease.
And breath expresses my warmth, to say this,
To be refreshed and always hold love signed.
So come, dear ones, we’ll trail on endless strands
That melt into this bay of aqua-blue,
Beyond the rising blooms, near palm trees’ nest
Where Indian Soul wheels above the sands,
And Ontario Nymph glides faithful, so true
For only then shall I feel wholly blessed.
~
Judy Konos' Write A Poem Contest
For Kash Poet and Cyndi MacMillan
I
) (
¤
…shh
bashit
cashit
dishit
dashit
no tp
bushit
hushit
gashit
hashit
lashit
sashit
wishit
would
come
now
pushit
pushit
some
more
lushit
don’t
rushit
you
might
mashit
mushit
don't
splashit!
goshit,
too
late!
~ouch,
fishit
rashit
tushit
gushit
washit
flush
it..
II
°°
crashit
blushit
flashit
freshit
can't
brushit
can't
finishit
uhh
can't
crushit
this
slushit
cherishit
Ooh
ooh
o
¤
°
III
sh
woo.sh
's it
vanishit
sheepish
it!
** ok this one is still in the works...don't really want to force it
Writer’s babble: This has been in my intestines for a loong time now (years actually) but never figured out how to do it. Then *poopboom*! It all got digested and assimilated—the recent sample poem on on Cyndi’s blog, then Chris’ & Ruben’s concretes (Thank you for the inspiration :D!)
Ruben, here it is, finally. You did say, “Just do it”, glad I am able to doo it. I finally pooped out a concrete something O_o!!
I wouldn’t be surprised if somewhere out there, there’s a twin of this pooem. I suppository so, I haven’t tried searching for any, but yeah this was fun for me.
Ok this is still editable—feel free to share any –sh ending words and I might consider adding it :p
it’s just me, but eh, kinda iffy that it doesn’t tie too much—with the bushing it then flushing it. oh well.
** thank you, Cyndi & Chris for the added words :D, I would have missed them otherwise --- I doo think this will get longer & longer! please stay tootooned for more evacuations ;)
Learned to drive in 1980; it became a must.
The car I bought soon broke down; “Another One Bites the Dust!”
With two kids by ‘81 - plus work. My tired bones!
“Start Me Up” kept being sung by the Rolling Stones.
“Hungry Like the Wolf” was I; what future would be mine?
Prince knew back in ‘82 how great was ‘99!
Culture Club and Cyndi Lauper put me in the groove
when to a house in ‘83 we then made a move.
Michael and Madonna in the next year were the rage.
But a baby blue Camaro in my life took center stage!
“Walk Like an Egyptian” sang the Bangles. We did more!
In ‘85 we headed west to California’s shore.
Pre-86 we’d always been “Livin’ On a Prayer.”
But once in the Bay Area, much better we would fare!
In ‘87, boating with my kids and spouse was cool!
I saw George Michael’s concert, and our complex had a pool.
Teaching dance aerobics, having all the fun I could.
For my family, ‘88 was “Straight Up” crazy good!
89’s big earthquake hit; my husband’s work was done.
“Free Fallin’” we then headed home. Farwell to West Coast sun!
November 8, 2018 for
Michelle Faulkner's 'Remembering the 1980's' Poetry Contest
(I loved the music of that time and tried to represent a bit of it in each couplet)
Here I go again, focused on myself.
Remembering, analyzing,
Memorializing tragedy.
Thinking, endless thinking.
Suicides, death of grandmas, past loves.
Pining about passions and losses.
The condo I had to let go.
The jobs I left behind.
And the cemetery lots.
My mind wonders around in circles.
From darkness to darkness, city to city,
Job to job, decision to decision
My children, I embrace with love.
Those years riddled with joys and pains.
Trying, always trying,
Yet, still disappointed.
Clinging to religion, remembering God.
Accepting –
Then, the child in me curls up
Safe in my warm cocoon,
And I think of you in the next room.
Life made new, fear subdued.
The touch of your hand, my confidence renews.
That forever love so long wanted, found at last.
The pressures I once knew moved to the past.
To the outside world I say adieu.
I was lost in the hollow of myself.
Outside of myself, I found peace.
Memories blot out urban chaos
And focus on woodland happy days.
Struggles not so painful anymore.
Peace found its hope in you.
…And then, we spoon.
Copyright January 15, 2014
Written for Poetry Soup member contest: Contemporary Figurative Artiste Stephanie Deshpande in Contemporary Free Rhyme Free Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Cyndi MacMillan.
Inspired by Stephanie Deshpande’s portrait of a Sleeping Child http://www.stephaniedeshpande.com/porfolio/
A is for Aprons, like Moms used to wear.
B is for Barrettes that adorn young girls’ hair.
C is for Coats, many colors and styles.
D is for Diamonds, best friends that brings smiles.
E is for Elbow pads skateboarders use.
F is for Flippers folks might wear on a cruise.
G is for Gowns, to wear out . . . or to bed!
H is for Helmets - Hard Hats for one’s Head.
I is for Indian saris so bright.
J is for Jewelry that dazzles at night.
K is for Kilts used by Scotts, do you know?
L is for Lingerie, a woman’ peep show!
M is for Masks to look scary or funny.
N is for Necklaces from your sweet honey.
O is for Overalls, comfy for big men.
P is for Pajamas, so easy to fit in.
Q is for a Quilted skirts and jackets too.
R is for Rags - what our worn clothes turn into!
S is for Shorts, for a day warm and glad.
T is for Ties that we all give to Dad.
U is for Underwear. I can see France!
V is for Vest. It enhances your pants.
W is for Wig, great when hair has been shorn.
X is for Xmas clothes too rarely worn.
Y is for Yamaka - only for Jews.
Z is for Zippered, the clothes over buttoned ones that I would choose!
Oh, the things we’ve been wearing since Adam and Eve
first started it off by just wearing their leaves!
For the ABC Contest of CYNDI MACMILLAN
Written by Andrea Dietrich, a big fan of poetry and PoetrySoup.
A is for Antenna
A is for Antenna, the two-in-one, receiving in and transmitting away.
B is for Broadband, to fire away on the high speed digital highway.
C is for Current, what a beauty, it is all but free- electron- flow.
D is for decibel, not the horrible, but a logarithmic unit and a ratio.
E is for Electrons, the teeny weeny charged particles, so light
F is for Fibre, or simply glass that passes streams of bits as light.
G is for Gain, could also mean loss, a measure of what’s in and what’s out.
H is for Harmonics, often unwanted multiples that are up and about.
I is for Ionosphere, the upper reaches of appreciable ionization
J is for Jitter, Who wants this unwanted, random fluctuation
K is for Klystron, just a tube which, in the microwave range, oscillates
L is for Limiter, thank God, the input to a system , it limits.
M is for Modulation, a wave-on -wave super imposition
N is for Noise, the hated disturbances due to heat’s action
O is for Oscillators, they are from low to ultra high frequency
P is for Pulse, not of the heartbeat, but a quick shot of energy.
Q is for Quartz, the stabilizer that is piezo-electric
R is for Regeneration, recuperating-the- sick- signal- trick.
S is for Semiconductors, not semi-precious, but indispensable
T is for Transmission, making communication finally possible,
U is for Unlimited Plans, the veritable godsend for the customer
V is for Voltage, the difference of potentials, one should remember.
W is for Waves, electromagnetic waves not the ones in the ocean,
X is for X-rays, against which the engineer should exercise caution
Y is for Yagi, it’s only an antenna, not a yogi or a tribal totem
Z is for Zirconium, hungry for neutrons in the context of atom.
That puts in a nutshell the revolution
Of electronics and communication.
02 Mar 2013
S.Jagathsimhan Nair
For: Cyndi Macmillan’s “ Z is for Zaria-ABC poetry” contest.
In the dreary tune of a city's groan,
when streets escape the raging claws
of haggard breaths, a line of stars blink
trading some warmth with human arms...
beyond sighing notes the dusk possesses,
there are more wrists handcuffed on tainted
steel of unjust labor for children and women
who toil beyond midnight hours.
A single violin strain bites the screeches
of grief and pain, of humanity rendered
in ruins wrapped in tattered gauze: outlines
of freezing shapes coiling in fetal postures,
and they swallow a victim's blood, wondering,
if the god of freedom star can restore
power of life where mangled lungs
cry in despise.
Yet, the candle burns inside their hearts
to feed dire hunger of jailed souls
as the will to plod an inner odyssey blazes,
searching for some need to give this slavery
a voice: that birthright of choice
ordained by one divine, universal law...
the kind that fires the oneness of all mornings.
.............................
Cyndi MacMillan's I Can't Breathe... Contest
by nette onclaud
~ Currently, the Human Rights of many women
and children are violated in Asia.
There are women who are victims of sexual exploitation
under military dictatorship, and children who become
involved in human trafficking and are forced to work.
~http://hrn.or.jp/eng/g-activity/activista/
You never said the words yet I heard them
all the time in your eyes as they crinkled
in laughter when you lifted me on your shoulders,
as I ran to you when you came with the dusk,
with the gold in sunset and silver at moonrise.
You never asked me not to cry, yet I saw
the dark chocolate in your eyes turn sour
at the salty waters running down my cheeks.
You went on a plane and I wished to have wings,
to travel free over your desert flyways for a while.
I never dreamed your dream, and had I known,
O, had I known, I never would have said yes.
Then, you never would have had to go away;
I wouldn’t have had to meet you, now inside a box.
My glass too shattered, I damn the river in my eyes.
Devices :Alliteration, Allusion, Assonance, imagery, metaphor, mood
For Cyndi MacMillan's FIVE PROOF: FREE VERSE THAT SHOWS IT AIN'T NO PROSE
21 January 2015