Best Debutante Poems
A trip to a very large
and far away hospital.
I was visiting a sick member
from church, there belittled
For a wet place I felt on my pants
I sat on a drenched seat
You bet I wasn't very composed
With coffee stains to greet
My husband had sat a cuppa
down recklessly on the seat.
It had spilled~ soaked fabric cushion
Also brown chicken white meat
My face was red walking the halls.
I wasn't a debutante
Embarrassed totally
But wouldn't let it me daunt
Written: July 12, 2016
Inspired by the contest
I'm a firm believer
In limerick fever
(This isn't news)
"It'll cure the blues!"
Says Jan (who is no deceiver)
Written by Jan Allison:
Writing limericks is a fine art
Yes I write about poop or a fart
But show me someone
Whose not dropped a ‘bomb’
then from poetry soup I’d depart!
Written by Lim'rik Flats:
Does art mimic life or life mimic art?
Don't ask me, I'm not too smart.
It seems the soup
Has the same poop
As watching the news (or a fart).
Drama and trauma, factions and foes,
Smiting and fighting, (hard on the nose),
Saves me the trouble
Of viewing double
Saves time, and less grief I suppose.
Written by Ray Gridley:
Raise a toast to this collaboration
Whatever your race or your nation
Just write on a whim
Lim'rick Flat's bound to grin
They are all going to be a sensation!
Written by Daniel Turner:
I know a guy called Lim'rick Flats
Writes limericks at the drop of a hat
Jan is his pal
She's quite a gal
They met in a laundry mat
Jan makes jokes about poop
he puts them in alphabet soop
drinks from the bowl
with no self control
which makes him a nincompoop
Also written by Daniel Turner:
Write all the limericks you want
but don't fart in a restaurant
people will laugh
call you riffraff
even if you're a debutante
Written by John Lawless:
oh the limerick it ain’t quite a sonnet
and the learned, they look down upon it
for they cannot grasp
its head or its ass
nor the cleansing effect of its tonic
Written by Terry Reeves:
Late for work she flew out the door
Took an express elevator to the 29th floor
Let some discreet killer farts
Nearly stopped all their hearts
Left them gagging; she'd evened the score
Written by Tim Smith:
Nonsense is here found out in the alley
Five funny lines we'll add to the tally
a smile or two
we laught till we're blue
so put out your best and join in our rally
Written by Alexis Y:
Hey what's going on in the soup?
Lim'rik Flats I want the scoop
What do you have to say?
You got poem of the day
Congrats, I shouldn't have flown the coop
Written by Jean Murray:
John is always fun.
His poems and their puns.
If you need a lift.
He has the gift.
Lim'rik Flats is number one.
psst. How could I not add this to the string? ~ john
She illuminates even the dreariest places,
With all of the vibrant colors she puts on,
Trailing sweet fragrance through the hours,
Her vague memory putting smiles upon faces!
Her visage glows in the wonder of sunny days,
A spring debutante, aging in summer's glaze.
Silent and mysterious, an enigmatic dreamer,
Vivaciously spreading joy, where she visits.
Star of noon gardens, where cardinals croon,
She is cherished by everyone, under the moon.
There are things we speak of, while we stroll
along the ridge, in summer sun
The mundane things, a chore, a task
ignoring what is stone and ash
or how it came to be,... to grasp
this place, we've named "Serenity"
The magnitude that lived within
had once emerged, a debutante
It pushed its way up through the core
with first, a thrust, a trembling
to break the crust with shooting stars
to forge the rock where we now stand
The frozen years are buried here
And frost still sleeps in hallowed graves
of valleys deep, and jagged peaks
Blue ribbons, sprout from melting snow
and purple shadows shelter growth
of trees and shrub , while sundown throws
a flame to warm the granite's dome
to shine a light on history
Will we ponder, eyes in awe
while strolling, deep into the past
of wilderness and ancient lore
into the vast of questions asked
and of everything that slept before?
__________________________________________________
Contest: Mountains: Judged 7/18/16
Written: 7/15/16
Resubmitted For Contest: I Got Zero, Nothing, Nada- 2
Sponsored by Broken Wings
She is shadowed by fuzzy cobwebs of a morning without coffee,
while dust motes mingle with the mold of time.
Gazing out to the yard, through dingy glass, and fog,
into a dismal January, she hopes to catch a glimpse of the paper boy.
He travels through rain, sleet or snow, how could he understand,
(this teen-aged Paul Revere), that in this decrepit old house,
she is longing for a sign of youth? It has been a weary night, watching an old woman hang on by threads of life, that had worn thin years ago.
Watching and waiting, while cold winds blew and snow was falling,
and death was hoping to make a house call.
Any diversion, life being lived,... one brief eclipse of life in motion would be a relief.
To observe him toss the news into the sky like a Frisbee... not a care in the world
How would that feel...has she ever known? Has anyone ever been so young?
She thinks she may go mad with death and dying, with weariness, with waiting.
She suddenly shivers from a dreaded draft of frigid air, slithering in,
like a sneaky, uninvited ghost, slinking in around the rim.
nor'easter winds roll top shoe box...
splinter the silence.. -- debutante' caught in amber
a cataract view frozen sepia
Grabbing a handful of a thread-bare doily, she polishes the cold glass,
rubbing vigorously in circles against the grime,
making figure eights, in spite of frozen, stiff, fingers.
Satisfied, that she has a decent view of the blanketed yard,
and can see clearly where the muddy, gravel driveway,
bends gradually, curving to mate with the snow banked road,
at last, she spies the old Jeep coming, and watches with automated eyes,
yet, with some expectation, and strange excitement.
Then, as she might have guessed,
the teenager drives hurriedly by, barely slowing down, tossing the news,
and leaving her gaze and her thoughts, splattered by dark murky water,
while the slinging gravel that has been pitched into the sky, by his screeching tires,
falls like the pieces of the old woman's lonely life upon the pristine snow.
__________________________________________
For Deb's Contest: "Mix It Up"
9/22/1983
I drove your shining,Cadillac, Daddy!
The lead car to the cemetery.
A stuffed bear, your Borsalino,
In the August, back window,fino!
You, in the hearse, a few feet behind..
Tears on the, wheel, almost went blind.
Silent pallbearers, waited, white gloved.
Upset was I,.into earth, you'd be shoved.
Priest stands in prayerful solemnity,
Oh,God, take not my Father from me!
Family, friends around the grave stood,
Then, gone, into the silent, earth's hood.
You, who presented me as a debutante.
Beside myself, now, not nonchalant.
You left me to a world,full of want.
For your lost love, I always have sought.
A few days later, I came to sing you, your song.
The one you sang, though many years long!
"Daddy's Little Girl", you sang to me,
When I, was still the star in your tree!
Lyrics
Bobby Burke and Horace Gerlach
1949
" You'e the end of a rainbow, my pot of gold.
You're Daddy's little girl, to have and hold.
A precious gem, is what you are!
You're Mommy's bright and shining star.
You're the Spirit of Christmas, our Star on
the tree.
You're the Easter Bunny to Mommy and me!
You're sugar, you're spice, you are everything nice...
And you're Daddy's little girl!"
"""""""""""""
Song is also on. You Tube
Still love you, Daddy!
Panagiota's First Elegy
Dedicated to you, Dad!
Nine o’clock dark
Stage for shark swim
Deep arc stakeout
Sailors phishing
Not squaring news
Sparing no one
Once debutante
Vessel vaunt sinks
For daunt of men
Dawns a new day
Silent gray-blue
Sea fray absconds
Sighs
The fresh chill
Of November morn
The stare of icy eyes
While the sun is born
Fetal innocence
Unaware, the Fall demise
Young oak unconvinced
Not older braver trees.
Blow north wind
Unfettered
Against the shallow charms
And golden warmth, deterred
By fragile youth's alarms.
There is music in her hands;
The graceful gestures of a different time,
Courtly manners and a black lace fan...
A hundred shaded meanings
In my daughter's eyes...
Mysterious, sibilant laughter without mystery
Without guile
Say so many things young and beautiful.
And the dance begins inside her smile
In the middle of her first kiss
That needs no translation...
While the chandelier in a debutante ballroom
Reflects flashes of joy
In a swirl of shining silk
And a trace of elusive perfume
Warming her skin for the first time.
There is such music in her hands;
She is my princess, unawakned
Surrounded by a future beloved,
And dissapointed courtiers...
There is such wonder...
I love you, Daughter Mine.
I’m not supposed to tell you
How much I care or even look
With envious longing at your lovely
Dark, debutante hair, falling
All ‘round your shoulders, neck and face;
I could be arrested and found guilty of
Wishing I could trace
The curves and lines of your
Body and mind merging
And converging into bliss;
It’s against the rules to play the fool
And wish for your sweet kiss. Never
The less, your sweet caress
Could lure me into sin;
I dare not tell a single soul
Lest I fall right in
Your arms opened wide
Like summer skies
And angels with outstretched wings;
But I’m not supposed to tell
How I feel about
These things.
Got drunk as a skunk, at a debutante
Eye catching tat I want. With no regrets
a masterpiece of art that I can flaunt
clearly expressing my love for Begretz
Fritz loves Begretz on a red crimson heart.
When the artist was done the tattoo read
Ritz loves Begets on a red crimson heart
With grieve I departed , I know I’m dead
Pearl, in no way cared, that was a big void
I’m all wrinkled wishing I was younger
Instead of guessing and getting annoyed
now you know the tattoo is no longer
Young and reckless, no more needs to be said
I’m still alive with the life that I led
9/3/2016
Poetry Contest
Which Of The Four Would You Choose - cartoon #4
Sponsored by: Sara Kendrick |
Sonnet: 10 syllables per line, rhyme scheme abab, cdcd, efef, gg ..Fourteen lines with last two lines like a summary of the poem..
inching down a leaf
you nibble voraciously …
time for your afternoon nap
hanging from a twig
wrapped in a pure silk blanket
metamorphosis occurs
butterfly hatches
wings unfold in warm sunshine
dazzling debutante rises
5,7,7,5,7,7,5,7,7 checked with how many syllables
Compose a Choka Contest Sponsored by Janis Thompson
07~18
It's the midnight dance, last call before the lights go out and the harvest moon glows brightly in the darkness. The room is full with partners sweeping close, hand in hand, floating liltly across the floor, snug and tightly wrapped in each others arms, lips upon their necks. Eyes drift up slow gorged yet wanting then frantic, eyeing every masked face searching for another partner.
Witches grin,
envied green flowing into the arms of passion burned red devils.
Pumpkins glow,
with eerie lanterns waltzing with the Headless Horseman's horse.
Pale ghostly sheeted ethereal spectres,
gently clasp skeletal fingers with dainty delicacy.
Superman tingles the webbing of Spiderman,
with Wonder Woman caught between them.
Batman scowls
at Robin's teenage angst closeted tights.
Scary menacing clowns
throw punches at pocked faced zombies.
A frail wall flower pretty in soft and elegant pink
into the arms of the muscular strong Huntsman.
A piano player plucks the keys in black and white
as the debutante swoons, falling graceful into his arms
and the dance comes to an end.
WHIRR!
The noise
Hair-Dryer
Nails Polished Pink.
It's her first prom night.
Drenched in waves of blue silk
And black shoes with heels to kill.
Not a strand out of place on a
Nervous seventeen-year-old's blonde head.
The lights shine tonight for the ballroom's belle.
For a date at eight she bathes at five.
In tons of bubble bath,
Barricades her boudoir door,
Eau de cologne marks her path!
Her lingerie must be 'just so',
A froth of frills and lace.
Down with the curlers, up with the hose,
The womanly task of 'fixing her face'!
Donning a frock spun out of dreams,
With a skirt to swish and sway.
Into the slippers, shining and new.
Did Cinderella feel this way?
What gala affair now summons our queen,
Embassy tea or debutante ball?
Oh no! It's a matter of much more import!
Her very first date awaits in the hall!
Composed by my wife, Vera Selena (Osburn) Hinshaw
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