Best Deems Poems
"Still Born"
Shh!! Mommy, quiet, quiet she is still sleeping
Shh!! Mommy, quiet, quiet she is off dreaming
Shh!! Mommy, before you wake her: “My baby sister!”
Now look what you have done, you gone and woke her!
Please, mommy do not tell her what you expect and will concur.
She is silently listening to the unique secret found in every waking minute.
Making movements, imposing that her dreams come with no limit.
Shh!! Mommy, she is dreaming again,
Waiting for another day to end,
Hasting the way you count every minute before she arrives.
Shh!! Mommy, she is not ready yet.
She told me a secret when I press my ear near your nest.
She is hesitating the moment for you to hear her newborn cries.
She is not ready for you to count her fingers and look into her eyes.
She likes it in your womb where it is nice and warm.
She is in a dream protected by a place where angels swarm.
~
Dear:
Mommy I fell asleep when you sang that beautiful lullaby..
Mommy, mommy, I’m ready to see her: “My baby sister!”
I want to play with her- Is she everything we dreamed of.
~
I’m sorry mommy, I do not understand why you cry!
I was not there when the angels woke her without saying goodbye.
Mommy, why did God call and take her home?
Mommy, I am still here, please do not feel alone.
Shh!! Mommy, do not cry no more.
Mommy, please wipe those tears and show me how to be brave.
Mommy, stop, listen, and feel her smile and wave.
She will always listen, when you visit her grave.
Hi, mommy, why don't you stand by her grave anymore?
Mommy, I see you weep no more.
Mommy is she no longer asleep nor in dreams?
Is she in a better land with no trials and deems?
Mommy, now I see everyone’s heart is clear, and no longer stillborn.
Mommy, now life must go on, and in it, we will always have time to mourn.
**
One more thing, mommy thank you for holding my hand,
I am just a sibling, who needed time to understand.
by;PD
((for contest))
So, what is the best theme for
a poem? No guarded secret, all themes --
Freely to Roam! And what, the prescribed
destination or direction? Wherever the poet,
himself, deems worthy of fond or pertinent
affection –
Poetic Theme (extended metaphor)
So, what is the best theme for
a poem? No guarded secret, all themes –
Freely to Roam! And what the prescribed
destination or direction? Only those fond
and pertinent, giving affectionate-justification as
reason for procrastination – to linger in a moment's
subtle discovery – the courses followed only those
which the poet deems entrancingly divine – he seeks
heartfelt permanent encampment – or just an
amicable pause, in a neighboring field, fertile for
blooming enchantment; with his companion pen, to chronicle
canorous visuals, fervently inspired – or simply folksy,
lyrical rides; for the poet, alone, decides where his poetry lives
or temporarily abides –
(his muse, never far off – nearby, perhaps reflecting in the shade of a flowering
fruit tree: heaped in petals, not trying to hide – more enjoying the velvety feel of an
apple before the outer peel, though colorful, would be far too bitter for his present
aromatic meal) – muse and poet, composing through a single eye. Writing as one:
sharing new sights – sounds with scent – their mind dutifully toward poetry
bent – shades of detail, mellifluously transcending common scheme and rhyme –
incanting verse worthy of a brief performance, or immortal, blessed shrine –
It's all fair, such dulcet affair! All subjects! All seasons! – preferring spring, in which to self-lavish and spiritually entwine. Therefore, his paths are fanciful, never truthful as definitive
would define; often choosing glitter over harsh realty, yet can be a prophet and oracle if a troubling-time -- though never, a ruling class mime; – in this sense, he is a likable charlatan, a chimerical rebel...irreconcilable passion his soulful crime, therefore not ever exhibited, an atoning-word or act of sorrowful contrition – so loved by God, who gags at his counterpart, the lying politician.
“A heartbeat pulsating as living light
free from each and every limitation
I AM that dwelling in inbound delight
the source wherefrom arises creation”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We are that we are that we might align as God’s designed, divine
boned souls; therefore, I am that I am that I might become all that
Spirit deems my possibilities to don and grow from.
As golden light inside earthly flesh status and matters, I densely
stumble through life’s living maze to either be conquered and
triumphant, or conquered and redundant. Only when confined
do most seek to break out and realize the divine tools we all
possess in the recesses of the ‘I am’ we are.
I am my soul’s potential of light, love and joy thus existential
credentials are essential for realizations of my nature. Intuitive
insight pulses layers of intoxicating rushes that inform and
discern the terms of who I am now and endowed to further be.
We wander all, in feral dreams
of jagged thoughts and cryptic yearns;
a labyrinth of mirrored turns.
Along a ridge of moon stitched seams,
lie melancholic tapestries,
unfolded in an abstract frieze.
Subconscious angst weaves heart loomed themes
from pain sewn deep, through puerile eyes,
till daybreak’s alabaster guise.
As savage beasts from darkened streams,
complicit servants of the id,
form insights purged at slumber’s bid.
Claw toward light as urging deems;
these taloned gasps of hidden truth,
burst from the depths of shuttered youth.
We wander all, in feral dreams
along a ridge of moon stitched seams.
Subconscious angst weaves heart loomed themes,
as savage beasts from darkened streams,
claw toward light as urging deems.
19 Nov 2019
Her neighbors claim her as their fairy,
And gather around to protect
This little wood nymph of their forest
Who so needs their love and respect.
They don't know how she came to their woodland.
It seems she is one of a kind.
She must gaze at reflection in water
For one like her own self to find.
Lovely flowers bow in abeyance
All the wood creatures kneel down with awe.
The wind tries to clear the lake waters,
That she might see the picture they saw.
The magnificence of her surroundings
More than easily rivaled by
The beauty of her reflection
As it’s framed by the bright blue sky.
She has no access to glass mirrors,
This little nymph of the wood.
She longs to see her own features
Without ripples if only she could.
Goddess Hera is extremely jealous
Of her beauty, her goodness, her youth.
Though there is no reason for vengeance,
Goddess ire doesn’t listen to truth.
She puts a vile charm on the wood nymph
And steals away her sweet voice.
She can only speak now as an echo.
This dear child has no other choice.
The wood creatures gather around her.
They miss her melodious song.
They give her the new name of Echo,
Declaring what happened was wrong.
One day at the lake was Narcissus.
She was charmed but could not tell him so.
When he asks if she deems him as handsome,
She repeats his own words as an echo.
He’s amazed at her impudent actions,
Intrigued into saying “I love you.”
Love releases her from the wicked one’s spell.
“Beloved Narcissus, I love you too.”
They spend all their hours now together,
Gazing at the pretty pictures they make,
More gorgeous than lilies reflected
In clear waters of their wedding lake.
By: Joyce Johnson
These were set in motion from the beginning of time.
Heavens abound in each of their glory, power sublime.
Every excursion that they set upon revolves in rhyme.
Solar orb that secures life upon this planet we dwell.
Universally seen around our globe, for all to tell,
Never tiring it revolves, captured within its cell.
Rising up from its core, flares of powerful streams.
I respect what has risen from the sunny beams.
Sharing the glory that it has upon everyone, it seems.
Evident by the life that it supports even in dreams,
Solar star of daylight hours continue as nature deems.
Till nightfall approaches while another completes the set.
Helping to guide travelers for centuries the positions to get,
Evening ignites different phases upon this satellites debt.
Monthly revolutions of this celestial body sway the hours.
Orbital bliss has spoken richly along with romantic flowers.
Opening souls in sensuality and fulfilling romantic powers.
New moon to which many have fell into its magical showers.
Splendor of the night as it falls to set upon the new dawns light.
Exemplary versions follow a pattern, which marvels natural sight.
Take notice of what you may be missing each upcoming night.
Said, I’ve heard, old sailors delight, shining, enchantingly bright.
Using Jared Picketts form Monotetra
Dreamt I was a giant last night
running through Lego City height.
Smashing it to pieces with might.
Such a good fight, such a good fight!
At some point city became real.
And the buildings' pain I could feel.
Big giants standing on the hill.
Punching to kill, punching to kill!
Cleaving off huge chunks of red brick.
Asphalt flying but could not stick!
Smashing through walls with a swift kick.
Wanting this lick, wanting this lick.
It was as real or though it seems
smashing through the walls of my dreams,
trying to break free with loud screams.
No justice deems, no justice deems!
My prison walls are very real.
Wish it would help me to appeal.
My soul grows stagnant with no zeal.
To God I kneel, to God I kneel!
Though we live in different worlds
on a Merry-go-round that twirls.
See diff'rent views as life unfurls.
Tears cold as pearls, tears cold as pearls....
Inspired by Jonathan Taylor and Jared Pickett...
IGNORANT TIME
I went up before a judge because it is a crime
to be at all ignorant in this place and time.
I was living evidence and the judge he saw this too
so I awaited his decision as to what he planned to do.
He said "This is my verdict" with a very solemn look
"I hereby sentence you to a year of reading books"
I said "Judge we've got a problem, though it's guilty that I plead
in no way can I do the time because I cannot read."
'then it's back to school with you' he said 'and I don't care
if you have to spend the rest of life in there.'
I said 'Judge I will do anything that this court deems fit
but it was in that very place I became illiterate!'
Towers collapsed to foundations,
The planes exploded in air,
To gratify firebrand preachers
Destruction and death everywhere.
Bus became coffin on byway,
Train torn up beneath ground,
Fanatics end innocent life,
Spin godless chaos around.
Child kneels broken at graveside,
Tears drip down to the earth,
A consciousness of pure evil
Deems human life of no worth.
Enemies fester within,
Harbour a doctrine and creed,
Under the guise of religion,
And nurtures a virulent seed.
Enemies hidden within,
Feral smiles, baring of teeth,
Approve of a racist agenda.
Murder by twisted belief.
Why should we drown beneath?
Fundamental waves of hate,
Why should we have to live
In this an altered state?
They can go to other places
Where their twisted creed is rife,
Where martyrdom and slaughter
Construe their way of life.
The simple, sorry factor
The ironic doctrinaire:
The places of their genesis
Won’t stand them living there.
Thus decent, honest people
Are left unto their fate,
A homeland under terror
Remains an altered state.
They said that she was ugly, fat, and shy.
She went her way to shameful words and sneers.
Ignored or worse by those who passed her by,
She'd weep the dew each night with all her tears.
The caterpillar, few have understood.
In every garden scorned and undesired
Until such time she reaches womanhood.
Then by all men she's suddenly admired.
The dress she wears so colorful and slim.
Her freckled skin now silky, fair, and smooth.
Her every movement, elegant and prim,
But still she bears the cruelness of her youth.
And when she flits so daintily our way
Perhaps that's why she never deems to stay.
9.2.18
Contest 1: Personification poem of a pet, wild animal or insect (N/A)
Contest 2: Brian Stand contest #490 (N/A)
He deems the ways and dares to understand,
a measure of a love that went astray,
from libelled forces, which compelled his hand,
to lies, and morals left to slow decay.
No one forgo or risk refute her right,
a stubborn choice is seldom steered by sense.
To cease callow mishaps from leaving blight .
sound case to aid her act of self-defence.
Yet, who can purge despair from a man’s soul,
who boldly baulked against such mortal deed?
His choice dismissed as outside his control,
no matter pleading creed, indeed, his breed.
Such anguish will forever convolute
because abstracts are never absolute.
06.27.21
You are free to choose, but you are not free to alter the consequences of your decision
– Ezra Taft Benson (politician)
Feeling like a particle of dust in the expanse of existence
I keep trying to find myself
Hoping, when I would do so,
That I would find the anchor that I need
To feel at home while being myself!
I searched for myself in the faces of people that I met
And was only met with pretense
People pretend to wish to smile
People pretend to care
People pretend to be happy
People and their pretentions, I decided
Is not about being me!
I searched for myself in the behavior of people towards me
And was only met with selfishness
People aim only to satisfy their ego
Ready to harm me and break me
Without any sense of pity towards the mess that I am
People and their cruelty, I decided
Is not about being me!
I searched for myself in the feelings of people towards me
And was only met with indifference
People care only to please themselves
People care not about pure intentions
About naïve temperaments and certainly not
About being an orthodox romantic living in a fast world
People and their feelings, I decided
Is not about being me!
I searched for myself in my own deep self
Am I the words that emanate from me
Am I the songs I listen to
Am I the clothes that I wear
Am I the actions of time over my body
Am I the purpose I have set for myself in life
Am I the choices that I make in life
Am I the facets that I show to the world
Or those which I hide, deep in closets?
Pray, after searching the within and without,
I decided that my essence remains unknowable
I am not that which I believe I am
I am not that which the world deems me to be
I am mystery and shall have to keep on searching
To be able to get to know me!
My cherished tomcat went missing
I sat at home in floods of tears
He’d been my devoted companion
I’d had him for so many long years
So I put up some missing cat posters
Around the village and in the papers
Has anyone seen my lost pussy…
I was shocked to learn of his capers!
My tomcat was known to be randy
Some weeks he would not return
He was seen with that queen named Sandy
Her advances my Tom would not spurn
I got phone calls from various places
To say Tom had been living with them
He had his paws firmly under the table
Grr he’s like so many unfaithful men
My Tom had a string of cat lovers
Or are they merely a lover of cats
Cos he loves to have his tummy tickled
He had boltholes in houses and flats
I discovered that he was a father
Many kittens had my pussy sired
with Topsy and Fluffy and Tiddles
Oh my pussy these kitties desired
I’ve given up hope of my Tom returning
and I’ve got rid of his blue feeding dish
He’s unfaithful and he no longer loves me
but you’re welcome to feed him some fish
If by chance my Tom deems to pay me a visit
By scouring high fences and walls
He’s off to the vet’s in a cat carrier case
Cos he’s going to be losing his balls!
Inspired by the title of the ‘Missing Tom’ Blog by Becca Teagan
07-25-17
If you hear the sound of rat-tat-a-tat
It's not a woodpecker or a chattering cat
Tis George F. Latulence an aristocrat
Playing ping pong with his gold crested bat.
A competitor and show-off he deems to be
Dresses each day in his noble finery
Pantaloons his normal fancy day wear
His ancestry, finery, regalia, style flair.
He never shares glory or plays with a partner
Winning trophies for himself, what he is after
Agile and swift, rarely points he would miss
The downside came, when you did get that whiff.
To gain advantage, a parp he would do
Clenching bum cheeks, in case he followed through
High class energy foods for his body to sustain
But his parping was every one else's nose bane.
George on first serve, parped, as he hit the ball hard
Swiftly attacking, George butt did bombard
In that spilt second threw off his opponent
Point gain to George, aided by his flatulent moment.
Silent and deadly they all came out fast
Odourous gas from George nuclear fueled ar$e
If one made a noise he'd give a loud grunt
That was his bum burping cover up stunt.
Knew there was trouble when audiences pulled faces
Some even fainted, brave stayed in their seat places
George didn't care, just wanted top podium status
His methods and thinking obnoxiously atrocious.
Audience faces were different shades of green
People were swaying, some even vomiting.
He called it his ping pong, parp-crafty-art farts
Next point to win, final round about to start.
The ball went to and fro like a speeding fast bullet
George, with match point, he was about to secure it
Hitting an ace, made a spark, that caused a boom blast
Left the audience with mix feelings of relief and aghast.
Breaking news of his death headlines did broadcast
Even able to download from what's called a podcast
George F. Latulence died from a blast from his ar$e,
He blew up one too many, too dense and not sparse.
May The Gas Be With You Farts Part 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor Chantelle Anne Cooke
Written 07.10.21
The world, a place dreamt perfect, orderly and friendly
Graced and paced, hospitable to both brave and cowardly
The timid forced turgid, the brave at times feeble and shake
At the forces from the four poles, leaving their lives at stake
The tell tale of the noble as the only capable to cope forces all
To quickly mutate into beings that can conquer and hell in stroll
You and I, apostles stemmed on great doctrine that constitutes
Making the world better and better, indorsing the ancient platitudes
We`re awed and perplexed by perspective of the world depending
On the side that we fall, the pessimist or unrelenting
With every rise of the sun, a chance to choreography
And perfect authentic living, whether it ends in tidings or catastrophe
As the light dims every day, conscience deems us gutless or valiant
Therefore with every breathe, comes an effort for a man to prove gallant