Best Dextrous Poems

for F. A.

You, in going a little way from yourself
Have gone a long way from my gullible ilk.
« I’m trying hard not to like you, » you said
The breaths of several men surging in your nostrils
And the stench abraded in your flesh :
« You are...

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with the touch 
             of God
this fountain 
          of mercy
a thing of great beauty 

 portraits in stone
in relief & in 
  ...

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Amateur poetry season is over, move closer, its wisdoms time for disclosure,
The takeover, sober, waging raging kosher words….….. Transferred,  
ABC’s with wise syntax, heard and dispersed to the brains synapse, 
Jumping the gaps, from axon to dendrite with inner insight, so go write,
From higher...

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Tis quite a beast of burden to bear atlas (shrug off not allowed)
Atlas shrugged an impossibility
tantamount to skinny dipping in the lock nest lagoon

Tantamount to shrugging Atlas off mine bony, 
   ill suited, widower wizened shoulders, 
would take naked fat chance in Fountain...

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The hands that wove this hammock
In a tropical land of colors
Where bright reds, greens, purples, and
Aquamarines, splashed everywhere on its
Birds, flowers and waters there;
Dextrous and practical, the hands
That wove this hammock, never manicured
Perhaps lovingly they grazed over their
Swaddled babies--they surely pulsed
With life and love, like...

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This is a hymn for a him,
Close your eyes, imagine,
Soft, dextrous hands in motion,
Soothing aching muscles with lotion,
Smoothing with unguents,
Rubbing with emollients,
R......E......L......A.....X......I......N......G.....
You'll wake up smiling,
I'll ease away your frowning, 
Compliant massage dreaming,
Healing hands for him,
Close your  eyes, imagine...............

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Part 2 of 2

.........eclectic mangling with each dextrous touch, fine lines begin to smudge, 


reality blends with fiction, body becomes an instrument, instantly switched on, fingers-the intimate, 


high octave tinkering, pursed lips to the sky-the vocalist singing,


 just how I want her to, sweet like...

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UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: L (50) - Tongue-Teasers

The « early bird catches the worm » only because the worm has not woken up yet.

« I don’t love you ! I hated your father ! » - must be the real reason why « Mother F.….r » is...

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Sparks of inspiration fueled frisson building, crafting, 
designing, a gamut of glorious finished products, that 
offset bereft reaction dad experienced at workplace. 
Seventh heaven for him found in the cellar at "Glen 
Elm", where freelance dadaist artist, this detail 
potential heresy if management got wind...

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Lovely butterflies! For contest


To while time in leisure
Painted portrait, Nature
Her strokes so dextrous
Chose colours so lustrous
Hills, rivers, mountains
Trees, flowers, fountains
All in place, yet she felt
Liveliness was absent
Added She the butterflies!
Gifted, Regalia resplendent,
texture velvet, iridescent
Diverse patterns, designs
Buzz and life commence...
Flowers feel admired...
So,brightly groomed,
Compete among them,
to play...

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the piano

grand dextrous strokes in ivory keys
of harmonius vibrations

By: Jeremy Siedlecki...

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Sussanah,my great grandma,times three,a pillow puffed up on her knee;with 
daughter Ann in cobbled Cowfair,daily shaped their homespun ware.In such 
humble women,cottage-tied,a rare and dextrous art did reside.Fashioned 
out,stitch by stitch,pillowed lace in patterns rich.Tinkling bobbins with bewildering 
skill,inch by inch grew the intricate frill.Twisting...

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With a weary, saddened smile and a twinkle in the eye, all dressed inside a tattered
   ill-fitting worldly suit,
   Crumpled baggy trousers hanging loosely, draped down on his worn out boots, his toes
   are peeping through,
   He...

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Taxes are not talking nor are they taxis. But airports are often very congested. Packed tightly forming queues. Vastly unreported by news. News are neatly arranged newts in a bath licking ice cream. And a single melt of globular sploosh is merely an unwelcome loss....

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Poetry in motion
is prose 
encapsulated in 
warring thoughts,
notions conceived 
in time oscillated 
flows,
harmonically 
shifting mental 
tides to whence 
the Tasmanian 
wind never blows,
where meditating 
and trancing 
souls,fairly prowls,
like watching the 
future in an 
ancient show,
I swear the 
present is 
abstract,just 
never raw,
My intuition?All 
deja vu's...

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