Best Discusses Poems
I've been musing lately about things that really make a home complete.
One thing for sure - a happy home is one with laughter and love replete!
'Twill be a place with affectionate parents who dearly love each other,
And blessed by a couple of kids - a little sister and her big brother!
A home ain't a home unless you have a faithful dog and inscrutable cat,
And a stoop on which to greet folks whereon lies a welcoming mat!
A grandfather clock to intone the inexorable march of time is needed,
And a fireplace with a cozy fire by which to reminisce unimpeded!
There'll be a library of classic tales with yellowed and dog-eared pages,
And a Bible that is read, having been handed down through the ages!
Displayed on the fireplace mantel will be pictures of folks from the past -
Folks from the family tree who set standards for honor unsurpassed!
There'll be a white picket fence and a trellis with climbing yellow roses,
And a huge front porch with a swing on which to enjoy pleasant dozes!
At the kitchen table, the family dines, discusses the day and grace is said.
Later the kids say nightly prayers before being tucked in their featherbed!
Marks to measure the kid's height mar the wall nigh the kitchen door.
Happy holidays and birthdays are celebrated that will add to family lore!
Though the dog and kids may create havoc as about the house they roam,
If I may quote Edgar Guest, "It takes a heap o' livin' to make a house a home!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
We all have our views on the subject. A military officer
on hearing I was pregnant asked me to consider having
an abortion. I know a young woman, the doctors told
her mom, that with her condition, she needed to be aborted.
She was not and is perfect with a beautiful family.
PREPARED TO MAKE MISTAKES
You saw baby bouncing on your knee
and the gifts the neighbors bring.
Blue and pink were twins,
the sparkle in your eyes
at graduation
and surprise they were there for you
at your end of days.
You smiled
as each smoothed your hair,
kissed you on the cheek.
You’d surely die
then think,
regretting dying before you drink
of their beauty,
as they wait in utero
dreaming of a mom
who’d care for them
as she discusses their fate
with a stethoscope clad
impartial lad,
who has no stake,
who’s prepared
to make mistakes
blue and pink balloons
could pop
on a pin drop,
with no bounce,
no degree,
added to a pile of debris.
5/11/2022
*“Ring around the Rosy. A pocketful of posies.
Ashes, Ashes, we all fall down.” - a nursery rhyme
Gone to ashes.
Each town was a burial ground
gone to ashes.
Multitudes wore rosy rashes;
The Black Death’s ring was on them found.
Dead bodies smoldered all around. . . .
gone to ashes.
Now children chant
“Ashes, ashes,” while in a ring.
Now children chant
and they’re strangely exuberant!
Of pockets of posies they sing
and think not of one deathly thing!
Now children chant.
Written by Andrea Dietrich/ Feb. 16, 2012
and inspired by nette onclaud's
ALPHABETS OF RONDELET Poetry Contest
(I chose Ashes, but also Chant was used
in verse two).
*Please click on "about this poem" to see
the origin of the nursery rhyme it discusses.
Is, it, to be called classi?cation?
Or is it a destruction of paci?cation ?
Or are humans still to undergo humanization ?
In which being humane is considered main quali?cation
Which is not being achieved due to illusional mesmerization,
Should we call it misconception ?
Or is it a fanatic deviation?
Caused by the adherents of delusion
Or is it the fault of rationalists misapprehension
Of the necessity of categorization
Among blacks and whites, religious types, castes and tribes
Which should not be considered manipulation?
Showing the proofs of existences alone as justi?cation
Leaving behind the unanswered question
Questioning Noah’s and Satyavratan’s relation,
To perform same duty with devotion!
Is it just a coincidental conjunction ?
And are all coincidences among all religions
Are just caused due to accidental notions?
Oh, what is this God’s or Gods creation
Leaving us with great confusion
Not able to understand whether it is misconception of classi?cation
Or misapprehension of religion
Which only discusses love and devotion but not destruction.
rainy season
grief, white hydrangeas
hungry caterpillar
In part, The Haiku Society of America’s definition of a haiku reads, “Usually a haiku in English is written in three unrhymed lines of seventeen or fewer syllables.” Further, Japanese scholar Shigehisa Kuriyama states, “The 5-7-5 pattern by itself does not make a haiku.” (Gurga, p. 1). Contemporary English language haiku have departed radically from the 5-7-5 convention, including the Beat haiku of Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and Gary Snyder, the latter awarded the Masaoka Shiki International Haiku Grand Prize in 2004. The haiku of Robert Spiess are especially experimental.
I recommend two sources for further study of haiku: “Haiku: A Poet’s Guide,” by Lee Gurga, addresses haiku in it’s traditional form; “Haiku Poetics in Twentieth-Century Avant-Garde Poetry,” by Jeffery Johnson discusses haiku as realized by modernist poets.
Speaking personally, it is most important for me to enjoy writing a haiku, correct form or not, and for my haiku to be enjoyed by the reader.
When ten minus nine equals eight the baked bean has a chat to a nine foot goblin in an underpass who is carrying sixty-seven bowls of custard to make a very large tart for supper. An instigator is neither an alligator nor a flea. And a dome of teabags makes a very nice living embodiment of a ten trail avenue. It id understood that a physical education is a flat out high jumping curd in a flowery top. High kicking. High School. And a delivery of a smiley happy pizza who discusses existentialism with a pie of fruit. Sat side by side is not sat upside down. And to eat from a pail is to sing about rain whilst spinning an umbrella around and around. Oh look the cats are laughing at the snake who is journeying around a ceiling arch in a garage. Hahahaha. Pickling placing playing personifying peanuts. And a jam frowning. Eradicate no moving potatoes in a steak pastry ball. Hahaha and a big voice booming out from a one kilometre beak. Calibration calling. And a canopy of circular circumstances. No ha to that. So ho up the hill and make enquiries in a tail arch brush. Physicality of an elephant is rife in a head scarf and a dressed man. Six metre beard. And a waistline akin to a moon or a planted planet. Whirl. Xxxxx adjudicator adhere after all afternoons xxxxx talismanic teeth xxxxxx geometrically z
The nuns in the Abbey adore Emma,
for she often visits them after school.
And volunteers her time and assistance,
barely thirteen, she thinks that nuns are cool.
It fills her parents with a sense of pride,
when she discusses becoming a nun.
For they know, she has so much love to give,
judging by the things she's already done.
It sometimes takes a little persuasion
to get her to leave the park before dark.
For she has a profound love of nature
and a tinder heart awaiting a spark.
An example of humanity's best,
she's an inspiration for all the rest.
(Sonnet)
7/31/2016
Walking down the sea shores
Gazing at wondrous God’s creation
Amused by the noise made by waves
And enjoying the spit by rolling waves
I blinked twice for conviction
I couldn’t believe my eyes
The adage says “looks can be deceiving”
Can the angel be evil?
Your glittering chocolate skin
And dripping diamonds all over your body
Were too bright for my eyes to handle
Your beauty is beyond immaculate
For a moment I went blank and out of words
Silenced by your perfect African beauty
I thought such beauty exist only in fictions
I wanted to complement but I tripped over my tongue
Like your favorite book index
I hope that my actions will guide you to the pages of my heart
That discusses what is in store for you
Only if we can meet again
All my life I’ve been rehearsing
Penning every word that describe you
Hopping I’ll overcome my stammer
I hope for a second chance with you
Little Miss Perfect
I.
Blue eyes, blond hair, fair skin
The American Dream
Blue eyes, blond hair, fair skin
The Aryan dream
What are we teaching our children?
What set of morals are being discusses?
Around the dinner table
II.
Daughter you must go hungry
Nobody likes the fat girl
Stand there and watch
While I suck the last drops of greasy fried chicken
From my bloated finger tips
Tomorrow is judgment day
They’re all going to love you
You’re so perfect with…
Your blue eyes, blond hair, and fair skin.
III.
Mother I am hungry
But not for the attention you crave
Do I make you feel more beautiful
When you look in the mirror do you see me
Then why can’t you see what I really want
I want my own moment to shine, to be loved
For Being me
Not being loved simply for…
My blue eyes, blond hair, and fair skin.
IV.
Daughter your opinion does not matter
When you get older you will understand
You’ll never be loved if you’re not beautiful
Keep practicing that dance routine
You’ll see the importance of that skill
When the men are paying you handsomely
To show them just how beautiful you are
They’ll see more than just…
Your blue eyes, blond hair, and fair skin.
V.
Mother, you repulse me
You want me to be your Barbie doll
You insist I parade myself smiling through the humiliation
Only to be judged by those who mean nothing
You want me to dance
Watch me dance this dance of disdain
I am going to break free and be me
I renounce the celebration of…
My blue eyes, blond hair, and fair skin.
To look back now,?to the times when I was young,?there were so many unknowns?that the girl I was ?didn’t realize existed.?I did not know?if I could ever trust a man to care.?I did not know?if I could ever be half the woman she is.?I did not know ?if I could even make it far enough to question what wasn’t promised. ?A seven year old me,?pink streaks in her hair?and a smile,?a real one,?on her face did not yet know how the world would ?funnel into her ears one day,?trying to tell her everything?she already assumed was true.?She didn’t understand?how people ever left other people?or how sadness was an actual disorder.?She thought a smile was a cure.?I did not know ?that a father was supposed to do more then leave healing wounds?and set a dinner table.?I did not know?that love is fifty/fifty only when the other is involved?and willing to say he cared.?I did not know?what it meant to feel no hunger for anything other then a bed sheet?and voices other people could hear.?Because a seven year old me?blocked out the slaps?and believed it?when she said she was crying because?her back hurt.?I didn’t know?that some days I was worth nothing more then the price?of a punching bag?or?that feeling so alone in a room full of people?can make anyone crack.?And it wasn’t until?the only man I’ve ever come to trust ?held me after I saw a girl almost get assaulted?in my house, on my own couch, on my own lap?that I knew not all men were evil.?And it wasn’t until?she told me about the sadness in our veins?being a battle I’d never get to escape easily ?that I realized I’m as strong as she made herself.?And it wasn’t until ?the winter of no lunch and ?spring of bad habits and ?summer of broken hearts?that I came to terms with the place I was trying to get to.?I have a boy who’s like a brother.?One who built a place for me to ?watch the world before joining it.?I have a mother who lived to tell a tale.?One who now discusses with me?the poet that saved my life?and the lyric that started an epiphany.?I have a disorder that some people don’t survive.?One that, some nights, is so strong,?it escapes through fingertips or ?words of mouth or ?limbs I once dangled from the edge of the world.?I have unknowns.?So many that I did not realize needed answering.?A seven year old me once saw the world?as a place for only her,?but now,?I’m just trying to find a place to stand.
Owning the ability to strikingly be on a rough road.
Need the pride to cross the hazardous paddled rowed.
Caesar energetically settled on a terrible decision.
Cross a no-return line for Rome's dictator to goad.
When they had passed the Rubicon's canyon.
Their battle fizzled into cruel oppression.
Out of the red downpour, passing raised its peak.
Where their bodies swam in an ocean of dejection.
The evil has bestowed on humanity a bleak.
They'll be modified into poisoned minds Greek.
Wanting abundance, they are killing their power.
Projecting havoc on Earth and fueling flames of shriek.
Boomed and dabbed same as a colossal breaker.
Evil masters unleashed devastation ashore and water.
Mores perished, and the Earth was scorched.
God has gotten some distance from man's disaster.
Drink and trust your trick isn't called.
You missed the last outing for no end.
Resting is simple presently; you're patching.
This will happen once all perspectives are tired?
Friends, we're in it for the long stretch being.
There is no way toward the rear for returning.
The briny exit is to move straight forward.
It'll drive us anyplace we crave to be moving.
As his army crossed the Rubicon River, the point of no return, Julius Caesar said the famous lines "Alea lacta est," which means "the dice is cast." This poem discusses apocalyptic prophecies when crossing the Rubicon.
Written: October 11, 2021
Pick-A-Title, Vol 26 - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
(Director John Huston had, previously to
this shoot, killed an elephant under
controversial circumstances. Here he
discusses his cast and crew. "Wallaby"
is his nickname for Eli Wallach.)
White Hunter, Black Heart
She had no technique.
If anyone ever tells you
Marilyn Monroe was crafty,
they don't know what they're saying.
What she did was naked truth.
What she gave was Marilyn.
But it was quite a gift.
There was something luminous,
something beautiful beyond looks,
voluptuous divinity:
a wistfulness about her.
She was every girl you ever loved,
or ever hoped to love.
Mortally injured in some way
which no-one understood,
convinced of her own unworthiness,
she was checking out -
not just of my film,
but of life itself.
The Jewish guy?
How can you be so smart
and still not understand?
You don't conquer women
by being kind. Dumb highbrow.
So, they're giving presents
with divorces now?
Nevada is the "leave it" state.
Come here, park your marriage.
I'll be glad to leave it.
Making a film - what's that?
It's leaving behind your loneliness
for a little while,
and making an ersatz little world
where you can, perhaps, believe
that you share a thing.
You put a frame around it,
then move on.
You do that till you die.
That's all there is.
The nineteen sixties now:
I've seen enough.
Boxer, prospector,
horse trooper, man:
I've done all I can.
I've painted with light.
The heat has been fierce,
but it's awful cold at night.
Like Wallaby says,
I'm an eagle tired of flight:
how do I land?
The long, plain curtain wearily drapes over worn walls, hiding the monotonous boredom of lonesome weekdays, weekdays of silence.
Then a breeze.
The fluttering, playful curtain discusses the family secrets with this choppy breeze, this breeze heading towards night, a night of lights.
Then the music.
The dancing vibrant red curtain decorates the air, the beautiful atmosphere of cheer flirts with fantasies of the moon, loads of love.
Then the morning.
The morning shine curtain stands proud, wearing impenetrable black like a bouncer, caring for the groaning silence inside, at peace.
Our lives of curtains, our keepers of truths, our guards of free, our curtains.
If some scents stir romance, reminiscence,
If jasmines evoke forgotten good times,
Lavenders if spread peace, tranquil fragrance,
Enigma, scents of mild lemons and limes,
Some scents treat stress, enliven, create lull,
If some work hard to make you feel alert,
If mints sharpen memories long since dull,
Does mine make you any naughty and pert?
Yea, summer be when hot we muse of rain,
In cold, mind goes to warm conjugal bed,
It’s hard toil to recall bitter-sweet strain
Of that rare omnipotent trail ye spread.
Yet, times are when in a dilemma caught,
My sense of smell endures long spells of drought.
__________________________________________
Sonnets |12.05.2023| scents, romance
Poet’s note: A couple in a conjugal bed discusses scents of nature— the varied types and what they do. And suddenly the wife, curious a creature as they all are, asks about her naturally emanating scent. If truthful answers are not likely to be acceptable, one has to adopt a round-about way, and this sonnet does the same.
Who is Bigfoot’s Great Grand Daddy?
Whether living in a city or on the mountain side,
People from the world around astound us with their views.
He’s nine-feet tall, a hairy thing as upright he flees and leaves.
Only tracks are left behind and a humongous memory,
They say that Big Foot does exist and for eons has survived.
A humanoid of greatest size, a hairy, beastly mystery…
Could he be a type of man, some scary giant beast?
Birthed on earth destined to roam, living on the land.
Was Bigfoot a hunter-gatherer on earth since ancient times?
Living on the land without a man-made dwelling to call home.
And if he is really all that they say and if he roams the earth these days,
Tell me, someone, won’t you, please, who is Big Foot’s Great Grand Daddy?
TO READ THE REST OF THE STORY GO TO THE FOLLOWING LINK:
=> http://www.redbubble.com/people/daneann/journal/4862289-who-is-bigfoot-s-great-
grand-daddy (It talks about Jacob and Esau in the Bible and discusses the possibility that
Esau was a Bigfoot. Could it be? READ AND SEE WHAT YOU THINK. (Then, let me know.)