Best Ears Poems
Effervescent elation arises and dances to ancient echoes; the rhythm of the drums heartbeat.
Champagne notes bubble into the night sky; night music of Gaia’s children is music to my sleeping ears.
Ethereal flutes singing to the crickets,
usher me into the dreamtime and there I awaken;
an ancient being, I heed the call.
I drum along; wings beating out the chorus;
I dance in skies of cotton white fluff.
Drums intensifying, crescendo as,
Native Voices sing my name.
I am king Thunderbird and my subjects saluting me…
music to my ears.
Written 2-14-19
When life is like an evanescent dewdrop,
spirits fade like ashes in a cimmerian shade
but then you smile,
enlightening like a crescent moon,
sparkling in silent serenity.
My heart floats like a sussuration of butterflies,
soaring toward an empyrean paradise of petals
yearning to stay for eternity
then you speak,
serenading like a harmonic orchestra of angels,
suddenly I feel like a blissful bard,
strumming strings of a heavenly harp.
My radiant beloved, my soul glitters for you,
like a million devoted stars, sparkling in twilight aurora.
Your voice is my sweetest abode,
a soothing sanctuary, cleansing my sins,
healing like fragrant Jasmine, dulcifying my heart,
Upon my final swan song sonnet,
do not shed a tear, for our love is timeless.
Sing me one last lover's lullaby,
even in death, your voice will be music to my ears.
Silent One
10 February 2019
The mountains shout His glory,
As they stand in quiet splendor.
The rivers feed the streams and lakes,
And fertile valley's timber.
The ocean whispers mystery,
And surging, quiet power.
Seems everything in nature speaks,
Each minute, every hour,
Of all the things that God hath wrought,
And given unto Man,
And yet for some the very thought,
Is more than they can stand.
It's as He said, if we don't speak,
The very rocks will shout.
For he who has an ear to hear,
All nature still cries out.
A mother’s ears - fine tuned
will pick up on her infant whimpering
in the middle of the night.
Whether the baby’s cries are soft
or even if the mother herself is deep in restful sleep,
her child’s distress will prick her ears
rousing her from even her sweetest dreams.
A mother’s arms will cradle her small son,
wrapping him in a loving warmth
that will abide with him to his dying day.
Her cooing voice will ease his unnamed fears;
her gentle eyes will instill in his developing mind
an image of devotion, which reinforced through time,
will compel him to seek a mate
who will look at him one day
in that same adoring way
A mother’s ears will hear at last
her child breathing deeply.
Then the mother’s heart will swell with quiet delight
knowing she has comforted her son.
For Richard Lamoureux's Applicable Not Applicable Contests Poetry Contest
Why I think this poem deserves to be read: When I first wrote this one, I could feel it unfolding very naturally in a style I do not often use. I can't recall if the contest asked specifically for free verse, but I felt that I had done a nice job with that form. That is why I was surprised when I got an N/A. More surprising to me is that I got two other N/A's when I entered it into other contests based on mothers (using old or new poems). I had hoped for this one to get more attention because it's one of my better tributes to mothers and entails my strong feelings on how important a mother is in the development of her children, particularly in the emotional development of her son(s). Sorry it is not a humorous story. I know I have a good funny one somewhere that got an N/A, but I can't remember its title any more or how to find it! Also, I have N/A poems better than this, but I do not feel comfortable using a poem that has N/A in one contest but a win in another, so that is another reason why I decided on this one. To my knowledge it has all N/A's.
O for the Wings, Eyes and Ears of an Owl
~~~
Assuming we could do eye-popping things
As does an owl flying the night on wings
When no one knows of antics in moonlight
O for the mystique of a silent flight.
Imagine having circular vision
It'd be alike watching television
If we should be as farsighted as owls
We would never miss anything ourselves.
Should we have eyes in the back of our head
We would still miss out on lots, our dreams unfed
Unlike owls who with rotating heads seek
Prey fit for a sumptuous midnight feast.
If we had owls spectacular eye sight
And stupendous hearing for sounds of night
Imagine when we were walking around
The hot gossip and secrets to be found.
What a hooting tooting it’d surely be
To be a wise owl sitting in a tree
Hearing and seeing all right through the night
What wonderful poetry one could write.
~~~ ~~~
8th October 2022
My Ears Can't Tell Me, But My Heart Can!
My ears can't tell me
but my heart can!
I talk with God
My ears can't tell me
What God says
because
I am deaf
How can I receive
His answers?
My heart can tell me!
My ears can't tell me
how
beautiful music
is about God
People think
I miss the best part
of sounds,
but
my heart sings to me
I never really miss
the beautiful music
in my life...
My ears do not seem
important to me
because
God make me deaf
God taught me
to listen
to my heart,
mind and eyes are
most important
to me
because I can feel
and hear from my heart,
God sends his words,
promises, answers,
and music to my heart,
I am listening
to my heart
because
my ears can't tell me
but my heart can!
It's music to my ears
when night falls quietly enveloping twilight
and the sun conceals itself from view
from my body rising in dawn's light
to the fall at days end into darkness
where I rest
My mind unwinds from the clanging of men sweating
with sore feet and aching backs
My ears still ring with the moans of work
I invite the serenity of crickets
between creaks from my rocking chair
I sit on the porch of days ending
to rest from turmoils of life's continuous cycle
of today and tomorrows
as I leave time as a sentry
to guard my peaceful moment... to rest
Perhaps to sleep and dream
2/11/19 contest Music to my ears
A lesson I have learned before the birds and the bees
was when I tripped, tumbled and fell, frightened by my bloodied knees
My mother came and helped me up, patched my wound, smiled and teased;
“When you fall, always get up, you don’t want to stay down and freeze”.
Curiously what marked my mind and what stood out most vividly,
other than the way she took care of me so tenderly;
How could she have heard me fall and come to my aid instantly,
for I knew she was asleep, and I sneaked out so quietly.
To this question she laughed, rumpled my hair with amusement
“Don’t you know moms have a radar, switched on to permanent?
Be it trouble, or a lie, for us there’s no concealment,
or sudden fever at night, we know.” she said to my amazement.
“Hear with your ears, but listen with your heart, often save the day.”
These words I carry till today, for a mother’s role I now play.
Inspired by Craig Cornish' theme - NOT FOR CONTEST
07 May 2015
The voices of my present state and feelings echo
down into my mother’s sympathetic ears,
They resonate…in no barriers, she decodes
with her warm understanding and great love overflow.
She hears my footsteps on trails of joy and contentment,
giving me her smiles with supporting hands to go ahead;
She hears my footsteps on path of desolation or in tacit sadness,
Offering her breast and shoulder to lean on,
her loving pieces of advice uplift my spirit, wipe my tears and give me breath.
My fragile emotion easily restores and mends,
Oh, mother dear, your listening ears are your heart’s aesthete!
A rich tapestry of comfort, love and affection,
where all my sighs , fears and sentiments will be laid.
No child’s turgid words in my mother’s loving ears,
regardless of distance, she listens, embraces and cares,
With her sensitive radar system, she knows all my needs
like Tannoys - so loud, supersonic, she hears them all vibrate.
Her ears synch well with her loving heart
Amazingly entwine, they are twosome…
Oh, mother dear, may I touch lovingly your ears with my both hands,
may I touch your angelic aging face as I thank you so much,
This poem is especially for you, I’m sending it with a SWALK
Sealed With my Loving Kiss on this sweet Mother’s Day card.
*Tannoy s- systems of loudspeakers for making announcements
Written: May 9, 2015 10.40pm
-This poem is a loving dedication to my ever dearest mom who is here with me right now. She loves poetry so much. She was my first teacher in reciting poetry. I was inspired to write a free verse poem for her. This is my Mother’s Day gift for her along with my humble art works/ paints, Mother’s Day t-shirt and card.
May I also dedicate this poem to all mothers all over the world. More power and blessings to you all! HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY! MANY HUGS FROM ME!
First Place
Contest: Mother's Ears
Judged: 5/18/2015
Poet Sponsor: Craig Cornish
A Mother's Love, Tributes of Love for Mother's Day
Contest Judged: 5/3/2022 7:00:00 PM
Sponsored by: BJ Legros Kelley
Place 1
I sometimes feel a unique vibration within
my own ears. My baby’s crying, calling from beneath his quilted,
baby-blues. His sobs rustle the warm sheath of home.
Before my mind reacts, my body is up, hastily tip-toeing
into the nightlight’s calming glow of a cow jumping over the moon.
Outside a soggy, spring night splatters under streetlights
like urban art. A steady rhythm of flowing rain
beats down on puddled pavements. My baby’s cries
reverberate as they reach that instinctual part of me,
somewhere deep within my diaphragm and through my heart.
A mother’s astute ears know the subtle variations of her own
children’s breath in sleep…I hurry to the shadows of my baby’s crib
to find him curled up, eyes still closed; little whimpers
and groans escape from his open lips…a bad dream, I realize.
I gently rub his back, shushing away all that disturbs his peace,
and I wonder about a child’s impressionable mind…
what intrusions of an innocent day could bring a bellowed anguish
to the sweet dreams of a carefree boy not yet two?
I listen to him tumble in and out of his fear until his breath is a tranquil hum…
only then, do I hear the music of an early morning’s falling rain.
I read Darryl Ashton’s poem Called Pinocchio Rex and this brought back
memories of a childhood incident
When I grew up we had a smallholding – the house was called ‘Longacre’ as we
had over an acre of land. Over the years we had chickens, pigs named Pinky
and Porky and a goat called Susie… she had kids called Billy and Nanny – guess
I was no good at names back then… but I digress
Attached to the house was a small village shop but my parents also made a
small income from selling fresh eggs and in the summer home grown
strawberries – I would help pick washing baskets of them and bag them up to
sell.
Every week a little old man would arrive for his dozen eggs and if the shop was
shut he would ring the doorbell. He wore a pointed felt hat, had steely blue
eyes and the most enormous nose you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to him
my parents nicknamed him 'Pinocchio'.
When I was aged about 7 years old the doorbell rang – mum was busy baking
in the kitchen so I answered it. There in front of me stood this old man wanting
his eggs. Mum shouted from the kitchen
‘Who is it Janet?’
I replied ‘Oh its only Pinocchio’
At once mum appeared from the kitchen, her face was the colour of beetroot.
She apologised for the comment from her ‘cheeky daughter’ The man
purchased his eggs and walked away – never to return!
The moral of this true tale is that parents ALWAYS tell the truth and that
children have ears the size of an elephant and a mouth just as big … so if you
don’t want them to repeat something YOU have said keep it zipped!
Jan Allison
11th August 2014
'Twas the night before Christmas, and ...
(THE REQUEST)
Reclining my hammock, very still
(Far too lax to persuade its swing)
I contemplate my Mai Tai's chill
And what I'll plead dear Santa bring ...
Hmmm ...
My hut, provisioned with all I need
Near enough, the white sand beach
A Tahitian wife - ravishing, indeed
An outdoor fridge within my reach ...
Big white towel, (perchance it rains)
iPhone charged and up-link fine
Fridge well-stocked to numb my pains
A seafood glut on which to dine ...
My greatest need, I have to say ...
A NUDGE ... to make my hammock sway!
(THE ADMISSION)
I must confess I've not been good
I did not send my cards this year
Declined to wassail, (like I should)
My rosy cheeks - quite tan, I fear
The palm tree never got its trim
Tahitian choir was short a Bass
My snowman efforts, pretty slim
And cookie baking, WAY off-pace
I have no place to hang a sock
Haven't wrapped a package yet
No burning need to watch a clock
Or rush the Tahitian sun to set
You see ...
When first I saw that sun, I felt ...
My state-side Christmas spirit ... melt!
(THE RATIONALE)
I know I've come up short this season
Not a perfect Christmas paradigm
And while I've not a decent reason
Perhaps he'll grant my wish this time
I try to trouble not, the breezes
Fill the ice cube trays when bare
Bless my wife whene'er she sneezes
Watch her tend the prickly pear ...
And while its meager stuff to most
A swinging hammock's bliss to me
So I don't wind up Tahitian toast
But rocking sweet, perspiration-free
So ...
While a nudge may seem a trivial thing ...
What Christmas joy ... a sway can bring!
~ 1st Place ~ in the "From Your Lips To Santa's Ears" Poetry Contest, Phillip Garcia, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 5th Place ~ in the "The Night Before" Poetry Contest, Joseph May, Judge & Sponsor.
Santa, I have an important request.
Please don't embarrass me with ho ho hos.
If you'd looked at my face you might have guessed.
I'm serious about fixing my nose.
I can sense you are stifling your laughter.
Your bowl full of jello, nicely restrained.
Proboscis happily ever after,
Would not appear that it's been candy caned.
Hire a team of rhinoplasty surgeons.
I create damaging winds with this thing.
Like the limb of an oak tree it burgeons.
Just yesterday a blue jay perched to sing.
Hurry, Dear Santa, its growth won't abate.
Go talk to Rudolph, as he can relate.
***********************************
There may be some problems I must address.
Lies emitted from hole under my snout.
Pains me Santa, I readily confess.
Please be patient as I utter these out.
I lied to Sonya about her red dress.
Made her butt dwarf a Volkswagen fender.
I lied to the postman, my home address.
Marked the water bill "Return To Sender".
I fibbed a little to co-worker, Sue.
Her peanut butter cookies smelled like feet.
But tell me, what the heck was I to do?
I wrapped and hid it in a slice of meat.
Santa, I am a serial liar.
Instead of my pants, set my nose on fire.
***********************************
I'll do better if button nose gifted.
I promise to be more a straight shooter.
A smaller nose, my spirits be lifted.
Seriously, would you want this hooter?
The fibs I told did no permanent harm,
But if you would like I can change all that.
Who "nose"? I may lose my personal charm.
If I tell my friend Sonya she is fat.
If you leave money in an envelope,
I'll pay the water bill before it's due.
I can rub Sue's cookies with fragrant soap.
For a nose job, I will eat one or two.
Santa, I know you smell something is rot.
But I am here to assure you, it's snot.
Written 12/12/2017
"From My Lips to Santa's Ears"
Contest
Hosted by Phillip Garcia
There's something I'd like Santa, may I ask,
I don't want lots of presents, just this one,
delivery won't be an easy task
so do the rest, leave mine till later on.
As long as you can drop her off by dawn
since I don't want the neighbours all to see
and start the gossip rounds on Christmas morn
it will make life much easier for me.
Her graceful curves are bound to turn some heads
she's cool and smooth, an object of pure lust
adorned with one shade, Queen of all the reds
mirror polished and not prone to rust.
Mankind has still not built a motor yet
as gorgeous as the '69 Corvette.
If I am on your naughty list may I
humbly offer some words in my defence
for maybe you will then understand why
what I did, and thus it may make some sense.
Inside a restroom stall at work I took
from it's dispenser all the toilet roll
and left one sheet inside so it would look
like it was full when viewed through the small hole.
A guy we hate goes in there every day
to sit and read, and do a number two
so pulling this prank was our little way
of getting our revenge,as one must do.
And the prank worked, for soon it came to pass
he used his newspaper to wipe his ass.
Now, nobody got hurt, no-one got blamed
it looked like an unhappy accident
but he got his comeuppance just the same
and that was fine, since it was our intent.
Let's face it if you read from front to back
it's mainly crap in all the newspapers
and he just added more with our 'attack'
and still is ignorant of our mean caper.
Santa, I know you preach goodwill to all
and don't like to wish anybody ill
please forgive me I hope that you'll still call
there's mince pies and drinks on the windowsill.
Just park it on the drive, and if you please
through my letterbox can you drop the keys.
For contest 'From your lips to Santa's ears' sponsor Phillip Garcia
December 1st 2017
From my lips, to Gods ears
I bow my head and pray
I ask Him then, please grab my fears
and, take them all away
Please give me strength to carry on
when the days aren't going right
Just take these worries away from me
let me sleep throughout the night
I ask you Lord to walk with me
on this journey I'm going through
I am really, really tired
please show me what to do
I love you Lord with all my soul
so I'll try to do my best
But, I'll always need some help from you
'til they lay me down to rest