Best Ee Poems
E.E.CUMMINGS AND I
I remember a beautiful, Spring
day in Chicago.
Sitting on my lover's lap.
His eyes as lovely as the spring-
green trees tapping gently on my
living room windows.
His lips velvety as the roses on
Montrose Avenue, that day in May
And, I, reading him, E.E. Cummings
poem, "Since Feeling is First."
That one single poem my life did
change me, forevermore!
"He who worries about the syntax
of things, will never truly kiss you."
Ah~ how right E.E.Cummings was.
I was and I still am ecstatic with:
"Wholly to be a fool in the world,
my blood approves."
"And kisses are a better fate than
wisdom, lady, I swear by all the
flowers."
How very true we were that day
to E.E, Cummings line:
"Then laugh, leaning back in my
my arms"
God Bless you, EE!
"For life in not a paragraph, and
death is no parenthesis."
My life jettisoned after that day.
Forever, am I lost in a love capsule.
And hoped a poet, I would one day be.
Panagiota Romios
11/7/2019
believe you me sirandmiss
a country made of this
youIItthem(a blended cocktail conspiracy)
you, Land of Calvin
Klein peacoat peacocks and Maybelline
Girl with cryproof mascara dripping(fashion
-first step lacking substance(of you
I sing: land of Oliver North and Ellen Degenerous
land of malcontent:singing(quietly)humming
cooking cuisine in add-one-minute-microwave
fashion. Shaving with grandfathers
dull razors: regifted dull past-tense,
passe(useless musings) all and every
voice:merrier men singing old songs
for yesterday dancesteps contradict
wants for(pleading) a progressive and peaceful
now. Rome then leaned on decayed pillars
now: chasing barbarian hordless lands
are stray grazing(starved weak) seeking,
singing A-
mer
i
ca, I mourn
you and every-one-of-millions
bitter wanting back gifts given
continually. Awash in(apathetic)
angst:whispers-peaceful-timid-unichs
let freedom echo
hollow. xanex glazed eyelid
americans (sitting in assigned seat,
from a menu)
eating
screaming meekly.
"i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go . . . )"
By_ E.E. Cummings(1894-1962)
I love the nonconformist approach of E.E. Cummings
his style has such freedom
the intentional grammar mistakes ... delightful
his structure inspiring
I love the lack of capitalization and punctuation
his made up silly words
and erratic spacing and scrunched up words
he threw away rules
I love how E.E. could write silly and also romantic
he always wanted to write
his early notebooks includes prayers of inspiration
E. E. I do that too
I love many of the same things that E.E. loved
like art, and Paris, France
he experienced a lot of heartbreak and grief
E.E. I have too
I love how he never gave up on finding true love
and I am happy he found it
he wrote every single day ... I do too
wish I met him
I love how he had the courage to self publish his work
his poetry, plays and books
this is a poet that I have admired very much
E.E. Cummings ...
"-in the woods
which
stutter
and
sing
And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms ... "
_______________________
January 15, 2023
Poetry/Free Verse/EE, I Love You
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1517-941-15
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere contest, Beloved Poets
sponsor, Regina McIntosh, Judged 01/19/2023
Second Place
Submitted to the Standard, Your Choice Again
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 02/21/2023
First Place
a pencil, slender and sleek,
whispers secrets on the page,
its graphite tip, a dancer's toe,
tracing lines of thought, unencumbered.
it dances across the paper's stage,
twirling and swirling in graceful arcs,
a silent symphony of words and shapes,
unfolding the mysteries of the mind.
its lead, a conductor's baton,
conducting the orchestra of ideas,
scribbling melodies of inspiration,
in the language of graphite and wood.
oh, pencil, humble and unassuming,
you hold the power to create,
to give life to thoughts and dreams,
with each stroke, a world takes shape.
so let us cherish this simple tool,
this wand of possibility and expression,
for in its simplicity, it holds the key,
to unlock the wonders of imagination.
Sul-li-ee-van, yes mom
Where is my CD-ROM?
Meenie knows
She once paws
Dorothea's sitcom
edward
estlin
cummings
hurled syntax
m
i
l
e
assumed nothing
as far as
grammar
is concerned
but rote beautifully
in the
vernacular and
in the evening
too.
Rules is rules
ain't they?
No way!
am I a
pessimist,
a realist,is what
I say-
I am
not an ass,
donkey maybe
definitely,male not
a lass-
I talk
very slow,
but this I know
fresh sweet carrots help my
words flow-
slowly
one by one,
this pleasing drawl
holds all my many fans,
in thrall
Brian Strand
since writing is being,
who the hell am I,
measuring meter,
caring about perfect rhyme,
an attention seeker
trying to impress
writing is being
breathing
unreeling
unraveling
unearthing
seeing
hearing
smelling
touching
feeling
e.e.
("since feeling is first
he who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;") *
since writing is being
can I just
be
stop pretending
and wholly kiss
me
if I can't
how will I ever
wholly kiss you
* From "since feeling is first" by E.E. Cummings
Forgot what this verse was supposed to be
Honey or sugar for a cup of tea
Captivated by the heavens afar
The twinkle in diamond stars there they are
Most waters and skies are considered blue
The universe, has only one of you
At all times, there is only one of me
A big spider might cause one to scream "Ee!"
WARHOL studied serigraphic sequences simultaneously
Freezing Monday, your fingers are numb
Hurry on home to the fire and Mum.
Walk in the back and sniff the air,
The smell of lovely Cottage Pie is there.
Come home on Tuesday,stomach rumbling,
Mum's made a pan of Stew n Dumpling.
Is there an onion in there for me?
Go wash your hands and wait and see.
Wednesday it's the poor man's treat,
Thick sliced bread and potted meat.
Thursday comes, 'what's for tea' I cry,
It's hot n tasty, a Shepherds Pie.
When Friday comes you know the dish,
Even though we're not Catholic, it's fish!
Saturday,out comes the brown earthenware pot,
filled with whatever meat that Mum has got,
Veg and lentils,simmering in a thick Bisto stew
With a thick suet crust , I'm raring to chew.
Sunday in our house wasn't special as I recall,
If Mum's purse was empty, no meat at all
But no matter what, we kids never starved,
Whatever came in was equally halved
Whether fruit or meat or bread we didn't care.
Mum divided it up and we each got a share.
It must have worked out, back when I were a kid,
Because I'm here now to tell of what Mum did.
© Dave Timperley February 23 2017
how can I write of love
when I know it not
the want
need
lack of
L
O
V
E
and I are
childhood friends
I have yet to experience
patient
kind
n envious
o prideful
t self-seeking
AGAPE
in its truest sense
people wonder
why I write
about spiders
10/7/2023
A classical poet, indeed, you are not.
An intellectual poet, spare me the lot!!
Fingers that knew well,humanity’s heart .
Poetry that freed me from, dead stoic art .
Freedom to be, who we are was your song.
“Since feeling is first,”I do hum, all day long!
Intellectualism, bores this poet to tears!
Lying with my love on summer’s grass my heart cheers.
I shall love you, e.e, Cummings, till my final breath.
Your poetry, I will value and love until the day of my death.
You gave me the ultimate freedom to really be me,
I think of you always when writing good poetry.
Your sensuous lines…..“Since feeling is first,”
Allowed me to surpass intellectuality, it’s life that I thirst!”
My love and respect,
Panagiota Romios
Get your knees up, Mother Brown,
For tonight we're going to town.
Under the table, you might go
It won't be knees up though
It will be from the pints swigged down.
eagles eager skyward tumult
eyes hoist to glory in the tremble
white of clouds, metaphors for in
a better memory of think
poems on the table’s brink
languages like ... shards
feathers
flying
in the light
of how ‘e
the thing
better is
read
night lit
tributes to the king