Best Exclusively Poems
One lone rose tumbled from the basket,
the same as the others but set apart
All were beautiful. They congregated
in one basket, these Southern belles,
but she, with her pink cheeks, tumbled,
she’d cut her ties. She loved them, indeed,
but not exclusively. No one was there
to hold her by the hand. She knew
and cared about the world out there.
all the southern belles
beautiful, adorned in pink ~
one lone rose cut ties
She’d end up in a beautiful bouquet,
dusted off, picked up from the floor.
She was the bride’s favorite - was she
something new or something old?
She wasn’t sure - it didn’t matter,
she was used for a moment in time,
carried as the piano played, as
the crowd stood to admire the bride.
how the bouquet served,
open to severed flower ~
the pride of the bunch
Puffed-up in the part she played.
The lovely pink dustable would be saved,
dried, sprayed. She was loved, as surely
as if she was the velveteen rabbit, boxed
up - almost nearly ever gawked at. Her
favorite time was when a little girl, who
looked so much like the bride of years-
gone-by, opened the box and picked her up.
surprise opening
admired, crushed, and scattered rose
a little girl laughs
She was admired and crushed and
a puckered up lady scooped her up
and kissed her over and over again
telling her of her favorite flower - a foundling
she admired even with its scattered petals.
kisses are gathered
strewn on the cheeky lassie ~
she’s a gift of life
She gave one petal to the mischievous girl -
“God bless you! May this grow into
a pretty bouquet, special and unique.
I’ve been so blessed, dear one.
May your life be so blessed too.”
understanding not
but love was never forgot
for girl’s heart was full
Then the worn out rose saw the old
bride kiss her granddaughter, again,
as they laughed and the girl’s cheeks
turned an eternal pink, taking on the hue
of reignited petals. She would stand apart
from the rest, though she loved them all
would serve the world. Her name was Rose.
her namesake of old
ruffled, lacy, magi’s gift
a blessing from God
9/1/2022
Were I a restaurant proprietor
Al fresco and exclusively for poets
My menu would be cryptic metaphors
Original from memories echoic
Spring rhymes of happy times and brighter days
Fresh summer sonnets mostly bittersweet
Then autumn prose on multicolored trays
Some winter villanelle hor dourves for treats
And if you come your muse can eat for free
Imagination is a welcome guest
There is one rule, no dictionaries please
Yes, thinking caps are furnished on request
Come dine with me until you get your fill
The best part is you'll never get a bill
September 6 2016
Puttin on the Ritz - Just for You
Remember when I used to be dead broke,
and everyone laughed cause my dreams were a big joke?
Well I married a rich fellow and I’m rolling in dough.
Now I’m puttin on the ritz – it’s time for my show.
Visiting the old neighborhood, I’m sure feeling grand,
showing off my chauffeured Rolls Royce just because I can.
Watch me strut ‘cause I’ve been blessed by Lady Luck;
while you’re still frying chicken for a measly buck.
Oh, forgive me for I don’t always like to gloat;
but do check out my genuine animal print fur coat.
It’s no secret that Neiman Marcus is my main go-to store,
providing me with designer hats, purses, shoes, and more.
As for my fabulous make-up, make-over, and hairdo,
well they cost much more than you earn in a month or even two.
I see you’re ogling my sparkling jewelry and accessories,
Dahling, they were purchased exclusively from Tiffany’s.
Like leading ladies, Lombard, Rogers, Garbo, and Garland,
I ball room dance and jive to Callaway, Ellington, and Armstrong.
My oh my, indeed this lifestyle can make one become so giddy,
while gliding and sliding to these tunes can be quite heady.
I know jealousy is considered really uncouth and uncool,
but in your case, Sweetie, go ahead, it’s actually okay to drool.
Oh please note, my dear, I’m only passing through,
from Lenox Avenue back home to hoity-toity Park Avenue.
So for now, I'm here puttin on the ritz - just for you!
08-25-2015
Contest: Puttin on The Ritz
Sponsor: Judy Konos
Placement: 1st
You had a crush on her
You had a crush on her
Being sure as well
Love is what you felt,
Dating her exclusively
Without ever telling her.
She indulged in your care
Like you were her kid-brother,
And you rejoiced finding passion
In proximity of her splendor,
Feeling mighty blessed
When she wrapped you in a hug.
You didn’t know how to ask
What kind of love that was,
Had no clue how to talk about
The flutter in your heart,
And now you're too grown-up to ask
Yet, you are dying to find out
If she ever connected the dots.
January 6, 2018
Placed 3rd: Strand Pick 3 Contest by Brian Strand
Once, in a thought, it seemed how everything
stood without color, either black or white
or marbled grey, were sparrows tipped in flight
then pitched to the barn by a bastard wing
as feed for that, that unthinkable thing,
that thing which hunts and haunts confounded night,
and taunts with words, good morning, impolite,
on afternoons left without anything.
And in that thought, I think, I ceased to be
a thinker, but a thoughtless totem-pole,
stacked to the measure of deformity
forced on my feathered friends if lacked a soul,
their judgment passed at trial exclusively
not by a robe, but pigeon shot and coal.
Sweet friend forever
Friendship entwined together
May roses fill you with joy
The red ones are true
The pretty white ones are pure
Dozens are set at your door
Whenever we speak
Your warm kindness floods my soul
Brings chills of admiration
I send you respect
Of heartfelt sincerity
Roses sent to fill your heart
Russell Sivey
This poem is dedicated exclusively to PD!!
May you have many dozens of roses for Valentines Day!!
Form: Katauta
Entrant into Destroyer ~ Poet's "ROSES ARE RED" contest
2/6/2012
I feel emotionally flat
the experience is very stressful
No flooding or concentration
Acute, which is more persistent
Maybe therapy and skills training
- some will need it just for safety
I crank my headphones up to deafening level
- shuts off all sick thoughts
The silence gradually becomes unbearable
Along the way, I experienced that
the parachute did not work satisfactorily
If only God could give me a clear sign
Saturn's rings exist exclusively
of missing aircraft luggage
I think everything is predetermined
Hope is foolproof
I cut the cucumber slices like hearts
25/7/20
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Isolation Philosophy Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
4th place in the contest
I want to take over the world, cause misery and dying
I want to create a master race, kill all low living swine
I want a god who answers to me, be exclusively mine
Mostly I want what I never had, that would be a spine
By
David Kavanagh
I recall when summer
Was sitting in the shade
Drinking icy glasses
Of Mama’s lemonade.
In the magic summers
When love was fresh and new;
Delight of summer evenings
Exclusively for two.
Later on the summers
Were two weeks at the shore;
Brushing sand from children
Wishing days were more.
Life with all its burdens,
Halts not for summer’s treasure.
There no longer is the time
To taste of summer’s pleasure.
Summers have grown shorter
And busier it seems.
Lazy days of summer
Are only in my dreams.
LOVE
True love speaks not of an aching deep desire
To take, possess and hold exclusively
But acceptance of existence without prior
Condition, just the will that thou may BE
Portrait II *
By: Tom Wright
1/31/02
Meticulously mixed, my days as paint,
my life, a canvas, on an easel stand.
Each brushstroke from the palette,
precisely placed by the Masters hand.
Solely exhibited will be yon things,
which I exclusively, in stone, have cast.
Finally on canvas, change I can't,
things permanently etched into my past.
As each day's paint is so aptly applied,
with others, interlaced, they quickly dry.
Oft, seen are things that disappoint,
such as black daubs, on dapple colored sky.
Each day , has been a single brush stroke;
In paint, one life, that soon shall fade.
God's portrait of another unique person,
a rainbow, consisting of every shade.
Light and Darkness
Have you ever paused to ponder
Why the creator in his wisdom
Made death the only doorway
Leading to the Heavenly Kingdom?
Have you ever paused to ponder
Why the creator by his order
Separated the endless darkness
To give the world twelve hours of light
And twelve hours of dreadful night?
Don't you know He could make it all light?
You could ask: do we really need the night?
As we continued seeking answers
To these and other questions like them
Let's concede to the concession
That neither of light nor darkness
Can exist exclusively anytime, anywhere
So, light your kindle for light
And protect it against the forces of night.
a fallen pine log:
red-cockaded woodpeckers
taps their lost fair well
****The Red-cockaded Woodpecker has less than 1% of its original population. They make their home in mature pine forests, preferably long leaf pine, which have been drastically reduced due to disease and harvesting. While other woodpeckers bore out cavities in dead trees where the wood is rotten and soft, the Red-cockaded Woodpecker is the only one which excavates cavities exclusively in living pine trees. They play a key role in their ecosystem. A number of other birds and small mammals use the cavities excavated by Red-cockaded Woodpeckers, such as chickadees, bluebirds, titmice, and several other woodpecker species, reptiles, and insects. Florida, my home, is one of the remaining southern states they are still found in. Steps are being taken to protect and recreate their nesting grounds***********
Take yourself on a journey into the past with this remarkable first book in the series, Sword of the Holy Grail. Award winning author and poet Isaiah Zerbst brings you his first novel, Oake of Caemarthen. Set in the breathtaking grandeur of the Welsh mountains and the mysterious wolds of England, this book depicts with startling historical accuracy the adventure-filled life of several families that lived during the Medaeval era.
Replete with tales of knightly daring, chivalry, and courtly love, this epic tale traces the campaigns of the final Welsh Rebellion until their conclusion, when the three mighty Welsh warriors, Oake, Tristan, and Afenedd return to their castle with their entourage, only to find their loved ones in the power of their mortal enemy, De Valence. Nothing but the very power of heaven and men willing to sacrifice their lives for their family can free them from his cruel grasp of iron.
Though Wales is torn by war, bereavement, mixed loyalties, and the death of their beloved King Llywelyn at the hands of the invading English, there is still room for miracles, good times, and the courtly elegance of romance.
This special first edition contains numerous poems by the author, as well as many authentic songs, ballads, and hymns of the time, over four hundred pages of edge-of-your-seat reading, and more than fifty truly astounding full-page colour illustrations, painted exclusively for this unparalleled novel by the renowned Scottish artist, Elgin Cannaught.
Written by Isaiah Zerbst on May the 22d, 2013
All we eat is elk meat, boiled elk, roasted elk, elk jerky
sometimes fried elk if we get bear or whale oil,
oh, and sometimes elk soup,
for four months we've subsisted exclusively on elk
except for occassional dog meat, candlefish or duck,
the elk have become our saviors, and our culinary suffering,
yet it keeps us nourished like some kind of ape predators,
Clark has officially named the massive boulder at the front of the bay
Cape Disappointment on account that its now March 1806
and since November no one has spotted a merchant vessel
nor has any trading post been discovered along the coast in either direction,
frankly its astounding, has the world done gone forgotten that the Columbia exists,
everyone is gettin uppidy as bull frogs
and we've had enough rainy hours here to last ten lifetimes,
to hell with the sailors, we've gotta race to finish
and we ain't gonna get beat by a disappointment or by a sinister suprise,
Load'em up!...
Since coming out of the Rocky Mountains
like a migrating pack of wolves pursuing the scent of a bloodied den
I've been spending more time away from the river's rigors
providing fresh meats for the mission that we leave hanging along designated banks,
for the first time I feel liberated from the fear of failure
winter can no longer hurts us,
the great mysteries of the continental crossing have been revealed
through their savagery and splendor
the tribes have been touched with a new spirit of survival
animals ferocious and exotic have been tasted and classified
we have learned what these landscapes can lend to farming legions,
the mountains no longer menace us, we know how to travel their pain,
as my horse feeds on the grass of unowned soil
I reflect on my moments of intemperance with the natives
when I thrashed a Chinook thief into bleeding shame,
the order I gave to burn their village to silent ash when my dog and saddle were stolen
fortunately that was not necessary because I got them back,
the time I was meanly mocked by a Nez Perce Indian for eating dog meat
and threatened to split his skull with my tomahawk if he ever insulted me again,
J.A.B.