Best Fanciest Poems
At
winter’s
departure -
though I feel glad -
I must remember
that like human beings,
Mother Nature needs a rest
from her growing season; she will
reawaken at spring equinox,
shaking off her pretty white lace blanket.
For the vernal season, Mother Nature
dons her most beautiful green dresses.
From month to month I see her change
adornments - in March subtle;
In April and May, though,
she’s her fanciest
as colorful
buds peek out
from her
gown!
March 29, 2016 for the Celebration Contest of Shadow Hamilton
I wrote this poetic monologue when I was seventeen years old. It was
part of a play I wrote and directed. It was published in a theatre anthology
used in High Schools as a text book. The writing is not polished but the intent
is heartfelt and I believe still relevant.
Young Man: So they wanted to send me to a special school,see. Cause I
wasn't as smart as the other kids. It wasn't that I was retarded or nothin' like
that. I was just slower at learning than they were and my english wasn't so
hot either,I mean you know the way I talk.
Well I wasn't as smart as the other kids but I didn't want to go to no special
school neither.No sir. So I begged the principle of the school to stay you
know, "I got just as many thoughts as them other kids," I said "I just can't
say them as well"
I begged alright... but he wasn't going to change his mind. And I didn't go to
that special school, no sir. I had too much pride for that,no sir.
The kids and the teachers they used to make fun of me, they thought I didn't
know but I knew. I use to go home crying and cursing god for not makin' me
as smart as the other kids. But I don't cry no more and I don't curse god
neither 'cause I found out something those kids and teachers may never find
out.
Fancy words and fancy thoughts don't mean a thing 'cause those kids and
teachers they've forgotten all about the feeling of love.
Love... yeah that's about the fanciest word I know, and you know I wish I
could teach those kids and teachers about love, but I was slow in learning
about school they're slow in learning about love.
Hey you know maybe we should send 'em to a special school!
If only a dream
were the path to the future
Where crickets and toadstools
began the parade
If storks in the sky
were a common occurrence
and lemonade grew
in the cool summer shade
If roads led to villages
covered in daisies
While rivers and streams
glistened bright in the sun
And heartache was more of a
forgotten notion
as each day appeared
and was so much more fun
Where chimneys all smoked
but had no fear of cancer
And skies were so blue
you could paint with a brush
And sea captains danced
on a wave of approval
While sailing so slow
without even a rush
Where moonbeams of sherbet
made custard on Sundays
and tables were set
in the fanciest fare
And doors were unlocked
as the neighbors were knocking
along with their dogs
and a nice rocking chair
If only a dream
were the path to the future
Our minds could control
every place we did go
It’s all up to you
how this world comes to happen,
just set your mind free
of the worries that flow
Yellow pieces of weed eater line..
Red tattered piece of old shop rag..
Blue traces of a worn out old tarp..
White shredded remnants of a plastic bag..
I watched you from the early spring,
doing your ritual gathering,
of unwanted things, just laying around
but, to you they were treasures, surely found
Among dry meadow grass and scattered twigs,
you poked and pulled and tugged and weaved.
Then you tucked bits here and there,
of stuffing you sneaked from my old lawn chair.
Creating your masterpiece before my eyes,
the fanciest bird nest around.
You flew back and forth a million times,
while chirpping and singing away..
never complaining you worked all day.
Then babies came, all fuzzy and small,
you worked so hard to feed them all,
until they grew their beautiful wings.
and began singing their own song
And when they left you one by one..
you sang to me once again
then simply flew away.
Your wonderful nest built with such care
with colorful decorations added for flair
now rests in a basket, by my chair.....
©Donna Jones
Seeing Beauty In Imperfection
12-3-2013
How dainty and shy is she
She is even ever so, she warms the soul.
If you do handle her, handle with carefulness.
If she is approachable at all.
Sweet and delicate a flower
With a winter strength of gold
So I suppose she knows her
Elegance
This rose is so admired and LONELY
On winters dance floor.
For none other grows at the frigid
Cusp of this season except this rose
Watch her in the most frosted temperatures,
She hoards the empathy of passing strangers
On their way to festive affairs.
What a dizzying fanciful dessert
Any and every heart would dote deliriously
One of life's priorities, this golden rose
Rosy, rosier, rosiest
Every other rose knows
Fancies her, most fanciest, she's fancier
With her white snowflake dress
The most alluring. The golden quiet
Queen knowing her pose and poise
With silent rejoice.
This redneck is fixin' to go dancin'
You reckon we get gussied up and go?
I'll be a high flutin' and a prancin'
Is the honky-tonk puttin' on a show?
Shall I wear my fanciest clod hoppers?
Shall I phone all your fiddle playin' kin?
I am gonna be such a show stopper.
We shall enter the dance contest and win.
I've got a hankerin' for hot romance,
And some granny-slappin' hillbilly sex.
Bear ten younguns, live in 'ternity pants
Did you just skedaddle, my newest ex?
Dern it, Darlin', thought we were so well matched.
I counted my chickens before they hatched!
Written 3/2/2017
Entered in Mid December Premiere
Hosted by Brian Strand
I.
The red winged blackbird knows how hard it is for me to connect with humans.
But I can still share my joy over this bird with my mom, who is dying for a way in.
II.
I was just told today by my teacher that I have a learning disability.
I was sad, confused. But my mom, she was “furious” when she heard.
She’s a real go-getter, too, and she went and got them,
Made them stop calling me that.
But now, things are worse.
Teacher Brett doesn’t help me anymore.
He’s helping some other kid.
Things are much harder now.
III.
My name is Betsy and I’m 25-years old.
I love Panda Express orange chicken more than anyone else on the planet.
It isn’t the fanciest restaurant but it’s cheap and I can walk to it. (I hate cooking.)
Without the spirit of inclusion,
The persistence of my parents,
And my high school “inclusion facilitators,”
I’d most likely be institutionalized or in some group home.
Instead I give speeches to crowds of fancy adults
About the power of not giving up, the power of support,
And the path of independence it has provided me.
(Straight to the orange chicken.)
A wealthy old cat lover named Rover
To save money called his idlers over
Gave dough to his cats
Who became very fat
And slept under his bed and its cover
Once rich they became very slim
Enrolled in fanciest gym
Forgot about taxes
Enjoyed expensive waxes
'til their pile-o-change became dim
The tax man, obsessed with this cash flow
A miserly old fellow named Moe
was greatly shocked
His bottom rocked
To see the hep cats without any dough
Dedicated to Debbie Guzzi without whom this poem lacked its punch.
I'm dreaming of a little girl
running around my house
wiggling her butt as she eats
the fanciest cake I ever made
I'd like to see my little girl
crying as she walks towards me
hugging me tight and tell
how she misses my kisses
Oh my little girl wearing a pink dress
trying to utter her first word
blabbing until she realizes
she said "dada" for the first time
I'm pondering about a little girl
Has a resemblance of me
Wishing we'll grow up together
Till she becomes a poet like me
Write better poems and tell more stories
I'd like to see her doing her first time
From an innocent damsel to a professional one
Till she finally gets married to her prince
I'd like her to be at my side
Be the best daddy I ever could be
LeiStrauss2017
Musical nonsense – purging thoughts
Songs of the heart fill the notes on the sheet
Black upon white in the fanciest lace
Strings out of tune to the places they meet
Melodies wane in the moments we trace
Choruses christened in sweet water glow
Ring through the valleys while villagers sleep
Echoes of remnants the masses did know
Following tears in the music they weep
Bass beats now driving, the wind at the wheel
Harmonic detours turn lyrics around
Lost with a map folded twice to conceal
Any direction a bridge can be found
Violins float on a cloud made of rain
Drifting through caverns much deeper it seems
Piccolos run past the chord dangled pain
Wondering what has become of their dreams
Symphonic whispers of volumes too high
Scream in the night by the light of the moon
Dancing with shadows that soon wander by
Curious why this is so out of tune
Still here I sit on a bench made of pine
Pencil in hand and a page it does greet
Playing these keys hoping but to remind
Songs of the heart fill the notes on the sheet
Don't ask me.
(Mickey D's, Winter Haven FL)
Fanciest McD's you ever saw!
Life sized statues caught in motion,
Marilyn, her skirts flying, Elvis,
thrusting out his guitar in a musical
******, both Blues Brothers in
black suits, ties awry --a real
Juke Box playing, not Tommy Dorsey,
but disco: "YMCA," "I Will survive,"
shades of my 70's sabbatical
from marriage, reprieve from
serial commitment. Huge, black
workingman sits down with
his senior coffee, singing along
that he will survive, before
heaving himself out the door
to his real life. A man, his back
to me at the napkins dispenser,
wears a Christian t-shirt, which
reads" A Blood Donor Saved
My Life. The mop lady, mopping
under tables, stops to jive
to the music, and then, there's
me, waiting in line for an
Egg McMuff, standing galvanized
under circular nightclub
fixtures, illuminating the ceiling,
brighter than the early Mid-
Florida morning sun: glittering
electric bands overhead of
black/red/black/yellow/black.
Life repeats.
Bluest blue skies
Sunniest sunshine
Sweetest of breeze
Cheeks, teases
Sparkliest spark
No longer blue, the heart.
And a red balloon
Suddenly flies up
In the fanciest of dance
As if enchanted by a trance
My spirit's in a waltz
Not bumping against any walls.
My heart opened, and I rise
With sparkling stars in my eyes.
© 06.08.12
Each day I sit upon the same wind swept boulder
watching the sun as it sinks into the Western sky.
My sister, on the larger because she's a little older.
We listen to sea gulls, so we don't hear Mother cry.
Father left years ago to make a living from the sea
And here we are each afternoon, in the rain or sun.
But Father's canvas sails on the horizon we never see.
Watching waves crash on the shore is no longer fun.
Our mother insists we wear our fanciest dresses and hats
But my chapeau never seems to want to stay on my head.
My sister, prim and proper, and I have many heated spats,
But I stubbornly tell her, "I'd rather use my parasol of red."
An hour passes, maybe two or more as we wait on the shore.
When a ship looms near, Mother hopefully waves her hand
But when it sails beyond her vision, I can stand it no more.
I walk to her, angrily kicking at smelly sea shells and sand.
She reaches out to gently squeeze my tiny finger tips.
It's a sad ritual we perform, a quiet moment we share.
Mother looks down at me with a sad smile on her lips.
I give her my red parasol to hide her tears of despair.
6/17/16
Once my father made me a crown. I was five maybe, it was the fanciest crown you have ever seen, I am sure. As it was not cheap plastic or plain paper. It was made of the dust of the broken colorful glass balls. The color I will never forget. It was kind of real-but-so-magic one, smoky shiny pink. It was probably the most precious, special and unforgettable thing made for me. No one had one like this, I looked as a real princess, not a fake kindergarten one.
When he broke my heart, it fell into pieces, the pain was indescribable. As that color was. It was not significant that he had only part of it possessed. Or- it had possessed only part of him. I wept over those pricy pieces not able to put them together again. I knew it is not possible to have my heart back again as it was. Then I decided to grind it. As my father did to broken glass balls. And made my crown once again. I am a princess. And now as I could not get my heart one again, I will wear my crown every day. And seeing it, I will always remember it was my real flesh once.
Now I walk with you holding your hand
Helping you firmly on your feet to stand
Steer you upon the soft sands of the shore,
Unaware yet what life has for you in store.
Soon you’ll be walking tall with starry eyes
To spread your wings and soar to the skies,
May you dream the fanciest dreams you dare
By your side you will find I am always there.
My son, in this one thing you can be sure
My love for you most surely will endure,
You are born of my love, hope and prayer
You are, oh, the sweet fruit of my labor.
But when I find my day gets weary on its feet
The night stirs up past memories bittersweet,
And when time exacts from me its harsh wage
I wonder will you stand by me in my old age?
As you move ahead in life, this I must say
Be wary, there are also pitfalls on the way,
Always have humility as your guiding light
that you need to follow, keeping faith in sight.
~07/30/18
~'For your Poetry Journal' contest
by Dear Heart a.k.a Broken Wings