Best Favorite Poems
Favorite Artist,
A romantic,
A dreamer.
Choice for a favorite artist,
that would be,
Me.
~
I grew up in a family of seven children.
As the oldest I found myself entranced and driven.
Then, other times in a pensive mood
to be alone, in a quiet place, bliss of solitude.
I would sneak away and hide in different places.
No, sound or faces; leave no traces
just my chalks, pencils, and drawing pads
drawing traces of faces among them mom and dads.
As I grew older, I used my talent
to earn a living, every day was a brand-new challenge
discovering new things about me.
Excited and amazed of my talents, I started teaching
reaching for those that had talent, but lacking
self-esteem and making their dreams come true.
Then again, another phase of my life, I pursued
finding myself as a poet, a healing of my soul,
a journey to the depths,
food for substance that made me whole.
~
Being an artist has let me see and feel into my human self
with more meaning and understanding to life.
11/11/2019
My favorite word. . . now what could that be?
To choose it, I have to think so carefully.
If I choose by its meaning, I simply can’t find
one word most important; this boggles my mind.
My favorite word. Oh, how can I choose?
What if I go by the one I most use?
I’d have to choose something like “a,” “the” or “and.”
Such words are too boring and surely not grand.
My favorite word. Now here is a thought.
I love pretty words, so my favorite ought
to be one poetic! But such words abound.
I’ll narrow them down to my favorite sound!
Words spring to my mind such as eloquence,
splendid, bliss, and ephermal; hence,
there’s something inside each word I can tell
is similar. All of them have the sound L!
How lilting between vowels in words like “Aloha.”
How lively in Christmas refrains: Fa La La!
L is Luscious and Lissome. It has eLegance.
It’s Luna, Lavender, and Luminescence!
And now I’ve arrived at ONE word. It has wings!
Like a beautiful angel, this word I think sings!
It comes from the Bible; a woman of fame
had a bit longer form of this beautiful name.
Delilah – in Hebrew and Arabic too -
a name most delightful has been shortened to
LILAH! This simple name rolls off the tongue.
It’s a languishing lass, lovelorn and young.
Perhaps a touch sultry with light in her eyes!
Be it Lyla or Layla; I hear lullabyes
to lull me to Slumberland; my soul will take flight
on a dream word that means lovely girl of the night!
Aug. 21, 2019 for Chantelle Anne Cooke's "Favorite Word" Poetry Contest
(I have written a few poems employing this name Lilah, one entitled
"Lilah of the Lilacs." If I had had a second daughter, I think Lilah would
have been my name for her! Also, I actually had a cat once that liked to
snip at our legs, so I had named her Lilah Vampira!)
Oh that’s you and me
“You and me were always with each other,
before we knew the other was ever there”
Destiny carves its path through lives,
filling needs unknown until it happens
Bridging gaps of empty terrain
where love belongs eventually
as our hearts wait for that one we feel
on the journey
“You and me we belong together,
just like a breath needs the air”
So many comparisons play,
moving pieces to spaces, uncovered
Sliding down chutes, climbing ladders,
sensing that something waits, something good
Inspired to keep going, following the lines
drawn in tingles on skin
“I told you if you called I would come runnin’,
across the highs the lows and the in betweens”
You’ve taken my hand and showed me
things are not always as they seem
Until you find them in your shadow,
lifting you when you fall,
caressing your soul in unexplained notions,
safety and comfort with merely a touch
“You and me we’ve got two minds that think as one
and our hearts march to the same beat”
Your eyes, my eyes, we see similar patterns
curving about skylines of melodic tempos
As we walk together, one step after the other,
but two steps always for the other
in whatever direction they choose,
syncopated movements hand in hand
”They say everything it happens for a reason,
you can be flawed enough but perfect for a person”
These scars of past seasons, cold winds blow
across arid deserts of details and misgivings
Cloaked in love’s blanket, accepted beyond yesterdays
Put away in box with a lock, no key is available
and neither would want it anyway
”Someone who will be there for you when you fall apart,
guiding your direction when you’re riding through the dark”
This light that leads, from your smile, your understanding,
your acceptance that I reflect back as a mirror
Enhancing the beam of this forever feeling,
Strolling down avenues of pleasure for
happiness is always a two way street
”Oh that’s you and me…”
4/4/17
The italicized lines are lyrics from one of my favorite songs, “You and Me” by Pink and Dallas Green off the Rose Ave album.
https://youtu.be/TUYleIXgceQ
For the “Your Favorite Song” poetry contest
Sponsored by: Alexis Y.
From among the poets who fired my imagination
whom shall I choose, can’t bring myself to pick
and place from dozens, just one above all the rest!
With all romantics in line, the one who has touched
my heart chords most, is none other than John Keats
In my eyes, he wears the mantle of a great poet
for the sheer beauty of his diction and the images
woven in the loom of his exorbitant fancy,
tumbling one on another!
Sad the scythe of Fate cut him down at the age of 25!
Had he survived the autumnal blasts and seen the beauty
of lovesome springs and sunny summers unfolding
none could have been commensurable to him in name or fame
When seasons change and summer loosens its fiery grip,
who cannot but welcome Keats’ Autumn,
the ‘Season of mist and mellow fruitfulness?
When I hear a lone bird singing in the far fringes of the woodlands
I strain my neck to see if it’s Keats’ Nightingale
staying unseen and ‘pouring forth its soul in such ecstasy’
Ode on a Grecian Urn lifted him to stellar fame
who saw, in the rustic scene painted on the Urn,
life in its fullness, but’ frozen in time’
where he identified beauty and truth as one
‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty’- his immortal line
keeps resounding and its echoes rippling in hearts many
Sad, like a rose whose petals were knocked down
from its stalk by the mighty wind’s powerful breath,
he fell, but stays deathless among the dead
emanating sweet fragrance in the surrounding air
and his ‘plaintive anthem’ never ‘fades’,
Jan.16.2023
~ Placed tenth~
Beloved Poets Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Regina McIntosh
(Verse 1)
Rust on the spokes but the memory shines,
Dust on the frame like a map of old times,
Handlebars crooked from corners we’d take,
Chasing the sunset down every mistake.
Scraped knees and laughter stitched into the air,
Freedom was something we didn’t know we’d wear.
(Pre-Chorus)
No keys, no clocks, no place we had to be,
Just spinning wheels and a wild, wide “we.”
(Chorus)
Oh those old favorite bicycles, rolling through our days,
Chain-singing summers in a hundred golden ways,
Pedals pushing promises down every street we knew,
With the wind as our witness and the sky as our view.
We were kings of the cul-de-sac, queens of the lane,
Riding forever, never feeling the chain.
(Verse 2)
Bell that would ring like a bright little boast,
Racing our shadows we loved the most,
Trading our stories at the corner store,
Counting loose change for a dream and more.
Tires would whisper on warm, worn roads,
Carrying secrets only childhood knows.
(Pre-Chorus)
We thought the world was a circle we’d trace,
Round and around in that reckless grace.
(Chorus)
Oh those old favorite bicycles, rolling through our days,
Chain-singing summers in a hundred golden ways,
Pedals pushing promises down every street we knew,
With the wind as our witness and the sky as our view.
We were kings of the cul-de-sac, queens of the lane,
Riding forever, never feeling the chain.
(Bridge)
Now they’re leaning in garages, quiet and still,
But I swear I can hear them beyond the hill—
Calling my name in a soft, spinning rhyme,
Turning the wheels of a simpler time.
(Final Chorus)
Oh those old favorite bicycles, echo in my mind,
Rolling through the roads we can’t rewind,
But somewhere in the distance, in the dust and blue,
That child is still riding, still breaking through.
With the wind as a whisper and the past in flame,
I ride them again every time I remember their name.
Glads and the lilies that grow very tall
Petunia and pansies...I do love them all
My favorites, however, are not really owned
Not found in the garden, but growing alone
Kissed by the sun and tossed by the breeze
Running through clover or wherever they please
Not planned, unintended, still they remain
Untouched by the hoe and watered by rain
Favorites of mine, I picked as a child
These flowers ignored, were born to be wild
________________________________________________________
For "Favorite Flower" contest: Sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron
Myself
All that I am
I could dye my hair to please you
Yet I won't
A little mascara might
Make me attractive
Although the value of my gift
Cannot be measured in wrappings
I will not sing For you
But create a harmony and hope for consonance
And I will dance With you
To the melody of our song
Accept
All that I am
I could paint you as my knight in armor
But fantasies vanish with sunrise
We could play together
Yet games must end
And the unity of the game
Will dissolve
Leaving you
And me
All that we are
And acceptance of each
Written by Carolyn Devonshire
Carolyn Devonshire-Who is she?
A great author,a widower who loved her husband so much,and a daughter who loved her father just as much.She is one of my closests friends,can easily be called family...and so lucky I am to have met her.Carolyn was one of the first soupers who always left me a comment of encouragement when i first started writing here.Our friendship grew stronger through time and so our love for poetry.
Why do i love this poem so much?
This poem from Carolyn's first book 'Visions of Devonshire'definitely speaks to my soul.
The value of who we are,isn't about how we appear to be,it isn't about making ourselves perfect,nicer,It isn't about changing our identity..Its about being who we really are.
Carolyn's gift cannot be measured in wrappings'..Its her inner beauty which makes her shine.Her friendship ,love and loyalty to others is what makes her so special.
Its not all about the outer beauty of oneself,but what is on our inside which
really makes us who we are.
The knight in shining armor,the Fantasy,the dream might vanish with sunrise,
the game will end too,leaving all that was in yesterday behind,but finding who we
are once again,and accepting each other for who we were and always will be.
Thankyou Carolyn for this poem,
Your gift lies within you.. It cannot be measured in wrappings..So true!
and the biggest thankyou is sent your way today for just being you..
Dear Gwendolyn..thanks for the brilliant idea.... Big hugs... Charma
Not complaining, choosing to flow with the breeze
Not complaining, finding true thanks on my knees
Not complaining, no one promised me easy
Not complaining, grooving on a white daisy
I see you seeking cellular validation
A selfie world that's your own fabrication
Your mind is spinning, hope is on vacation
Will you find salvation?
Not complaining, content to just pretend along
Not complaining, disfunction blending with my song
No complaining , unsettled games we both play
Not complaining, a price I’m willing to pay
I'm thinking somewhere in a different time
We will find truth, without popped pills with wine
I'm praying at the the end of the line
you might be mine
Not complaining, tripping with you at midnight
Not complaining, bathing in your gorgeous light
Not complaining, you are amazing to me
Not complaining, if you're the last one I see
Riding on my Banana seat
Bike wheels spinning to the beat
I loved you being close to me
feeling so free
Not complaining, when you hitch hiked away
Not complaining, I did know you wouldn't stay
Not complaining, choosing to flow with the breeze
Not complaining, finding true thanks on my knees
Not complaining, even though my heart’s breaking
Not complaining, you're the mistake I keep making!
For John Hamilton's End of The Line contest
December 12th 2017
When England’s fairest rose
strained to find a light
neath the monarchy’s shadows,
such passion did she incite.
Many are the years since
Lady Diana Spencer
met and married her prince,
believing that he loved her.
Unrequited affection
she tried to brush aside.
Poised was her reflection;
tears she sought to hide.
Princess Di’s quest for love
drew her to the masses,
who adored this precious dove,
more fragile than glass is.
A candle caught by harsh wind,
extinguished far too young,
left the monarchy chagrined;
her popularity stung.
In death as she was in life,
she’s treasured in people’s hearts,
for kindness is always rife
in the love a People’s Princess imparts.
*Inspired by Elton John’s “Candle in the Wind,” which he performed at Diana’s funeral.
My favorite President is yet to be
He may well not go down in history
For he'll do what really needs to be done
Antagonizing almost everyone under the sun
First he'll fix Social Security; it's running short of cash
Upping retirement age to 68, a move the 'swamp' will call rash
Then he'll crack down on Medicare/Medicaid fraud and crime
Infuriating the clout-heavy cheaters in America's medicinal slime
Next he'll free up school choice for the poor, not just the rich
More vouchers and charter schools: teachers unions will yell and beech
He'll clean up the ghettos, bust up the gangs, and load up the jails
Violent felons and their Park Avenue backers will want him impaled
He'll break the stranglehold on free speech and inquiry in universities
Big-tech CEO's will squirm, when he ends their totalitarian strip-tease
He'll repair the military, building the strongest defense ever
Daring China and Russia to come get us -- They won't; they're too clever
He'll veto delusionary pork projects which taxpayers can't afford
Boosting old-fashioned 'capitalism' -- for that he will not be adored
As for climate change, he'll pressure China, India and the other slackers
To reign in their CO2 abuse, while the world calls him a bully and hacker
Truth is, my favorite President-to-be will probably never get elected
And if somehow he does, I hope from angry mobs he'll be protected
~ Inspired by, but not an entry in L. Milton Hankins'
'Your Favorite President Contest' ~
I sing a song of three.
There’s Larry, Curly, Moe;
the Ego and the Id
and the Super Ego.
Three Kings of the Orient
are known as three wise men.
Showing up at Christmas too
in song are three French hens.
Rock, paper, scissors -
three gestures with the hand;
tricycles; three-legged races -
things of kiddie land.
Three little kittens; three blind mice;
three were the billy goats gruff.
three bags of wool; three little pigs;
three bears for Goldilocks were more than enough.
Being three sheets to the wind
won’t be very good
if a 3-ring circus
becomes your neighborhood.
But three are the Amigos
and three the Muskateers.
Charlie had three Angels -
they were TV dears!
Huey, Dewey, Louie;
Kirk, Spock and McCoy;
Peter, Paul, and Mary
I sure did enjoy!
Three were Cream, ZZ Top,
Rush and Motorhead,
Diana Ross with her Supremes
(but not the Grateful Dead).
Three’s Company, but three’s a crowd!
Three strikes you’re out: a yard’s three feet.
Three-piece suits and Hanson Brothers.
Girls think those are sweet!
Ice cream Neapolitan
comes in flavors three.
So does three-cheese pizza
or a sandwich BLT.
Three-leaf clovers do abound
though luckier are four.
Yellow, red and blue when mixed
make three colors more.
Three things evil not to do
are to hear, to speak and see.
Holy is the number three
when it’s the Trinity.
Splendid are the trilogies
like Lord of the Rings.
Clearly you can see by now,
in threes there come good things.
Feb. 13, 2021
For the 3 Poetry Contest of Anthony Biaanco
Now for L Milton Hankins' YOUR PERSONAL FAVORITE, NO. 2 Poetry Contest
Angel wings are not feathered but they are real,
Made from lighter stuff and stronger.
They have a metaphysical feel,
And last an eternity longer.
The feel of an Angel wing is not a sensation like touch.
It’s on a higher more philosophical plane.
The usual senses are only a crutch,
Like trying to explain snow while in the rain.
To feel an angel wing flutter,
One must “ know thyself ”,
And remove the “me” clutter,
To reveal the naked shelf.
You know that fellow that always angers you,
And makes you retaliate every time?
Remember recently when he was through,
You smiled and didn’t even mind?
And how with your children, you pray to be patient,
And cry and blow up instead?
Then why today, when they tried your patience,
Those were tears of joy you shed?
These experiences and many others,
When asked for in earnest prayer,
Are simply Angel wing flutters,
Teaching us how to live and care.
These are the feel of Angel wings,
Not privy to the usual five,
But made of heavenly things,
Sublime, real, ..fully alive.
Ambition in its prime dwells within over time —poet
My special poet…
is one who gets their point across
without agendas or alliterations of a bitter boss
No need for perfect literates who sip on bitters
and pound out heartless ink to other bulls*itters
A black heart smells rotted and oldened by experience
with ordinary nothingness to relay for instance
Webbed tough with matured matted material
used over again, makes not a special poet’s verses imperial
My special poet…
does not grope for interpretation of what’s in the soul
Or use blackened words of mystery that serve to cajole
Or spits floundering anxiety pending
Nor is in one’s own tight confining skin
Nor a swollen head enabled by encouragement,
rigid and giving nothing back
Nor do they look askance from their egocentric self,
Outspoken words that hurt, sensitivity they lack
My special poet…
is one who gets the truth out
reporting issues of division and about
undecided poets who need to explore
not to shun away from what dangers implore
Expresses what’s needed to say
words you trust along the way,
to make what’s important aware
for those with no voice and in despair
We’re all a part of it, the crime and border
God is good, He wants you to know justice’s order
My special poet…
a girly-girl of a soft disposition natured
still rides along within, now matured
I have too much respect for poets
to call out bitter versed ones, we know it’s
not going to change anything or anyone
We are who we are bar none
Understanding the universe that comes first
Time is of the essence not disparaging the worst
When making a split discission
when it’s obvious surrealism,
there is no more discussing what is
special, sincere, sealed woe IT'S me
My special poet…
is not better just unique
It's not a prowess poet that I seek
It’s nice when real poet's genius peak
Cannot hit the ball out of the park every time
Yet it all maybe rendered sublime
We cannot alter our voices
This covers all poets of our choices
You’ll find poets who well articulate
though meanings may particulate
Every poet is special to somebody
and have one thing in common
including ME
Her mom died when she was young…and though she survived the ordeal
she still misses her when she remembers her…
some wounds will never heal.
She remembers how her mom loved pelicans…how they soared on the breeze like a kite…
How she loved all kinds of pelicans…
but her favorite ones were white.
And when she walks along the surf…when the sea is tranquil and calm…
if a white pelican soars overhead…
it reminds her of her mom.
When she hears the swoosh of the pelican's wings…and sees the smile on its beak…
she instinctively returns a smile
as a tear rolls down her cheek.
Then came the day for her to marry…her mom now years out of reach…
she decided to have the ceremony…
in the sand…
upon the beach.
Halfway through the service…about the time she took his hand
A flock of pelicans flew overhead…
then landed on the sand.
And she again remembered how her mom loved pelicans…
how they soar on the breeze like a kite…
And she had to stop and catch her breath…
because all these pelicans…
were white.
It was a beautiful moment…the end of a beautiful day
and when the ceremony was over…
all the pelicans flew away.
All the pelicans that is but one…who lingered there a while…
whose beak she swears to this day…
was formed into a smile…
She never thought of pelicans as angels…until her wedding night
but now her favorite angel…
is a pelican…
painted white.
To love someone so much
To know that you would do anything for them
To know that you will always look up to them
To be willing to put them before yourself
To know that they are your favorite person
But you are not theirs
Hurts.
It hurts because you know that they love someone more than they love you
It hurts because you can't do anything about it
It hurts because no one loves you as much as they love you
But you are not their first
You are their second
It hurts because they love you but not as much as they love that other person
It hurts because they love you but not as much as you love them