Best Feb 2 Poems
American Indian, Nightshades, Moonshadows And Howling Wolf
Thirsty for red moon, its sacred beams and eternal pull
howling-out to speak to this dark and blind world, without fear;
Your echoes enter, soulful bones of insightful red man
birthing growing urges to return and run truly free,
falling upon ancient trails, foraging for lean red meat
race with red-heart's deepest desires into widest abyss,
embrace our mother earth, unified into one body.
Where ancient trails once well-known, rests under dust long fallin'.
Moon's golden realms hear both man and wolf, faithful loud callin'.
Standing proud, atop very high and lonesome mountain crag
winds caressing one of Nature's most beautiful creatures;
Notes calling loud, that give night's resplendent moon pregnant pause
in that silent and golden moment, where man so trembles,
for it is then knowledge comes, therein sings of true freedom
having no need for dreams of blind men or dark worldly lusts,
speaking to pack below, mirroring its deep felt tones.
Where ancient trails once well-known, rests under dust long fallin'.
Moon's golden realms hear both man and wolf, faithful loud callin'.
Alas! Fate and Fury- rage combine and oft delivers
soul-crushing, black-handed cuts from darkened realms far below;
Wherein has justice overcame Fate's most savage attacks
when hatred and greed both conspired to not be defeated,
in infliction of war's sorrows and deadly destruction
while parading under banner of Light and compassion,
tales of malevolent beasts, benevolently destroyed!
Where ancient trails once well-known, rests under dust long fallin'.
Moon's golden realms hear both man and wolf, faithful loud callin'.
R. J. Lindley,
Feb 2nd, 1973
Poetry-- Subject Nature, Wolf, Amerian Indian And Injustice...
Old note: My mother's father was Native American. I gained
great insight into the life of Native Americans from words
he spoke to me. Since his death, I have read many books that
gave even more historical knowledge on the subject. Finding
the ones that did not deliberately cover up the savage acts
carried out by "whites" against Native Americans.
They say if you don’t use a thing for a year
It’s time to get rid of it, just to be clear
Feel free to sell it or give it away
But to get clutter free, just don’t let it stay
So, I checked my garage for stuff I could lose--
and found hundreds of words I simply don’t use!
Lilliputian and Sprightly stood on a shelf
Elbow-to-elbow with some wry little elf
Bucolic and Bumpkin were squirreled away
Beneath a big bale of bright yellow hay
Garish and Gaudy were in a glittery box
with Trinkets and Baubles set with fake rocks
Surreptitious and Unobtrusive tried to avoid being seen
But I caught 'em sneaking off with Clandestine
Beyond these loose words, which filled many a bin
Lay whole turns of phrase like Much to My Chagrin
I held up to the light a Gossamer Veil
Then dumped it in a Perfidious Betrayal
An Ethereal Cloud, glued to the ceiling
I scraped off with an Ambivalent Feeling
I rolled back the rug to see what I'd missed,
There before me stretched a Yawning Abyss
Into a huge crate, these big words I did toss
Bobbing on top were Flotsam, Jetsam and Dross
Fatigued by these labors, I took a short break
But that little respite may have been my mistake
Soon I was deep in most Pensive Reflection
On how Assiduously I had built this collection
In crept Myriad Doubts about so brash a move
What if I meet some Cad I need to Reprove?
What if some Craven Cur should Incur my Wrath
But words fail me due to this Ill-Chosen Path?
Well, soon that old crate was quite empty once more
And cluttered again were bin, shelf, drawer and floor
But one thing has changed, this is Palpably Clear
My Leviathan Word Horde I now Deeply Revere
Intrepid and Dauntless, I sling without fear
Iota and Mote.. I dust off once a year!
____________________________
by Brian McClain - Feb 2, 2016
Battered and bruised and broken before
My courageous heart, comes back for more
It soldiers on but finds no peace
Losing time and again, the battles never cease
A kindred spirit it fights to find
Shattered dreams and tears, in it's wake behind
Mending itself after each conflict
Future struggles, it can not predict
One more battle, one more hill
My enduring heart, perseveres until...
This chosen battlefield, a final stand
A fight for happiness, none left to command
With a steady beat, it marches on
My fearless heart, with it's armor gone
The battle plan remains the same
Take no prisoners, ignore the pain
Your offer submitted, surrender deterred
Relinquish my heart, death is preferred
Battered and bruised and broken before
My mercenary heart comes back for more...
Feb 2 2016 an original poem by Daniel Turner
It was in a different era from today’s when two soul mates met -
a time when a single woman could afford no blemish on her reputation.
For them to meet in public would require a trusted friend to be their sentry,
for one of them was engaged to a man she wished not to wed.
Under the guise of an enterprise in the home of the one betrothed, they met!
Once having met, the two had fallen deeply in love,
for how can one turn one’s sight from the visage of astral skies
once seeing the brilliance of bright stars in one’s soul mate’s eyes?
How can one not long to see their adored ever again?
Though it may have been a pernicious thing to do,
they chanced one day to traverse a valley to be with one another,
for nothing could dampen their anticipation of that rendezvous.
Their time was but one week together, and then it was ended.
Years later, the one who had remained single
sat watching the face of the one who had been forced into marriage,
who sat on the opposite side of the balcony of a theater,
not knowing her lover watched her secretly from afar as she listened
to the melancholy strains of music coming from the orchestra.
It was the symphony of their love story, and as it played on,
her eyes (two bright stars) wept beautifully sad tears.
Nov. 5, 2020 for John Hamilton's 'Eight word challenge 11' Contest NA
For Brian Strand's the 'ALL YOURS (Feb 2)' Poetry Contest
So you want more nice things!
Will your life have more meaning?
When you have more stuff, is it ever enough?
Don't you know that there's more,
to life, than keeping score,
of who has more things,
what joy does that bring?
Our days are numbered,
don't just fill them with slumber.
And just having fun,
doesn't mean that you've won.
Your life should have meaning,
a purpose in being.
Doing all these things is,
like trying to catch the wind.
song
Wind catchers don't know
which way to go.
Wind catchers don't find,
true peace of mind.
Wind catchers can't see,
the truth that sets them free.
Wind catchers climb ladders,
but, does their life matter?
Wind catchers die with more,
but, who's keeping score?
A simple life is the best!
John Derek Hamilton Feb 2, 2013 revised November 18, 2015
Early morning she found him at three.
Like a deer caught in headlights was he.
His diet was broken.
His wife, now awoken,
Screamed, "AGAIN you are with Sara Lee!"
Feb 2, 2020
For Tania KItchin's Your Best New LImerick
(For any who don't know, Sara Lee is a brand
Of famous desserts)
Ever since my lobotomy
I buy tickets in the lottery,
and the day that I win
I'll be invitin' in
everyone in my coterie.
Entered in Susan Burch's Lottery Ticket Limerick Contest for Feb 2, 2012.
I come out of my hole
everyone is staring at me,
what exactly do they want?
Why won't they let me be?
Every single year that passes
I always have to endure pain,
look to the sky you stupid people
I can tell it's going to rain!
They keep waking me up
every, stinking, bitter, freezing year,
I just want to be left alone to sleep
every February second, brings me to tears.
Just because your stupid calendar says
to come by and knock on my door,
"Stay right where you are please
I'm feeling rather ill and poor."
The door gets knocked down anyway
they let in the harsh, Winter chill,
"I'm trying to have a bath right now
and I've taken a headache pill."
I've tried my best to run away
they grab me by the scruff of my neck,
haul me out of my protective home
and I yell, "WHAT IN THE LIVING HECK?!"
I try to wriggle myself free
just want to scream and shout,
but all I can do right at this moment
is stare at these stupid people . . . and pout.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
Feb.2/2015
Poor groundhog. Being manhandled. LOL
Nurses help me out of bed
I sit mostly all day in my chair
Staring at the same four walls
Just how much more can I bare
Looking out my window
Makes me very sad
Not a soul to be seen
Has the world gone mad
My nurse Cece is so kind
But I miss seeing her smile
Wearing a mask, gown and shield
Haven't seen her face in awhile
I yearn to see my family
Only one allowed to come in
Totally covered up in PPE's
Barely recognizing my own kin
I miss going to the dining hall
Now eat my meals in my room
Not seeing my nursing home friends
Fills me with doom and gloom
I long to sit in a bathtub
A bedbath is best nurses can do
Trying to keep us looking out best
Yet I still feel dirty and blue
No trips to the gym for physio
No saloon lady to cut our hair
No more day trips or outings
We all are filled with despair
I want to breathe in fresh air
To feel the sun on my skin
Shake off this cloud of darkness
To see life once again begin
Kept locked in our rooms for protection
From a virus that that may kill us all
We feel like prisoners in a jail cell
Following nursing home protocol
Feb 2nd, 2021
My resident's call me Cece and this is unfortunately what I see on a daily basis.
On Mon, Feb 2, 2015 at 1:58 PM, Terry Cooper wrote:
Touched in the head a little like he is.
Yes you are a James Taylor in the making
Or where you fooling and only faking
I cook chips I don't do baking
Cakes and pies are so pains taking
I like a project I get in my teeth
Not something that can buy an early wreath
So Jim Horn are you really a musician
Or someone that mimes behind a partition
I express my desire to set the world on fire
Before I eventually have to expire
Problem was disturbing and when deductive
Process was non productive and ever so disruptive.
And to everything there may be many catches
If needed carry some matches and anti smoking patches
And you will also learn that you need latches
For all of your BS each poem catches.
Originally by Terry Cooper and slightly
And by horns have been abbreviated
So don't take any of loosely or lightly
Or else it will have to be alleviated.
You can start laughing any time you want to.
A little laugh can go a long age depending on
age, education and maturity. Be sure to save
some for me for reasons related to security.
Terry Cooper, et. al. who usually eats it all.
So what's eating you anyway.
last night I had a vision
I dreamt about my son
he wrapped his arms around me
and said I love you mom
but he had died some time ago
so how could this be true
yet he stood right in front of me
with tender eyes so blue
he was tall and handsome
his smile lit up the room
he brought a ray of sunshine
to take away the gloom
as I awakened from my dream
tears falling to the floor
I knew he came to tell me
Mom weep for me no more
Feb.2/17
My happy feet tried to catch up with his pace
Appetizing smells swirling out of street cafes
Chattering crowd bumping in to us in void
Almost missing me trying to cross
Holding his hand as tight as I could
My red shoes almost jingled as I soared the tiled floor
Chattering faces coming and go
Was this a dream or a nightmare I tried to solve
A little wet kitten shivering by the barber’s door
I let go off his supporting hand and swiftly dissolve
It was too late when I knew I was by my own
Looking up and down the street just brought me terror
The little kitty and me were both greatly ignored
By people rushing to somewhere perhaps more of worth
I cried and he meowed a very loud song
We cuddled and snuffled as sky changed color and the stars rose
The barber closing his shop, noticed us both
tossed a penny where we had desperately parked
He came closer and I think that’s when he saw
We were no beggars but rather much lost
My daddy was called in and took me home safe
I had a new friend, I called him “Mr. Snuggle”
Feb 2, 2016
Comment On Decency And Morality
This ole earth sets its unholy record
as sin is so often celebrated
The bad walk with chins and chest puffed out
streets danger from the inebriated.
Robert J. Lindley, Feb 2nd 1971
Quatrain
Note; My friend Jimmy, died this last weekend due to his driving drunk.
A completely needless act.
Maxwell Smart and wisest Ninety-nine.
One is a boob, the other just fine.
1960’s fun,
Always on the run.
One is logical, other a whine.
Written Feb 2, 2019 Contest: Limericks 4 Sponsor: Joseph May
Wall of Pain
Date: Tue, Feb 2 2016 at 9:28 PM
Blood on the Walls Stained
Drained
On the Wall of Pain
History, Memories And Shame
Rage Engraved on the Writings on the Wall