Best Fittingly Poems
fittingly unseen
how it feels
intended meaning
MagiCicada13
Categories:
fittingly, poems, poetry,
Form:
Senryu
A picture appeared on my phone today,
on the proverbial page I perused.
A view of an evil most vile,
villainy veiled behind verve and vim.
Sadists from Auschwitz,
smiling in a storm.
Shoulders shrugging,
to shield from the sky.
No hint of the horrors,
the Holocaust they heralded.
Not haunted like the humans they harrow,
but hyenas, howling, in high humor after the hunt.
Their consciences clear, their cruelty concealed,
their cheer chills me to the core.
They caused such wicked calvary,
a calamity that echoes into the current century.
Yet they dare to delight,
while they deal in death and dread.
Their depravity so deep that they grin,
as they decry virtue and destroy millions.
But what mortifies me more is,
how mundane their mien.
Will we fear the next fiends fittingly,
or in time... if their faces feel like friends'?
Categories:
fittingly, evil, fear, holocaust, horror,
Form:
Alliteration
She’s rolled up with patience
dedication and faith in the Lord;
her strictness punctuated a shared vision
that focused on learning acquisition.
Her punctuality, precision, and determination
to teach her pupils with discipline and right focusing;
as a rule of thumb she always obeyed
made the essence of what music means to all.
Rain or shine she’s there in her cubicle
waiting for her pupils scheduled to take their lessons;
those Hanon exercises, arpeggios, and other finger articulations
would lead off in concentration or warm-up in every lesson.
Perhaps she’s a scarecrow to some who hadn’t known her;
but she’d a listening heart described as a story line;
with depth and assurance that no one is denied,
along with other slow learners who coped with perseverance.
Truly, her endless word to slow down in every measure,
her technique that entailed so much discipline and correction
through memory lane I still remember a constant repetition;
her affinity for perfection that requires discipline and proportion.
She’s a teacher keenly aware of her pupils’ emotions,
her generosity explained either in time or learning a score;
as a sign and meaning to pedagogical association
with thriving efforts to play the music with technique and precision.
She’s held in the affectionate memory of her pupils,
their collective thoughts about her fittingly honored her
a woman like her with a horizon of meaning to everyone
a true Filipino educator with a glowing torch in her soul
and her music sustained my vocation to go on.
Its magical link to depth and soul of human expression,
its beauty and inspiration that kept me to deepen my own calling;
to make piano sing in the balance of emotion, technique and celebration
a way to experience Him with wonders and beauty – limitless world.
Maraming salamat , Maestra Marina M Diokno!
I really missed you; I really treasured whatever you taught me;
your strong affinity for virtuousity, allegato and sostenuto,
indeed, a memory lane suffused with gratitude and threads of appreciation.
Categories:
fittingly, loss, music, beauty, memory,
Form:
Elegy
It wouldn't be Christmas unless there's lots of snow,
Nor would it be Christmas without sprigs of mistletoe!
What would Christmas be without jolly old Saint Nick,
And Ralphie's "A Christmas Story", that all-time classic flick!
What would Christmas be without a tree with shining lights,
And carolers singing "Silent Night" on snowy winter nights!
It just wouldn't be complete without the town's Christmas parade,
With marching bands and Santa aboard a firetruck in the cavalcade!
It wouldn't be Christmas sans greeting cards noting Santa's girth,
And much more fittingly, cards heralding a little Boy's birth!
It wouldn't be Christmas without Dad receiving the usual socks and ties,
And Mom oohing and aahing over more hot-pads to use baking pies!
Can you imagine Christmas without fruit cakes and snickerdoodles,
Candy canes, peanut brittle, chocolate creams and scrumptious strudels!
Christmas wouldn't be complete without seeing the blissful joy,
On the face of every girl and boy as they unwrap their treasured toy!
It wouldn't be Christmas without the gatherings of dear kith and kin,
At happy celebrations where love and fellowship reigns therein,
Remembering that the reason we celebrate the season most of all,
Is the birth of a Royal King to a young virgin in an humble stall!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Categories:
fittingly, christmas,
Form:
Rhyme
We'd made a dawn start that day, following in his footsteps, as
apparently Jesus used to get up early.
Our group had gathered for a reading, and to pray, along with
fruit and cereals our first staples of the day.
The good Lord had gifted us a painted morning of Coeruleum blue,
and a warm spiced breeze flossed my smile.
I turned and watched the city for a while.
Amidst the pink and beige jigsaw of the old city, the Dome of the rock
had caught the morning rays and was now bragging about it,
shamelessly blinging,
competing with the shouts of Minarets
and Church bells ringing.
Few things can compete with an Israel morning, but you did.
Perched like an Owl on a low wall, cross-legged, your head moved
from side to side, scanning the mount, sharing our glass,
drinking the moment.
You wore white cotton, an arm hung with beads, an evil eye bracelet
and what looked like a Kara, glistening.
Styled by the Gods, with three quarters of a straw hat
wedged in the bricks.
And then I found myself before you,
Lord knows how, and I was trying to remember how my mouth worked.
Your head cocked to one side you watched me for a while
then nodded me a soft hello, and finished with a smile.
Ice broken, we gathered intelligence- you, a 'gap year Guerilla'
on a global reconnaissance , armed with just a shoulder bag and a credit card.
Me, a lapsed Catholic with an empty soul, seeking a childhood faith long discarded.
A shout from the tour guide burst our intimate bubble and I retreated,
backwards, gesturing, as if in the presence of a Shah.
She waved back, almost lost her balance, and a gust of wind would
have placed her gently among the sleeping of the Kidron
if she hadn't grabbed her hat.
And that was that.
I went back to the wall that evening, and the following morning,
I don't know why- she'd be bathed in the rose of Petra by then.
For a short time I was bereft, and stood, fittingly, before the
Basilica of the Agony, and then sat on our wall,
to watch the chosen wake up.
I think my soul woke a little, just then.
For God had left me with a little bit of love.
Unrequited, but worth hanging on to ,
worth building on.
It's been thirty five years, and in those occasional quiet places
I still think of you
For contest 'Love in a far off place', sponsored by Frank Herrera
22nd July 2015
Categories:
fittingly, love,
Form:
Free verse
When I was young, a book was given me:
a small book with the title "Those Who Love."
Its female author I knew nothing of -
This dreamer poetess wrote beautifully.
Gentle, practical and solitary,
Sara was in love with nature and
understood the things in life most grand;
this dreamer poetess wrote beautifully!
She’d grown up reading poems of Emily,
Barrett Browning, Bronte and Rossetti.
A modern woman, wishing to be free -
this dreamer poetess wrote beautifully.
Her writing had a lyric quality.
I loved her metaphors and similies.
I sensed within her poems - untold stories.
This dreamer poetess wrote beautifully.
Her poems were crafted with lucidity,
for poetry confusing she’d not do.
Her type of writing influenced mine too.
This dreamer poetess wrote beautifully.
A love impossible she fittingly
portrayed, for “contradiction” was her life.
Conflicted, she could not remain a wife.
This dreamer poetess wrote beautifully.
She’d known a time of popularity:
A Pulitzer for "Love Songs" she received.
Then came her father’s death and how she grieved.
This dreamer poetess wrote beautifully.
Depressed and frail, she planned her destiny,
requesting notes to loved ones all be burned.
We cannot truly know for what she yearned.
This dreamer poetess wrote beautifully.
Did Sara Teasdale end her misery
when she put herself to sleep? Who can say?
Regardless. . . I shall think of her one way:
This dreamer poetess wrote beautifully!
Written 11/14/10
Categories:
fittingly, love, poems, poetess, writing,
Form:
Ode
An art student, she was a mysterious brunette,
whose most stunning feature were eyes of piercing
tanzanite; silent and deep as a fathomless ocean.
Even the most skillful sailor, caught in those whirlpools
of blue light, which knew no depth, plunged into the
waters to drown.
He was a conservatory trained tenor with features
as striking and hard edged as sharp granite massifs
standing against the sun. Coeds swooned, especially
when they heard him sing. His voice was as sweet
and thick as fresh cream before becoming sweeter
butter. If he sang four measures of "Maria," from
West Side Story, coeds would mentally disrobe him
and dream of languishing in his arms, as if struck
by mystical lightning.
The eyes met the voice on the
campus green on fine spring day during
"Art at the Student Union." She was displaying
2 water colors and an acrylic. Fittingly, he was
singing "This Nearly Was Mine," from South Pacific.
The eyes heard the voice crooning atop a temporary
stage near the Union. She waded through the crowd
to hear. When close enough to the stage to trade
glances the eyes lapsed into fantasy so quickly
her knees quaked. The voice never wavered after
making contact with the tidal pool that were
her eyes. Still safe atop the stage he mentally
rejected a life jacket and dove full bore into
her swirling blue waters. She drew the voice into
the depths of her tanzanite sea, enfolding him.
His voice threw off sparks that would make
Van De Graff pale, electric portraits in sound.
She now paints arias on canvas of his granite features.
His voice flares blue sparks. Lighting the air with sound.
All this from a mutual glance on the campus green!
Categories:
fittingly, beauty, love, passion,
Form:
Free verse
I loathe shucking clothes,
(no matter eyes severely myopic)
in preparation for here goes
another warm shower quickly
relaxing this senescent
body ready to doze
soon after lathering
this blubbery body
most unwanted fat grows
on me, no matter healthy diet
of worms, or how I stand,
not so easy add a pose
zing losing battle – Mary Jo's
if and geeze us of bulge ill flattering
particularly quiverly, sans white
"WALL" tire tread fully goes
steely belted around lower
abdominal area like lava floes
siring unsightly expose
yore squishy Jew dish priestly
punchy,plasma paunchy, gristly...
pillow like marshmallows
fittingly, rotundly soundly
identical with other schlep
tin (tin tabulation) grungy hobos,
this lap pissed lard (lord) Who Lee
bemoaning, how ilk readily knows,
where unwanted bulky flab...
most detested - hence Corp Yule Lance
leaves noth thin to noblesse oblige,
know bull eats obese,
anorexia nervosa or chance
barking out orders reminiscent, when he
hapt tubby a caller at
weekly square and/or contra dance,
now requisitioned to insulate
and excessively enhance
body electric can be mushed
into likeness of fleshy France
or repurposed into expanse
resembling any country,
whose name Kants
be easily pronounced, and historical
events glommed together recognizable
as Ataturk with a lance
bequeathed to rule World advance
sing gluttony as his divine providence,
thus requires deep dish allegiance
(non - fiber - binding contract)
for eats and make decadent
every fleshpot gourmand
stretching cellular skein to capacitance
bestowing guaranteed deliverance
with their rolling
ballooning massive circumference
into orbit with Earthly moon officiant
eternal fondue irrelevance!
Categories:
fittingly, age, beauty, clothes, funny,
Form:
Free verse
My chest feels empty,
fragile fabric of frame
filled fittingly with fear
for fellows, or feelings;
fantasies of fast flight,
no fortuitous foundation.
Categories:
fittingly, feelings,
Form:
in the shop with hardware and bits of wood
can make almost any man feel useful, good
a screwdriver, a drill, some papered sand
away from day-to-day, simply out of demand
just tinkering around with piddling things
the easy satisfaction messin' 'round brings
no major renovation, or building earthworks
just little improvements, near anonymous perks
unsqueaking a hinge, maybe unstick a drawer
fittingly better is what tinkering's for
whether it's the thing of attention being repaired
or the man doing the labor, it's hard to declare
so too, it can be with words on page or a screen
to ensure understanding, say exactly what you mean
a glued letter, word oiled, or nailing a phrase
brings the writer satisfaction of all he surveys
so I continue to tinker a little bit more
on a few couplet lines, with no guarantor
that I'll illicit from you, oh diligent reader
understanding or joy, from this rambling meter
but that is a small sideline to most of my tinkers
it's time tinkering matters to meandering thinkers
© Goode Guy 2011-05-23
Categories:
fittingly, introspection
Form:
Couplet
I am stone cold
And fittingly I require
Garments draped in gold
A coating, shielding attire
Of royal worth and empire
For minions to behold
When the right time comes
Necessity apts to do as deemed
I cover fragile eardrums
Take one last look, Medusa scheme
Salt pillar demising plights and screams
And suicide by Midas touch
This wheeling world keeps turning
As alien flora settles in
My life’s crop circle, burning
Engulfing flames of wealth and sin
Where burdens merely end to begin
Its tragic, milestone yearning
Categories:
fittingly, angst, confusion, life,
Form:
Narrative
rays of sunshine burn through her words yet fittingly frisky with the cake
......................
Written: 10/06/2016
Contest Entry: One-Liner about Andrea Dietrich
Sponsor: Silent One
Results: 1st Place
......................
Categories:
fittingly, cat, confidence, culture, encouraging,
Form:
Free verse
The trap is what they call it, bait the cheese, but please don't wait on me
So they polish it, put the chrome and rims on it and I abolish it
Am I strong or mostly lucky, considered threatening only when they rush me
Now was we, ever did you trust me
Like Justice, who in the hell's got the custody
This is a must list
As I drop a bold statement "Trust no one"
I heard so many lies i could never sow one
But as I fold one, to put it in the back of my mind, I froze once
thought about it some more and you know what
Take the pieces and connect them, make some theories and test them
Then resume as if they spoke the Truth
Give them the room to hang the noose
These used items: have collected and united
The Truth is silent, listen close and you will find it
I am the Master of my Fate and the Captian of my soul
But unfortunately I wrecked the ship, layed my title down and invested in
My purpose and my destiny
I sought so much control it eventually got the best of me
And as I'm picking up from ashes, How have I lasted?
Truth be present, I report this abuse if your not veiwed in this message
As my veiw adjust it's fittingly, Agility is verified so crushed is every lie
And as I'm brushed by the hands of Love I take a look deep down inside
Will my wounds heal as I find your wounds will
Categories:
fittingly, natural disasters,
Form:
Rhyme
The sacred earth, the mother to all beings is
Sustaining countless creatures; since epochs
Without any unfairness what so ever known
Allows them to survive on their own strength.
Complex lives arose; then after a long time
Humans survived fittingly against many odds
Establishing themselves indisputably firm and
Putting forth their claim as masters; craftier.
Then they commenced their appalling act
Of steadily eliminating the hoarier beings
In their diabolical quest for their pleasure
Began causing hurt to dear Mother earth.
Her voiceless and the innocent offspring
Have now become feeble and vulnerable
Facing their extinction imminent speedily
Thanks to evil activities of mean humans.
Let not homo-sapiens claim exclusive title
For the earth, the universe, belongs to all
The good way of living on the sacred earth
Is gentleness towards all the beings around.
Categories:
fittingly, environment, universe,
Form:
Free verse
Within an overplay of paneled oak
and illumination fittingly low,
set upon a table, its style baroque
a lighted candle, its shimmering glow
plays an unopened bottle of Bordeaux
Distant soft murmurs of discrete lovers
a pop of cork, the chinking of a glass
gentle rustling of changed table covers,
the whooshing of a skirt as waitress pass.
Low background music with a mellow bass.
A rich old earthy scent from burning log
is mixed with fragrant kitchen spices, sweet
arouses memories of synagogue.
Pungent aroma from hot sizzling meat;
a whiff of petrol coming from the street.
The napkin soft, bread roll toasty, warm,
dinner plate hot, wine glass suitably chilled
all precisely the acceptable norm.
Granular grating as pepper is milled.
I press on the steak; it's perfectly grilled.
Fantastic flavors burst upon my buds
juicy, velvety, succulent, tender.
The wine my mouth with fruity perfume floods
I finish the last drop, then surrender
"I require another glass, bartender."
Categories:
fittingly, drink, food,
Form:
Quintain (English)