Best Flaps Poems
Who Can Argue Miracles Exist?
No man, be he grandiloquent or coarse;
be he a learned novel or tattered page;
be he devout in faith or drenched in doubt;
be he a man replete with shame of sin:
No man (unless an empty man who flaps like cynic’s skin)
who has watched the early sun come out
or heard the song of sparrows spared the cage:
No man in love with his daughters: No man in love with his universe.
4/30/2019
Submitted for: Let's Have an Argument
Sponsored by Kevin Shaw
Springing free from glistening
Fronds
The summers heat leaps for
Height;
Whilst drifting obscurely far
Above
A distant lark now hangs in
Flight.
Floats down his sweet trill,
Accompanied by joyous and
Uplifting revelry,
Over the black crows nasal
Calls;
Whose draped shadow,
contemplating devilry,
Flaps and furtively falls
Into ripening bean fields
Planted in neatly sowed rows:
Nourished in darkest till,
Enriched by pedantic verse of
Gaelic odes.
Do now these gentle Slopes
Pause to yield
Where secretive song,
Bursting forth, is much concealed
inside the plain of Aidhne;
For here the great rock of the
Burren,
Whereby so implored upon,
Revealed its grey stones...
To rebuild ancient and deserted
Thoor Ballylee.
Sweeping briskly past a tors
Grassy island busy in bloom,
Eagerly cramming under four
Crouched arches,
Skim the borrowed waters of
Thee immortal Cloone;
Dappling currents
Dawdling around squat stanchions -
Staunchly carrying the quiet bridge
Over the old concourse:
Momentarily loitering -
Wantonly begging to coyly swoon...
Now, joyfully sporting in gushing
Discourse,
Gleefully courting elusive and
Glimmering enchantments:
Mirrored reflections enticed to
Enter -
To be forever trapped within a
Burbling rivers sacred rhyme and
Tune.
Higher and higher the spiraling
Stairs of de Burgo
When through airy woodland
Glades
The towering shadow sought;
And higher and higher the spirit
Of an ageing poet...
His crowding thoughts
Roaming freely amidst these
Fabled legends of Gort.
Harken then to the feathered
Herald -
Tis Gods design that calls on
Ye!
For few men know of what he
Sings...
He sings of the forgotten paths
Forever lost within Innisfree.
a city
hungover
wakes slowly
to silence
and lights that
keep watch
over night
the red
and red amber
the green
amber
red
on still streets with
no traffic in sight.
railings and
stone steps
lead down to a
basement
where graffiti
conceals a
locked door
and where bins
overflowing
with bottles
and chip trays
spew half eaten
food
to the floor.
a pigeon
whose body
attempts
as it struts
to try
to catch up
with its head
flaps and then
makes for
what looks like
the inside
of a sandwich
set free from
its bread.
as blocked grids
and clogged gutters
sip dregs
of drain water
left over
from midnight's
wild rain
there are blankets
in doorways
and the red
red and amber
and green
amber
red once again.
A gentle hush fell over the pond
The crickets ceased their evening song
Many jewel-toned feathers circled and flew
And perched as tonight's "Idol" audience grew
Poor little bird looks out from his tree top place
His voice must enthrall them in the "Idol" race!!
He must choose the right song, and be a hit,
Just one more chance is all he gets!
Oh My! He sees Jennifer Lovebird, soft feathered, and fair
And Steven Tucan, in the judging chair!!
Ol’ Randy Jaybird with his ‘Hot Dog’ hoots!
Oh dear, this poor little songbird, is shaking in his boots!
With stage fright, he fears his chance is bleak
He opens up his tiny beak
With not even one tender note, so sweet
All he can muster, is one awful squeak!!
Quickly, Ryan Redbrest flaps his wings....hops to the branch
And clamps him shut, without a glance!
Poor little bird,....! He's lost his chance!
To sing among the tallest trees,
To win the prize, with songs to please...
Or be a part of history! :(
So off he flies, into the breeze....!
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For Francine Roberts Contest "Enough!"
An exuberant falcon she is, isn’t she?
Being the aviator of my flight of thoughts.
Cares less she to heed, whenever in adoration, I
Do call her for a chat - she is a mischievous trickster.
Every time she dawdles, I give her a gentle prod;
For then, she arrives in ripples of reasoning,
Gleaming in reflections of my own contemplations.
Hues of insights kindle my mind’s spectrum as
I follow her to the unexplored layers of landscape - a
Journey for the moment - as we drift across the
Kaleidoscope of nature, when through seamless
Loops of thoughts, I crochet and disperse my ink
Meandering over dreamy mangroves of my mind.
Now she’s disappeared, but where’s she gone?
Oh, she can vanish in a flash like a lightning! - a
Playful penguin - it’s hard to grab her attention; the
Quick-witted queen of my boundless imagi-Nation, who
Refills my thought pot and sows fresh seeds of fancy.
Sometimes with her capricious flaps, she glides away
To coax her to stay back more is beyond my ability.
Upon the labyrinth of life, we travel together.
Voices of many a mind, whispering and rumbling,
We hear as we ponder on the vast sea of life. My
Xanadu of inspiration, when she appears out of nowhere.
Yes, she feeds my brief reveries with pearls of perception - a
Zealous advocate, she is, of my passionate ink.
On some bleak airfield on some Cambridge fen
(that awful winter – 'forty-seven, I think)
my mother, novice servicewoman then,
crossed parade-ground like a skating rink
to see the Christmas concert on the camp.
Inside, the nissen hut was black as ink
till airmen lit a feeble spirit lamp.
The snow was driving against one outer wall:
she calls to mind a smell of tents and damp
and stinging fingers, fresh from snowballs,
and gouts of steam, blown out in cloudy spurts
as people laughed. Then lights dimmed in the hall.
She now recalls a curious stab of hurt
to see the Italian janitor of the base
revealed onstage in P.O.W. shirt
when curtains opened. What had been a place
of uproar, now – faced by this threadbare clown –
had undergone some dreadful loss of face.
In dubbin make-up, N.A.A.F.I. dressing-gown,
as solemn as a high priest at the altar,
this patched-up Pagliacci, ear-flaps down,
sang ludicrously well. The keyboard faltered,
and stopped. The singer, weeping now, kept on,
quite heedless, as his clown's nose dripped tear-water.
There's something sacred in the humblest song
(with wretchedness wrought into lasting good
through alchemy of art) and, all along,
the watchers, to their horror, understood.
He sang so gorgeously of going home
because he knew full well he never would.
I’ve moved amongst raging white caps
With the wind and spray and stinging flaps
A now meaningless course with little chance
The final few steps of my ship’s last dance
My hands release the spinning wheel
Now just a piece of useless steel
I now await the crash of the wave
I'm so alone, no need to be brave
She sailed with me across the seas
Once more I want to feel her breeze
Grant my wish my Neptune please
I miss her fair winds and following seas
blue skies, white foam;
ride turquoise seas.
pine scent, sourced breeze,
green sunshine glow.
flag flaps, afloat -
turns, twists; a treat
of shadowed clouds -
p i c t o r i a l
with chimney smoke.
earth’s breast heaving;
sun’s eyes gleaming
as dusk breaks through.
ribboned moon glow -
a heady gloam.
Was that mark on my skin there yesterday?
There is no way for me to remember
A tattoo my shoulder did once display
Seemed to have disappeared last December
Now a red blemish is atop my hand
It resembles an octopus with wings
In bizarre motions it flaps when I stand
Fear to my heart this gruesome creature brings
But the octopus does not fly alone
There are centipedes, spiders and the like
Each day these ugly markings seem to clone
Apparently I’m no longer a tyke
If you need a tattoo, I’ve some to spare
More vivid they are as I lose my hair
*Written September 14, 2016 for Sara’s contest
Good morning, good morning, girls and boys
I hope you brought your Disney toys
Gather round in a circle close
Lets sing about the ones we love the most
Mickey, Mickey, your so cute and small
We love you the best of all
Donald Duck with his ducklings three
Dressed the same are his family
Children, children wave your hands
Close you eyes we're in Disney Land
Pluto, Pluto your silly and daft
You sure do make us laugh
It's time to count, lets have some fun
The Seven Dwarfs, seven back to one
Children, children wave your hands
Close you eyes we're in Disney Land
Dumbo flaps his ears and flies
Pinocchio's nose grows telling silly lies
Let all skip to Wonderland
Holding Alice's hands, going hand in hand
Children, children wave your hands
Close you eyes we're in Disney Land
Children, children wave your hands
Close you eyes we're in Disney Land
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/childrens.php
ocean squall at dawn
brilliant rainbows burst through clouds
nature's high drama
Wind whipped waves tumble over rocky shores
pounding the beach in a gathering storm.
A red flag flaps wildly in gusty winds
warning sailors to avoid perilous seas.
Crimson rays blaze across the horizon
in a grand burst of reflective splendor.
Seagulls draft high winds as raindrops come
drumming musical notes, a watery score
as stunning rainbows light the sky once more.
Written on 11/4/2015
Formal forms feel nice and safe
But meter makes me sweat
Sometimes rhymes will grind and chafe
And stresses makes me fret
Perhaps there is another way?
I need to be diverse
Panzer stanzas made of clay?
Or flirt with loose free verse
...
To write without rules? Freedom!
The shackles of rhyme snap open
And clatter to the floor
The ball and chain of meter and rhythm
Slip off and roll away
Through the septic puddle of conformity
Clunks against the cell wall
The solid steel door unbolts - one - two - three
And squeals open
Rust flakes bursting then falling
Metallic leaves onto a metallic forest floor
A breeze washes in - washes away the stale air
A poster of Dr Seuss lifts, then flaps, then rips
Then blows away
Daylight streams in - bright - white - blinding - searing
As fragile eyes adjust, the outside free-i-verse reveals itself
Freedom? Yes. But what chaos!
Repetition, imagery, metaphors and repetition - still there
And rhyme and meter!
Where should they go?
What if I get it wrong?
How will I know?
I can't take it in!
...
The door swings and closes - safe and secure
The chill draft now whispers - certain and sure
The shackles await me - to hold and embrace
The ball and chain staring - a well meaning face
Perhaps structure and form aren't really so bad
Free verse is trendy, or maybe a fad
From now on I'll stick to what I surely know
Rhythm and meter and rhyme true to flow
Or maybe I'll try again tomorrow...
(Entry for the "flirt" contest)
Murmuration of starlings high. I’m high!
Low stars twinkling with wings. The trumpet’s call!
As winds of war, incline, in warm wind sigh,
the flock, a shock, sans enemies appall.
These friends do fascinate, heard like bombers,
like Japanese over unsuspecting
Pearl Harbor fight ~ these darling bird-balmers.
The nudge of melodic buzz, quite affecting.
Not of national consequence, abuzz
not with politicking but peace of soul -
remains of war pittance, the scrawling-t’was.
My awesome sight, this di’mond-bling of coal.
Mere humans offer crumbs ~ my heart flaps wings.
With murmurs high and low, communion springs.
Dragonfly Afloat on the Lake
A dragonfly afloat on the lake
Flaps its wings to keep from drowning.
With its life in the balance, it senses hope
And boards the paddle I nudge into place.
Slowly, I draw the oar out of the water
And watch the dragonfly bask in the sun.
Now recuperated with dried wings,
The insect alights on the boat’s gunnel.
I contemplate the situation, seeking a higher meaning,
Wondering if it understands fate or destiny
And canoe towards the shore for its safety.
Or is it just an instinctive reaction?
That brought us together in this crisis
As it flies away, leaving me with a memory.
Child
God’s gift
Cries or Smiles
Loves to Play Around
Innocence
Flowers
Many Colors
Smiles at You
Lights up the Garden
Radiance
Bird
Flies high
Flaps its wings
To reach the stars
Dreams
Ants
Work Hard
Walk in Line
One behind the Other
Team
Lantern
Gives light
Shows the Way
I found the Path
Serenity
Temple
God’s Abode
Hands Fold Together
Pray for Well-being
Faith