Best Frequents Poems
There’s an old river course with beginning and end,
now the river runs straight without this river bend,
where the water is still and the reeds do grow strong.
New life has taken over in a billabong.
The mat rush is spreading replacing the sedge,
and old fallen gum trees lean in from the edge
creating a haven in the shelter below
for smelt or gudgeon, and the common minnow.
There’s a ring on the water, so danger is nigh,
and life is now over for one caddis fly.
Dragonflies hover on their predator flight,
so mosquito and midges best keep out of sight.
There is many a song around a billabong
to break up the still with an assembly throng
from birds of the forest, and wading birds too,
so the billabong offer is there to pursue...
... for blue heron and egret, coot and the teal,
and for the banded rail that the bulrush conceal.
In the billabong shadowed by gum and ti-tree,
bellbirds are tinkling; wattlebirds disagree.
An oft-diving grebe keeps on searching for food
for the striped downy chicks of its latest brood,
and a hunting kingfisher waits keen for its prey
from a twig of a gum tree it frequents all day.
There is many a scent around a billabong,
filling the air with the perfume quite strong,
from black wattle and mint bush, or mistletoe
cascading from gum trees where only they grow.
Painted lady butterfly flit upon flowers,
and blue banded bees keep on working for hours
on lilies and orchids, heath, sweet appleberry
and clusters of flowers on a native cherry.
Ribbon weed, nardoo spread out in the shallow,
with buttercup, duckweed; an introduced mallow,
struggling for survival near the water line,
aiding coral pea that does lightly entwine.
The banks of a billabong are dangerous too
with predator snakes not so often in view,
but they are aware, that the growling grass frog
will climb from the water onto an old log.
But tigers and copperhead, red-bellied black
often lay in the sun on an overgrown track,
where the wombat or wallaby travel along
to graze on native grasses near the billabong.
So life still carries on around the billabong
where water looks stagnant, a bond is still strong
with a river now rushing it’s way to the sea,
past the billabong living, where the course used to be.
With the onset of advancing age, so I find,
A man grows weary of all mundane talk;
Occupies his every spare, idle thought
With that of the slow, reflective kind.
Regretful of many a squandered hour,
Turning his back on the squabbling nations,
Their woeful, self-serving deliberations,
Dreams wistfully of his own starlit tower.
Should he hopefully find that blessed stair,
Wound insides of the ancient, dim lit wall,
Where tread from unseen feet sometimes fall,
He could but elevate himself above his cares;
There, throwing his soul upon the night,
Lift his gaze upon a tumultuous crowding!
His thinning pate adorned with a crowning
From a far-flung, pale, distant light.
And if he was to fix his mind upon that point;
To that moment forcefully bring to bear,
With every ounce of fibre when stood there,
An unremitting will to somehow exploit,
That, which, the mystics so jealously guarded...
Then, perhaps, he might too ascend?
For, in all reality, at the very end,
All is thrown off...the very body discarded.
Therefore I will choose my own finality.
I give my remaining days to old worn steps
Enclosed in rock, a turret that silhouettes
Against an endless sky; and if it should be
That I find such hallowed battlements
Give aging legs the strength to slowly climb,
To praise the celestial and sublime,
When reaching up where my God frequents.
For though those stars seem out of reach,
Unattainable by grand, omnipotent design,
Nevertheless I am thusly to be inclined
To offer up a prayer and unto him beseech:-
"Immortal father who created mortal man,
Ye who sits above all earthly thrones,
Give unto me old tools and rubbled stones,
And I shall endeavour to do what I can...
To rebuild that abandoned, crumbled tower...
For, Lord, be it only by dreams men are
Truly empowered"!
I have a friend by the name of Tim,
He keeps in shape when frequents the gym.
His Kelly green Mustang he drove
And smack'd it into a cove.
The witches got him and ate one of his limbs!
Dorian Petersen
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2014
October,5,2014
I am the crocheting granny,
the one who carries ample hooks
within a floral bag and yarn-a-plenty,
making baby blankets from how-to books.
I am the crocheting granny,
who looks forward to learning new stitches,
creating patterns of colorful design,
until I stumble upon some glitches.
I am the crocheting granny
who frequents all the hobby stores,
searching for sales to satisfy my need
as I walk briskly through their doors.
I am the crocheting granny
who enjoys attending baby showers,
sharing my hand-made gifts with delight
which my fingers worked for hours.
I am the crocheting granny,
finding delight in all my projects,
spanning over the years,
cherishing my hobby objects.
December 14, 2017
If our love is a sin, then heaven must be full of such tender and selfless sinning as ours— Radclyffe Hall
Explore themes of love and identity
Of Stephen Gordon’s innate sense of masculinity
Since a child, her desire, ‘women’
The idea that if love is considered a sin
The unfolding of a female sexual invert
The act of loving must be a tender selfless act, revert?
Love itself is not inherently sinful or
complexities of love, we shan’t ignore
But rather the circumstances surrounding it
Misfits from Malvern to London and then to Paris!
Ira furor brevis, the frailty, taboo and strife
Fellow q***r characters, all walks of life
From the *sapphic salon hostess Valérie Seymour
To the 'miserable army' and more
of outcasts that frequents the 'merciless
Drug-dealing, death-dealing' bars of Montmartre
Written in another time, still support and solidarity to
generations of LGBTQ genre
*Sapphic is an umbrella term for same-gender loving women or woman-aligned people, including lesbians and bisexual+ women. It is used to describe topics, activities, and ideas related to same-sex attraction among women. The term can also refer to the Greek lyric poet Sappho.
Pain Of The Night
There is a short story of Hemingway’s
Called “A Clean Well-Lighted Place”.
An old widower in a small Spanish town
Nightly frequents a café until it closes down.
Behind his back, some of the waiters deride
Him, because the widower had attempted suicide.
One married waiter complained repeatedly,
That because of him they couldn’t ever close early.
However one older waiter had more sympathy,
Because like the old man, he had no family.
The old waiter understood that pain in the night,
Could be held back in a place that’s clean and bright.
I remember when I was single and free to roam,
And later as a soldier deployed far from home,
That old message of Ernest Hemingway’s
About needing a clean well-lighted place.
Without love and family, life seems just sleep and work.
Solitude is most oppressive sitting in the dark.
Our connection to others helps keep us alive;
Gives us meaning and a reason to survive.
So if you have nobody, and feel the pain of the night,
Surround yourself in a place that’s clean and bright.
Fare thee be well to stranger and kin
Another story do tell of Universal Law them
Signal frequents sent in alternating from him
All in regards to glowing of little gem
She wraps her arms around the dark of the night
Encompassing in him and all around him is her light
Nine personalities there do be
All creating the one in thee
Understanding and hearing them all
Requires the one to build a proper wall
They be the building blocks in you
Seven see; A, E, I, O, and U
All be parts of the fellowship ring you
I – ntelligence Supreme supplying energy behind all steam
E- go driven attitude is mentally meant to allude
A – lpha has spoken and only heard by thee awakened
E – motional feelings multiplying by floor and ceiling
I – mpulse sensitivity senses all mirror double dealing
O – rigination of desires conspire or inspire both indeed start fires
U – nderlying seed does feed the one base need
Next side be side these two titans see
Thor or Asgard, The Thunder Hammer of desires origination
And, Thee lovable Hulk, Harmonic underlying seed lacking knowledge is base need
Thrust into battle they go
These be their armies in tow
Having many different names though
Hulk and Thor’s higher and lower self
All four picked from amongst these
Blocks that be on the shelf
Being amongst these ye can perceive
As well as retrieve
Words that appear in tea’s leaves
These warriors do be
Constants these
Armies all ye B, C, D…
F, G, H, J, K, L, M, N, P, Q, R, S, T, V, W, X, Y, Z
Multiples of three
Be in rhapsody
Bridal Party- what horses have when they get new saddles
al dente' vegetables- vegetables hard enough to dent your teeth
Oregano- the Italian section of a northwestern state
John Doe- a hooved animal that frequents prostitute deer
Civil Defense- fighting off an aggressor politely
Plaster of Paris- an extremely strong French cognac
Macaroni and Sneeze- a person allergic to pasta
Mushrooms- rooms for people to sit in and feel sorry for themselves
Shock and Awe- someone who says "Awe, shucks!" when they watch you stick
your finger in an electric socket
Love Seat- a person's fondness for sitting down.
"Quality Time"- an expensive Rolex
"Strip Mall"- a shopping mall for nudists
Console Organ- trying to make your sorrowful electric organ feel better
Poison Ivy- giving strychnine to your hen-pecking wife Ivy
"Justifiable Homicide"- killing "Billy Mays" of TV commercial infamy
"Shipping and Handling"- mysterious outrageous charges for "free" stuff
"Foster Child"- an adolescent drinking Australian Foster Lager beer
"Law Practice"- Why are they still practicing? When will they get to know it?
"Trick or Treat"- whether you are the "Hooker" or the "John"
Remember- sometimes I add more to these, so check back every once in awhile.
Anyone is welcome to add their's....we are "family", after all. tom
He visits the coffee shop every week
On Thursday, his personal treat
Buys skinny latte, with biscotti
Then takes his regular seat
In the alcove, by the window
Sits to watch the world go past,
With book taken from his ‘man-bag’
Settles, to enjoy his repast
He used to come in with his ‘Mrs’
Now he frequents on his own,
Looking out of the window, and reading
He’s content with sitting alone
Odd times, when the shop is busy
Someone will take up the opposite chair
Some, if inclined, he’ll talk to
Most, he won’t notice are there
He’s happy in his own world
Simply, just getting by
At times, he looks so lonely
It breaks my heart, and I could cry
There must be others, in the world like him
Widowed, divorced, estranged,
Who keep on going through the ‘old routine’,
Living in fear of change
Acting out the old adage of ‘life goes on’
When they lose husband, partner or wife,
Sticking with the same day to day regimes
To help them muddle through life
Maintaining the familiar,
Can help you to stay strong,
Until the day you find yourself ready for change;
You’ll feel the time’s right to move on
Until that day for ‘The Man in the Window’ arrives
He’ll keep visiting every week,
Persisting in his habitual routine
To find the solace he seeks
For now, he sips the last of his coffee,
Neatly packs away his tome;
With a nod of farewell to the barista’s
Solitarily, leaves, to head home.
I spotted a robin among many birds in my garden mead
Tilting its head this side and that, looking for some feed
It wasn't to satisfy its hunger but for its young ones to be fed
It had lovely feathers all over in colors of black and red
I have found its nest on a tall tree by my house’s side
It frequents my garden to catch the ladybirds in hide
Having a lively home with fledglings not yet ready for flight,
Flying to them with worms tucked in its beak is a usual sight
From branch to branch it flits, singing songs merry
With its sharp beak, pecking at clusters of red cherry
On rainy days in inclement weather, once when it is wet,
Smoothens its ruffled feathers staying under leaves, so quiet
Sitting close to its nest, every day it sweetly sings
I wonder if it is to announce the arrival of spring
Or is it singing lullabies to put its babies to sleep
Whatever it be, its song resonates in valleys deep
In my ears as the lovely strains of its melody fall to rest
All my vexations go to roost, making me feel so blest.
As I keep listening, my gloomy self with fresh comfort fills
And my sentient heart, with overwhelming joy thrills
Feb.10. 2023
A Simple Pleasure Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Julia Ward
The muddle of sleep—
The grand entrance to Morpheus' legendary palace
In whole or half a tablet;
Easy breaths of chemicals
In pretty, light-refracting bottles.
I prepare myself for an escorted journey
To where dreams float from their origin
Like glossy bubbles through netted neurons
I am the keeper of sedatives—
An expert in manoeuvring through fallen thoughts
Don't they know I need sleep too?
I need this perceived travel through time
To kiss my lips—
To enter slowly with its glowing tongue
And seduce my mind into a comfortable numbness—
To lug it, like a limp body,
Away from the sounds of rubber through rain
Onto a restful shore.
Yes,
I do vie
For my senses to trip, drunkenly,
Over one and other
Like a vague rolling wave in cloudy space.
It is actually a religion
Or maybe I'm confusing it with religious consumption—
Swallowing rotund solidity
Like a whore swallows fluidity.
This is not ecstasy
This is prescribed tranquility, so it's OK.
Okay, and infinitely sweeter,
Because it does not put me in a hot air balloon
With a finite fire.
I don't ever need to descend;
Just open my eyes to the sun through my blinds
Society is dancing on my back
Across my stomach
Trying to expel the demon inside me.
I love these molecular robots;
They drift with a purpose and close the dock
Where insomnia frequents.
Afternoon shakes off grogginess,
The invisible lotus leaf
Stamped on my brow,
And pulls me up the conscious ladder.
I don't want to be here.
Circles of slumber—those precious pills
Are always as good as I want them to be—
As I beg them to be—
As I need them to be.
There we were all ready to climb Catbells
this climb we'd done some years ago
so thought we needed no map or direction
the weather was lovely the sky so aglow
A crowd was there seemingly on same way
followed along not needing to ask
came to route block off but walked on
never asked had to go back this quite a task
Found the correct signpost and took the route
upwards it was now all along the way
beautiful scenery evident to all around
divinity created all this in a single day
We all need to read God's holy book
so to find the only way to home
never to think we don't need direction
for God's word is our sure word alone
Speak to God open your tongue
make your plea to His majesty on high
ask for His sovereign plan for you
for He knows your days before you die
These are spiritual lessons for our good
revealed through life's every day events
God speaks through our every moments
for in them He always daily frequents
(Was on holiday a few months ago in Lake District and made effort to climb Cat Bells, one of our fav Fell(hill) climbs having done it many years ago, after coming down thought on some spiritual lessons learnt from the events of that day.)
A lady who frequents downtown
Wears a frown like a circus clown
One day she fell
And bloody hell
She wore a big smile (upside down)!
Illinois, Winter of 1920
Fair crystal-like turquoise crowns o'er heartland
while townsfolk are quite briefed on purchasing,
for those who dressed warmly had only planned,
meant shopping, browsing, eat-out ere praying.
While townsfolk are quite briefed on purchasing,
comparing, what's-in, plus what's-not, prattling,
meant shopping, browsing, eat-out ere praying,
stained-glass color-filled lights, and choir singing.
Comparing, what's-in, plus what's-not, prattling,
whilst child-filled dreams on pews awaiting toys,
stained-glass color-filled lights, and choir singing
trained their soprano voice from youthful boys.
Whilst child-filled dreams on pews awaiting toys,
countenance donning smiles midst fellow poise,
trained their soprano voice from youthful boys,
stretched course nineteen-twenty cores Illinois.
Countenance donning smiles midst fellow poise,
frequents childhood thoughts freshly occasions,
stretched course nineteen-twenty cores Illinois,
precedes squandered Asians, midst Caucasians.
Frequents childhood thoughts freshly occasions,
changed Santa and elf wrapped presents then hid,
precedes squandered Asians, midst Caucasians,
sung winter songs nigh ice pond where'd we skid.
Changed Santa and elf wrapped presents then hid,
blinking light-hues rounds decked-out scented tree,
sung winter songs nigh ice pond where'd we skid,
Santa plus elf served glazed doughnuts and tea.
Blinking light-hues rounds decked-out scented tree,
for those who dressed warmly had only planned,
Santa plus elf served glazed doughnuts and tea,
fair crystal-like turquoise crowns o'er heartland.
2020 December 18
It is the extraordinary privilege of human beings
It does not in the least affect other living beings
Its peculiarity is that it prods only the intellectuals
And discounts idiots and enlightened as exceptions.
It is only the sensitive and sensible who succumb
While the stupid and useless treat it with aplomb
This proves that too much of thinking is no good
Lest boredom bug may attack and that is no good.
One may take pride in being very knowledgeable
And suffer the frequents bites of the boredom bug
Or dumbly admit being stupid and an ignoramus
And rejoice in the low bliss that ignorance confers.