Best Girlish Poems
Passing through framed windows like ours,
I recall your tales of reckless war and lost friends
that burned your innocence at 21... and though
you claimed flashes of courage, moist eyes
poured vulnerability looking calm, undaunted.
We both searched deeply into our souls
as a father is to his young daughter, that I wanted
to let you know, it was alright;
but that mound of shoulders turned away.
Down the years as officer and gentleman,
Time stole long weeks, absent from your dining chair,
leaving me resentful and bitter on hardened sills
until you arrive under crawling dock of stars.
But in free moments, how you cherished
me so; waking my cheeks at 3 am to race the winds,
to fly with a shooting neon, laughing with a blue moon.
You spoke of faith and honor if life dared a shame, oh
mild scent of your arms cuddling my girlish dreams...
until off you rode suddenly on heaven’s wheel.
I see you through all framed windows like ours,
that even if my iced breaths needed you more
as small flowers thirsted for rain, my anger was a cry
for love’s company... “ I have adored you
in moments of distance and nearness, if not
always, then for all eternity.”
Have I forgotten to open this, my soft, broken sigh?
Dad, everything is all right.
Ir0nic Zink's Your Personal Favorite Poem Contest
Resubmitted 5/19/2017
Categories:
girlish, father, introspection, words,
Form:
Free verse
Blades of grass, wet under foot, insect eyes
Dusk, offset by the cricket orchestra
Muted and receding into the trees and bushes,
Tickled by the wind, rattling snake tail wind
While we may be in the company of wolves,
A long legged friend is late for the party
Eyes, little iridescent stars
Attending to each one, and look there,
There she is, making the most beautiful geometry
Parallels within the octagons, pulling silks
An arm for every task, little perpetual motion machine
Is that the Queen of the Night under the rusted iron?
A forlorn lady, black patent leather, kill a man, maybe two
With her danger red symmetry, oozing with youth
And a penchant for paralysis, no one can resist her wine
Then there's the hall of cob webs, threadbare handkerchiefs
Left by ladies who exhausted all of their company
To be a spectacle under the moon, in the wood pile
Dressed up in the finest furs, all earth tones
Stepping out to introduce themselves in girlish droves
Venus of another sort, these little cursed jezebels
Hovering on the skin of the water, or on the red brick wall
Must frequent every happy corner, and slip away at a moment's notice
A real lady always knows when to say goodnight
Such graceful exits through cement cracks
Back to the parlor, to glow in the dark
And they become spiders again
Categories:
girlish, animal, girl, metaphor, night,
Form:
Free verse
Pigtails loosen yet messed,
twisted by pliant fingertips
of evening’s devilry…
tracing her budding breasts,
embers gleam from a lamplight, dim…
his jerked breathing quickens to rake
this young, tender flesh---
from pink , blood red, to pale yellow... despicable!
Invading her territory,
the blister of muffled silence
grates adolescent wails,yet…
crazed feasting of desire remains.
She quivers under a toppled quilt
brushed in wounded cotton...despicable!
And while darkness slides on metal frame,
he riles, riles with abandon,
grinning under a sinister moon
arsenic as the sweat of male hunger
to ravage a girlish body... trembling, trembling
while her cupped mouth stutters,
‘Please step-dad, no!’
‘Hush…dear baby, I am your angel,
guarding you from evil wolves..despicable!
Quietly, he pins the knob of conquest
until the frail child's porcelain doll
splatters on the floor, and then…
.............
Re-Posted /1/2017
Contest: Let's Talk About It
Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux
Categories:
girlish, abuse, evil, girl,
Form:
Free verse
The murmur of winds urges me
to ride past new moon’s seasons …
it’s not joy I shall feed on; no, perhaps
a more raw wildfire: a glaze bursting in the dark
or morn of life as is; this craving to sow my girlish
harvest with a nectar of mindful knowing, of aging;
sweet-sour yet somewhat delectable...
Then to gather new seeds, wait for grass and toil
in fireglow over hills and oceans, clutching all
the epiphanies that shall hold me together.
Brian Strand Premiere Contest 130
Re- posted 2/25/2018
Categories:
girlish, desire, future, life,
Form:
Free verse
I drown you in wine, the goddamn squatter
who lives in me. Flow, Lethe, dark and deep!
But even through a drunken dreamless sleep,
like a nude drowned man in see-through water,
the memory is seen… That very sunny
day on the river, tender girlish hands
doing my back with sunscreen, lots of plans
for future, reckless air, easy money,
the coolness of the depth… All of a sudden
a spasm! a cramp!
a zigzag
lightning
pain!
that lit up something? someone? I would fain
forget but the remembrance, mixed with blood in
my veins, with coldest sweat in my nightmares,
stayed in for good… The rescue team did well:
I’m still alive but, tell me, why the hell
I often feel like going downstairs
to river beach, undressing, diving deeper
under the water and taking a breath?
The habitant inside of me shrugs: “Death
is quite familiar to every sleeper
and swimmer. Death is, so to speak, a river
which flows from the future to the past,
a metaphor of time. Don’t look aghast
at this phenomenon but you should quiver
in fear just thinking of the one you saw
down there, at the bottom of your soul.
Who could this be? Don’t look through the keyhole
of the imaginary but real door
between realities”…
Or I just think
he says it, and the truth is I did sink
long time ago.
Categories:
girlish, death, fear, river,
Form:
Rhyme
Waking up, in a light gray four poster bed.
With flowers and ribbons, painted
on the ceiling above my head.
.
Satin slippers and a robe, so soft.
A young girl, I feel when I do recall......
Those decades ago, those tender memories
that are never lost!
.
The walk down the soft, rose-colored,
carpeted stairs,
I honestly felt as a princess belonging to a
great monarchy somewhere.
Each time I glided down those circular stairs,
so rare!
.
I ate in the breakfast nook, on the most elegant
ivory wood table, I ever saw.
With a maple hutch with priceless nic nacs
and family photographs.
.
The milk was delivered to the back door.
In glass! No wax, faux de raul.
The tablecloth was always clean.
And heavenly pressed. Mom had fresh
flowers on it, or seasonal decor.
Outside, the grass was soft like God's
carpet, so green,so summer fresh!
I loved my bare feet, running through it.
An gigantic umbrella, was there in a table
of course.
Bright golden yellow outside, inside of it a
veritable bevy of flowers.
That table so outstandingly white~
It so reflected the innocence of my very
blessed days and full starlit nights.
I did my homework in the dining room
on a polished mahogany dining room table.
Above me a sparkling crystal chandelier.
Below me, i rested on dark, thick,green
velvet cushions.
Yes, life was more than good to me.
To recall these young girlish days
with you, ah!
I do so quite happily, through a
poetic lens of time.
With you, my beloved, new poetry
family.
January 21, 2020
6:30am PST
Special acknowledgement to Robert Lindley, who
had the kindness to inform me by Soupmail of
typo errors, I had missed! Gratefully, PR xx
Categories:
girlish, child, emotions, house, me,
Form:
Free verse
“Who am I,” asked the Bunyip. “What am I doing here?”
“Please tell me,” begged the Bunyip,” for my purpose isn’t clear.”
“No answer!” came the stern reply; “You’ll get no help from me!”
Poor Bunyip, he began to cry, “Doesn’t anyone know me?”
And thus he went a-wandering, searching far and wide
For someone who could put an end to his longing, deep inside.
One day, he found a piece of glass, discarded by a lake.
He gazed into its surface … OH! That was his big mistake!
For in that glass, he met Himself … the image struck him dumb;
No-one could love that ugly mug! (Except perhaps his Mum …)
So, overcome by black despair, the poor old Bunyip sobbed.
The tears poured down his warty cheeks, and ran into his gob.
He cried all night, and then all day, and then all night again.
The rain it poured, the wind it howled as if to voice his pain …
Then suddenly emerged a shape, out of the Primal Soup,
Round and warty … big and black … The Bunyip was cock-a-hoop!
“Who am I?” asked the creature,
(In strangely girlish voice.)
The Bunyip’s pulse began to race …
His lumpy heart rejoiced …
“What am I?” begged the creature.
“Oh! I WISH that I could see!”
“You’re a Bunyip!” cried the Bunyip,
“And you look, … well,
“Just like ME!”
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;
A bunyip, as our Aussie members will know, is a mythical creature - or is it?
They are said to inhabit small ponds, and are lovable - but not handsome ...
Categories:
girlish, allegory, children, funny, love
Form:
Couplet
I am jealous
of everything that has ever touched you,
the breaths of hot sunshine that have soothed your cheeks with hope,
the moonlight that has painted your lips with lilly silver,
the darkness that has calmed you into soft slumber,
the rain that has pelted your flesh with sky splash,
the breeze that has lifted your hair with seductive intent,
Jealous of every temptation that has made your soul sweat,
every secret that has sworn obedience to your obsessions,
every kiss that has taken a taste of your sweet heat
every man that has collapsed into your romance,
every mouth that has spoken your name with awe
every second that has circled your psyche,
every particle that has pranced through your bloodstream,
every emotion that enlivens your ego,
every knot of knowledge that supports your smarts,
every star that has caught your girlish wishes,
every tear that slides faithfully from the pink rims of your eyelids,
every cut that has silenced your pride,
Jealous of every thing
that has left you, fed you, led you, entered you,
yet, I am grateful for all these odd and splendid things
that have known your beauty and pain,
for they have made my need for you real
and your love for me possible,
this jealousy is my love hypocrisy -
J.A.B.
Categories:
girlish, appreciation, beauty, best friend,
Form:
Epic
Luneta, I used to almost venerate you once
but glassy skyscrapers have put you away…
still, I kept the fragrant lawns deep in my bones,
with Muppet tricks and hazy star-gazing.
Although recollections pump on my mind,
you’ve transformed, you’ve changed...
I buried you away till on mellow, rainy days
memories pass …just like kites in the evening
or those riotous, girlish escapades
igniting shadow-plays to all come out…
and everything is drowned in retrospection.
Tonight, I visit your new ponds and clinch my hand
because for all my affinity to remembrances,
it's the shadow of childhood, of impish friends
that make the most languishing stories.
2/20/2016
Contest of Craig Cornish: The Park
*Luneta (Rizal)Park ~ one of the most historic
areas in our city
Categories:
girlish, nostalgia, places,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
The second coming of age,
is like the
softened beauty
of the color s a g e;
rich in mellowed warmth
graced with shades and shines of subtleties,
savvy and seasoned
with greater depth and perception.
No longer a blur of girlish green...
rather,
the continuum of time,
has tinkered with colors;
fine-tuning the mindful hues -
balancing contrasts and intensities,
blending and smoothing
the not-so-gently honed edges
of life's tints and tones.
Continuance creates a mature perspective
worthy of viewing
nuances in the palette of life.
Yes,
the burnished beauty
of the color s a g e,
like the second coming of age,
is easy to take.
The bright pigments of colorful youth
are muted by mistakes.
For wisdom gained,
the price is paid
in the aged
and ripened patina
of the color
s a g e ~
my second coming of age.
Susan Ashley
July 20, 2017
~ Eighth Place ~
Premiere Contest: Patina
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Categories:
girlish, appreciation, change, color, confidence,
Form:
Free verse
I miss you at the start of every day
I miss you when the stars come out to play
I miss you in the languid afternoon
I miss you in the blazing heat of noon
I miss you in my dreamless midnight hour
I miss you when I'm sad and life is dour
I miss you when I'm happy and at rest
I miss you when I think of all that's best
I miss you, dear, I miss those sparkling eyes
I miss that giggle and your girlish wiles
I miss your curly locks of jet black hue
I miss the dimpled beauty that is you
I miss you, girl, no one can heal this ache
If I don't see you soon, my heart will break
So come on home; have pity on my soul
It's only when you're near that Mama's whole.
Eileen Manassian
Categories:
girlish, daughter, i miss you,
Form:
Quatrain
Back when girlish daydreams
rode the ether like coal-glowy-clouds
my featly feet kept a beat in spring grass
as I flounced with Romany winds—
breezy-gypsy-lips brushed my cheek
as I whirled in his imaginary arms
‘til I fell over on pillows of clover…
white fields of clover did pillow my dreams
as slow-motion-cumulus shape-shifted
into what I wanted to see
I found you where you stood
a wizard-well made of stone
there you sang
your mouth O-pen
like the eye-of-the-storm
and oh— with fluent depth
your slippery rime beguiled my mind
June wind— a flowy fifer
blew across your rounded rim—
folksy-fife twisted petticoat heartstrings…
my wishes stitched my seams bewitched
—hopes bloomed
like soft-stemmed peonies twined
by choke-hold-vines
in the season before my summer solstice
when skirt-pleats still hid shy knees
how was I to know
wishing for lambs from edelweiss
was as fictive as sugarcane unicorns
so I dared not damage the magic
with doubt’s dent
as I cast blindfolded coins
weighed down with cinder-block-hope
in fealty to a wishing-well deity
who made ethereal echoes of my name
—yet callous your schemes pitching dreams
as empty now as this fool but for my shame
back then life was unmapped—until clover fields
became sneak-away-streets paved with your name
where remains of yesterday’s wishes lay
like burned-out cars along couldn’t-care-less curbs
Categories:
girlish, dream, innocence, life, longing,
Form:
Free verse
She walks away.
Girlish and glorious
laughter
floats
through air
like a kite on a string
that pulls
tautly slipping through tightened fingers,
burning a little,
and slicing through
if ever left unattended,
so preciously tensioned
against the cold
benumbing
wind.
Tears begin to flow
but I do not know . . .
my heart?
or the wind?
If my heart, then am I sad
to be here on the ground
or joyful
to be watching the kite
fly?
In answer, a quivering.
A wisp.
"She will not fall or float away while I hold her thus.
She will be beautiful for me."
Wondrous.
Categories:
girlish, devotion, hope, imagination, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
She held on to her blue jeans
From our younger, college days
With peace signs painted on each back pocket
And that worn-almost-every-day fade
But thirty years and four grown kids
Changed her girlish shape
Still those jeans hung in our closet
In a most prominent place
She dreamt of one day wearing them again
Pouring herself inside them like before
I tried to always reassure her
It’s the woman inside that I adore
Now illness has a way
Of removing unwanted pounds
Though not the way she planned it out
She could fit them on again she found
The quilt we made in her memory
Has many patches from times in her life
The peace signs on denim pockets
Are the patches that I most like
Categories:
girlish, lifepeace, peace,
Form:
Rhyme
The girl and her smile straddle the rainbow
neon hair the fluid cascades of northern lights
seafoam cloak the ripples outgrown by the shore
she adores the breeze adorned with gems
emeralds fly from silk strings in the wind
kites made of ruby and sapphire and pearl
sit on a picnic checkerboard in envy-green grass
betting on play-dates with zephyrs
—dice cubes roll beady-black-eyes at their folly
she chases books as they sail from trees
fingers stretch to net helter-skelter hummingbirds
she leafs through slices of fruitcake
each nutty page a silver frame of insane;
crows croon Crosby tunes
two baby paisley owls drive a car
the car does a hop-scotch down bourbon street
field-mouse-flowers meow
the moon jumps over the cow
…she sings “the world needs more bumblebees!”
as a two-masted schooner scries water for its soul
the palm of a leaf offers a diamond ring
palm trees pull up anchor and hover the sunset
she laughs as nuns ride upside-down the roller-coaster rim
her dreamcatchers sticky and tricky as spiderwebs
as virgins lose the reins of sugar-cookie-horses
tilling confetti seeds growing puppet gardens
where Dali wombs and peacock plumes bloom
Categories:
girlish, dream, fantasy, fun, imagery,
Form:
Free verse