Best Glands Poems
On March fourteenth, the day of pi
I pined to buy an apple pie
A python spied me at the door,
a sharp-eyed pirate on the floor
Oh piebald pipe of piety
Do not aspire to piracy!
A spiny pain will occupy
My poor pylorus pining pie
Pied piper pyromaniac
Porkpie in hand, applies attack
A pyrite spark to light became
Papyrus lit and fanned the flame
The python backs, afraid of fire
The piker fears a funeral pyre
He'd be expired and unprepared
To cipher circles pi r squared
Our pineal glands made pie-eyed plans
And Pontius Pilate washed his hands
A pile of pilots can't deny
I occupied my day with pi
October 25, 2014
Rhymed iambic tetrameter
There are 35 "pi" sounds. Can you find them all?
In a moment of understandable frustration with me,
My wife demanded to know what I really believed in.
I thought for a minute, tear glands filling,
"The essential goodness of my parents."
My mother was a child of the great city of Philadelphia,
In hard times in a hard family, soon to fracture,
She withdrew from the days when her father would leave his little girls
In the car all afternoon in back alleys near the taverns,
From which he would emerge, full of volume and vomit.
She grew through school, emerging herself to be a wonderful mom,
To kindle her children's interest in the physical world,
Geology, astronomy, physics, and the patterned realms
Of painting, music, and poetry.
She showed me that she loved me.
She showed me that parents were people.
She showed me that parents were fallible,
That not everything could be controlled,
And that that was okay too.
My father was a child of the land,
Of farming in the age of innocence,
Long ago down in the southern part of the state of Indiana.
He knew of seeds, of frost, of the earth and time,
Of rock and root, of wind and drought and rain.
He never complained about rain - we kids didn't like the muddy yard
That was supposed to be a football field - he'd say,
"Tell you what - I'll take the rain. I've seen the other."
The most honest man I know, the most honest person that could ever be,
He watched the night sky with me when I said, "Moon and tar."
He took me to a hardware store on a stormy summer Saturday,
Dark clouds coming close, in a car with the thicker sheet metal of the old days.
Just as we parked, the first raindrops, that irregular rhythm, compelling,
"Hey Doug! Would you listen to that rain?! Let's just sit here for a while."
We sat with the rain on the roof as it began in earnest,
That rain of a thousand thousand hits,
A million baby birds doing their firecracker tap dance above us,
That rain that has lasted me the rest of my life.
December 31, 2016.
For Brenda Chiri-Carroll's contest - 'Who has inspired you most in your life.'
Summer says so long as glorious autumn takes it place
Less humidity and cooler nights puts smiles on our face
Cloudy fall wet days give relief from the hot blazing sun
Spectacular fall colors have only just wondrously begun
A previously soft velvet lawn is sadly now a hoar frost crunch
Squirrels dashing frantically collecting nuts for winters munch
Trees boastfully showing off their multi-colorful leaves so grand
While a wonderful cascading light snow beautifully coats the land
Sweat glands sigh in relief as shivering becomes the norm
Bracing ourselves for the transition as the seasons transform
Needing gloves to keep icy fingers warm on our daily walks
Observing abundant harvest displays mixed with corn stalks
The shortening days lets the moon have it's grateful turn
To shine in brilliance more often until summer does return
9/26/2015
~For Shadow Hamilton's Seasonal - Poetry Contest ~
I'm very small
I am called Standing Tall
My story to be read as i live through it all.
Our Dakota lands are forest and vast
Where our ancestors have hunted
From long in the past.
Our tribes are, a confederation of seven
With our language of Lakota, Sioux heaven
We stand proud as we remember our past
And look to our gods, to make it all last.
A silhouette on the prairie hill i see
This shape in the distance is new to me
As we sleep in the night, we hear guns and blows
We arise from our camp, to look for the noise
We creep on the prairie to their surprise
Under the moon, where the land would flow
No longer the Buffalo.
We mount our ponies to challenge these men
What gives them this right to kill and maim
Bodies of beasts, furs cut away
Missing heads, a ghastly slay.
On reaching their camp our bows stretched
Arrows screech, hit the wretched
Watch them fall to the prarie floor
Just like the Buffalo did hours before.
Years have passed as we are moved from our lands
These poisonous men, and their poisonous glands
Bringing illness fever and strife
Ending many a Lakota life.
We reach a point in History
Which made the white man sit up and see
Their Golden Child General George Custer
And the Little Big Horn, my what a disaster.
Arapaho, Cheyenne and us Lakota too
Sliced the Blue Jackets, their Scouts too
The US Cavalry would have their glee
At the Battle Of Wounded Knee
Where Siiting Bull would finally rest
Standing Tall's story last's the test
If we Indians had the same resources
Like the silhouette on the hill
These praries we always had. would be ours still.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/native-americans.php
Turtle
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Some people see the turtle as a beautiful creature.
The turtle, a survivor, is one of the oldest know creature
that has been around for a million years.
They come in many sizes and colors, but they are all the same a turtle.
It might be slow but it doesn’t rush into things and make mistakes.
It has a long longevity and enjoys life for many years.
Their own survival is built into them.
They carry their home with him so they are protected at all times.
They play peek a boo from out of his window when he doesn’t want to be seen
The shell is developed from their ribs and acts as a shield like Adam & Eve.
In some, temperature determines if the egg will break into a male or female.
That would be nice if we could manage the same.
Sea turtles have special glands which help remove salt from the water they drink.
Some are rare and endangered.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
that is why some people even wear them as tattoos
By eve roper 10/15/2014
Fever dreams and rusted scissors. There’s only two ways to look at this night. I awake only to have a gritty taste of bone dust in my throat. A reminder of events past. Sweating plagues, rebuilding strength for the hunt that’s to come. I can barely open my eyes. Thoughts of old cloud my judgment. I shouldn’t think these things, but the thoughts commence infernally. My glands are swollen. I know there’s an infection within, Viral?? Mental? I’ve seen these nightmares up close and have fed deep into their madness. It’s autumn now and yet I long to sit in the garden. Bleed upon the stone, Lost in lucid trance. No more memories, no more hauntings. I must purge these inside weaknesses to start anew. Arise structured forms, sway and move at my command for I am creator. This sickness shall fall and wither as the leaves of change. Skin, fall, wither so the insects will consume. Light dwelling within must surface and speak. I no longer fear change, I embrace it.
Spread my ashes in the bloom of nature’s glow, for Memories on wings of a hymn shall be rebirth. Give power to symbols and names. The children swarm down the swamp’s end, Awaiting the movement. Unsung, Blood fills our lungs as we go. The whispers from the dead keep me up at night. There’s fear outside your door. That the devil may bite. Reside in my garden and drink deep the waters of my insanity.
Buried within one’s self is the creator of existence. A god inside an animal. Acknowledgments bring growth. Watch it flourish.
Crawling along the sidewalk,
his tiny legs wiggling along
with his wriggling, squiggly body,
he creeps me out!
If he survives the elements
or the stampede of hard-soled monster feet
upon his too-soft squishy body,
he will perform a disappearing act!
Spewing sticky strands
from glands near his mouth,
he twists himself into an ugly shell
hidden and hanging from a common twig.
Shedding skin, he slowly reveals
his chrysalis self.
At last,
his inner beauty, that rare beauty in disguise,
will have changed before our amazed eyes
into the colorful radiant wings
of a splendid butterfly!
Written Jan. 4, 2016 and pretty much my only free verse so far this year!
Purple leather turtles
Smoking hippy rats
Gastric glands
Secrete Orange Juices
Leave my stomach
Swim in land.
Cauliflower hairy clouds
Pouring purple rain,
Heavy inches
Salt dry water
Sad the clown
Drowns again.
Mushroom confusion
Stop long haired ants,
Angry bitten leaves curse
Paparazzi popping plants.
Slow feline drivers
Married canine sky divers,
Jump outside
Hot left shoe.
Cell phone starts ringing
Soprano liver singing
Strange writings
Because of you.
Hush rush
Drink liquid Ink
Flamingo thoughts
Dream is pink,
One pill
Black rainbows will
To purposely get lost.
On the Greatest country on this Earth
The American, country of their birth
Sioux, Cree Apache
Native Indians all of thee
For generations they hunt and live
Summer bloom, Winter sieve
Move their tribe on freedom lands
Explorers show their poisonous glands
Spaniards, British French too
Expect to take your lands from you
Many battles many deaths
Arrows against weaponry strength
Colonial life's as races bond
Indian kids haired blonde
Civilisation hope, wars fade
Has this great country made the grade
This country takes another turn
Neighbours, fight and burn
The North and South differ so
Free the slaves, let them go
Awesome words from Abe the man
Freedom to all, his major plan
But blinkered sight from those so grand
Who actually owns this wonderful land
Decades pass, the States grow
Neighbour hoods flourish - flow
American Hispanic, ***** too
Europeans like me and you
But sadly in the background mist
The most important has been missed
Do i need to tell you who they are?
Indigenous Man, your ultimate clan
They are The American
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/native-americans.php
Nasty Aussies
Nasty critters do we have
Under the Southern Cross
Deadly Funnel Web Spider
Deadly Blue ringed octopus
Box jelly fish might get you (deadly)
Great white shark eat you too (nice fella)
Our Redback spider nips a bit (burns like hot coal)
And Possums in the loo (toilet)
A Pelican will blurt on you (whitewash)
Cane toads come in the house (poison glands on back)
Sand goannas sucking eggs
Roo’s will punch you out
Pussycats they are perhaps
Paralyss tick gets you
Short arm snake attacks, gets slaps
The Shielas run off too
Don Johnson 15-may-11
‘When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives.’ - Lauren Eden
................................................
my pains depart not
even when my tear glands d r y
as sorrow remains my life’s most loyal friend
it bothers not to knock before drawing near
just since
I was wrested away from my mother’s breast
as she e x h a l e d
her last breath in creeping agony
two years after my father was jailed for life~
his crime
the same blood that now pulses within my veins
then....
hatred was s e w n
into a grim dress that h a u n t s
t o r m e n t i n g my nights and days,
never ceasing
my mouth
s t r i p p e d
as hunger cries pierced through my ribs
love~
a drifter who shuns my h o l l o w abode
yet sings with a l o u d voice in my friends’ homes
caressing
only when hatred
h i d e s a w a y
loitering in the streets,
refusing to
step
inside
my good friend~
when I smoke thick marijuana
draining strong gin bottles till nothing remains
when I sniff the white powder, chasing a trip
one that will carry me straight to my father
The first touch,
Soft gentle hands,
Those smooth lips,
Slowlying gliding against my glands,
Tips of the fingers,
Caressing my sides,
Hot romantic thoughts,
That begin to race, slide up,
From ankles to thighs,
Kissing that sweet spot,
As I close my eyes,
From thighs to breasts,
Kissing every inch up,
Stopping at the center,
To give them a bit of a suck,
Caressing them tenderly,
While massaging the rest,
Just for your body to feel,
As if your in thin air,
Steam and sweat,
Mixing as one,
Just that you will do anything,
And everything,
For that special someone...
Provoking thoughts
Satisfaction
For every action
Reaction
The thoughts of her man
Runs through her mind
Her inner pleasure
She craves to find
Bed back bare
Adventurous hands
Exploring her heaven
Inducing glands
The play of her
In creative pant
Sensuous in solo
Reaching chant
She calls his name
In rhythmic writhe
Body so pert
Her Rose the prize
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love2.php
Quote:"All art is autobiographical. The pearl is the oyster's autobiography".
Federico Fellini
The Taos Indian crafted jewel,
A necklace strung with jade and some other gems.
Looked so pretty to me, I bought it on the spot,
Presented it to my wife, which she never wore in her life.
Once I asked her, why don’t you wear that necklace?
You would look pretty in it and would arouse some romance.
She looked at me and asked, have you ever judged jewelry?
Whoever wears green stone jewelry, I would rather buy a pearl necklace.
What is so special about pearl necklaces?
Pearl harvesters find only in one percent of oysters,
Its layers of sand, glued in oyster’s glands,
Still women love the bright white lustier of beady pearls.
She is gone for many years, the jade necklace I keep in my heart,
It’s not the value of jewelry, it is what it is sentimentally worth,
She wore pearl and other jewelries, and tried to look her best,
If she had worn my gift necklace, she would have looked her best.
Now I adore her picture on the wall,
With the jewelry she did not like at all,
To me she looks the prettiest doll,
Wearing this precious jade jewel crafted by love.
A Porsche squats by the side of the road,
keys tucked in the ignition.
We stare at the coupe with our salivating glands…
this devilish hint revving our hidden pleasure.
Slowly, slowly we cross the street
on impulse, Roy and I open the door,
gliding our bodies unto the pompous seats
as wheels start the trip, reeling like a breeze.
Not a soul in sight; this is a twosome joy ride!
With nary a conscience, we ram this big-time treat;
sliding a playlist right down metal -rock road.
Then, boomed a noise louder than the soundtrack
popping flamed lights, sirens in the distance…
oh, we just wanted some naughty fun;
but, men with badges are after us now.
The timing and urge for adventure, too brief
Our luck written on crisscrossed stars…
beneath flashy neon, we got whacked,
Roy and I hauled a thief’s runaway car!
Carol Eastman's Humor Contest
by nette onclaud... * from the perspective
of two young men, partly fictional*
1/18/2015