Best Glassful Poems
Listen listen respected MAA
Forget my all mistakes
If I die for my nation
Open windows all the gates
So that soul of mine could enter
Could see father and you MAA
And sit down on lap MOM
To re feed your milk my MAA
And could ask all you
To forget my all evils
And forget my presence symbol
As I return to crush the perils
I remember early awakening
And remember glassful milk
I remember your calling
To wearing Kurta made of silk
Believe Believe and trust me MAA
I will return to serve the nation
Will rejoin beloved army
I remember milk your taken
* MAA (Hind) = Mother
Composed by :(c) Hariom Sharma, CFA
Source Book : Keep Smiling
Publisher: PJH Publications
E-MAIL : hari.cfa@gmail.com
For more poems please search "hariomsharmapoetry" on facebook
where lakh of poetry lover meet daily and scroll the page. Hare Ram.
https://www.facebook.com/hariomsharmapoetry/
Categories:
glassful, mother, patriotic,
Form:
Rhyme
I pop the cork, smell the perfume
the fragrance of grapes and
oranges, overwhelm me
nose now twitching
taste buds are
salivating
It's time
to
s
a
y
merry
christmas.
Categories:
glassful, christmas,
Form:
Shape
*Image of Santa Clause, Charlie Calvin by Giphy.
The Glass Orb
In an e'er thus oft agitated contorted crystalline world,
Unconsciously being tinseled by the energies that transpire,
Flurries of fakery enshroud the encircled glassful menagerie.
Indifferent minions from habit, obey the traumatic turbulence,
Revolving in every-which-way of an inescapable no bars prism.
Liquefied mirage a wintry desert of horned camels and pine dates.
Nevertheless, calming ceremoniously exhibits, abruptly emerge.
Ambiguity surrenders gracefully, necessitating the delusion,
There exists a well-treasured keepsake immortalized in a globe.
Adoringly exposed glittering peepers to overindulge in disbelief,
As a seasonal passage liberates a once boxed stored wonderment.
2019 November 25
*1st Place*
A Brian Strand 4 to 14 line
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2021 August 08
*1st Place*
Stuck in a Christmas Globe
~~Bobby May: Judged 2019 December 12
Categories:
glassful, christmas, symbolism,
Form:
Free verse
Be “blessed not stressed” yeah, that is the test,
Just a little bit o rest, that is my quest,
But the zest of the fest got me hard pressed,
There’s a pest in my breast, cardiac arrest,
My chest heavy like Mae West,
I confess, I’m distressed and a little depressed,
But I divest my unrest, priorities reassessed,
I request a glassful of the best, kindred spirits coalesced,
The fest repossessed with jest and all the best
Peace.
Categories:
glassful, christmas,
Form:
Rhyme
You hadn't had any forewarning
as you take a spoonful of
Granny's 12 alarm chili,
not knowing its the
calm before the storm
as its about to set off an alarm,
when you take your
first bite, you try to show delight,
as your inner thermostat soars
to solar flare like heights,
you feel like your going through
menopause again as you feel
waves of hot flashes,
and then like a volcano you hear
something rumbling as Mt. Derriere
starts releasing its gasses,
but its not just you but Granny too
so you don't feel quite so bashful,
as you quickly guzzle down water,
glassful after glassful,
she is just beaming and feels glad
that your visiting her as you
toot-toot like a one woman band,
and then you think to yourself
I didn't know Granny was musically inclined
hearing different sharp and flat notes
coming from her behind,
and to get rid of the smell that you have to quell
you start opening a couple of windows,
all the while making a mental note
which says, remember next time to
most definitely bring the beano!
Categories:
glassful, food, humor, silly,
Form:
Light Verse
Who discovered cows’ milk
Is rather good to drink?
Who squeezed a cow’s appendage
And said ‘I’ll try a glass I think’?
Who then discovered cottage cheese
Who took a spoon and tried
A glassful of that gone off milk
Now solidified?
Who then discovered stilton?
They must have been quite bold
To try some of that gone off cheese
Now covered in blue mould.
Who then discovered cheese cake?
Who was the very first
To take the solid gone-off milk
And put it in dessert?
Categories:
glassful, children, funny
Form:
Rhyme
i took a walk to the edge this morning
-saw the stars leap across the sky-
spaceships in a tight formation
-silver dressing on a purple pie-
i met a witchy earth queen at a bus stop
lookin' at me with big brown eyes..
ridin' by on her blue bi-cycle
sayin' i should remove my disguise..
psychedelia-take my number
psychedelic like a black cadillac
i met a girl at an empty bus stop
..psychedelia take me back..
i used to sit at the back of the classroom
lookin' left when the say look right..
sugar sandwich and a glassful o' madness..
why is everybody so uptight?
psychedelia-what's yo' number?
23-and i'm trapped inside!
7 colours in a midnight rainbow
i'm chasin' comets to release my pride..
psychedelia-what's yo' flavor?
i'm a lion/i'm an insect-right?
got a buddha on my broken shoulder
paradise in the sky at night...
psychedelia-what u believe in?
-10 of cups/give me peace at night-
met a witchy earth queen in a manger
my God above say i'm doin' alright..
i'm a misfit/rebellious soldier
kaleidescope/prismattikkal eyes
what u lookin' at? -i thought i told ya
i'm inspired as the Black Dove flies...
psychedelical/hermetikkal misfit..
hypothetical questions ariese
when u look into ur mirror
-do u like it?
do u know if your mind is alive?
Categories:
glassful, adventure, angst, art, me,
Form:
Free verse
After Amadioha went into sweet nightmares,
he made us to breath through the chest of the sea. from the celestial bodies of the shrine,
We shone our forefather's smile with a mirage,
a little littered mirage spelling words in ellipsis.
these were the rose crumbs tailored in the sand castle of our glassful laughter, we're the Palmful morning in the eyes of our home in the abyss.
when a child cries, he forgets that the route to
his home is written on his body as a tattoo.
when a girl thinks of gathering firewood in the heart of the forest, she thinks of her thigh &
the bushes surrounding it, nature made it so.
We do not think of our skin as a poetic of agony,
We do not think of our eyes as poetry letters
but we draw lines and currents of imaginations describing how rituals made men insane.
We carried out those prilgrim for the boys,
our forebearers made us cracked our head up,
they carved pumpkins traces for this generation; for this humble journey mixed with fire & water.
Our souls, our dreams were the Shakespearean places you never had the chance to see physical.
they are the rituals of nature, a side Sithoulte,
a wonder land created like a paradise you don't stay often but in your dreams & imageries.
We are birthed here as debris & plump scars,
a tortured lips holding the past & the present.
We are the foundation of everything evil spirits,
We were born in the ritual of a grievous war.
to say a human is a benchmark of his own,
to say a man is a mango dropping without a choice of where and how to touch the sand,
to say a man is everything fretwork of agony;
to say a men are slaughtered memories...
but to this edges of rites & repeated steps,
We'll remain the gospel from every mouth.
Our ancestral hands shall still set a table,
to tell the girlchild how to sit in a public hall
to hand over the shrine to the boychild
to tell man that he owns a woman as head.
to keep birthing good and ugly children.
our hope will always depict heavens glory
and, our darkest fears as the skin of hell.
And it must be passed down to the next
genes to tell the next & sand keep multiplying.
This is the ritual of mankind to remain alive.
©John Chizoba Vincent
From_A_Pen_Refusing_Frustrations.
Categories:
glassful, abortion, abuse, africa, age,
Form:
Blank verse
After a trying day, I find
That a dip in the realms of poetrysoup
Is like a warm bath with bubbles around
So relaxing,, so reviving of the mind -
Firstly I soap myself with words of others
Rinsing them off with a comment or two
Then I lie contented in a bathful of thoughts
Till it’s time to wrap myself in what I write too -
So IPad in hand I start to write
The words flow like ice cream on a warm night
Dare not stop to think, just write what comes next
For an aperitif, I read the words out loud to find
A glassful of Oh My’s follow the text
As I peruse the words that flowed so easily
Have to shell a few sentences along the way
The walnuts of knowledge sometimes go awry
I look at my effort, think hmm maybe yes ok
Can post this in poetrysoup wait for their says
See if this evening of laziness was what was required
That my walk in the words of poetry relaxed my brain.
In my bed, poetry free, now it’s time to start again
03/03/2013
Categories:
glassful, life, poetry, time, visionary,
Form:
Free verse
Don't buy it,
Scatter the wishes,
However (desperate and maligned),
For all of them,
The (murmur) and the (mesmerized),
Youth-paid homage,
Ill-afforded, unattended and
Graciously subversive,
By aged animals nodding
Approval against the (backdrop)
Of their worst intentions,
Hope that eloquence, depth,
Perceived connection and
Immersions of familiarities
Will get everyone laid,
Plush boy smiles, admits his
Voyeurism needs polishing,
(Languishing),
Sip from scourge's
Crystal goblet,
Teardrops by the glassful,
Ah, the epiphany,
It's a gay quorum,
A foreign swath of fashion sense,
Pickled on the petunia,
The green, sunny willow,
Swaying, to drunken breeze,
And smiles, complacencies,
At least they have
The good (sense) and fortune,
Rouge, textured rhythms,
Bass-plucking fires,
Snapping horns dotting the air,
Straight mutes coddling
The wicked goods,
And snare and pound,
The beat drives straight,
No need getting off,
When you're on baby!
(6/27/05)
Categories:
glassful, appreciation, confidence, crazy, happiness,
Form:
Free verse
1.
I have invited Shauna Allebach to a date to my table to drink wine,
She picks my flagon of rare ales and pours herself a glassful of wine,
Sweet lips hanging from her wine's glass's tip ,I'm so confined,
I see her creativity in a new design,
To my thoughts i resign,
Seeing intelligence in display on her every storyline,
"For iron sharpeneth iron" a true sign,
So true as "Saxon" eating swine;
2.
My arms akimbo,
My salient mind in limbo,
Anthony Edmond John picks up his quail, ink and this page,not a stumble;
Two sheets have I crumbled,
Still piecing together words to qualify M.Shauna Allebach,
For its for this genius i organise this praise rumble,
Our minds entwined making me humble,
My hands on this page see them fumble;
3.
I see you at the top no wonder,
Never let naive minds put your creativity asunder,
Nor let negative souls your inner you they plunder,
I give it up you! let the world feel your creative touch as a peel of thunder,
My darling, never forget Man with his blunders,
Be focused never look yonder,
Remember your pact as a literary saint,
In shades of gold do I adorn and bejewel you,
My crowned POETIC QUEEN.
Categories:
glassful, devotion, on writing and
Form:
Dramatic Verse
MOTHER
Mother lived alone in a different distant city
I had asked her to come and live with me
She said she‘d come when time would come
When from unfinished duties it’d make her free
I waited long hoping that time I’d someday see.
Mother didn’t come, couldn’t keep her promise
She had to answer some other call I didn’t realize
She now smiles in a framed photo I have on the wall
Looking at me with the familiar glint in her eyes
That brightens my day when in the morning I rise.
When the morning isn’t so bright and the mind gloomy
I take a glassful of limy gin instead of cupful of coffee
Inebriated vision blurred I find the wall disappear
From the picture frame mother comes out I can see
She says smiling she has come now to live with me.
I ask her why didn’t she come sometime early
I can’t talk, don’t know why I’m feeling sleepy.
March 2, 2018.
Categories:
glassful, longing, mother, son,
Form:
Rhyme
After Amadioha went into sweet nightmares,
he made us to breath through the chest of the sea. from the celestial bodies of the shrine,
We shone our forefather's smile with a mirage,
a little littered mirage spelling words in ellipsis.
these were the rose crumbs tailored in the sand castle of our glassful laughter, we're the Palmful morning in the eyes of our home in the abyss.
when a child cries, he forgets that the route to
his home is written on his body as a tattoo.
when a girl thinks of gathering firewood in the heart of the forest, she thinks of her thigh &
the bushes surrounding it, nature made it so.
We do not think of our skin as a poetic of agony,
We do not think of our eyes as poetry letters
but we draw lines and currents of imaginations describing how rituals made men insane.
We carried out those prilgrim for the boys,
our forebearers made us cracked our head up,
they carved pumpkins traces for this generation; for this humble journey mixed with fire & water.
Our souls, our dreams were the Shakespearean places you never had the chance to see physical.
they are the rituals of nature, a side Sithoulte,
a wonder land created like a paradise you don't stay often but in your dreams & imageries.
We are birthed here as debris & plump scars,
a tortured lips holding the past & the present.
We are the foundation of everything evil spirits,
We were born in the ritual of a grievous war.
to say a human is a benchmark of his own,
to say a man is a mango dropping without a choice of where and how to touch the sand,
to say a man is everything fretwork of agony;
to say a men are slaughtered memories...
but to this edges of rites & repeated steps,
We'll remain the gospel from every mouth.
Our ancestral hands shall still set a table,
to tell the girlchild how to sit in a public hall
to hand over the shrine to the boychild
to tell man that he owns a woman as head.
to keep birthing good and ugly children.
our hope will always depict heavens glory
and, our darkest fears as the skin of hell.
And it must be passed down to the next
genes to tell the next & sand keep multiplying.
This is the ritual of mankind to remain alive.
©John Chizoba Vincent
From_A_Pen_Refusing_Frustrations.
Categories:
glassful, abortion, abuse, africa, age,
Form:
Blank verse
. . . Come pick thy left pieces
For my brain still counts memories
Go behind my eyes
For thy shadow shines like flash light
Fetch my hanging appetite
The ulcers are feeding on your aroma
A glassful of your lip twists
For my thirst dines on flu
Take the slopping path
My heart waited longer than patience
Can i envy your smile
Its seen by many not me alone
I wish to color your dreams
With a range of roasted apples
If you tasted like wine
You could be the chained bottle to my wrist
. . . .
Categories:
glassful, addiction,
Form:
Bio
While I tried having a begging nap,
On my door heard a begging rap…
A female caller tilting her velvety cap,
An errand running for my indulgent pap,
On her bluish blouse, a heat-transferred world map,
While her spread right fingers she played on her lap.
From me, got and drank a glassful wine,
Which first dulled her eyes before they did shine…
I guessed between her mission and mine,
An eternal gap,
But still said “Fine!”
In a sleepy voice that didn’t any energy sap…
“She is to continually join me in my sleep,
And begin a relationship passionately deep”.
Categories:
glassful, feelings, friend, humanity, love,
Form:
Rhyme