Best Gleefully Poems
One April day when spring was in the air,
I stepped outside so I might relish it.
I came upon a cherry tree so fair,
beneath its limbs I was enticed to sit.
I fell to sleep inhaling fragrant bliss -
the vision of the tree still in my brain.
I dreamed one sweet, pink petal, like a kiss,
fell on my cheek, and soon there was a rain. . .
A rain of lovely silken blossoms! Then
they softly made a pile upon the ground.
Warm wind embraced me; that’s the moment when
I woke to pink resplendence all around!
I gleefully shook blossoms from my hair
one April day when spring was in the air.
May 16, 2019
A blossom I’ll be on the wreaths for peace
An offering to deity to feed world’s hungry
I’ll be the garden on every troubled street
Preening as gleefully as exuberant tulips
Swaying with spring in rhythms of daffodils
I’ll be the laudable bouquet of friendship
An emissary of cupid when love is elusive
A gift I’ll be, from souls of dreams romantic
I’ll be the cure when dear-heart is aching
A sensuous rose I’ll be, alluring bride to be
I’ll be sweet smile of expressions in violet
Pleasing smitten hearts on lilac landscapes
Presenting bell-shaped English bluebells
Tenderly in aura of angel’s blessed grace
I’ll be the enlightenment in lotus of solace
Lovingly I’ll answer every call of your will
In colors of hyacinth upon your window sills
And fragrance of white Lily evoking revelry
Composing gaily dulcet themed melodies
Strumming floral kisses on your sateen lips
January 31, 2021
Placed 2nd: If I were a flower premium contest
we ran gleefully
chasing the summer’s fireflies
putting them in jars. . .
those warm nights of our childhood -
they flickered, and then were gone
For Line Gauthier's 'Bite Size Poem no50' Poetry Contest
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.
Benedict was tired, he’d been driving all day.
This was his last delivery, 2 tonnes of eggs delivered to Safeway.
The kid came out of nowhere, stared Benedict in the face,
He tried to brake, then swerved, in the wrong place.
The scene was chaos, emergency services scramble into action,
Ambulance officer, Florentine put Benedict’s legs into traction,
loaded him in the ambulance and quickly whisked him from the site.
The bystanders hoped that Benedict would be all white!
Sergeant Skillet arrived on the scene, he was feeling a little queasy.
A witness came forward and told Skillet the truck went over easy.
Skillet gleefully took a statement, finally a case he could crack.
He poached a pen from Constable Quiche, wrote it down on his back.
The clean up took some time, it was a delicate operation.
The fire brigade, were walking on “eggshells”, had been since they left the station.
Scene commander, Dumpty, directed the crew from a nearby wall.
If things went wrong, he knew he’d be the one to take the fall.
A nearby, protest group, trying to shake loose the yoke of oppression,
were called over to help, clean the streets, for these young folk a good lesson.
It’s not all about being self, centred from the cradle to the casket.
And to remember the old adage, Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.
Tears of the past invoke frozen footprints
When fears rekindle flares of dire misery
Feeling the ache, straining blood streams
As wrinkles pop up swelling deep worries,
Holding dialogue with sustained poverty
Attempting to traverse shuttered streets--
Bent, but not broken, in grip of tragedies
Trapped in the pathos of agonizing grief
Building escape still, flexing meager means.
When in my solitude, these images I’ve seen
Awaken me hauntingly in frightening dreams,
Grudgingly I go there, where I used to be
And see a child deep in hapless poignancy
Bleeding profusely from veins melancholy
Revisiting relentlessly orphaned memories.
Time unconsciously releases those feelings
When ode to new morn happy robin sings
As sun rises gleefully from deep blue seas
And life illuminates in golden hued beams
Oscillating winds, gleaming through trees,
And I walk with pride on the bridges I built
And thank my bright stars that lit my path
Twinkling diligently to show me the light
When obscure was the face of my dark night.
Silhouettes of yesteryear are purging now
Cleansing dread with vibrancy of spring
And jitters of nightmares in aspiring dreams
Seeing new growth in parched winter land
Like flowers rise through remains of ashes
Confronting what was, with what could be.
I have staged my play to my own melodies
And the rhythms I set to my own music
No longer evoke the prompt life gave me
As I write new chapters, create new scenes
I’m planning the ending as I wish to see it:
The story that was past, my future won’t be.
December 7, 2020
Placed 1st: Catharsis poetry contest by Silent One
Where hyacinths bloom, cardinals hop and sing,
Winsome is the visage of verdant vibrant spring
Beautifying fragrant prairies, blossoming trees,
Alluring bees waltzing on wings of tender breeze
Undulating gleefully crest of burbling streams,
Frolicking on melodies of robin’s nesting dreams,
Euphoric in hilarity of dancing yellow daffodils,
Merriment of white lilies, panorama of foothills,
Spring’s revelry buoying where butterflies spree,
An eagle’s flight above marveling splendorous glee.
May 3, 2022
Placed 2nd: Spring Rhyme: 8-12 Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
The cemetery was fresh and vivid green
when we took our bikes down the paths of it -
past stones and trees and mausoleums and grass as far as we could see,
carefree on that muggy summer afternoon,
perspiration glistening on our arms and on our faces
as we sought to stay on the shady side of each well-traveled lane.
Instinctively we followed Dale, our older red-haired fun-loving brother,
turning here and there; it didn’t matter. We had no destination,
no gravesites of friends or relatives to visit.
Sometimes we would spot an interesting tombstone,
jump off our bikes and take a closer look at it.
We were just kids, out of school for summer with no real obligations.
Our lives were a clean slate, not like the worn and broken headstones
we spotted sometimes on the cemetery’s edge, the older area’s grave stones
whose names were hard to read and dates went as far back as the 1800’s.
Those were emblems of an ancient past for us.
It was 1965! We were the modern generation and the future loomed
as large for us
as those many squared city blocks the cemetery measured.
Flash forward two decades to 1984. I was married with two small kids
and back in my hometown; things around me seeming so much smaller,
and the future loomed not quite so large ahead of me this time.
Most of my sisters were married but leading separate lives in different states.
We all had pressing obligations, so our reunion could not be a long one.
No longer were my sisters and I carefree, and we were not riding bikes.
We rode in cars that followed one another in a line;
the cemetery was cold and dismal grey that December day
as we gathered around the unearthed sod,
staring, unbelieving, into the giant hole that was to be the final resting place
for the brother whom we’d once followed so gleefully
along the shady paths of vivid green
Our sweet dog Holly lies under our tree
She is wagging her tail so gleefully,
Knocking about the light Christmas tree balls.
She becomes quite shocked as one of them falls.
Holly thinks her gifts are ribbons and bows
She chews them and hides them, where?, no one knows.
Holly loves to romp in fresh fallen snow.
Her happy dark eyes just twinkle and glow.
Her cute black face is covered like frosting
While chasing a rabbit she's accosting .
She has a good canine friend named Jessie.
Holly and Jesse's paws get quite messy.
After their long frisky walk in the park
Holly gets tired from her Christmas lark.
When dinner completes her desire,
She loves to keep cozy by our log fire.
Holly is content with pats on her head,
Then snuggles to sleep at foot of my bed.
12-18-17
Christmas Story Contest
Sponsor Eve Roper
*This is a tribute to a very good friend's two dogs,
Holly and Jessie, who reside in England.
Merry Christmas to everyone!
Sing, Birds Sing
Sun
Smiling
Gleefully
Blushes blue dawn
While robin's musing
Pink-dogwood dreams
Rejoicing
Blooming
Spring
Where
Playful
Cardinal
Hops, hops, and sits
Then curves a sharp spin
Flying up high
Savoring
Freedom
Flight
Lone
Sparrow
Sitting on
Red maple tree
Whistles and dances
Reveling in
Lilacs and
Lilies
White
Sing
Birds sing
Exalting
Season's beauty
Warbling, frolicking
Serenading
Cheerfully
Sing birds
Sing
Sing
Of joy
Of prairies
Of giggling streams
Of butterflies, bees
Flowering trees
Sing of hearts
Sing of
Love
February 20, 2022
Placed 1st: A Brian Strand Formed Contest
Placed 3rd: Springtime Ninette Poetry Contest
Sponsor: M. L. Kiser
Syllables: 1,2,3,4,5,4,3,2,1
Gleefully you and I smile from a scenic window on life
Enchanted by nightfall befriending quixotic autumn sky
Embossing crimson brushstrokes on vermilion arc
Akin to a painting in classical style of renaissance art
Parading in front of our eyes on a thrilling train ride,
When orange glow of sinking sunset playfully smiles back,
As we savor shrimp-creole with red wine in the dining car
And train-tracks beneath us rhythmically clickety-clack
Negotiating the panoramic curves befitting forested lands
Announcing the mighty reach of whistling train-horn,
When the half-moon above peeks through twinkling stars.
Balancing gingerly footsteps we jaunt back to our roomette
Settling in on narrow bunk beds in a tiny modest space
Marveling the red, brown, golden foliage trickling outside
Falling on multi-color motif carpeting the misty grounds,
As engine screeches intermittently, braking, slowing down,
Screaming loud whistle-calls, approaching station stops.
We endeavor to sleep until dreams invoke beauteous dawn
Awakening to thick white clouds of dense morning fog
Slowly giving way to glorious sun-rays piercing the forest,
Where cheerful robins dance upon a long leafless branch
Welcoming marigold sunrise on the horizon’s blue path
As you and I reminisce in the whispering night of romance.
October 24, 2019
HM: Strand special by Brian Strand
From Atlanta to Washington DC on an overnight train
Red, red roses, you flowers of immortal love
You first blossomed in God’s Garden for Eve
In my garden too, you bloom so bright
I tend you with love and care day and night
You gladden me all through the day
That my verse on roses before all, gleefully I lay
Amid stinging thorns and the cover of leafy green
Your frilled beauty is sometimes veiled unseen
But as the wind croons all day in your ear
Your sweet fragrance spreads in the husky air
Thus, we are drawn to your hidden presence
And come to know of your lovely existence
You appear most beautiful when budding new
Lovely you are when your petals glisten, washed in dew
My Garden serves as a therapy in stress and strain
It is there, I forget and forego all my pain
When the first rays of light fall on the flowers
And the leaves are beaded with dew drops in bowers
I get out to work in nature’s household
And it brings me returns and rewards manifold
As I pull out every unwanted weed
A bit of my grief, I am learning to set aside
Sure, the smiling flowers give me lots of cheer
And my health improves, as I inhale morn’s fresh air
Alas ‘tis the fate of plucky Jan
To write her poetry while on the can
Her pen’s been known to scoop
A sprinkling of poop
And gleefully to let it hit the fan
Every year from spring through fall, if you peered between the cattails you could see the swans in the center of the pond, head to head, their love peering back. On the pond's edges, from the tops of lily pads, frogs were singing of love's song as dragon flies frolicked gleefully above. We would sit and watch them countless hours, day after day as they gracefully swayed to the rhythm encircled in the reflections of love. One year in the dawning of spring, he returned alone, we watched him slowly swim with downcast head to the center of the pond, within the shadows of lost love he'd pause in the ripples that surrounded him, his sadness reaching the edges of the pond, where abandoned lily pads tilted downward caught in the spirals of his lonely tears. He still comes to the pond, muddied and alone from spring through fall, through clouded eyes we still watch him swim, wreathed within his pain we taste his loneliness.
head downcast, he swims
enclosed in the pond's ripples
his tears splashing back
October 12, 2019
Writing Challenge, October, 2019 -Bird-
Sponsor, Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode
Written: December 23, 2023, For Robert James Liguori Contest
________________________________________
Life must be navigated without family pain.
Sins that grab the dirt below leave a stain.
Wrongdoings profoundly wound the heart.
Wrongs compel us to feel like targets apart.
Can we avoid future wrongs if we forgive?
Is it better to let go of grudges or to sieve?
Life is full of hurts and scars that all us face.
Disdain, pride, criticism, sarcasm, disgrace.
No type of love that can weather any storm.
A display of virtue outrivals a hatred swarm.
We are in an era when love is seen as a delight.
A bond falls when there is no sense of insight.
Rejecting wickedness is a crucial life insight.
If a smart person bears evil well, we can fight.
The grace to endure affliction and shame.
To fight off evil, avoid reprisal, rage, or declaim.
Was forgetting a condition of forgiveness?
To ignore it is to miss the tip: lenient grimness.
A major harm can't be erased from memory.
Pardon is a duty to offer optimism and reverie.
To some, forgiveness is a sign of weakness.
Forgiveness needs heroic work and boldness.
Furious individuals escape quite easily.
Creative dialogue solves this issue gleefully.
The best approach to surviving this world.
is to request forgiveness and be unnerved.
A balance is present in this chaotic universe.
Just let life happen and live it without a curse.
Allow God to handle the care of the wrath.
Love is the central theme; it paves the path.
By forgiving injustice, humans can heal.
Man needs time to forgive; thus, mercy is a deal.
5th place contest winner