Best Globular Poems
The rise, like an inhale
breathe slowly, breathe longingly
The fattening of the dough
the tummy expectant, the tummy expanding
Cocooned in its nest
its stretchiness, its pleasant scents
Like an infant in a swaddle
the soothing towel, slightly moist
The rise, like an inhale
breathe slowly, breathe longingly
The ascent complete
lungs exhaustively expanded, waiting to exhale
The arousing response
bright light, hands stimulate dough
The pushback of palms
elasticity released, globular rest
The rise, like an inhale
breathe slowly, breathe longingly
After shaping the dough
blanket over sleeping creation, one final rest
Our daily bread
of prayer produced, from suffering loosed
The “fourth man” in the oven graced
inner softness, cortical strength
SWELLS THAT COMPEL
the fall moon's lull shows
mystique silence across skies
branches shadow dance
rice seedling patch strewn
upon well-plough watered fields--
globular tummies
from my bikini
to quilted silk evening wraps --
chrysanthemum blooms
rainbow processions
passing through cities thru-fare --
church bells count the mass
(c)Olive Eloisa
6:50am
August 18, 2014
Mother said of all the mid-summer flowers she loved best,
The common garden dahlia was clearly her favorite.
Every Spring she carefully hand-placed the sturdy tubers,
Tenderly caring for each one, watched it bravely shoot up,
Growing, until large luscious red, orange, and purple blooms
Burst forth like the golden globular sun they resembled.
Some have noticed strolling through a garden of dahlias
Is very much like sorting through large boxes of buttons, *
All sizes, shapes, and colors waiting to be selected.
Mother saved the bulbs of her favorites from year to year
Carefully wintered them over in the damp root cellar,
Watching for earliest signs of tender green shoots sprouting.
Mother told us after she became seriously ill,
To make sure a quilt of dahlias lay over her grave.
When she left us at the end of that torturous July
For her bier we had a blanket assembled from her beds
Of the species of daisies, zinnias, chrysanthemums
And, as she requested, several pure-white dahlias.
*idea from "dahlias" on Internet
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Written March 11, 2021
For "Flower-Flowers (Imagery) Contest
by Constance La France
Each line contains 14 syllables
Me the infant, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s L’Enfant moi by T. Wignesan
The infant a stranger to me who grew up poet
You whom he missed even in his sleep
He who had to disinter himself upon waking
Every day in his quest with increasing effort
He who had not known your breast nor lap
Manically he sought your odour in bed clothes
Sniffed under the covers your sphinge haïr
And searched every bush for your mystic antrum
In vain forgot blackness of breasts in death
More avidly survives the memory of your milk
Longer I live more the haunting infant pleases me
When the eternel Night projects her by the threshold
At death the infant’s visited by the maternal shadow
Dissociated as two blue perfect globular moons
Note : Original rhyme schème of sonnet :
abba cddc effe gh)
( from Sophia, O.C. t. II, p. 348)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, October 15, 2014
You think you enjoy the radical,
flaming in the gas jets of astral fumes,
spinning in the ocular midnight of a rabid dogs dream,
yet, I think you know, NOTHING is as it seems.
An all too thorough pondering
of mundane thought comes to naught
as vulgar words don’t necessarily wax poetic.
Talking, writing, hurl, polysyllabic words
across a dot matrix screen in a pixel fight with the Lord
don’t made you a prophet or a prophetess
You just scream now, scream…
show your pain across a global terrain in a globular dream
‘Cause I know, you know, NOTHING is as it seems.
Rebel, rebel hell, damn good for nothing navel watcher
pick the lint out, start a fire, you don’t have to die to mean something
you have to do something, damn, it's not enough to just BE
ACT don’t just bite the dirty hand, green with the bile of your blood
eat the whole arm…chaw of a chunk and spit it in the systemic eye
of a postulate system which MAKES have and have nots.
See that fading grin wink from existence and the twin terrors of
DUMB and DEE saying “Howdy and Fiddle Dee Dee” to the
arses who claim to KNOW, ‘cause I know, you know,
NOTHINGS as it seems………..
*Dedicated to Jeffery Cohen from one anarchist to another
**This would be my Alice poem ;)
My genealogical family tree
was traced by a relative distant,
thus uncovering ancestral names for me,
of some who had seemed nonexistent.
The past came alive in my fantasy world
with visions of settings dramatic,
as I felt myself in scenario hurled
that verged on a theme operatic.
Some fancies akin rose from imagery mix
of five different wavelengths and hues
in Wide Field, of NGC one eight six six,
with orange-red old stars, young in blues.
It’s a globular cluster considered strange
in Dorado constellation found,
with sidereal periods of wide range,
hence a stelliferous bunch renowned.
One hundred sixty thousand light-years away
from Earth, at Large Magellanic’s brink
(a galaxy cloud turning round Milky’s sway),
this massive multitude seems to sync
youthful stars with others from former ages,
through metallicity analyzed,
dissimilar in stellar saga stages,
which left astronomers quite surprised,
because it appeared unexpectedly young.
James Dunlop, credited with the act
of discovery, still has his praises sung
for listing a host of stars in fact.
Indeed, it was in eighteen twenty-six that
the Scottish stargazer spied the group
noteworthy, and catalogued where it was at,
assigning a label to the troop.
In the case of this cluster Hubble captured
with varied residents in the crowd,
perhaps a new star batch was manufactured
in rendezvous with a huge gas cloud,
as in a cosmic orchestral creation
with melodies that interrelate,
scored by composer of stellar vocation
for astronomical concert great.
An opus like Handel’s, supernally grand,
might sound and resound in the cluster,
with symphonic reach universally spanned,
in radiant star-studded luster,
while music mellifluous echoes in spheres,
or so my reveries rhapsodize,
to harmonies chorused by stellary peers
that resonate through celestial skies.
Generations of humankind here on Earth,
measured in cadenced metrical bars,
could be likened to fugue theming death and birth…
Might we be analogous to stars?
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * * *
Inspiration, image and info ~ Some of the Stars in this Cluster are Almost as Old as the Universe Itself While Others Formed in a Second Generation. It Looks Young and Old at the Same Time…
If,
I was not afraid of,
the thing, but the signature
strike of a copycat
in the art of dismantling.
You,
try to pull down brick
by brick, the
jeopardy. A dead premises
becoming alive.
How,
will you,numb with pain,
explain the poetry of victim’s trail,
becoming a Buddha ?
Can you find a bo tree for me ?
The,
grape hyacinth, I still
carry your globular blue
eyes, chasing my
kisses. Why in the evening ?
Satish Verma
Contracting iris, I split my eyes
Pouring forth gold from a can opened sky
Globular syrup thickens the glue
Canopy black turns to canopy blue
Erasing the stars and so tragically you
Conducting the birds in an orchestral play
Rolls out red carpet that heralds the day
Baptising the sun, offsetting the gun
A kiss breathes my cheek ...
Her promisory gust goes to ruffle the leaves
In mischievous dance a dry leaf she twirls
Invites to forget and does a pirouette
My poetry pages she turns to ballet
Good morning miss... dismissive girl.. I say...
Grabs the news from my feet
Blows me away - three of us chase down the street
Errant steals,
like globular e-mocking,
stark Jabs in test,
wave's of sustainment globally casting flesh aside,
wantoness stops as
tubular horns row them all away...
Nickled as jells in the jangles,
wobbie in a talk in a mangle-
flippin' at it's angle',
crunch crockie crangle,
the bottle on a walk,
like a Laker in a stock.
Amid globular, floating serrated leaves
Dwells a dreamy lily in milk white frock
She is the new occupant of my small pond
Fructified by swimming fish and croaking frog
Like a nymph over the water’s still surface
She smiles and sways in unusual grace,
With the regal flourish of a beaming bride!
A sight, that’ll lit a smile on many a face!
In the circular pond dappled with green algae
As the early beams of sunlight come to cajole
She stands proud, lifting her fair face to the sun
Awakening ripples of joy in my sullen soul!
Placed First
Strand (1066) Poetry Contest
loving male, natural of pleasure, quintessentially
rendered suitable to us via way ova our darling daughter.
tis the blessing of this average, contemplative damn
ejected flotsam globular human impish jokester kooky lamb
misunderstood nonestablishmentarian outlier praises quality ram
rod sterling stately treasured undergraduate, ventures wielding yawping zeal
asper near perfect synchronized
ventured capitalone bond to me doth appeal
twas thankful to seminal accomplishment
dearest Eden Liat exhibited
when smart as a whip per snapper abilities did congeal
witnessing passing each grade with flying colors -
electrifying mien kempf as if stung from Alaska Bull worm eel
I ask you to - just take in stride wordy way as sigh guide "sea legs" to feel
along murky medium, how to communicate élan which doth heal
this figurative war torn, self strafed, kamikaze buzz-feeding,
eventually fostered grimacing hangdog ilk insensate
blitzkrieg assailed middle aged married male - during his early decades
endured passivity, while peers viciously throve on me with hate
tread - pock marked psychological scars perforated
positive faith in self, only now I feel great,
whence untrammeled passion presumed murmured between themselves
when alone pondering their fate
two vibrant young adults appear especially well suited,
as two peas in a pod
a radiant ionic bond they plainly equate
(one comprising thee "star student" progeny),
supremely mature to date
and thee well groomed Emmanuel
dust blend harmonious with "Ode to Joy" ye create
such an idyllic sight engendering tears of happiness
buffer and shine each alphanumeric byte, NOT phishing for bait
most pleasing sight assuages psychic purposefulness,
Anorexia Nervosa once ate.
BLACK CLOUD
Mourvédre* cluster overhead
weight of Everest
capped on nerves
suppresses colors
squeezes eyeballs
behind dark sunglasses
lightening drills through temples
attempts to prop up
one’s globular head
with isometric fingers
grape stains on cheeks
relieve pitch of crystal
shattering the oppression
kaleidoscopic relief
10/15/2017
*Mourvédre - (mohr-ved-ra) - dark red grapes
Rain Dance
The rooftops appear slick
reflective mirrors of the rain
droplets large and globular
flow down the rafters to the ground.
Splashes of water tap
brushing leaves and branches
releasing dry leftovers that still cling
long passed the chill slaps of winter.
Glistening in pale yellowed light
the trees canopy the scene
waving in soft gentle breezes
that waltz on the air.
There is a drumming in the wind,
a subtle rhapsody of sounds
setting a patterned flow
to some hidden syncopated beat.
Stiff and silent wallflowers
stand staunch, stationary and mute
like stranded stickles and bladed greens
unmoved by the melodies.
More wily and free
others dance unrestrained,
frail loose stemmed beauties
drenched in rhythm to rise and flow in the rain.
Wind spinners spin unrelenting, rotating fast and slow
wet with saturating drops
loitering on the leaves and wind
anxious to be part of May’s rain dance
Three o’clock morning
a solitary hour of pillow turning
I gaze at a dark open tunnel
lacy funnel
Are your pursuits still with me ?
eyes odes to life’s quests
now starseeds luminous
where there was a nose
a pyramid of pink rose
perfume perceptible sweat
tears trickle silver snail trails
toward a waiting grail
salt grains down the drain
Your voice
a whispering white butterfly
fluttering gold
on bare shoulder cold
Rivers circle bronzed
body and fingers in
torrents of knowingness
in waiting garden a Tree of Life bears globular fruit as daily offerings from hot dark roots
a quiet hour
dissolves into luminous light
of spaceless heights
bells tinkle gently as I remember
our togetherness, watching
cows in spring September
a celebration of Awakening
now arms are shadowy
veins across a waking sky
justice, equality, freedom, Love as lessons dug in loamy Earth, passed ~
my resilient heart opens wide
merges with your silent smile
designing a
Peace Lily
Age old wisdom scarred not flamed. A dozen baked bees in an hour glass perturbed. And left undisturbed as a minotaur sunbathing on a single blade of grass on a sixty acre lawn. At dusk. At dawn. Week by week. But no lawnmowers. And it is to be ascertained that a fish bowl is not a serpent pulled inside out upon a circular globular glass. Ok then. One for memory bank but no banking involved in a skyscraper skim. For skimming stones is neither a scale, an octave, nor is it a radioactive material that smothers a bed. Manufactured by a slide. Wee then. Go on shout weeeeee. Surely western interfere of an uneven divide. Two ended manuscripts bow and scrape through the screening. Such interface.....wow......such ideas are neither neutral nor neutrophil. Ok. Great. Now the buds are areas nowadays and obsolete as a spelling test of ten twenty sixty on a business bus balancing over two hundred and forty five fish on a circuit of shape. Wow. Fantastic isn't it? And all the time a two millimeter choir boy sings alleluia and then eats porridge. Great. Oh haha so funny the people have arrived on time. Wow. Ha ha the pig is running around with a giant bread which has many wheels. Hahah playing piano with a timed tuned washing machine is quite remarkable and profound. For it is a diamond dish of display on a deity dish of difference. No ship now. Xxxxx bibliographical xxxxxx hexagon calling triangle to make a square. Xxxxxx z z z z z