Best Greedily Poems
I have this thing called ADHD
The H isn’t silent, I’ll help you to see
Ever since I was small, it’s lived inside me
It affects who I was, am and will be
Most people know, the layer on top
A tid bit of knowledge before the facts stop
Evaluating their lives, they tend to conclude
From the limited facts, they must have it too
But I need to speak up, I yearn to be heard
This isn’t a fad, or something I’ve learned
But rather, a voice, indecisive and quick
Listing my options, insisting, I pick
It never shuts up and will never be pleased
Off my terror and panic, it greedily feeds
Trembling with jitters, it fears the unknown
I lock in my choice, but it never moves on
Attached to my ear, I gave it a name
This relentless voice is none other than shame
Guilt and short comings, smeared in my face
A constant reminder, I’m not fit to race
The H stands for hyper, when in fact, I am tired
It refers to my brain and the way it is wired
I fidget when seated and excuse myself often
I come across rude, but my shoes must be walked in
I desperately try to absorb, process and act
I work hard to be average and display enough tact
But a fairly small task becomes a tricky ordeal
My response is to panic. It’s an everyday drill
It’s mental exhaustion, causing physical fatigue
I’m smart, but I’m slow. No patience to read
I’m resentful and sad. It seems so unfair
But these are my shoes and my shoes I must wear
Last time it rained was in April.
It did not rain that much,
but it was enough to dirty everywhere.
You see, it was a south easterly wind
and the clouds arrived laden with sand from the north African desert.
That was nearly five months ago, and the farmers are already up in arms,
bemoaning lack of water as they till the arid soil.
dust flies in the air
the sun blazes overhead
sweat drips profusely
Prayers have not gone unanswered!
Dark clouds creep from behind the hills
fast multiplying, ominously, obliterating the blue.
The calm hot air is ruffled by a timid breeze which soon turns
to gusty wind. A sudden horizontal flash followed by drawling thunder
precedes a few big drops of rain which testily hit the ground.
increase of tempo
deafening cymbals clash
erupting deluge
Water gathers then flows steadily down the streets;
thirsty fields drink greedily; trees bathe in delight, relishing
heaven’s kiss of life on their moribund leaves, roots breathing in relief.
Then, worn out, the wind slowly abates; so do the thunder and the rain.
The clouds shyly disperse, permitting an unobstructed view of the sky above.
Satiated, the sundrenched land savours the afterglow.
sensual appeal
petrichor emanation
veins pleasantly throb
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: Rain Rain Come My Way
Sponsor: binibining P.iNk
8th June 2016
irresistible and
sexually alluring
a wanton vixen
entices with candy lust
fire sparkling in her eyes...
he greedily follows her
into the shadows of
an eerie misty night,
down the narrow
winding path of no return...
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Brian Strand:
Late Nov. 2018 Contest
Placed 1st
Lewis Raynes: Sexy Contest
Placed 6th
By the serene riverside
I found a faded yellow leaf
withering blades portrayed
ferocious storms in the journey
I have been clinging to it
trampled patches of scars
a memento of grey veins
broken dreams embedded
somewhere in the midrib
frayed memories conjugating
along oscillating spine
still vibrating in pain
to undulating frequencies
I stop
this isn't how the leaf should be
so I plunge it into the river
glowering greedily to drown it perhaps
but those scars get washed away
vibrating veins attain equilibrium
the leaf floats to the surface
with faded memoirs to be forgotten
I pick it up gleaming in moist droplets
reborn by the gaiety riverside
I leave it there
and walk ahead
another journey awaits
the leaf and me
we turn pages
beyond borders of this river
Writtten: July 14, 2020
July NA or HM Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
~HM in Strand Completely New (10),Any Form,Any Theme Poetry Contest
Judged on July 17, 2020
The Mayan Warrior Princess
In eerie recurring dreams, like things seen dimly before dawn,
blurred memories of a temple pyramid resurface from an era long gone.
My ancient soul trapped between two different worlds,
one new - the other centuries old,
remind me that I have been here before,
and of that I am absolutely sure.
Familiar faces and scenes from a past life I see,
recollections of Piedras Negras continue to haunt me,
with images of Lady K’abel, Mayan warrior princess, I used to be.
Time’s reluctant prisoner, I sense it will never set me free.
In a foggy haze, like a sleepwalker in sluggish slow motion,
body painted cobalt blue, I am ready for my heavenly mission.
Midnight velvet hair flowing, I lie on a red bloodstained stone altar,
as temple priests prepare me for the sacred sacrificial slaughter.
Piously chanting their practiced prayers in unison,
they adulate the gracious gods for a new divine king’s ascension.
The sharp knife swiftly pierces my sweating, feverish virgin skin,
but reliving this scene, I no longer feel pain or anything.
And as the universe greedily grasps my restless soul, I float into oblivion
knowing the harvest will be renewed and ultimately, I will be reborn.
Note: This poem is dedicated to my maternal great grandmother who was
a Mayan. The Piedras Negras, mentioned above, was a thriving Mayan
city-state in Guatemala, Central America, from about mid-7th century BC
century BC to about 850 AD. While this site is considered remote, during my
childhood, I visited frequently with family who still live in this fascinating region.
When I visit, I am completely at home and the experiences are amazingly
mystical. Piedras Negras means "black stones" in Spanish. The name in the
language of the Classic Maya has been read in Maya inscriptions as Yo'k'ib',
meaning "great gateway" or "entrance."
06-25-2014
Contest: Past Lives
Sponsor: Carolyn Devonshire
Placement: 3rd
"That Place"
In that place where you were abandoned,
that place, they never thought, you’d come back from,
in that place where it is believed nothing grows
in the long night’s tortured darkness, deep down, well,
a spark lit something quite quiet, far removed and forgotten,
and now it grows rapidly, coiling inside,
snaking sharp-edged like mother’s tongue root
it transmits something alive, something like love,
its veins drawing back in again a loquacious life,
the moisture from tears, a necessary nourishment
from the lake of disbelief, betrayal, trauma and grief,
a bless'ed blooming in disguise,
the succulent luscious life those all important tears gift;
what spreads from the darkness and its erratic reach,
calling into it all embers of ethereal light? Now ultra-lit,
some revolutionary reincarnation arrives back from the dead,
it soaks the unseen light up greedily, for it is extraordinarily hungry,
to taste if but just a drop of sunshine in the glory of forever and ever,
this is what it dreams when it sleeps;
after the amen, hibernation,
it grows and it spreads robust, rigorous (not necessarily), yet,
like a beautiful irregular disease, there is no turning back
once the light kisses it and it has a taste for life,
it goes looking for some kinder heaven;
yes, this is accurate, I do believe -
from nothing something blooms
from nothing, the arrival, awake,
life lessons learned,
what is poor, and what is rich,
what is true and untrue
Candide Diderot. '24
There is an antique writing desk
in my little study
handed-me-down
from generations of would-be
writers in my family
And there are ancient creatures
from days gone by
living in this old desk still
evil, larcenous little creatures
envious of literary skill
This explains much
Lately, I have caught them unawares
aghast, thought I imagined them
but they are really there
surly, sinister, repugnant creatures
in my writing desk
There's a putrid little jerk,
called Pernishicus who lurks
behind the piles on my desk
glorying in the mess
a malevolent, grimy-mauve gremlin
Who preys on newly created works
stealthily spraying them
with foul feculence
as soon as I commence
my writing-
...Sometimes missing slightly
and tagging my hand
making it hard to stand
myself (much less my writing)
for days on end
Then there's a creepy
mesmerizing fiend
they call Spelbadger
a translucent thing, quite obscene
who shifts in the shadows and purrs
With dark eyes deep- constantly changing
like stones from mood-rings
set in his skull
he psychically bullies,
intimidates and muddles
until my poor brain
is worn and dull
And perhaps worst of all
is that one, Grumblesleaze
with pale, glowering eyes diseased
a gray-green, mangy looking thing
whose famous quirk
is that he has the gall
to grouse about my work...
As he viciously shreds it
then glunshing and munching
greedily devours it all
leaving no note
or trace of remembrance
of my past brilliance
behind
Oh, out of spite
he might leave a few
of my ill-penned
unfortunate lines
I planned to cut anyway
or pull my worst attempts
from the waste-can
and lay them out
to remind me of my failures
Yes, this explains much
For there was only one before
our one lone ancestor
who was able to write
at this desk prolifically
tapping out volumes rather heroically
'Though tiresome and tedious
dry history and drivel
which, no doubt, shrank and shriveled
and lulled these creatures off
to sleep for years
Until we woke them up
broke their hibernation
with more interesting stories
and imagination, colorfully crafted
ingenious, piece after piece
Clicking and clacking away
on typewriters, keyboards
generation after generation
of irritatingly gifted writers
disturbing their peace
it had to cease...
I'm nestled in daydreams, safely tucked in a halcyon haven
away from the stress that greedily feasts on me like a raven
My Utopian realm offers a peaceful kingdom; a sanctuary
where there is no arguing with any acrimonious adversary
I take flight to a lowland vale, with gardens in full bloom
safe from life's burdens, as if I'm still inside my natal womb
Fields of wildflowers and carpets of moss are my landscape
Orchard of grape vines and a citrus grove is where I escape
Showers and sunshine are nuanced in my Eden of tranquility
I live harmoniously with forest animals in absolute affability
Blue skies brighten every day, darkening to indigo each night
Wrapped in my lover's arms, beneath stars and soft moonlight
l live in a multi-level tree house, sprawled in a stand of pine
My neighbors are feral mustangs; a roaming herd of equine
I built a porch that overlooks the view of my pastoral land
watching eagles as they hunt and soar with feathers fanned
I watch each stained glass sunrise as it surfaces from the sea
and each sunset, when dusk paints pastels with grand esprit
No fence surrounds my oasis, no flashing lights or blaring horns
and I've hybridized my roses, so no longer do they have thorns
There's some sanctity to be found in a divine place like this
One of spiritual symbiosis and a bounty of benevolent bliss
There's no known place on Earth where everyone gets along
but in my sanctum, no one ever tells me I'm too headstrong
I long for a refuge where I can take ample time to just relax
where I'll not be faced with the entity of fear, called parallax
When fire storms of frustration blaze much too high to douse
I'll be daydreaming while climbing the stairs to my tree house
August 18th, 2020
Sanctuary Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent On
MIRROR of MEMORIES
Disappearing into the mirror,
fading slowly from my own thoughts
memories, photo shopped to black,
voices striking chords of longing
for the once known unknown.
Fearfully I gaze on living’s death
beseeching spiteful gods – spare them
those that I love – this torment
this coming agony of absent presence,
blank stare of empty vessel.
Greedily, will I cherish every touch,
each kiss, savor the leftovers of
reheated passion, hold softly to
hands that offer aid, rage silently
against a stolen past.
Hopefully, they will know
I have not forgotten them
they will live within me
protected, as in their youth,
held tightly in my arms.
John G. Lawless
11/18/2015
submitted to – Mirror of Memories “Alzheimer’s’ – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Tammy Reams
... Summertime is growing weary.
Welcome to the autumn rain,
A new season taking over
Hydrating the earth again.
Arid land with celebration
Greedily absorbs each drip,
With the dry and dusty flora
Raising eager mouths to sip.
Running rivulets of water
Turning grasses back to green.
It is showering time for nature
Every plant a new washed sheen.
Summer lingering in spasms,
She must abdicate with grace.
This is changing of the seasons.
Fall is slipping into place.
Autumn dressed in leaves of color
Gold and scarlet, every tone.
Pre-apology for winter
With a splendor all her own.
I rode across the arid desert dunes
Until I came to her oasis
Where greedily I drank
From the deep emerald pools of her eyes.
----------------------------------------------
Author: Paul Callus ~ 13th June 2015
Contest: Through Your Eyes
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Visual 3 ~ 25 words
Placed 4th
So pristine each drop wrapped tenderly
by clouds as air into water processed.
Why a diamond shaped of natures play
or of gravity earth awaits, greedily
life yearned for its fall from grace.
Longing for its purity Man restless,
salivating for the angelic virgin to descend.
Unspoiled, unsoiled, sweetness itself only
God can create, a gift free not for man alone
but every living thing with desires to quench.
Alas! the greed in you and I, it was a gift...free.
Reached we have, into the space of angels,
we bastardised the very food of our souls
for can our thirst be quenched by oil or gold?
Answer ye to God when our time is done.
A virgin so pure God sent for our pains to endure.
Slashed, burnt smoke of 'acid' we returned.
Legacy left we are sure, but the poser imminent
when facing our Procurer; were we party to the
deflowering, the raping of that virgin drop of rain?
T M Ioane (April, 2014)
A fledgling crow huddled in
the grass beneath the drooling
gazes of my curious dogs.
Its eyes were blue.
And in the tree, its mother screamed
In my hands it lay, gently confused.
Too young to fear me,
it opened its thirsty beak and greedily
swallowed water from a syringe.
And outside the window, its mother screamed.
I scratched its head,
stroked its breast,
and boxed it for its journey
to a haven for homeless birds.
And, as I carried it to the car,
its mother circled overhead.
And screamed.
The last Night of October
It's that time, again, the last night of October,
the last glow of twilight nearly gone.
Children race out and about,
winding through the streets and alleys.
Brightly colored costumes,
mom's old wig, dad's old sport coat.
All hoping to fill their bags with the prize:
Candy bars, bag of licorice, candy corn, pop corn balls,
apples, Bit-O-Honey, and Pez dispensed joy.
Some, their favorites, to greedily keep their own,
others to give to a poor sibling, who stayed home with the mumps.
With faces painted, steel themselves, for the gauntlet ahead,
the familiar street now somehow strange in the gloom,
to walk past hallowed ground,
All was quiet, save for the rustling of the leaves.
The daylight gone, now cloaked in Stygian darkness..,
ahead lie, the old grave yard.
Raucous laughter, which echoed only moments before,
trailed off into whispered murmurs.
All eyes from the once merry band looked now,
to their leader, albeit quickly chosen,
the tallest, and oldest, and bravest.
He too, resolve waning, felt the grip of those things unknown,
in the shadowy mist,
heart now beating faster, he chides the little ones,
for being such silly ninnies.
Just now, what was that! What was that sound?!?
Was that an owl? Or, maybe Old Man Godfrey, come back from his
now disturbed rest!
Young sister's hands clasped brother's, tightly,
and brother's, impishly taking the clammy worts,
decidedly grew, just a bit older, wiser,
and braver in kind.
Now turning the corner at Elm street, they walked at even pace.
With heads bowed low, mid-block, each chanced a glance, only to look away,
from the wrought iron gate.
Young heads, did now envision mystic spectres, ghouls and fantastic phantoms, with jaws agape, smiling in toothy cheer, bony fingered hands reaching through the heavy bars.
Swallowing dryly, daring just one quick glance back,
at the narrow lane winding, into the stone covered grounds,
dotted with ivy covered trees of willow and oak.
Back into the world of the living, back to
All Hallow's Eve.
-Happy Halloween
FINGERTIPS (( collaboration MICHAEL J. FALOTICO ))
by~ MICHAEL J. FALOTICO
I reach in the dark with my hands stretched out the window..
My fingertips feel your vibe as the breeze that carries you starts to grow..
I close my eyes so tight and can almost feel your breathe..
Only way to hold you without taking a step..
With my mouth wide open I can taste your kiss..
What I can't see or touch is left in my head to miss..
Certain nights can almost feel the sensation of your tummy,
being shaking in pleasure.
The warm salty taste that forever is my treasure...
by~ P.D:
Finally! I feel your breath, I got you all to myself.
Some how thousands of miles feel only a square foot away.
Imagining you in arms distance comes with a tasty delight.
Please my darling rest your weary head on my legs!
Slowly massage your fingertips upon my shoulders.
In hopes that I may give you more to explore.
I surrender and value your gentleness ~ wanting more.
I want to feel you with my eyes close'
Gliding your fingertips with a touch only I desire;
Your tenderness ignites me with an eternal fire.
Greedily we will feel not wasting a single thought,
including deep breaths~ you nor I cannot stop.
Switching and opening the kisses you treasure!
A Collaboration with * MICHAEL J. FALOTICO
~MY COLLABORATION CONTEST~