Best Handfuls Poems
Silent journey
I ride with you O Mother Earth
On the wings of time and space
I feel you cradle me in your arms
Lifting me high above you
To feel the kiss of your wind
..... and the warmth of your sun
A flicker of light and I am
Surfing the tips of your waves
Salty mist fills my nose
My eyelashes sticky with moisture
My heart wide open
Oh joy !
To glide up and down
On your surging tide
To undulate with the motion
Of your sea
To feel the movement of the
Magical water beings below me
Sunlight follows me
Illuminating the foam before me
Twinkling glitter radiating
Centuries of adventure and passion
Lust and loss spread out before me
Ancient battles
Sunken ships
Lost treasures and dreams lay
Below me in the darkened depths
Remembering your light within my heart
A child of eight
Knowing you Mother Earth
Digging in your soil
Smelling the damp dirt
Grasping handfuls
Unearthing small treasures of
Colored glass and painted pottery
Glancing upwards towards the sky
Filled with puffy white cloud dreams
Knowing your spirit and soul
Feeling you entwined with me
In the heavens and stars
Finding you in unexpected ways
Climbing the highest trees
Grasping at thick branches
Hoisting myself up
Beams of light piercing through
Shadows beckoning me higher
My t-shirt soaked with
excited sweat and purpose
Flying my dime-store kite
Out of my bedroom window
Wind taking it up so far
Up.... up...up
Appearing as a migratory bird
Making its way home
Dissolving into a small speck
Until I could see it no more
Painful grooves biting into my fingers
Cutting her loose
She’s free to fly home now
Transcending time
A silent whisper
Imperceptible movement
Pushing upward
Through fertile earth
I slowly unfurl my cloak of greenery
Stretching out my arms
Raising my head upward
I see the beauty of my form
A new seedling with furry lime tendrils
A baby plant on the carpet of the forest
Glancing upward I see my self surrounded
Sacred towering redwood giants gaze down upon me
As sunlight music tickles my soul
Susan Lawrence
Copyright 2021
When dieting, I’m rarely weak. In fact,
I’m Batgirl strong – resisting the allure
of sweet desserts. I’ve never been attacked
by chocolate hunger pangs. I’ve got the cure.
I give myself allowance every day
to taste a little bit of things I crave
since deprivation is the surest way
to get a Superhero sure to cave.
But don’t let popcorn anywhere near me!
The yummy butter smell asSALTS my nose,
and I go crazy, when especially,
nobody else is eating it! Suppose
a bowl of it just sits there? I‘m less strong.
Handfuls of poporn I will keep on getting.
That popcorn you’ll see vanish before long!
I then remove my Batgirl tights . . . regretting.
Oct. 5, 2021
For Anthony Biaanco's Your Kryptonite Poetry Contest
laughing children throw
handfuls of cherry blossom - -
an old couple kiss
for Susan’s Cherry Blossom contest
If, entrusted were I, with a magical purse,
one that held what was needed, but not monies curse.
One that neither bulged, nor would ever be empty,
so when I reached down within, there I'd find plenty.
A handful of tolerance, I would pull each day,
to pass out to those in need, I met along the way.
I would take a fist full of hope, to toss aloft.
Scatter it among the throng, letting it land soft.
I would enter into the turf of gangs and their wars.
Trading peace for their guns, so they would kill no more.
I would go to Washington, there I would invest,
two handfuls of honesty, perhaps ten, would be best.
Charity, I would share, with those who live large.
Help them to give some away, so no one need starve.
I could change so many things and alter many lives.
But, I could also do harm and make so many cry.
As it is so easy, to think one self's above,
to take control of lives, forgetting about love.
So for myself, I'd take a bit to keep myself humble.
So that I and my purse, never, ever stumble
Blank, silent sight, fretted the gods,
Nowhere in the horizon, a living thing abides;
Handfuls of soil, they carry in the air,
Poured as seeds ‘till a haven molds there.
Land of the Morning, Pearl of the Orient,
So called the Philippines, the name I am sent;
Seated in the east where the sun is dawning
Pride of the Pacific, as a lady ever shining.
Unlimited riches stretch beyond sight,
Vast oceans, boundless forests, plains are wide;
Flora and fauna of diversified species,
Plants, animals in a variety of faces.
Wet and dry – the nation goes through;
Brown and green – the Chocolate hills dress up too.
Her angry volcanoes constitute the ring; and typhoons, the belt;
A geographical fashion of calamity been made.
What makes her stunning that colors adore such?
Not her beauty, not Boracay, not that much…
But her people, the Filipinos, the key, the answer
Unlocking a treasure – a gem over waters.
Between happiness and sadness
—silence; an angel prays:
I kiss the loneliness of old people,
their temples like handfuls of winter;
their hearts
are used baggage,
waiting;
memories speak to them,
they smile and
tell me stories from their youth
—sadness falls;
silence passes unspoken
—they remember the dead.
I kiss the loneliness from their temples
and sadness lifts from their mouths.
———————————————————————
From my first book: 'In Forbidden Language'
©dah / Stillpoint Books 2010
all rights reserved
Search Amazon Books: "in forbidden language/dah"
Again, there will be water - Soon!
In sleep - the deaf silence
reminded me - last night
a leaf withered...
It reminded me of the vase
In which we were the three of us
Dreaming a dream with dew
Sipping from the month of May...
...and little by little my stem
withered in distress
and my painful leaves
found an excuse in Death...
Again, there will be water - Soon!
With little, gentle handfuls
the Life's cup is filling
with crystals of desire
I dream a hopeful dream
regenerating roots
There is the water - plenty
and Oxygen enough...
written at 13, translated now
Used on Poetry Soup 3/23/17
Sweet Tooth
She always asks for candy,
When we ask what she wants for her Day,
Or on Christmas she asks for pralines,
That come from far away.
She never asks for diamonds,
Nor an eco friendly mink;
Only some kind of truffles,
Or a gooey chocolate drink.
Jelly beans by the handfuls,
She keeps at her kitchen door,
I’ll want that candy dish in her will,
Just in case it fills some more.
We all just call her Sweet Tooth,
She never puts on any pounds,
If she did, we’d love her just the same,
For GrandMother is sweet as it sounds.
FEEDING HORSES
She was four years old
Apples in bulging pockets from garden trees
Cold day in autumn
Stroll down to Paddy Sands’s horse pasture
Stop at five-bar gate and lift her up
Call or whistle - they come from a half-kilometre
Black, brown mares, one gelding
Jealous one tries to bite the others
Jostling for position at the gate
All those soft soft noses.....
They will permit stroking
If fed enough handfuls of grass
Grass tastes better from our hands
Than when cropped by them,
(Especially with tiny flowers of blue vetch).
Their big brown eyes close up
So peaceful and trusting
Tempting furry ears just out of reach for her
Turning cold now after half an hour
Spoil them with our apples before we go home
Show her how to hold back her thumb
So it doesn’t get bitten.
Walk home through Sands’s cropped hayfield
To tea and biscuits.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written for Carol Brown's Contest "A Horse Story"
"Children full of giggles, dance in excitement around the Christmas tree, a camera captures the moment." Quote by poet
The emerging day, a crisp fresh white nature
exemplifies early Christmas season.
Scent painted patterns of blue spruce,
Scots pine and Nobel fir, so many shapes
and sizes to pick from.
Summer long gone; snow lies upon the ground.
Sun crowns the pinnacle emerald trees
with each limb adorn with handfuls of snow.
Along the way, a blue jay perched on a limb
shaking its tail feathers, a red robin alights and stares,
making it easy to pick the perfect Christmas tree.
Dressed in an armor of glimmering tensile, cranberry garland,
colorful lights, and a variety of glass ornaments on its branches,
and an angel, stands center stage atop of the tree.
Gifts wrapped in colorful Christmas wrapping,
ribbons, and bows under the tree, a perfect cameo.
saturday morning—
green; handfuls of blue berries
small tokens of grace
6/20/2020
*** NOMAD ***
(For Ian and Bryan)
The gifts just out of reach…Always?
Scoping the search?
With the contentments
Of peace to be found,
Buried like treasure…And
Hunted?
Beloved nomad
Seeking place
Among the ridges
Of the lost caves your eagles
Scan horizons
To discover, while watching
constantly over you —
Traveling with your long stretch
Of discontented camels,
Snorting and spitting,
Their loads grown heavier than
The darkness near descending;
Their eyes forever looking
Over the empty distances —
Perhaps as feared
As Earth’s edges —
For any, any possible oasis
Appealing to you with
Some hope of settling.
So do
Stop periodically,
To recall all you love. And
Bend, to measure sought ends,
Letting run
Handfuls of unfamiliar sand
Between your fingers — not
Worrying over spent years
Yet to come —
As you watch the grains of sand
Drizzling down, falling
To a familiar dune
To continue their endless rest.
Nomad, continuing the search
For that similar someplace
Of origin, for re-starting on
The pathways to the where-
Evers far from any ends…or
Before finding then truly
What was held all the while.
Consider that the sought ends
Could assuringly be meant
To wait for the journey’s close,
With much to be said for
Actually moving through reality
While the mind, too, may wish
To avoid doubts or deliberations
In stillnes —
Most happy to feel new breezes
Touch past; or to hear unfamiliar
Voices sing out greetings; and
For incongruities to shake
The soul closer to God.
The journey’s progress (surely
With some luck in the going,
Or help from a greater
Force if while staying)
Does occur in the there
Or the here, hopefully to be
Concluded in a spot for
Body and mind, which
Your eagle has eyed
In many fewer than forty years…
For you are loved, your way blessed.
————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 2/25/22
Thanks be to God
From your two transparent blue oceans
Where the sky has sprinkled
Its two handfuls of dream
Wind is wild like school children
From that laughter into my dark corners
Can you please give me with your palm
Just a little bit of the granules of sugar
From those smiling sparkling swirling eyes
Where the blue of sea mingle with the white of sky
Where from morning till night
Ever blooming stories sprinkle delight
From the sweet whispers of the starry night
Just a little bit of sugar for my twilight
Can you give me
Or else what for this petalled unfolding every day
Upon the sand that the sun has almost forgotten
On the shoulder where the hair lays caress
In a dream in midair still
Weaves tales of wild hare
On the moons where clouds still grow and swell
What for this everyday bread and butter
Without just a little bit of sugar
From you
For my hue
Just a slice of window I seek before my eye lashes
From your green and orange game
Not just an onlooker
A little bit of sugar too
_____________________________________________________________
For the poetry contest: Just a Little Bit of Sugar
Sponsored by: Debbie Guzzie
One wonderful trait about being human is the ability to reminisce…
to remember people, places, things and moments
that have happened…that we miss.
Take our house for instance
its floors and walls and ceiling are lined
with a myriad of memories our children left behind.
Floating in the air…they wait…and we would be remiss
If we didn’t stop and catch a few….
If we didn’t reminisce.
It’s like dipping our hand in the water as we float along a stream…
catching handfuls of our memories
times we laughed and loved and dreamed…
Today as we were cleaning out a drawer
we found a bookmark, that had years ago been misplaced
It was yellow…made of felt
with a little smile for a face.
A little yellow bookmark
picked out of the river flow…
A little yellow bookmark
made by tiny hands so long ago…
A little yellow bookmark…spanning a time continuum so vast
A little yellow bookmark…linking our present to our past…
A little yellow bookmark…
reminding us of a moment in time we miss…
marking that moment forever
every time we reminisce.
These days, i avoid the mirror...
Shunning my reflection, as a hunched Gollum
Ducks his head from the sun’s incendiary stare –
I do not want to see…
Do not want the mirror’s truth,
Etched in the hollows of my cheeks,
In the death’s head darkness that dwells in my morbid eyes
My demise lurks in the mirror,
Watching, biding his sweet time
And the child that I was is just a memory I chase, desperately
Through dream-dappled meadows,
In a haven that no longer exists…
My life has dwindled,
Shrunk to the point of light on the head of a pin,
i survive on mere seconds of borrowed time,
Snatched moments here and there,
Handfuls of dust trickling through my fingers
Into the greedy belly of the hourglass…
It is all just a half-hearted dance macabre waltzed on a floor of shadows
Lies and truth are demon partners at my shoulder
And love is Eurydice flitting in my wake from the depths of Hell,
She calls my name but if I turn to look,
Even to savor a final incandescent tryst of souls –
I will burn to ashes and die