Best Handpicked Poems
The pieces of peace were handpicked
Picked in the heart of the night
Shredded for an aspiration
To clutch the lone torch contained by the dark
A glimpse for some unusual rank
Then comes the arrival of time
With the angst that grow by day
Comes the fast ticking of time
Hastening all; unnerved in the bay
At this moment
Love was censure by lust
In the euphoria of the game
Featured by despair and shame
The eventful spar between the dogs and the baboons
And then comes the contest of blood
The Spartans, the spectators all flood
Melancholy yet to befall
Then it begins
Passing through the span of day
Scotching rage of the sun
Little rain, little dry, little sounds of gun
But the dogs and the baboons
Tailback in fear; scowl
And little by little
Comes casting and counting
And after a little while
Anger was unshackled
Accompanied by lament
Yet, not enough raison d'être to toss away the tot and the bathing water
Then comes the voice of command
We were deprived!
It is our time!
Kill them anywhere you find them!
Rigging, rigging, rigging!
Peace was shattered
Broken into pieces
Like a bowl that fail out of safe
And pandemonium overtook all
After a little calm
Scores of guiltless essences met their Waterloo
Mostly in the cities they ad-hoc
Like those trapped for a catch
And their figures continue counting
Some unassumingly lost to the swampy woods
Searched by trained dogs and their masters
Into the depth of the swampy woods
Bled; death; covered in mud.
White
handpicked -
with my love
chrysanthemum -
tint
24.05.2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Alone I roam the dreamland wood
sombre and empty, dark my mood
vain hope to meet my love denied
a throbbing, pumping ache inside
afar a gleaming stream of blue:
mauve, purple, lilac mixed in hue
‘longside the one in dreams is mine
soft hazel eyes and features fine
He becks me close with comely smile
trance-like I float what seems a mile
a fragrant sweet around unfolds
a wondrous sight my eye beholds:
a bed of jasmine, handpicked all
my loved one smiles with look enthralled
He tweaks my nose with twinkling eye
within and –out I’m set afire
he mouths the words our eyes portray
lights fiery love long kept at bay
swept off our feet and smitten deep
entranced our eyes with want to keep
We make sweet love, as lovers do
declare our love, sincere and true
on bed of jasmine hands roam free
scent mingles with heart’s melody
both hearts in tandem skip a beat
then pick up pace in lustful heat
pulsating passion multiplies
we merge as one with moans and sighs....
Turning the pages of God's coloring book
Beauty everywhere we look
Human minds cannot comprehend
The Greatest of artists and His pen
Each season, paints a different scene
Summer, Autumn, Winter and Spring
The sun in summer, so yellow and bright
Forests of green such a beautiful sight
Vivid blues take on the sky
White clouds float steadily by
Green grass covers the land
Oceans blue meet white sand
Autumn brings leaves changing
Hues of warmth, colors ranging
Sunflowers, yellow and brown
Burgundy splashed all around
Breathtaking views of Autumn Fall
Mountains covered with majestic awe
The color of orange sprouts from the ground
Wearing stems green for a crown
Winter skies taken over with gray
Snow covered mountains, beauty displayed
Country roads, snow covered trees
So much to behold, the eye to see
The moon's faded hue, lights up the sky
Galaxy of colors, such a delight
The ground lies in beautiful white
As silver stars dance on high
Spring brings a vibrant view
Roses of red, Violets of blue
Camellias in shades of pink
Pastels from God's colored ink
Dandelions, cover the grass
A shade of yellow to add some class
Everything bright and anew
Handpicked of God's perfect hues
The elegance of God, none to compare
So vibrant yet so fragile and fair
In awe of everywhere we look
The beauty of God's coloring book
Written by: Donetta Harless
Thursday, August 25, 2016
Wild flower bouquets
Handpicked, wrapped with blades of grass
Placed in her clay jars
The Lord offered His wondrous love
Bringing forgiveness from above
I’m handpicked.
Upholding my faith’s fervent zeal
His truth-covenant shows great seal:
God’s handshake.
Saviour’s branch I am; He’s the vine
My heart accepts His work divine
as handmaid.*
Mighty sovereign of my soul
He leads toward triumphant goal
not offhand.
With Christ making my life blissful
I thank Him, being His grateful
handiwork.
*Luke 1:38 And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word…
May 13, 2020
5th place, "A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE no 1218" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 5/22/2023
I seem to fall in love constantly;
Seem to find it everywhere I go,
Half buried in the sand, like pieces of fallen moon
Waiting me to pick it up and devour it –
To shred myself to ribbons from the inside
The serrated edges slashing my heart,
And painting my soul with bloody lacerations…
They say love hurts and they would know
But they are men, with hearts cordoned off, locked up
They don’t have my soft core of need and despair
They don’t feel the things I do…
The things I feel for you
Of course it didn’t come as a surprise –
I handpicked you for your perfection after all,
Chose you above a thousand others…
But that doesn’t lessen the pain,
Or the crushing sense of doom that descended when you left
And it doesn’t console me now, as I sit alone
Trapped in my tower of solitude, miles away from you
Not knowing if you could even comprehend this agony,
Or the way my heart glimmers when you smile…
For all I know you are totally oblivious,
Or just thought it was a bit of fun, a casual collision of souls
But deep down I am hoping you aren’t that shallow,
You didn’t seem to be, when you sat with tears on your lashes
Mourning the way life has let you down…
Or when I gave in to my grief and you held me,
Rubbing my back in soothing circles and murmuring your pity
You know we are two tortured hearts alike, mirror images
Your pain matching mine in bleeding lines
We shouldn’t let this camaraderie go…
I don’t want to watch you fade away or turn your back
Because I can’t spend another endless stretch of nights like the last one
Weeping into my pillow as I listen to your favourite song…
I can’t handle that kind of gloom, beauty and despair,
Not for very long…
The night air crisply flows
Brushing past my sill with a caress
The final blooms of the magnolia's
Upon her skin, fragrantly confess
Autumn’s wildflowers
Sit upon the boudoir ledge
Handpicked this morning
To their beauty she makes her
pledge
Chiffon sheers move
With a sultry waltz in the breeze
Moonlight glows as a flickering candle
gliding across the wall as if on a
trapeze
Her lover, submerged in the elements of her boudoir
Is mesmerized and aroused by its sights and smells
He finds great pleasure where femininity dwells
Scented perfume causes his love to swell
The flickers cease to be
Their sighs belong
To the rhythms that
Waltzed upon the Wall
Carole Cookie Arnold
2010
They leave us
But do they really leave us?
They leave the world
but
They don’t leave our hearts
They leave their bodies
but
Not the characters they embodied
Push the button, it all starts
to end
They returned the gifts they were blessed with
Gently back into the places they came from
Wrapped in white silk
Creamier than milk
Gently they descend
Back where it all began
In the finest grains and dirt
Slides between their fingers
It’s warm
Protected from the storm
Preserved
Every bone in every cell that rose
And now
It falls
Sinks into peace
Plummets into the light
Into the piercing breeze
Cold enough to breathe
The Last breath
The Last sight
The Last scent
The Last taste
The Last touch
They rest their eyes
Their minds
Leave their memories behind
They lose their fears
Release their dreams
There are no inhibitions now
No where, who, what, when and how
It rang
The buzzer, the alarm
The green light shines
orange, and then red
Silence
Like the soft sounds of the Sahara
Like the silky water of the red sea
Like the child in the womb
Silence
Even deeper now
Ears, they don’t hear a sound
Or the footsteps above ground
No longer can they hear the winds racing
Water dropping
Babies crying
Engines roaring
Glass shattering
Heels stomping
Kids playing
Waves crashing
Silence
They don’t hear a sound
Now they rest
In peace, they indulge
They are the lucky ones
Chosen from the masses
Handpicked from the fields
From the rest, they shine
They saw and were never blind
They will remain loved
Remembered
Missed
As our eyes rest every night
We will unite
And relive every day we spent
Every feeling felt
After they leave us
But do they really leave us?
My name is Son of the most High God
Also known as a Chosen one
I was handpicked by God
Also Forgiven
I am redeemed and accepted
My name also Love, I am love
I am first and foremost people who live by faith
I am of deep endearment my name Beloved
My name is Son of the most High God
Also known as a Chosen one
I was handpicked by God
I am a seeded tree that has blossomed
A symbol of God I am Branches
I’m a child of God a Child of promise
I am Chosen, Forgiven, Redeemed, Loved
I am a Citizen of Heaven
I’m a Conqueror, a Disciples a Warrior
I’m a Farmer, a Fisher of men and People
My name is a Follower of the Way
Jesus declared he is the way and I AM A FOLLOWER OF His Way
My name is the Elect
First fruits of all He created
My name is Son of the most High God
Also known as a Chosen one
I was Handpicked by God
Also Forgiven
I am redeemed and accepted
My name also Love, I am love
I am first and foremost people who live by faith
I am of deep endearment my name Beloved
She sits on her throne with a fixed smile on her ebony face
staring into the crowd, she sees the peasants all grim and dull
But the smiles on their faces tell her they have love, strength, and happiness
As a child in the Congo, she would swim the river and look upon the villages
filled with them
And like now, their smiles filled her hollow heart
Laughter choking the air
Making her existence stale and ignored
Love, dangling above her like her pet monkeys swinging in trees
imported from Asia for her father insisted she have the best
Turning away from the crowd, she looks into her
room filled with silks from India, Diamonds from caves in inner Africa
Plush pillows filled with feathers from geese that were handpicked from
prosperous farms
She sits in her vanity, unwinding the long braid of hair secured at the top of her
head
The long black hair falls beyond her shoulders, past her waist, until it lands
above her ankles
A treasure, a beauty envied by all
And she used this, above the Congo River
Standing on her balcony
To drop, to tie it to a rail
to snap her neck, and hang freely
with one last breath, one last peek
at laughter and happiness
A life this queen never knew
It may sound incredible to the modern
The intelligent man may deride it often
Nevertheless, it is sensible to concede
That the heaven above ties nuptial knots.
Facts are stranger than fiction indeed
For believers no stout logic is required
To understand the ways of providence
That works in a strange way with ease.
The groom and the bride are handpicked
By destiny through a move well planned
Thus, all things necessary deftly managed
To carry out the design that is prearranged.
Love and longing are but barren words
Addition to the stuff for poetic jargons
It is the heaven above decides everything
That includes venue, time and the linking.
No one knows how it works, definitely
As it is impossible to delve into it deeply
It is good to accept and enjoy life merrily
For heaven above fixes marriages’ surely.
Fragile paper, white and quite a shaper rolled into a round
On a rod of plastic, tumbled gently draping to no abound
In the toilet room; a violet bloomed where stray peddles were found
Upon the windowsill the sunny feel was warm and peddles browned
Grandma's bathroom, powder, perfume, and a glass for stray old dentures
Was softly messy, cluttered, prissy, and layered with eye-squenchers
Such as brassiers hooked on brass spearhead hooks and dental cushions too
And a girdle. Yet, handpicked myrtle and blue rugs brought my ease through
The shower curtian caught the spurtin' water from the showerhead
In the tub a scrubber club with soft bristles hung tween silver knobs
In the thick steam the echos carried as I showered before bed
Sometimes the streams would mist the tissue then it would come off in globs
My dear Miss Peach how lovely!
Your table boasts so fair
You've chosen the finest bubbly
Best porcelain plates and crystal ware
Your handpicked guests are perfect
They know just what to say
They are prefects without defects
With no real opinions per se
Your parties are full of boasting
With braggarts, blowhards and egos
Pomposity excels in what they are toasting
Meaningless, pointless placebos
So Miss Peach I beg you not be stilted
Or try in your best elegance to change
What manner you provide is boring and gilded
And matters not to bourgeois talk wearisomely deranged
October 20, 2020
Completely Your Choice (30) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
It tastes like a cold soup
prepared in love but left to sit and cool alone
on empty counter tops
It is lonely pyramids and forgotten sands
that whisper secrets with dry mouths and parched lips
that go unheard and untried
It is the trees that cry in cracks by the wind
and scream when the fire licks to cook
It tastes like the last drop of water
and a sweetness that brings you back
a memory of past happiness that only arises with that taste
it is the taste of desperation and empty breathe
when you wish to swallow everything
but cannot reach for anything
it is the taste that enjoys you
it is salty and bitter and less than fairly traded
it cries in the boiling water before being dipped in butter and designed on a plate
it is the taste of regret when the consequence is the preparation and the bite is from the tree of life
it tastes like indulgence and wines for its companion
it is the taste of the meal that comes by candles and dines in the dark
that cooks slowly and burns with expectations
it melts in your mouth and stops at hearts
it bleeds when bitten and squeals from sourness
it is spicy and formless, scalding and unidentifiable
it leaves invisible scars
it is cream and dull, memory and thick
it is the strawberry handpicked and the salad mixed
with caring hands
and it,
is everything
More at : http://brendenpettingill.com/index.php/2017/12/12/a-taste-of-desperation/