Best Hereabouts Poems
Hereabouts the thinning glades
Of sparse grey Birches:
Brackens crisp copper tresses
All aglow;
Gently waking Snowdrops
Lift their sleepy heads
From leafy beds of woodland moil,
When tucked snugly up,
Out of intrusive sight and just
Below.
Fondly the slowing bend
Hugs upon the river...
Banked heavily with frosted
Bulrushes
That shifting breezes once did so
Stiffly blow;
The faltering current,
That sped the pied Dipper,
Patiently seeks out the quiet
Devotions
Of her beguiling flow.
When the drawing Moonlight
Gives way to purple Twilight
In the gloaming
Of Winters sharp days;
When the yellowy willows
Weep watery glints
Lingering and loitering...
Pining for long Summers slanted
Rays.
For far, far, high above
Over the old red-bricked mill...
Whose creaking sluice gurgles
With long melancholy sighs:
Heavens twinkling stars,
Held briefly in abeyance,
Partially obscured by thin veils of
Dull-leaden, magenta tinged skies.
Where the low horizons fall
And briefly meet the mornings
On heathered moor, open field,
And inland shore:-
Here beached boats dreaming
Of white crested waves;
Soon the keen plough will make
Ready
To score the deep furrows once
More.
Now our Lady Skadi,
Purest and resplendent,
Through driving sleet
And blinding blizzards will ascend -
Returning to aged fortress
Of eternal Utgard
Leaving her thawing snows
To dispel long Winters End!
Prayer Cried Out In The Storming Waves
Fought the waves, the maddened tumbling sea
doomed ship sinking swiftly beneath me
Prayers to God,to every saint I ever knew
no desire to reside beneath this ocean blue
Midnight's stormy fury soon moved past
ship gone, me clinging to a broken mast
Fear, the kind that eats into your soul
rebuked my every hopeful, impossible goal
Prayers renewed with sad desperate pleas
Lord, let me survive these angry seas
The waves beat me about with great delight
I am tired, give me strength to fight
Master,find all the good that rests in me
save me, to do all that you may please
Prayer ended, my legs and arms do so tire
as the last ember was burning in my fire
Hope raced forth in a bright shining light
dawn broke forth from that darkest night
The rays hit me with a soft, sweet breeze
so calm,so very calm my soul was at ease
A single gull flew over my bobbing head
Hope cried out,you live,you are not dead
Land must now be very close hereabouts
So tired but that did not stop my shouts
Thank you Lord,this gift I will never forget
I believe,even though I am not home yet
A rescue ship's horn was soon blasting away
saved I'd be on this fine glorious day
Soon I was safe, safe on board her deck
I knew then faith and prayer saved my neck
Captain said, saw your flare just before dawn
thats when we raced and really poured it on
I was so confused and my mind it did so stun
I had no lifesaving flares and no flare gun!
Robert J. Lindley, 05-24-2015
Note: Was it a dream, my memory tells me I lived it.
In another life so long ago.
Heartbreak brings more strength
By: Ireland Dowd
Heartbreak is like a lit candle that is blown out.
Everything you know is only doubted.
A sad flashback of the memories you had shouted.
Right at the moment, those tears begin to sprout.
Time is a devil bringing bad instead of good, causing an emotional drought.
Breaking all you had and along with it all that you were.
Rocketing down is your hereabouts.
Empty is your heart of gold, empty but, devout.
A round of emotions in a roundabout.
Killing those who are as strong as they walkabout.
Bringing a sudden round of qualms
Ringing bells of several sounds
I hear cheers go out of bounds.
Never again hearing those hopeful sounds.
Giving hope to those around.
Sounds the leaving clouds.
Medicine racing through my veins like it's playing a game.
Oh glorious sun, Oh where did you go?
Rare are people who actually know...
Everything you are not ready to show.
Strength is an aftereffect of all of the hardships you undergo.
Try, try to let it all go.
Rise up when someone hurts you.
Even when you’re feeling blue.
Never give up on the sun that comes and goes.
Gaieties form when you choose to grow.
The technique is what’ll make the positivities show.
Heartbreak brings more strength.
This is quite a bit overdue my friends
It's an ode to Brussel Sprouts
Those delicious spherical bundles of joy
Not too popular hereabouts
Poor wee fellows just want to be loved
Along with the other veggies
They've long had a real image problem
About as popular as a wedgie
Thinking of starting a worldwide petition
Any Soupers wishing to join
Send a hundred dollars to me, Jester Jack
You'll receive a commemorate coin
Along with the coin you'll receive a bushel
Of these oh so luscious little critters
As a bonus for ordering before December
An autographed picture of John Ritter
Hey, it rhymes doesn't it !!!
© Jack Ellison 2013
Post coitum omne animal triste est,
sive gallus et mulier*
Yes, no cockerel who rules the cackling roost
Will stomach slander from Latin master;
But who will stand aside and let the ghost
Of hints slur old motherhood’s register.
Manhood must of needs hang its head in pain
After all the sweat and toil in loins of love;
After millions of squiggly soldiers in vain
Drop their lean tails at the egg wall alcove.
Only the fool who dares call woman’s bluff
Shall learn hard way positions in bedstead;
Virile pride will sink in the depths of fluff
While smooth gym-trained muscles rage instead.
As they say hereabouts sur le vieil Continent
La différence, Mon Sieur: lip’s shade content.
· * “After the sexual encounter every animal is
grief-stricken,
excepting the cock and the woman.”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2005-2012. From the collection:
Poems Omega Plus, 2005. Rev. 2012.
I live in a very small very old village
In England where everyone knows your name
But what makes the place rather odd
Is the locals who are very strange.
There's Gina the window cleaner
Her bum the size of mar's
And Lady Quinn
Who drives like a mad lady
In her Bentley car
There's old Doctor Mckenna
Who always complains that he's ill
And young pregnant sally who forgot
To take the pill (again)
Farmer Giles and his sheep
Tom the butcher boy who walks around naked
In his sleep
Norris and Horace
the identical twins
And gambling Fred who backs the horses
and never wins
Old Nelly at the post office
And Nora who has the local shop
And P.C plod the nervous local cop.
They all get together on a Friday night
In the local pub and get merry and gossip
For it's the communities hub
Many tales have been told
About a Headless horseman
hereabouts who rides through the village
around midnight when the lights go out.
Headless horseman?
It makes no sense to me
Because if he was riding a horse
How the hell would he see.
Every year we have the village fete
and people from all around cue up at the gate
we used to have a morris dance
But morris can't dance no more
Because Morris hung up his clogs
When his feet got very sore
There's Mollies stall of home preserves
And paddy and his performing fleas
That leaves everyone scratching
And heading for the trees.
The old church stands on top of the hill
and long after the bells have rung
Your ears are ringing still
When anyone does something wrong
they have to face the old ducking pond
I've been ducked a time or two
And got completely wet through.
It's claimed Robin Hood
Met maid Marion in our local wood
Bet they were up to no good
And his merry men got really merry
Down at the local pub.
If you ever visit us at our village
Hogs bottom's end
We might be a bit strange but we'll greet you like a friend
But be wary
Many a visitor never leave
And meet a grizzly end, ha ha ha haaaaaa.
Peter Dome.copyright.2014. July.
A white torn garment she wore,
fidgeted and partied alone in the air.
Neither knowing fully well her plight,
Nor understanding her whereabouts,
She kept on racing and rocking
In the oblivion cloud.
On her own,
She raised her voice like never near Ears.
Many at times, yelled at the free sky.
On her true hue, not shy;
"Angels, please fall from the Heaven.
I request you rock with me!"
She in her solitary, calmly stepped on.
This time, walked near a pool
She was a barefooted *****
Seemingly horrified and terrified;
drank and washed herself in the pool.
"Aren't there any haven near by
To put on with at this time of the day?"
Now rescued her God-known amputating life!
Though, on the hop, she sought and found
And hopped for a hostel hereabouts.
"Now I see, angels are near"
She danced into the erected cover clouds;
"Are angels still going to see me here?"
As she entered, she solemnly prayed,
In sotto voce,
"Verily, I seek refuge with the Lord of this haven,
As I live to live and lay in peace."
As though she understood it all:
The such in dreams and the such in life.
So determined in and with her timeline;
And so she rose to the top.
“I open the door and cross the threshold of imagination”
Time past, like a grandma’s tale
Has a moral to tell.
Time present, busy, full and bursting
Save me, my Lord.
Time future, O God, It’s but a dream
Time hangs heavy hereabouts, at this bus stop,
Called the market stop, where folks wait bleary-eyed,
But not for this spectacled, haggard, wiry girl
At this bookstore opposite in conversation
With a rough- looking guy for forty minutes now
The bus comes, I squeeze myself in , but eyes strain
To find if that butterfly, book in hand, a last minute arrival
Had fluttered on to this bus; yes, she had..
Time suddenly grows a butterfly’s wings and flies.
Out there, time, the prancing horse, is a non-stop myth, ,
The ageless do not get time-worn,
Again, there, air, space and all its gadgetry
Free Of all traps and waits and longings
Having time, not human-clock-bound,
Locked up in stellar boxes, pressed into black holes
Waiting for an explosion..the end…timeless end.
Form used: All the three are in Free verse form
Contest: `Three Gems` of Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet~
BY : S.Jagathsimhan Nair
Date written: Written years back, but slightly compressed for this post
04 aug 2011
ARCHAEOLOGY FIELD-TRIP JANUARY 29 TH 3011 - PART I
In this windy coastal location the interesting thing is that
1000 years ago this unlikely spot was a huge city.
Where we see the forests and swamps now -
Was a large city which we’ve called simply Bayville.
Nature has reclaimed it, as it has all ancient civilizations.
Last month we looked at the Aztec and Mayan cities.
This month we have come further north
And we are examining the Euro-latin civilization
Which came to an abrupt end
About 1000 years ago, for unknown reasons;
Although evidence suggests that there was
A climatic change which gradually
Turned fertile farmlands hereabouts into deserts,
And there was a series of devastating earthquakes
Which hit the city each year for several years.
(NOTE: Part II of this poem follows immediately in the list of poems)
This is quite a bit overdue my friends
It's an ode to brussel sprouts
Those delicious spherical bundles of joy
Not too popular hereabouts
Poor wee fellows just want to be loved
Along with all the other veggies
They've long had a real image problem
About as popular as a wedgie
Thinking of starting a worldwide petition
Anybody wishing to join
Send a hundred dollars to me, Jester Jack
You'll receive a commemorate coin
Along with the coin you'll receive a bushel
Of these oh so luscious little critters
As a bonus for ordering before December
An autographed picture of John Ritter
Hey, it rhymes doesn't it !!!
A chimney on a low rise standing sentinel
On the loosely scattered outskirts of town.
A reminder of an old house built by hand,
The home around the hearth long fallen down.
The silvery frost covering the remnants
Of the old broken place spilled on the ground,
No room hereabouts for cheap sentiment,
It’s bleached broken bones now earthward bound.
Wandering through someone else’s ruins
My imagination starts to take hold.
Discovering relics from times long since past,
Anonymous, broken, rusted and old.
I spy a grand old wood fired oven’s legs
Sprawled akimbo all four across the floor.
With its door ajar and enamel cracked,
It’ll provide them warmth and food no more.
The floorboards cling to the twisted bearers,
Bleached pine timbers cracked, warped and twisted.
Only wind swept and no longer mopped with pride,
Their gaps now hide rabbits no longer hunted.
Amongst the wooden wreckage lay scattered
Shards of brilliant and broken lead stained glass.
Elegant reminders of another time
when no-one thought this would come to pass.
A time when the front door was always open
And the pine rafters inside rang with life.
When a family filled the space with laughter
And gathered at the hearth in times of strife.
A battered and blackened iron pot upturned,
Rusted holes, cracked and weathered through.
It’ll never again be used to boil up
A feed of mouth watering mutton stew.
Handles, hinges, bolts and rusty nails too,
Lay in abandonment across the grounds.
The daffodils, jonquils and geraniums,
Now foreign to the garden’s new surrounds.
An aching head betrays a tired sadness
At forgotten scenes of decay and neglect.
Ignorant passers by cause me to wince,
As on this families history I reflect.
This one too from our sight they’ll soon remove
As progresses heavy capped boots march in.
The suburbs swallowing up our old farms,
As new histories in new houses begin.
I’ve come across many such sites of times past
As around the back blocks I’ve wandered.
If your eyes were open you’ll have seen them,
But do you care for our heritage squandered?
PART ONE - DIAMOND AND HER KITTENS
She was a proud mother
Of four little kitties,
She told us thereafter
Of her maternal bliss.
Two days later, two died,
She looked and was frantic-
She thought we tried to hide
Her newborns in the attic.
Her mournful mother's cry
Kept gnawing through the night
To her we tried to lie-
Only two saw the light.
Yes, cats know how to count
So we had to explain,
Whatever one discounts-
Mothers cats know the pain.
PART TWO - MACKIE AND KUTCH
So if cats can count,
Well the dogs can too.
In our home there are two
Who guard who goes through.
They know who is still out
They will watch the gate waiting
Not at home hereabouts-
Which master is still missing.
They know by the sound
And can smell miles away,
Their master has been found
And he is on his way.
Their jubilant greeting
Say the number is complete,
They are through with the counting-
And they are ready to eat.
PART THREE - SAMMY THE SPIDER
Now you say this is odd
And there is no proof
Meet a spider lad
Who lives up our roof.
Sammy's home is a web
Of clean measured strands
Numbered lines does he have
Lots of room in his hands.
He can count the distance
Each web from the other
Skills learned by chance
Obviously from his mother.
Image of Coyote Animal Snow by Pixabay
Coyote Corner
Coyotes are wolves near cognate brothers,
closer to jackals who are bred o'er seas,
plus, noted slang for smugglers of mothers
and tots who lacked to grasp the ABCs.
Found hereabouts the USA, merely
south of the border some ways then back up
northbound throughout Canada. Stars queerly
dusk also dawn ... wreak howls, dull stares faceup.
Coyotes balance the way that they hunt;
when they are alone, they pounce on small prey,
nevertheless, whenever they confront
larger beast's, pack forms and perfects the slay.
When faced by coyotes, thrash your body,
yell, throw objects or be a wolf and *pee.
*Though blood brothers, wolves are also a coyote's nemesis and they are quite savvy of "marking one's territory".
2021 June 1
*1st Place*
A BRIAN STRAND SONNET
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2021 July 30
Oh, her love was for a sailor
Alas, the sailor sailed alone
So she took up with a cowboy
Who wore boots and rode a Roan
He dried her tears and held her hand
And softly whispered in her ear
He taught her how to dance real slow
And how to drink cold long necked beer
And then one day the sailor came
Fresh from the Hebrides he said
He bumped into the cowboy's boots
Tucked just beneath her feather bed
He lost his temper and turned red
And he swore he'd kill the man
She smiled and said that wasn't wise
"You had best just leave while you can"
"He's a man that can dance real slow,
"And wrestle steers for a livin'
"He breaks wild horses hereabouts
"And his heart is full of givin' "
Oh, he heard danger in her voice
And he was not a stupid man
He hoisted his bag to his shoulder
Tipped his hat - struck a trail for Cheyenne
Her life is good - good as can be
And she lost her love of the sea
She smiles when she can dance real slow
And drink beer that is cold and free
10-4-20
Contest: Completely Your Choice (21)
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Cockeyed Weathervane
Whizzing along on an old time train,
I looked out the window at a cockeyed weathervane.
The engineer saw it, too, stepped on the whoo whoo!
To call our attention to this historical hen aroo.
Seems of all the weather predicted hereabouts,
That hen's eye cocked fooled all of the louts,
They planted during rain, and picked corn from the snow,
Just cause they believed that hen's eye where it'd go.
Worked pretty well, though, for many a yar,
Tractors went sideways and so did the cars.
Barns's roofs were crooked, and so were the houses.
That cockeyed weathervane even fooled horses.
Wagons drove in circles, and the kids grew up twisted,
Moms baked bagels that looked double fisted.
But the town folks all laughed all the way to the bank,
They had all the tourists who laughed at them to thank