Best Herself Poems
The old wood framed home stood stark and abandoned, a
shell of herself, where now new homes were standing..
Rotted roped windows wept with the rains and rattled and
trembled with each passing train..
The once solid foundation now unmoored by silt causing the
aged house to lean, a precarious tilt..
Yet inside her ancient bones still chiseled and grand with her
high molded ceilings and oak floor plans.
For over a hundred years she was home, haven, shelter, thru
cold winter storms and hot summer swelters.
Many years had passed and her families moved on.
She stands out of place where she once so belonged.
Herself was lost
So far away
So far inside
Could she be rescued?
A part of her
Understood the mission.
Another part
Rolling its eyes
Resign or rescue?
Muse came out suddenly
Shaking her about
Kicking about the severity
Herself not easy to find
But worth the mission.
Muse grabbed her by both hands
And pulled her to forefront of her truth.
Body not as important as
Mind, attitude, creativity,
And imagination.
She roused for a second.
Her eyes open.
Thinking for the first time
That maybe a save was
Possible. Muse smiling.
the splendor of an essence, delicate yet
firm is called
woman…
awed by her mystery through years,
thirst of rivers and shorelines never knew
her meaning,
her perfume and poison
mixed with elixir cloaked in legends
which trace her tears, taste all maiden songs
and still cannot touch her, own her
absence, presence--
many men crush this feminine generosity,
trampled, demeaned like a wilting flower
but she is an eternal prayer, rising from
violence and domesticity-
this is woman…
bequeath your shrines primitive or medieval
you are timeless,
give those who have one bare minute
a last glance of your soul’s courage
above, under and beyond
Mary's firm panels of heaven,
for despite any human cruelty, she prevails.
She went to war against her foe,
A battle until the end,
A battle of spite against her will,
A battle inside her head,
You see, dying was what her brain wanted,
To kill her from inside,
But then she stood against her mind,
And refused to f###ing die,
She grew her venom, her malicious spite,
Became fully self-aware,
Ate good food, slept all night,
Mastering self-care,
She did everything her brain hated,
Until all those thoughts had died,
She beat her foe in her private war,
When she overcame her mind.
throws herself on paper
reveals heart to strangers
throws herself on paper
identity unrevealed
throws herself on paper
fearless, bold, sensual
throws herself on paper
poet persona unknown to others
unbelievable to those who know her.
a leaf a twig a teensy bit of feather
She is Peter Pan floating toward Neverland
a sliver of mica in a rough stone
diamonds of a queen, dreaming of her king
a day in nature, a plethora of hope
a caw, a whistle, a peep, a robin
magical land of faeries, elves and brownies
dive bombing her imagination with joy
She is overcome with completeness
feeling herself more here than anywhere else
she talks to herself
while people watch and laugh –
mental illness
Ó December 4, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Dear April gave herself to me;
May probably will as well--
Although neither know the other
And sweet June will never tell!
But Summer cannot know of them,
It would put me in a spot.
Besides, my heart does long for her--
For summer's really hot!
M :-)
sun unveils herself
red sings out to carress her
shameless disarray
beckons her with his calling
greens from past lives fade away
(August 22nd, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin USA)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
the people's money
they called it porked
inside a barrel
that can be inserted
on the greediest pockets
tax from sweat and blood
of the working class
that strive
to find conforts in life
to help the poor as they reasoned
long greed had consumed
the country that i call my love
that the money i have worked hard for
where have all gone
long greed hides itself under the shadow of charity
but we are not damned anymore
the wisdom within us
awaken
and we cannot be decieved anymore
09/05/2013, philippines - on the issue of pork barrel
Dark glowing eyes, a hazel bun, well tucked
and neat. Lips curve like shells in porcelain,
Awaiting to express, her brave conduct
That I could sense audacity, back when
Ladies bowed to men, such common duty.
Yet she possessed an ardent fire, heated
by graphic flair; sultrily chaste to be
among lords of glory. Oh, brushes red
Spill on fabric; If I could but explore
Her sprezzatura dripping lush oil, while
I breathe her strokes. My heart needs not of more
from galleries that hide a face beguiled.
My own dark eyes will memorize her hands,
Sprayed by palettes of brilliant renaissance.
-----------------
*sprezzatura—an intricate display of elegance
and wit—with a bold flourish.
*~ Though all of Anguissola’s self-portraits reflect
her dignified essence, her work, "Sophonisba Angusola
virgo seipsam fecit 1554", mirrors her deep desire to blaze
a new trail in the world of arts and new feminism.
I looked into her eyes and they spoke
of some smouldering need to fulfil her destiny
as a self-possessed, creative woman way ahead of her time
when male artists ruled during the Renaissance.
~ Sofonisba Anguisolla: A Contemporary Sonnet
For A Renaissance Woman... Contest
~Sponsor: Cyndi Mac Millan
~Poet: nette onclaud
Held under the crescent of your smile
in the purity an enchantment bell rings
New beginnings deeply the sickle cuts
as tiny silver shadows breathe with light
Illuminated stars sparkle with immortality
enlightenment from the dark side of nature
An energy field surrounds the host
formed in the ambience of a heartbeat
There once was a lady from Newmarket
Who's deriere was so big she couldn't park it
Tried a regular chair
Imagine if you dare
Sat next to herself! Overweight... just a bit!
© Jack Ellison 2015
She arrived.
Meet her,
Boiled egg, naked smoothness white
Like marble, reliable and strong.
O svelte composure of demureness,
Burst and strut through
In the last quarter of the year
To us.
Border line, rain and sun
In battle, drench an already saturated earth
With querulous mingle.
And I am not earth bitterly
To harvest warm dimpled kisses.
Should I dare,
Descriptory massage,
Almond rounding of your eyes
Received and stored in a lid
Lubricated with tears, and contained. Those eyes
Belong to stellar-clad skies
Scudding pedagogically for the Magi,
Myself, they move, and I learn
A lovely pencil of nose, yours,
Yet domicled above lips
Unselfish to reveal snow-white melons
An opening of fresh rose bud,
With the fragrance raw.
The gait is contagious
Not to me. But I wish
I could see disrobed her figure eight
That would never be mine.
The soft breakables of the valley
Would be adored to wetness and excitement,
Fantastic, incited not by me
Who cannot enter that palace
Preserved in the garden
Of her thighs.
for Chiugo, my elder brother's wife.
(c) Onyebuchi, 2011.
When a building is collapsed, you may construct new one When a tree is cut, with a sapling, you may get it done
When money is lost, you may earn When health is lost, you may darn
When you miss to enjoy beauty of dawn, you have a chance When you miss to embrace the breeze, you may get a glance
When you miss a movie, you have the prospect When you miss a bus, next one you may expect
When you miss a poem, you may get the text When you miss a chance, you may wait for the next!
When a mother is lost It indicates the end of the most!
Is there anyone to replace? Or to assure you peace?
None! Not even the god! Or to get back, there is no method!
For god comes in the form of mother! To compare with her, there is no other!!
Above poem is adapted from the eBook “YOU CAN CHANGE! WITH YOUR VOTE!! AND OTHER MIXED POEMS” by Mr.V.Muthu manickam. Copyright is held by V.Muthu manickam.