Best Hove Poems
Listen, my dears, and I'll tell you a tale
Of a princess, a pirate, and glory.
There's a shipwreck, a rescue,
A romance, a ransom,
And a handicapped whale in the story.
There once was a princess, fairest of all,
But also quite vain and spoiled rotten.
She had a semi-private
Affair with a pirate
That would be but for me now forgotten.
The pirate, Mad Jack, was bloodthirsty and crude,
When upset, he'd explode, blow his top off.
Merchant vessels he sank,
Made their crews walk the plank,
Or, more rudely, their heads he would lop off.
One day Princess Daphne set out to sea
With her maid, they were bound for Majorca.
But the maid, in a gale,
Was swept over the rail
And inhaled by an asthmatic orca.
Lifeboats were lowered, the crew clambered in
And rowed quickly away, only thinking
Of saving their own necks,
Not the princess below decks
Left alone on a wreck that was sinking.
Then through the storm a ship hove into view,
At first Daphne thought it would dodge her.
But before she could hail her,
She felt courage fail her,
From its mast flew a vast Jolly Roger.
When Princess Daphne was brought before Jack,
She was haughty but thought he was handsome.
But to his greedy eyes
This fair royal prize
Represented a shipload of ransom.
But Jack was still human, Daphne was too,
And soon they were sharing their privates.
To his quarters she moved
And his crew all approved,
No one loves a love tale more than pirates.
But what of the ransom, yet to be paid?
Well, here the plot gets even deeper.
The stingy king said to Jack,
"No, I don't want her back.
It's cheaper for me if you keep her."
So Princess Daphne became Jack's sea wife,
And though common, but not mandatory,
When they became parents
They stopped being pirates
And passed peacefully out of the story.
For now then, my dears, that's the end of my tale,
An adventurous one hard to equal.
But, if I may be so bold,
And there's more to be told,
It may one day unfold in a sequel.
Years have come and gone
and the woman in me has seen
the love of the ancients in a dream
the constancy of time...gleams
nothing is as it seems
as I stand before you
I am ripe with age
No longer in the blush of my prime
No longer....sublime
I stand before you
with all my womanly wiles
and all of seduction's sighs spent
Innocence washes over me
carrying me back
on the streams of longing
pouring over me from
the depth of your eyes
birthing in me
the hidden instincts of innocence
as I stand before you
Transformed...
I am a girl again
not yet a woman
not having tasted
the pleasures of passion's gratification
I stand before you
In a voice of wispy wonder and wanton willingness
I whisper your name.....
You stand before me
stepping into the time of Before
both you and I
on the edge of discovery
with the shyness of virgin wants
we stand...
I look down at your hands
As you gently undress me
you peel away inner garments
of time and age
until I am....bare
A blooming beauty of blushing youth
I see it mirrored in your eyes
before I close mine
and venture into this dreamed reality
dressed....
in the instincts of innocence
I float on clouds of awakening need
sensations never felt
tingle a telling tale of sweet sensuality
I feel your fingers trace my lips
as one of them gently dips inside my mouth
I envelope it with a prophetic wetness wild
as it slides and it glides inside...
my innocence....hides
We no longer stand
you make me lie down
with guiding hand
You hove above me
discovering, touching, and tasting
My love for you
in honeyed dew
I come for you
you come in me
innocence now history
We intertwine the time
of before and now
Somehow
We're set free...
How can it be?
You have made....
a woman out of the girl in me
Eileen Manassian
Too late for Justin Bordner's Contest :(
Instincts of Innocence
Water wives live sheltered lives
Amongst the coves where pirates rove
Daily catch is makers match
Where red hot stoves hide fresh baked loaves
Water men are thick and thin
So often strove where shipmates hove
Water child is often wild
The treasure trove where pirates roved
19Mar14
The thunder reached them well before
it's shadow flashed along the shore
as whirlwinds from the steady beat
knocked fleeing hordes from off their feet.
Thousands sprinted to the surf
except a few who had the nerve
and put up spirited defence
and fell in flares of heat intense.
Fast and low, wings whipped the waves
glistening scales of charcoal, Jade.
Skimming clifftops, banking right,
climbing until out of sight,
then corkscrew dive in view it hove
and settled in a quiet cove.
On rocky crag where beast had fetched
it gazed down on her wings outstretched,
mother of pearl breast warmed by sun
she looked up at the one who'd come.
Crimson eyes met gaze of blue,
"Vanilla's sold out- will chocolate do?"
For contest- 'Dragons', sponsored by Silent One.
October 19th 2015
A thousand years ago and more
upon a strange and distant shore
a maiden wept.
She watched and waited long in vain
within her heart a mounting pain,
she seldom slept.
O that my love might come to me
she cried her silent, doleful plea,
a stifled moan.
The sun would rise, the sun would set,
and still the lovers never met,
she stood alone.
Then hove a sail in view one dawn
as seabirds sang in tuneful song
to welcome home,
the one whose heart ached for the maid
with fortune won, his plans were laid,
no more to roam.
Happy we pals of battalions from villages born of love
And sweet tender mercies, unlike here entrenched
With the foe. Grey mists on the horizon, silhouetted hove
Of sallow composition; subdued and drenched.
Between us, in 'no man's land' a barren waste
Of limbs stacked high, orchestrating the way
Of death, foreshadowing yet even still the taste
To come, and soon; at the break of day.
Our friends, fathers, uncles and brothers
In arms; cleaving the ground of crimson red
Left on the battle scarred plains, with their mother's
Voices ringing out, as bells that toll the dead.
Then slowly faint whispers are heard amidst the grave
Of brown and grey. "Is that you John!Bill! Fred?"
"Is that you Hans!Jurgen!Emil!"? You the brave
Who fell, still living amongst the dead.
The shroud of death that covers distempered cries
Now lifting as both find their heroes of cause.
And naked transgression remains; signature of lies
And deceit; like whores showing no remorse.
the prickly-eyed coneflower bees
attractively buzzing their squeeze.
the purple petal umbrellas.
a lovely echinacea breeze.
butterflies and hummingbirds hove’.*
red-winged blackbird, high perched above,
does shelter in Eden, his brood.
cones teem with life, vivacious love.
8/24/2022
Eight Lines of Rhyme - Your Favorite Flower
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Rhymes checked with rhymezone
aaba rhyme scheme
*hove’ - hover
Although yours truly modest,
the only personal issue
I will lightly boast about
constitutes lingering
self worthlessness bred
if not prior to first grade,
than most definitely incipient,
academic deadlines
loomed large with dread
and exacerbated by procrastination
quickly adopted as linchpin
damned obsessive compulsive
currents (i.e. thoughts) fed
modus operandi, which intricate
schema writ over lifetime invisible
within this talking head
who ironically enough
never uttered a beep
engendered from lack
of confidence, esteem,
somehow worthlessness,
insignificance,
emasculation, et cetera
took root, and didst leap
(axon to neuron)
and said mindset did seep
percolating into every nook,
and cranny comprising
aging shades, transformed
gray matter, sans this
beatle browed bummer, a deep
purple, though easily mistaken
for minuscule Uriah Heap,
or perhaps, ewe might notice,
(albeit while in a sheep
push disposition) similarities
between mine fist
sized thinker, and another creep
pee totally tubular Charles Dickens
character, or maybe
even a commercial
for nano bot sized jeep
grand Cherokee keep
up a moderate clip despite,
and/or because I
oft times feel a light
buzz sensation within me quite
average gummed up noggin
jammed numb skull,
(essentially barren aged
teenage wasteland recently
undergoing gentrification),
(yeah how really) excite
ting, a no brainer fright
fully glommed with peevish
gobbledygook plus worthless,
obsolete, and crammed academic right
hand busily twiddling, scribbling,
and sloppily drafting
error riddled assignments
deliberately failing heavily
marked with bright
colors adding oomph
to mental blight
punctuated by
attaining puny height
(...oh, about seventy inches),
nonetheless, my slight
physique and mute quiet
as a mouse, I might
as well hove been a stand in
for Charlie Brown right
down to the tree eating kite
good grief - never an ending fight
with Lucy, hence now this knight
in rusty armor forever
disparaged his might
and attests to
20/20 hind sight!
A day comes with a
morning dew,
For the words, less
to cope all few,
The breezy wave and
tweeting eyes,
Of rising sun, view
the Himalaya highs,
The trancing
eclipses and
faltering trees,
Held me there,
caught me freeze,
And the prevailing
dusky downy haze,
To falling cascade
of ivory rays,
Where I hied to let
it chase,
This beautiful
bounty widespread
haze,
I look & look, with
a glance and gaze,
With winking eyes
with hot cap,
I observed their
silent nap,
And whence the sun
rise and set,
Sparrow and humming
beak to get,
Food to survive and
maintain life,
And live on sharp
edgy curvy stemy
knife,
Above the grove and
in dense forest,
Where harmonious
peace dwells in the
nest,
Where leaves
levitate and birds
hove,
And oscillate with
desire, solidarity
in love,
A bird in this
hustle bustle,
Jingle jangle and
trilling rustle,
Are not base
generations, it’s
true so,
They rise through
reincarnation, and
grow,
Up to our believe
and reckon,
They are alive and
born,
I ask my conscience
where to hike,
Stood here and there
or by riding bike,
To feel the scent of
this rainy December,
Over my worries and
lethargy to
remember,
His never-ending
silence to end
daylight,
Made one statue,
stunned one bright,
And I put my towel
to have a shower,
This congeal water
pierces me by power,
Oh ablution is
enough for adequacy,
Count on, fend off
with sufficiency,
And when I walk on
flossy meadow,
The emerald tint
fell a shadow,
Upon my eyes to
sensory nerves,
Where the earth,
laid with several
curves,
The invigoration of
spirit rises up
more,
On rambling off and
on, this grassy
floor,
Over this belt with
buoying ways,
No alternate of this
land, O nays,
Where I felt about
flying upon,
Falling, right left,
up and down,
Then I move here and
there, up-to sun
height,
To meet buoyantly
this sunny light,
The sun with
magnetic warm and
beguile,
This morning with
candelabra wile,
Cause a man to wake
and woke,
Sing a flute while
sitting under an
oak,
How this mean, a
life less of
leisure,
Won’t you thrill
this grudgingly by
measure,
A world, an
embarrassment of
riches,
And a life with
plenty of beach’s.
Shahid Hussain
Chouhdry
Love Came Down
Of Royalty on Angels arms,
visit the maid in sweet embrace.
Silent, peace, nestled, warm,
prepared the way for lifelong grace.
Of Crystal night, moon filled sky
star lit paths of shepherd feet.
As they watched they wondered why
staffed with whispers for their sheep.
Of learned Wise Men rich with mind
wandered far this light to find.
For they knew a gift had come,
A Majesty for everyone.
Of lowly bode in covered hove
a couple kneeling humble prayer.
Bathed in Light from above
a gift of Love the World to Share.
Of Angels voices whisper joys
Love has come Love abounds.
God of Love sent His Son
This the night that Love Came Down.
Jeralynn B. Clark
It is the light that burns through the night
The night that is covered by pain
The pain that burns on bones so fragile
It is the face of the parents
The face that glow with joy
But the joy that is far from me
It is the father that has lost his dignity
The dignity that was nurtured for years
The years that has passed like super eagle
It is the look of poor souls that cause this pain
The pain that has no souses but shame
The feeling of pity for a hungry child
It is that pain which make me sick inside
Where sorrow hove around like a trapped bird
I shall toss myself to the ground
Though sun bring new beginnings
But this pain makes the rays deadly
How I wish to make the day light again.
Variations On A Theme...
Ach'n (ache Ken) Existential Struggle...
(NOT by Bellini, Paganini, Rossini...
Eeny Meany Miney Moe - si,
nor the three stooges tee hee hee)
twill never end till...this oft writ trend
of mine will never end,
only when...mortality
ike'n no longer defend!
Thus...once again, (or...as per usual),
this poem iz a boot
ruminations about bout,
who else except this ole coot
at das receiving end damned
lifetime role, and goot
raw end of deal, sans docks side of
moon efficient intervention
(teachers never gave a hoot)
as they appeared oblivious,
how moost all classmates did loot
mine emotional account, viz
cheap trick super tramp ping coot
tees reviled, renounced,
and wreaked havoc as root
of all misfortunate previous
to mine existence,
as iced (sic culled) hood
reaper remained mute
and scythe lent,
while (cue in dolorous)
melody issued from
Mose Arts magic flute,
whereat serpent (also known
in political circles as
Sally Salamander Newt
Gingrich) charmed goaded,
and relentlessly needled
Eve with snake hushed snoot,
thenceforth viper got ramrod
rigid taut as jute
of course this a fallacy as
just smore hove my fruit
fully "FAKE" pre fabric hated
discombobulated trumpeting ill suit
head prevarications – more
offal than glute
tee us expulsion, donned
as invisible faux poetic
apparel clothing with astute
cheeky effects, thus allowing,
enabling, and providing
adapt tub bull usage as zoot suit,
or as space age jumpsuit,
when I travel (with my cute Malamute
outsize prairie dog like fine home
companion) to the outer limits
of the twilight zone,
which groovy farout signals
detected by vodafone
and desperate plea made
to aliens to abduct me
(receiving an affirmative
digital binary tone)
courtesy of publishers,
unlike the negative responses,
predictably forecast, no complex koan
but clear as day -
inducing a slight inward moan,
which figurative slap in face
finding yours figuratively prone,
hence...a recurring well known
fantasy regarding plucking
this chicken (198920) heart lee
moss see rolling stone.
The hopes that she stood on were taller than reality,
But from such heights she could see very far,
On the bounds of what she dreamt of she thought
there must surely be,
her love, her life, her anchor, guiding star.
To any passing paramour she stretched out willing hands
and for brief moments desperately clung
but trying to pluck roses from where stalks of nettles stand
eventually leads to getting stung.
He hove to view like sunrise, warmed her face and lit her eyes
a chiselled jaw and eyes of polished steel
an easy charm that could disarm completed the disguise
all boxes ticked, he answered her appeal.
But like the locusts in their swarms that seek to overpower
his time with her was brief then he was gone
he stripped her harvest, plucked her heart, and then her soul devoured
and left a hollow shell, her dreams all gone.
She tightly gripped the bannister and gazed three floors below
this staircase she chose for her last device
swung over both her legs and without pausing she let go
and thus in just one day she'd fallen twice.
Today she welcomes visitors with arms out to embrace
though no-one takes her offer, just like then
for the beyond has stretched a silken veil across her sallow face
protecting from more sorrows, that are men.
Thee Apple Hove Bing an Herbivore...?
(hint – app peal)
Sans maintaining a strict carb on diet
(for Peat Sake) iz like really coal
man, cuz carnivores consume meat,
which genetically modified organisms
engender incredible non edible size foal,
these agribusiness farmed animals shot up
with synthetic hormones
spurring heightened development
accidentally, inadvertently, and unleashing
King Kong monstrous outrageous gnoll,
whereat each footfall taken
by scary creature resembling
a humanoid hyena
results in said frankenfood digging,
one after another humungous hole
resulting in dirt pile
cresting, kickstarting, and
rivaling a mini
spring mount tin knoll
necessitating massive
manhunt to cap cha
lurching, pounding, and thudding
beast whereat entire
motley crue all harkened
from places named Lowell,
nonetheless heil lee calf full
to arm themselves with more'n one
tranquilized tipped pole
anachronistic cautionary expedition generating
masterfully baiting monster
with immense gritty buttered roll,
whose gargantuan ramp
aging spree across
world wide web
found endangered population
tuff lee from their
picturesque enclave i.e. Floss
on the Mill as zee unbridled
quasi jabberwocky took a selfie gloss
silly attired (trumpeting
"FAKE" ska don face mask)
likening pulling up moss
as coiffed "hair...hm..." all the while
gabbling, instagramming,
snapchatting, and toss
sing fearsome Frankenstein
with especial bent toward
those sharing surname Voss
in tandem to flagrant
disregard to paradigm
housing hefty prime
statutes of grammatically
correct syntactical rhetoric, plus rhyme
ming showcasing a novel
discovered talent to enrich pantheon
until the end of time.
since times of auld
where linkedin note able people
(some long haired others bald)
plaintively, suddenly, and called
urgently to be importantly installed
to brainstorm figuring a solution
to vanquish, nightmarish,
and hellish abominable madness!
Why... just yesterday
where webbed wide world troubles
seemed so far away,
that would hove bin Monday
(October first tooth
house sand eight
teen), i.e. yea all
ready yes tar day
immediately found me ah say
comfortably, yet (gnome
min Ellie squirreled away)
seated on lawn chair a lay
ying when tired noggin sinks
deeply buried amidst pillows, may
find me submerged clay
mare ring with fervent eagerness,
and minimal delay
to soak in contents of the latest
issue of TIME magazine
came in the mail, hooray
which information periodically,
I always eagerly await
akin to puppy at play
time, though occasionally,
an issue doth
not arrive so okay
lack of receiving timely enjoyable
enlightening material,
no reason to nay
say United States
Postal Service pray
tell, an alternate option avails
to peruse online
contents, aye vay
their experience, the
smooth paper texture
this "FAKE" snoop
doggy dog tags
online medium deplore
able, cuz lack of poor
lee no comparison versus
cozying up with pages
as wood burning
stove doth roar
these fingers can turn more
appealing than straining, whar
only with great effort,
aye wreck kin and,
unable to ignore
eyes coon sitter
this quite a chore
to lean in attempting
with difficulty to explore
(with scrunched brow, and
squinting myopic ocular orbs)
scroll thru webpage,
while ma back
also feels strained, nor
ken nigh, yet favors
the hard copy
visa vis discovering significant
global and local happenings,
(which affinity also applies
to The Nation magazine),
yet latter noticeably more
brashly appealing tummy with
righteous leftist political
leanings bobbing along bon jour.