Best Increased Poems
The staticky-stars climax under intense blanket of Winter glow.
Your spouse can’t see your spirited green eyes that burn slow.
The friction of campfire sticks, the satiny slipperiness of moon.
Flames of blue, orange and red won’t be overcome too soon.
Pert rose petals, that once were goosebumpy and ice cold,
scintillate like fireworks until the grand finale’s loosed, uncontrolled.
Warm breath in a cold Winter’s steamy and a restless beast.
Lips lavish over late night feast, matches singe, sate increased.
Squirming under the leisurely complement of coals, coalescing,
Coolness of a blue lake vaingloriously countering, distressing.
A long midnight’s thrashing, sans pillory; the high beams foray.
Pillow talk, a sensuous squeeze, a high-diving elixir bouquet.
Ah those stars brilliantly glowing on a long Winter’s night!
Those limbs blush, rose petals crush, with unfettered light.
Night fell,
Summer’s heat abating,
I sat leaning against a tall magnolia,
Its fragrance spreading everywhere
Like echoes of whispering breezes.
Despite all I could not rest and sleep.
The moon and stars were invisible now,
But darkness could not cover the glade.
Fireflies flittered here and there, glowing.
I was mesmerised by the fireworks of the night.
Suddenly I heard a delicate delicious melody.
Was it the fireflies orchestrating their symphony?
Soft enchanting tunes enticed the whole glen.
Could this be a dream descended from the hidden stars?
The melody changed, cadences tuned up and down,
The fragrance of the magnolia increased,
The moon appeared and all was bright.
Butterflies flew all around. Or were they fairies?
I could not tell for suddenly my eyes became heavy
And blissfully I slept as joyfully I dreamt.
Ocie the Ocelot liked words a lot!
As a tot, words like dot and trot hit the spot
Then, getting older, the folder on her shoulder grew bolder
What was once handy stopped ringing so dandy
Craving vocabulary candy to bandy
She sought what she ought, to form lukewarm to hot
Mooshu, the emu guru, knew what to do
To bring notice and gain focus
Journey there, to the oracle's lair
The fortress of Morris the Thesaurus Tortoise
When she approached his door, saying, "I want more!"
His smile creased - he replied, "Your covet's increased!"
She confessed her distress at being a pest
But he said, "My dear, you're not stubborn - you're tenacious!
You're not merely aware - you're perspicacious!"
It's not only knowledge; it's proficiency, cognition, discernment
For ideas, impressions, concepts, brainstorming segments
Be bold, audacious, intrepid, resolute, gallant
Credit your capacity, flair, savvy, talent
Evade the cliche, the commonplace, the trite
Clamp on, lacerate, masticate, bite!
Hours freed, for her need to succeed
Then, at the end, one final creed to heed-
Don't fall a slave to the misbehaving knave
Sometimes, the simpler speech is the one to save.
3/4/19
Poem of the Day 3/06/19
Aloha Spirit
Sol, with his golden crown, greets me each morning
within divine rays extending out over emerald hills
and valleys that absorb his warmth of abiding light.
View misty alabaster clouds turn from twilight's purple
into softest rose just before golden regal rays emerge
calling forth fowl to take flight into spacious azure skies
winging their way from tree to pole to wherever their
heart’s desire on their quest for food for fledglings with
hungry mouths agape, loudly peeping in their nests.
The sea coruscates in shades of jade illuminations
luring early risers with surfboards to ride the surf.
Share the scents of floral fair that lingers in the tropic air
carried by the trade winds whimsy, enthralling all.
Not a poem to 86 but one of lucky number 7 doubled 77!
Kahunas sing sacred chants with drums that echo still.
6/20/20
Poem name: Island Spirit
Views: 8677
Poetry form: Rhyme
Date of Publication: 01/17/2015
Views For Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Funom Makama
*Kahuna (c. 1890) Kahuna is a Hawaiian word, defined as a respected person who has moral authority in society; a "priest, healer, sorcerer, magician, wizard, minister, expert in any profession (whether male or female) Shaman.
*86: We’ve all heard someone used the term 86 in reference to doing away with something. There are a few schools of thought behind where the saying came from. Some have more legs than others—such as those of the restaurant industry—but to this day, there is still no official etymology.
*The number 7: Throughout the ages the number 7 has defied the law of averages and confounded mathematicians. For many of the powerful and wealthy, the number 7 is a symbol of luck and good fortune. Carry the Lucky 7 with you and experience: A dramatic turnaround of events in your favor. Increased Lucky Streaks.
My thanks to the following links for these pictures:
https://www.journeyera.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/featuredpost-08183-1005x635.jpg
http://imagesofoldhawaii.com/wp-content/uploads/Kahuna-Physician-HerbKane-400.jpg
battle of the sexes
~~MONA LISA SMILE
Picture Oil painting worthwhile
Leonardo DA Vinci, look out!
What is she really smiling about?
(((The popularity of the Mona Lisa increased in the mid 19th century
because of the Symbolist movement. The painting was thought to
encompass a sort of feminine mystique.)))
~~JAMES EARL JONES
His award winning voice, rough like stones
Darth Vader, Mufasa, stuttering jubilee
When I die can he be the one narrating my eulogy?
(((I love James, I'm a star wars freak... <--- yup that's me)))
~~SADDAM AND BIN LADEN
Were very bad, bad men
Causing chaos throughout America & Afghanistan,
HATERS OF THE USA: they should be called the Arab ku klux klan
(((Occupation: Terrorist~ makes me wonder if they went to the same school.)))
~~ADOLF HITLER
The world worse killer
Commander of the oxymoron Nazi
Losing at his own game of Yahtzee
(((The Most Hated Murderer of all time)))
~~YOUNG ANNE FRANK
Her diary worth more than any bank
Famous Jewish victims of the Holocaust
Her legacy teaches that hate is an exhaust
(((Anne Frank's diary remains one of the most moving and widely read
accounts of the Jewish experience during the Holocaust.)))
~~JOAN OF ARC
Angel in an era so dark
an epic hundred year war
her visions is what she payed for.
(((Joan of Arc, also called the Maid of Orleans, a patron saint of France
and a national heroine, led the resistance to the English invasion.)))
~~BB KING
Can really sing
Stand by me...
But, can he sting like a bee
(((BB KING~ could not help but wonder if he was a lover and a fighter.)))
~~LADY GAGA
Is no piano sonata,
Madonna wannabe, is she.
Watching her videos make me laugh till I pee.
(((Lady Gaga is Unique as can be!)))
by;p.d.
for battle of the clerihew
Some people wear baggage like a hat in church,
Still others could conceal it through a customs search!
Me? It depends on the mood that I'm in,
My frame may be thick, but my skin's super thin.
As a child, dysfunction was all that I knew.
Violence and alcohol increased as I grew
And the things that I heard and the things that I viewed,
I packed them all up with my clothes and I shooed.
And when I would meet someone, I'd try to disguise
That baggage as noticeable as my big giant thighs.
"You're beautiful," he'd say, but I knew the truth.
I'm fat and I'm worthless, and I've got the proof.
Locked deep in my psyche, but not deep enough,
Some poisonous, invisible gas out would puff.
And heaven forbid he got an ********!
My baggage was foolproof as a form of protection!
If he seemed too perfect on any given date,
My baggage would whisper, "belittle, berate!"
And so I would treat him like a much lower class
Then turn and retreat with my oversized ass.
But one day I waddled into a cafe
So weighed down with baggage every step of the way
That I knew it was time to this load jettison
So I dropped to my knees and prayed, "Help me! Amen."
The baggage still visits me now and again,
And I have to remind it we're no longer friends
I'm married and he loves me whatever my girth,
Reminding me daily I'm the fairest on earth!!!
My affirmation deceitfully severed
forever robbed by selfishness
Left to tackle life alone
Tumbling in the wake of my dad's mess
He left when I was three
The crevasse has increased for 33 years
Traded his life with us
For another woman and a couple of beers
He wasn't there to pick me up
When I fell off of my bike
To teach me how to fish
Or enjoy a nature hike
Now I'm a father to my son
Hoping not to make the same mistake
Living day to day on this lake of life
My son in tow through my own wake
It's been nine years and we're going strong
Six more years with my son
That's more with him than I had with mine
My son I guard in a web I've spun
A web of love, discipline, and nurture
Full of "I love you's" and "see ya in the morning"
A kiss before school and one before bed
Lots of playing, talking, reading, and singing
My son doesn't know the pain I feel
To not know my dad in intimate ways
No hands to comfort me or words to heal
No dad in sight for 12,045 days.............................(and counting)
------------------------------------------------------
My son and I have a great relationship and for this I am thankful......
Numberless now ...
Many, the years since then
When I uncurled my toes and reached thru soil
Pushed up and spread out
While beneath me the richness of the earth nourished
Spreading tendrils through the dark and damp
To give me strength and secure purchase
Ring-by-ring my girth increased
Branches spreading ... reaching for the air
Capturing the weep of heaven
And bounding toward the warm of the sun
Water surging like blood
Chlorophyll coloring my bloom and breadth
Carbon dioxide like the breath of life
Deep in ... oxygen out
Little ones doing their work during the green time
And their bright, crisp, beautiful deaths
Autumn's blanket, their last deed
Countless, those cycles ...
Yet ... I stood strong over HER
Sheltered her from rain, child-to-woman
Shaded her quiet time in the summer swelter
Covered her loves in the autumn chill
Let her swing in my boughs, up to the sky and back
It was my pride to care for her these years
To offer my strength and cover
And mostly, to hear her sing to the meadow.
Yet now she swings again in my boughs
Dangles amidst my strong arms
Lifeless ... on a rope.
Oh, if only I were a willow
For then I, too ...
Could weep.
Written on January 7, 2020
N/A'd on June 13, 2020 in the the "I Am A Tree" Poetry Contest
Submitted on June 16, 2020
To the "N-A Re-Run 8" Poetry Contest
John Hamilton, Sponsor.
I was only a child, when I learned there is good and evil in the world
Extensive trauma and threats were put upon me by many people
Silenced with my voice stolen, unable to speak without being hurt more
I watched death at the hands of these people, covered up by corruption
My resistance led to their increased force with many hurtful incidents
So, I made a promise to speak later, when I can do something about it
This promise was the seed for my inner will to survive everything happening
And as I grew so did this seed, into adulthood with courage to face them
I spoke truth, letting my voice be heard like no other day in my life
Of course they retaliated, but I knew if they silenced me again, they won
Stealing not only my voice but my soul, so I chose to persevere
I went in a direction they opposed, pursuing everything that I believe in
I used avenues of creativity to live to the fullest in every way that I could
I gave myself all that they couldn’t give me, comfort and safety
As I bloomed in my years of life, I spread beauty wherever I could
Knowing, there are so many others who carry a burden of pain from the past
The more I fell the more I stood, the more I was attacked, the more I fought
My will to survive strengthened every time and this is why I am still here
Broken promises lead to mistrust, my fulfilled promise led to empowerment
Heidi Sands
10/11/20
Placed 3rd in the Will to Survive Poetry Contest. Sponsor: Silent One
when beauty met the beast
she was a cutie, he was a beast
she thought that she'd speak to him at least
and at least find out what made
a beast, a beast
as the beast looked at her
he wondered; what a feast
but the way she spoke to him
was gentle and curiosity increased
he found her some what pleasant
and laid his aggression aside
for now he'd grown accustom
and hoped she would abide
as time past he looked at her
as he never did before
tender conversations
brought his knees to the floor
she'd become his weakness
his task forever more
he liked to hear her voice
and see her walk through the door
on holidays there were presents
on birthdays a feast
each special day that brought her presence
was a holy day to say the least
now i am wholly human
and i can tell you well
that jealousy fits us humans
and beast very well
one look at competition
can take us all to hell
we can never avoid perdition
when one other than God
we our souls sell
and from God comes the testing
old men and prophets tell
the beast asked God for patience
and God knows how to teach it well
the next time the beast see's beauty
there is a ring on her hand
he didn't care to mention it
but that was one thing he couldn't stand
worn down he ask her
what the ring meant on her hand
slowly she confided, it meant she'd
marry another man
the beast now was furious
he did not understand
that all these years confiding
he was suppose to be the man
what then would become of her
his conscious did demand
all the years he spent with her
were coming to an end
yet love had one more service
his heart would command
tell the maid he loved her
and ask her for her hand
let all the powers of wickedness
and goodness take their stand
upon this maids answer
i'll bravely take my chance
is a dusty rippled salt shaker,
an old working girl
found busy or on a stroll,
in a brothel house
my grandmother said
was often around,
when people sold
what they could to survive.
See her in the morning,
and her body
is an empty bottle
of sweet red wine,
bought cheap,
kept to deny the rough time.
You say now,
she was once round
and smooth as a glass egg
with a rose,
blooming in her breast.
This woman you knew
carried in her purse
a working poet
and a bronze genie lamp,
in case the days moved slow.
This woman you knew,
displayed a blue-purple dragon
she couldn’t let go
you knew, once were her husbands,
when his father died in his presence,
and while he loved drugs.
This woman you remember
you called a treasure
a face, a rainbow, a toy necklace.
This woman you sensed,
reached for you, during moments
when rainfall increased
sparrows flew by, and her home
a sand-feathered dream catcher.
Now nobody cares to admire anymore.
Once there was a famous king,
More famous than Ozymandias.
His name was King Wolf.
Sultan was his nickname.
He called himself a benevolent despot;
And his style of government
A ‘democratic dictatorship.’
He spoke good English—
A foreign language, though;
Only a minor problem with 'l' and 'r':
Once, for instance, a reporter asked him,
"What about elections, Your Majesty?"
His response:
"Why, I have them everyday!"
The poor reporter was thoroughly confused.
His kingdom was a land of superlatives:
The oldest civilization,
The largest standing army,
The largest population,
The largest exporter—of people,
The largest emitter of carbon dioxide,
Now the second largest exporter of goods, too,
And will soon be the largest.
Since his was the most populous kingdom,
Demography was his obsession,
Which he called his specialization.
Of course, Sultan had tried his best
To check population growth—
By means of family planning.
It didn't work.
So he curbed people’s Right to have children.
But still there was a huge difference
Between the optimum number
And ground reality!
Therefore, Sultan hatched a wonderful plan:
Started a war with a friendly neighbour.
Every section of twenty soldiers in his army
Had just one primitive rifle between them:
If a soldier went on,
He would be shot.
If he went back,
Again, he would be shot.
A Catch-22!
Many of his men were slaughtered.
But still Sultan won—by sheer numbers!
Oh, God!
But the King did not believe in God.
Like king, like people!
But the dead soldiers were only a small number.
So, now another plan:
Government is the boss.
Let people overwork.
Sultan cracked the whip.
And a number of people died—
Of overwork, year after year.
Further reduction in population.
Production increased:
Cheap goods flooded the world market:
From PCs to push-up bras.
No warranty.
The economy boomed.
Ah, his kingdom became a Big Power!
But once some workers gathered
In the Capital and protested—
Against exploitation.
The name of Karl Marx was in the air.
“Listen,” Sultan roared, “Marx died—
Long ago.
So should you—now,
For raising his name in vain.”
So, still further reduction in population!
Now, when this narrative ended,
Sultan was busy, planning for another war.
Poor soul!
How else could he solve the problem—
Of overpopulation?!
***
The cost of freedom has increased, the price went up.
It takes alot to be free, but the price is love.
And the PRIZE is love.
Not saying you have to sing; kumbaya around a fiery ring,
but voices and rainbow hands will raise high to the night sky
as we shake off shackles and chains
and they slide down
and wrap around
the original drum,
which beats and sings out song that'll never fall from the tongue.
It clicks shut, complete with lock and key.
And we are poor slaves joining hands with empty pockets
and shackled hearts.
The cost of freedom has increased,
which is why when we form our ring,
there's a low drum beating in the dark.
THE SWAINS
Under cumulus clouds, grew cauliflowers.
He planted them with love because I adorn them when they were harvested to the table of healthy man, my husband; sons; and brothers.
All were vegetable farmers of California.
We woman loved cooking for them.
They say there never was a better meal than this one every time we cooked.
That was each day of the yield.
Spirits were high as hell.
The profits were insurmountable.
They increased each year.
The sunshine brightly and this eased our fears.
We became wealthy and retired well.
Our children went off into the world.
Both sons became Attorneys of Law.
_____________________________|
Penned on October 30, 2014!
He went the way of a sickly pigeon,
and dropped his nasty load on religion.
The evil ones hailed him,
power they availed him,
which increased his vanity a smidgeon .
He declared himself the messiah,
From the depths of earthen hell fire,
The people believed him,
almighty pride seized him,
now he’s forcing God to retire.
You see there’s only room for one master,
to be God is what evil is after,
As enticing as it looks,
he and his cronies and crooks,
are setting the world up for disaster.
We Christians who always vote by rote,
keeping the Truths of our faith in a tote,
it’s we that keep evil in power,
We’ll know that in our last hour,
Right after we get thrown from the Boat.
Author's note:
I read that in the last presidential election, 57% of Christians
voted for the present administration which is currently in the midst of
of taking away their rights to conciencious objectionality and religious freedom
where the killing of babies ("abortion" for those of you who are still in la la land)
and the financial obligation for it is concerned.
It is now desired by the present administration that Christians too pay for this
murderous and horrific agenda.
To the 57% of Christians who voted for the current administration: you got your choice.
Are congratulations in order?
-Robert A. Dufresne