Best Informative Poems
On the shadowed banks of river they sat together
Adulating setting sun quivering in rippling currents
Where golden filaments shimmered on blue water
Forming and breaking ephemeral circular motions
Undulating amber rays on eve’s buoyant emotions.
Her dimples smiled upon her visage of royal poise
Enticing him to probe her cheerful, enamored eyes
Mesmerizing as yet un-blossomed amatory dreams
As they raved of college, friends, late nights carefree
Exploring coyly maiden impulses of mature themes
Inflaming seductively, untrodden clues of fantasies.
Alas! those memories now~ dulcet still, but empty.
Never he saw her again on her side of the prairies
Strolling nonchalantly, engrossed in birds chirping,
No one standing there now to steal his glances slyly
Hiding behind notions of secrecy, at first meekly,
Though later, quite daringly, wantonly, frequently;
Elevating him unlike anyone else, before, or since.
Her last letter to him was cryptic, yet informative:
A rustic farm house, cow moos amid clucking sounds,
Boy and a girl, flower beds, and a dog named Duffy~
A simple life on landscapes lauding ancestral heritage.
He remembers well~ saying it, genuinely meaning it,
As movingly she indulged in life that could have been,
Awkwardly dropping hints, soon she’ll be married.
Yet, here she is now intimating, she too so loved him~
Validating his belief—though offering a mere fig leaf--
A vain gesture to convince him she honored his dream
Memorializing secret pact, living life in his blueprint:
Boy and a girl, rustic farm house, a dog named Duffy.
April 12, 2022
Poem of the day on April 14, 2022
Placed 1st: This or That, Vol 11 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Fig Leaf
With fifty-nine tears, I stare at the phone, wanting to
understand. I had your voice in my hand. Intense pain now
washes through our decade’s bones. I must be able to rinse it,
cleanse it and restart with a stable heart. Always layers of hurt
from you. Now there is another, my lost Brother.
We may never meet again, not as siblings or as friends, yet you
chose to bring our last call to a painful end! Distance and age
whisper chilly to me of a certain possibility, this call could be the
last call of all. I wonder, do you feel that, too? Does this sad truth
also shadow you?
In life’s darkness, two stars shine on; one is our Dad, the other,
our Mom. Dad could not take your constant rift of frightening dread
or bear your street life, so he mentally buried you in his head. Mom
could not handle her first born living so forlorn, her maternal heart
and head were torn. She could not sever the bond, so her enabling
continued on. Neither parent was right or wrong. Unbearable pain
made them desperate to survive your heartbreaking song.
I never knew what to do, but I sought and fought to do it right.
I would help, I would insist, but true help, you would resist. Each
approach to coax you towards a healthy life ended with me tripping
through your dark light. I’ve abandoned my hopeful persistence
by accepting that I may never have brother-relief in this existence.
For years my insides have churned as I daily pray for some informative
word about your wellbeing. I've even called morgues in your state
to learn if you were still among the living but no news ever shaped.
I’ve had a lifetime of watching you fill your own spaces by selfishly
passing thru daylight. Rather than climbing up to achieve a healthy
need, you've always sat aground and caused yourself to bleed.
Whether you’re in jail or living drugged on the streets, loving you has
never known relief. I gave you my all, walked all your dark halls.
Can’t we now have peace?
Please bro, on some near tomorrow, borrow another phone. Call me
and let us be the best of us, let us share love to enhance what is
left of us. Look to your heart and grant what I want, one more, last
call that love may be shown when next your voice is in my phone.
Hey Tom, your heart you wear on your sleeve,
Concisely achieve what a poet does perceive,
Surpassing discerning reporters near and afar,
Keep writing about Putin and his stories bizarre,
You remind me of Churchill, just add a cigar.
History shows us throughout time,
their main objective is the same crime,
from Nimrod, Alexander, Hitler to Stalin,
all these men and then some have one thing in common,
Having only one thing on their one track mind,
is to take over and rule all of mankind,
be it by creating wars in different countries,
order out of chaos means more power and money,
Today the wannabes are more deceptive,
behind the scenes mentoring our elected,
you will see them from time to time on the news,
not just playing church as you sit in the pews,
They're like CIA spy's who infiltrate,
their minds like a chess game as they contemplate,
thinking only of their next worldly move,
coming across as pious and holy as if right on cue,
Wanting nothing more than a new world order,
merging all the world together losing our sovereign borders,
planning for one ruler, religion, currency among other things,
this oligarchy in secrecy working behind the scenes,
History will unfortunately repeat itself,
informative books collecting dust on our shelfs,
as we sit and watch situational comedies, etc. in our homes,
forgetting or not realizing that all roads lead to Rome.
2-18-17
Love comes in all
shapes and sizes – Thank God!
Myself having evolved in some
rather, undesirable directions...
But what is the same anymore?
Environmentalists say, not the sky!
Not the seas! (Seagulls flying off
with bees to who knows where?)
As those wide-open spaces – gone!
Concrete and steel having replaced
colorfully tinted rural faces, with grimacing
gray features – tenements rabid with crime
and moral filth...desperately in need
of far more heavenly graces – or, at the least,
the lofty illusions pearl-necklaced TV Moms
once gave us.
Libraries, the sacred cloisters of
of enchanted places and mystical dreams,
no longer bearing, at the least
informative fruits for deliberative
minds; such institutions polluted
with Liberal Politics, personal greed
coupled with insane hunger for
for power over more docile others,
a hollowing of the human soul
leaving a bitter emptiness
and disconnect where once
thrived the fertile seeds of cooperative
living...
So, what is the new normal?
Hell if I know! Politicians
speaking out of both sides of
elongated, medically enhanced
lying mouths – technically new?
Educators enunciating with their
backsides – but now their pant’s fully down,
Punctuating a Marxist agenda, their
transforming goals openly on display --
perhaps for them, a new honesty?
College students confused as to which
way to turn in bed – enough to confound
the most flexible contortionist….
Thank God for alcohol!
Generative Persistence
Give it a name; “generative presence”, “persistence”
Emergent with life, feeling and a pulse
Send it on its way while clinging to the egg
Enable it from a distance to become of use
Keep yourself in a suggestive cocoon
State of fixation, enameled in stasis
Embedded in concrete reality if only to form
Wrapped in patterns, in sequences, in character, in disarray
Care to be objective, immersive, informative, and inspired
Decline to describe, suggest, discuss, gaps between life
Grasp the past meandering. Record the record of history
Understand; you are a guest in your own home
In your own existence; fantasies not included
Invoke the yoke of yellow, involve useful dialogue
Desirable, normal, absurd diagnosis of that which is
Adapt to youth as it passes
Glanced at by events unfolding, reflected in a mirror
Placed appropriately in your path
From the context, content of that which is perceived
In the persistence of memory let it live
There are terms humanity uses, phrases words appear."
To communicate emotions, in aim of clarity, or to help
Verbally in communicating our anxiety, or sense of honour
Even anger, love or fear.' Some terms are formed generically.' Yet others are forged and planned.' To strike
At the spirit, heart and souls of 'right thinking women and
Man' the word ( elites ) is being used to describe indeed
The dregs..' its as dis-informative in the context and concept
Indeed its correction ' must get now on its legs' to
Highlight those of repulsive ways..Who glorify abuse who
Plan nightmares today.' Who facilitate urusry murder and
Greed, who co-opt and co-erce for the basest of needs who
To be validated are willing to do the vilest' the dirtiest things.)
Scum could do.' I find no word low enough.! No term that
Will match.' To the acts of these lunatics and the sick dreams they hatch.' (They call wicked for good) remember
My friend; (2020?) and just extrapolate' then and only things will
Get on the mend!
"I always thought of my introversion as a flaw,
until the world was thrown into chaos and isolation;
and my flaw became my greatest asset."
_by Poet
_______________
In hard times I find joy,
my introversion positive;
happiness in all the things I love and enjoy,
endures like the seasons- like an ongoing narrative.
Creating art,
hope, faith, gentleness and love will never depart;
my joy is untroubled and quiet- will not fall apart.
My joy steadfast,
my writing is like music vast;
never thoughts of- outcast.
Though the world in chaos gratitude I employ,
the news is quite informative;
but- listen to my heart,
one day all this will be passed.
___________________________
February 8, 2021
Poetry/Rhyme/Like the Continuum of Seasons
Copyright Protected, ID 02-1327-043-08
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Joy Continuum
sponsor, Unseeking Seeker, Judged 02/26/2021
Ninth Place
POEM OF THE DAY : 20.10.25
[Poet’s Note : Form : This poem combines Haibun with
Specular Fugue, giving a straightforward descriptive journaling type Haibun more analytical depth, making for a more interesting & informative experience for reader, overlaying description with analytic style. ]
______________________
With intense curiosity five kinky haired
African women watched her. Her hair sleek, her skin caramel,
wearing lilac pyjamas. Nobody instructed her to change into
hospital gear. She did not understand Tswana. They understood
English. Her Cuban surgeon was gentle as a lamb.
Their surgeon was a tough Afrikaner.
Afrikaners were toughened by trekking,
lambs skipping across conquered land.
Tswana was not an easy language to learn.
They starched hospital gear to last longer.
Lilac her favourite colour, opp-arting her caramel skin,
mottled by disease. Her hair from Malaysian and Indian genes,
mixed stew genetics, like all from the human race.
Dark eyes observed her struggle onto high hospital bed,
hip broken, with cartilage in tatters. Noisy Tswana cackles,
like hens on heat, bombarded her smile. She kept it on, an emoji.
Slowly the chicken run morphine disco calmed.
She could not endure morphine chokes or
polite falsehood steady. Hens were her evening friends,
feeding them a favourite chore. Their eggshell membranes
she swallowed for cartilage, her eyes flickering gratitude.
Gratitude is an abc lesson.
It is broken eggshells today.
Teen friends were loyal comrades,
their feedback raw honest. Being polite
strengthens boundaries, sometimes.
Morphine is gold during war.
Cheerily she remarked : “I know you are gossiping about me.”
All five women burst into raucous laughter, forging new friendships.
Friendships forged through pain and laughter.
Some humans learn via gossip.
Be cheerful about others not knowing.
+++
hospital wards full
patients support one another ~
laughter kills the pain
__________———-________________———-
I can't explain what sorrow i felt if was denied a show on your face,
how devastating it was for me to go through the pain of denial,
how wonderful you were was all i thought every time i watched you,
all the while with me....like my best friend,
as a kid you were so special,
nothing and no one bothered me as long as i could watch you.
Growing up i realized how important and informative you are,
i was addicted to you from the time i opened my eyes,
my connection to the world was you,
my idea to feel destressed was you.
I can feel the winds of change approaching me,
can feel that the one i always loved will not be valued by me.
Have you lost your magic or haven't i an eye for interest? ,
coz watching you no longer interests me,
you can't even hold my gaze anymore,
not entertaining or even watchable anymore,
rather stupid, unrealistic and to my surprise i was reduced to an ignorant fool!
laughing at every joke, acting silly......
watching everything and nothing, ignoring life,
so long all you did was led me to stupidity.....silly me, i pity me.
So much time i have wasted on you,
for my sleepless nights i blame you,
needless to mention i was obsessed of you,
not my escape but a grave are you,
i have finally agreed with those who say an idiot box are you.
Note: i am calling TV an idiot box.
S-So very loving most of the time,
I- intuitive and informative rhyme.
G-Girlish with laughter and bright,
N-naturally polite.
A-Apple of my watchful eye,
T-together anything we will try.
U-Understanding is your love,
R-rather fits you like a glove.
E-Eternal is my devotion,upon the
sea of maternal emotion.
https://youtu.be/v-AbjdQAxl4
https://m.soundcloud.com/user-921599710/the-wonders-of-space
Yet a tiny fraction, there is so much more
Such a prominent universe to explore
Numerous galaxies, planets and stars
Orbiting the Sun above just like Mars
Saturn has a ring, others have a moon
Planets filled with gas like a hot balloon
Travelling in light years, so far away
Yet our solar system is a vast array
Looking through my telescope, planets to see
Looking out for Jupiter and Mercury
There is icy Pluto further from the Sun
My curious journey has just begun
The strong pull of gravity, keeping into place
The days, months and years, yet moving at a pace
Fascinating satellites, informative machine
Launching of the space crafts, places never seen
If I were an astronaut, how would I feel?
Adapting to space food, a dried and sealed meal
Travelling on mission, in the atmosphere
Witnessing diameters that I can but revere
On that day however, was my teacher playing tricks
Looking through the glasses, viewing the eclipse
Yet the Milky Way has a spiral twist
Looking from our planet, where current life exists
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
THEY USED SPOONED NOW SHE IS SPOON FED
He holds a seventy-two year old spoon to her mouth
seventy-two years wed
seventy-two years in the same bed
he holds the spoon in front of her gray framed head
after all, sick or not, frail or not
the lady must be fed
and if anyone was going to do the feeding
it would be the man who, for seventy-two years she'd been needing
gardening, growing, weeding
seeding the same garden for seventy-two years through sun and rain
seventy-two years easing each others pain
one's devotion is only exceeded by the other
father and mother
with men and women left behind
yet always on their collective mind
the years spent stifling arguments and cultivating love
the many years they had to fix the roof above
his hand shook as the spoon neared her mouth
they'd began in the north but ended up in the south
no cold north wind to battle against, only to lose the fight
no snow to begin in the morning and still be falling past midnight
no white to fight against with an aging back and a discontented wife
but this was their life
and slowly he slips the ground up mush upon her tongue because she could hardly swallow
with no rule book nor informative guide that left them sometimes feeling hollow
each not fearing but expecting death
and so each dawn one would feel for the others breath
so spoonful by spoonful that 72 year old utensil was used for sustenance
he so amorous for 72 years of her divine countenance
he had plagues of his own
but a 72 year old bond had been grown
alas they would swallow their pride
let their Lord be their guide
the God who had protected them and stifled their tepid tears
and had been doing so for seventy-two years
© 2012 © copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
I feel blessed by your informative write.
It was inspired and very well put.--
A pleasure to read your post to this site.
I loved every, single metrical foot.
I write for the love of poetry,
since a child I have had a need to articulate,
to write conversations to an invisible audience.
I can get quite wordy and chatty and rambling,
and have no problem sharing private thoughts.
I write for the love of poetry,
sometimes my writing is flowery and picturesque,
I can turn out a whimsical and joyful poem.
At times my style is clear and confident,
informative, or just plain silly and foolish fun.
I write for the love of poetry,
but to be honest with you dear reader, my strength,
is in mournful, lamenting and woeful sad writes.
Writing of my grief and heartbreak is healing,
I hope it helps others to see they are not alone.
I write for the love of poetry,
oh, I can turn out a sultry passionate poem,
full of lust and love, or just of gentle feelings.
And I like to pen of the past and my family,
I think that is because my happiness dwells there.
I write for the love of poetry,
there is no telling what I will write each day,
it just happens, my pen has the power.
My words just drip onto paper, words I must share,
but I take pause, to read and ponder other poets words.
______________________________
April 6, 2016
Poetry/Free Verse/I Write For The Love Of Poetry
Copyright Protected, ID 16-775-229-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym
For the contest, For the Love of Poetry,
sponsor, John Lawless
Seventh Place