Best Informing Poems
I'd married at 21 and moved overseas with my husband's work, so it had been many years since I had visited my gran at Rose Cottage. I was taken by surprise when I received a letter from her solicitor informing me of my inheritance. Her cottage had been vacated when she went into a care home, and sadly she passed away a few years later. Gran had been widowed at an early age so I’d never met grandpa. I was her only grandchild and had such fond memories of spending summer holidays with her.
ripe red strawberries
boiling in the copper pan
I label jam jars
When I pulled into the driveway I was shocked to see how dilapidated the cottage was. Green shutters were hanging off their hinges and paint was peeling from the window frames. I recalled the perfectly manicured lawns and cottage garden flowers which were gran’s pride and joy, now a forest of dandelions sprouted from the lawn and brambles snaked their way through the honeysuckle arch way. I picked my way through the vegetation which was covering the moss covered path and turned the key in the lock; the heavy oak door creaked like my arthritic joints. Gran’s cosy cottage had always been spick and span, but now every surface was covered with a layer of thick grey dust and lacy cobwebs hung from the black beams on all the ceilings. As I wandered through the empty rooms my footsteps echoed on the old pine floorboards which were littered with strips of wallpaper falling from the damp walls. My heart sank when I saw how much work was needed to restore and modernise the old stone cottage, but with time and effort and help from my family I’m determined to bring it back to its former glory
neglected cottage
in need of renovation
rambling roses bloom
Fiction poem for Thesaurus - Abandon or Abandoned Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Dear Heart
POEM AWARDED POEM OF THE DAY
06/14/20
I gazed at your beauty and your hair cascading,
You glanced at me- O, he is handsome, this man;
Your sensuous lips so tempting, captivating,
I laughed and it was a deep rumbling laugher.
And this was the beginning of our love affair,
Your family would not approve of this pairing;
On a ship leading you to a life of despair,
So we met in secret, making love and talking.
As the ship entered port you slipped me your address,
I let go of fate gifted love- reluctantly;
We have been corresponding, our words a caress,
O the torture of distance, what of destiny.
I will never forget our gifted nights of bliss,
So a secret journey I have planned- a voyage;
You love me with true love and I long for your kiss,
And I will beseech for your hand in marriage.
Last week I sent you a love-soaked, tear-stained letter,
I let go of fate gifted love- reluctantly;
This time away, from your touch became harder,
O the torture of distance, what of destiny.
Fate gifted us, drinking passion from its chalice,
Waking flames serving first to increase our ardor;
Summer, your sweet roses covered our palace,
This time away, from your touch became harder.
I look across this wind-blown majestic ocean,
Mind turns to epic sadness of our parting hour;
I begged then for distance erasing potion,
I tried to remain your rock hard castle tower.
The desperate, longing look- your beautiful face,
Informing me the dire depts that you found this clutch;
I reminded you, no distance could our love erase,
Or lessen my need to feel your soft, gentle touch.
Last week, I sent you a love-soaked, tear-stained letter,
Now, board a ship that will take me to my true love;
Reading my golden love sent, you will feel better,
Never my loving touch shall you be deprived of.
_____________________________
December 5, 2015
Tail-Rhyme
Co-write with Broken Wings and Robert Lindley
I can not give account of ways that I love you
For there’s no conscious thought to clothe the undefined
The boundless universe has left me not a clue
And so the vastness of my love stays unconfined
It is beyond the reaches of your searching mind
A feeling and belief that you are all I need
The end of this conviction you will never find
And fibers of my life on wonders of it feed
And so you rest in comfort and you are content
Though not a seasoned word I’ve uttered or expressed
The knowledge of my love my eyes to you have sent
You feel it’s sovereign power on body I’ve caressed
There are no ways for me to show my depth of love
But rest assured that time will testify for me
Each day, each month, each year and life in heave’n above
Will be the ways you long for through eternity
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Fate gifted us, drinking passion from its chalice,
Waking flames serving first to increase our ardor;
Summer, your sweet roses covered our great palace,
This time away from your touch, became much harder.
I look across this wind-blown majestic ocean,
Mind turns to epic sadness of our parting hour;
I begged then for distance erasing potion,
I tried to remain your rock hard castle tower.
The desperate, longing look- your beautiful face,
Informing me the dire depths that you found this clutch;
I reminded, you no distance, could our love erase,
Or lessen my need to feel your soft, gentle touch.
Last week, I sent you a love-soaked, tear-stained letter,
Now, I board ship bringing me to my one true love;
Reading my golden love sent, you will feel better,
Not again, my love's touch, shall I deprive you of.
~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Eileen Manassian & Robert J. Lindley
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~
Where is the love you promised us always? Eternal love is
cast out of heaven for the angelic it seems—Quote by poet
It burns deeply knowing our ways of love aren’t angelic
Love’s awe emerges then torn apart as old as a Christian relic
It seems true that blessed love can only abide in its
eternal among the angels above and only in the purest spirits
We mortals find the gift of love can be difficult at best
Echoing passions of no forevers with no peace or rest
Awaiting parting and its end with such sweet sorrows
Pink coral sunsets no longer signs of golden tomorrows
To paraphrase Shakespeare’s sonnet, love which burns
brightest tends to dim the quickest—coal rakes and it churns
inside informing me that our ways of love are not angelic
Just to discover true love is as rare as a lost and sacred relic
"Death gives us sleep, eternal youth, and immortality." — Jean Paul Richter
It has been stamped in my mind
The day you caught that red grouper
On Memorial Day in Florida.
Dear Carolyn, how can I forget
The kindness you always showed me
Although we lived so far away,
You in USA and I in Malta
Thousands of miles away.
Your last contest entry so sad.
It is a tribute on its own.
How can I ever forget
Your last soup mail,
Informing me that you were
Going to hospice to die there.
I trembled in fear until
I read that a week later
You were cremated
And your ashes spread over the ocean
That ocean you loved so much.
Now after so many years,
You are still my favorite poet.
And occasionally I search
And read your precious poems
All over again.
They are now written in Heaven.
PLaced 1
The Winds of change have come again.
To think we've lost another friend.
It grieves my heart, you left so soon.
I read your blog this afternoon.
A better place you've journeyed to.
God Speed Harry, thinking of You.
Dedication to Harry Horsman.
My condolences to his family.
Also want to thank Mandy a
True friend of Harry's for
informing us...
Michael Tor
(Dedicated to all those who have died alone.)
They cannot fit, they cannot go along,
and the reasons are wide: pride, fear,
even love never tempered by time,
illness of the heart or mind, or simply
bad, bad luck: life throws them away
until they throw life away....
She was one of the gentle ones,
the unlucky ones-- a flower child
who missed her time, an era she
might have thrived in, free, alive,
unencumbered by family ties....
If she had come age in the 60's,
she might have lived into her 90's.
But lost and afraid in a cold world
not of her making, with her bird-
like heart breaking, she ate her
last hoarded apple, then lay down
to sleep and sleep and sleep until
she awakened safe in heaven's lap.
--judged NA in 'Will to survive' contest, 10/15/20--
[The poem was based on a true incident whereby a young woman suffering severe depression and paranoia was released from a psych ward without anyone informing her family; she stayed alone for weeks in an empty, unheated house in winter subsisting only on half-rotten apples she had picked up from the ground in the back yard.]
One day, cow fell from a tree--
It bruised her nose and skinned her knee.
You're wondering how this thing could be?
Someone might know, but don't ask me--
I'm only telling you she fell,
And broke her horn and bent her bell.
The noise she made when she fell down,
Was heard for half a mile around.
You never heard a sadder sound,
As she sat, crying, on the ground.
But the saddest part that I can tell--
She broke her horn and bent he bell.
A large, black crow was soon in flight,
To spread the news of the poor cow's plight.
From north to south, from left to right,
Informing everyone in sight,
And the only thing that he would tell--
She broke her horn and bent her bell.
And when the farmer heard the news,
He nearly jumped out of his shoes.
He said, "I wish you would tell me
How that fool cow got in the tree!"
But all the old, black crow would tell--
“She broke her horn and bent her bell.”
The farmer hurried off, and found
His poor cow lying on the ground,
Bawling such a mournful sound,
With great teardrops falling down.
She cried so hard, she couldn't tell
How she broke her horn and bent her bell
He wrapped her knee, and, I suppose,
To dry her tears, he kissed her nose.
He led her home, and all was well,
When he glued her horn and fixed her bell.
All I can tell you at the end--
She never climbed a tree again.
"Trauma In my Mother's House"
Some mornings came whispering in my mother's ears the torment of being a lady;
It explained to her how by the kitchen knife
she was meant to breathe only from a man’s pocket
She was told that her tears undermine society
& her body worth not even a cent from a man’s wallet,
Because she is the object that cannot fit even in an empty set
the door of my mother's head was opened by another strange voice,
informing her that cooking is the degree she has earned naturally
& that anything above it, is a sin beyond reality
Situation has made her to see this world as a cooking kitchen;
The aches from there is the comfort air she inhales without regretting
In my mother's house,
she is strong like the wind that comes before rainfall,
Because she's the eagle that can withstand any downfall
Her power is the milk that's capable of breastfeeding this lazy world
& babysit any depression that wants to overcome her,
Because her current life is the hell she is defeating very well.
Poet:
© Cheto
I see you in the yearning of early morning's dawn
Your arms outstretched, sheer nightgown on
I see you in the sparkle of the summer's dew
Your lips moist with promise, in their ruby hue
I see you at twilight, as the first star emerges
The scent of your shadow informing my urges
I see you as I lay me down on my pillow
Your presence a comfort, like a weeping willow
In each of my visions do you appear
Though I'd trade every one to see you here
Some senior military seized power in Gabon today,
Ali Bongo 's family led the country
in fifty five years under umbrella
of French government as there were protected
The so called French interests to be on power.
Today President Ali Bongo is informing
the world about his arrestation by the military.
He does not know where could be his son
and family as they are in different places.
The senior military accused him of stealing votes
for third time so that he could continue
to rule like a puppet of some westerners
While the people continue to suffer here and there.
Many young African leaders are tired of fake promises
of some selfish politicians who care for themselves
and continue allowing African natural resources
to cross the seas due to some agreement
with some western countries
which could not reach fifty years
after so called independence and democracy
in west and central Africa.
It is eighth coup d' états in Africa from 2020 to today
as many Africans wish some regimes change.
It will be wise for French government officials to say
loudly " good bye Africa as they are no longer welcomed."
August 30/2023
Good-bye Little Debbie cakes,
Mr. HO HO, Boo hoo hoo,
Aunt Twinkie too,
I'm surely gonna miss, all of you.
Good-bye fresh bakery donuts,
Audios gravy covered steak,
Truffles with cream too,
I'm really gonna miss, all of you.
So long, Long Johns,
My scrumptious chocolate Sunday's,
Uncle French Fry too,
Be gone from my hips, all of you.
Hello almond nuts, and legume,
Water packed tuna and brother salmon too,
Greeting my low fat diet butter,
I must welcome within, all of you.
Linda Terrell
March 13, 2010
I have created poem/lyric verses for a heart-smart lifestyle to lower cholesterol as we should
all follow.
It would make an informing cheery song or silly jingle.
Well oh well were do I begin. When I was three and half they put me in the news
paper for autism but during that time it was called development delay. One in every 45
kids have autism to date. My mom still question to today why was I first in the program
to be put
in the news paper. What the doctor told my mom was one day in my twenties he will
surpass his classmate in learning. Well I went college and I was the worst student by the
end of graduate I was one of there best student. During take Trigonometric and
Precalculus
I did two assignment in 15 minutes which shock the entire tutor lab held by teacher they kept
informing me about universities.
In middle school I was a PPR helper kept thinking isn't this supposed be done by
high school students. And most importantly why was my name on the roster for
try out's for basketball. What I later learned was it is a difference between off a dribble
and screen pass shoot who knew. And why do the people in my city call me
Mr.Borgo I am
not that much older then them. And Ironic as it sound something I think about is that they lost
At state by three points.
Well to me if the nets don't twist up it like never went in. All I ask is
please tell me I'm Lying. Maybe I shouldn't went home bound. Who knew the future of
education would have a lot of autism kids. All I can say is Sony was one of my best friend
a child could ask for.
Holy06 The Ghost Was Here. Reedit sooner or later.
Back on the river, forward into the howl of the unknown,
for three days Sergeant Floyd has been crippled by excruciating pain in his abdomen,
as the only man here trained in internal medical matters it is incumbent on me to treat him,
Doctor Rush's "Thunderbolt" pills are failing to alleviate the malady
and the ground Peruvian bark hardly sedates Flyod, his agony is bleeding into the eyes,
for 48 hours the rains have been rampant making the river sizzle in cool agitation
the mosquitos are swarming like whispers in a brothel
they are the devil's needles, we resort to spreading lard on ourselves as a repellent,
ironically, despite the downpours the wind is high at our backs
so the sails are up and we are moving swift as a curse off a witch's lips,
Sergeant Pryor woke on the boat this morning with news of death
his voice didn't wait for breath, the steps of his boots broke open my irritation
after informing me that Charles had recently died,
I believe he expired from a ruptured appendix which we had no remedy for,
he had the soul of a lion, Godspeed to him,
while I slept my spittle smeared the ink in my journal
forming a pictorial omen of a tombstone on the page,
the only question is whom be it for,
Clark has identified a suitable burial place for Flyod on a large hill,
no one speaks, its just the slurp of the paddled water
and a handful of gold finch birds that seem determined to skip on the wind
reminding us that there is always a place for a soul to go,
coming up on the riverbend we are accosted by an armada of geese
so plenty that the trees wish they had that number in leaves,
my Lord, the ruckus these creatures are generating in honking indignance
as they lift into flight is nerve pinching,
its like an army of imbecilic people shouting in panic all at once
yet these geese are noble in their beauty and militant nature
and I see this moment as a sign that no Indians will interdict our passage,
J.A.B.
SPLICE
T itivated to accomplish (a) mazing things.
H eaven bound it seems.
E verlasting in faith and belief
C ause I only have me to be.
R eaching for attainment that is hard to achieve.
O utward spiraling to acquire my wants and needs.
S uch desires are to be.
S pectacular is how I feel.
E ffervescence is humbling.
S equestering greater altitudes!
I nvigorating my surrounding world!
N ot denying the complexities that has formed.
Y et informing my acumen, I am
O pen minded to new ideas.
U pbeat even when down.
R arely ever will a frown be found.
E difice to a golden way, I
Y awn to release the agitation.
E very day is demonstrative
S oldiering vigorously, therefore let's sally forth.
Splice...
In front of me he stands in disgust.
I know that life is not what it shows.
Nonetheless, this is addressable.
___________________________________|
Ascribed July 15, 2015!
Verse Drama/Dramatic Verse Acrostic (A New Form by Verlena S. Walker)