Best Intermittently Poems
She calls on me, intermittently
In fickle favor, in spotty dictionaries
My demure, distracted destiny
She is the unrequited lover, the absent mother
She is Santa, granting wishes
Upon orphan dinner dishes
Then, flitting through my mind's back door
Leaving me her messy, unfinished chores
She is sly mischief's mocking whim
She is moonlight's pull, waxing and dim
She arrives on trumpet's fanfare glory
To bestow in my beggar's palms, a story
I am too poor to pass her by
Too thirsty, her nectar to deny
I am the third string, the second select
Her stepchild of benign neglect
She is my bitter pleasure, my inconvenient pride
My every frustration, my only tribe
I am a poet on part time pay
As full time runs a five second delay.
6/28/19
Stormy winds swing canopies of trees
Swaying dark shadows upon my reverie
Glimmering through forest-green leaves
Sunlight filtered by cumulous clouds
As raindrops pitter-patter on sidewalk
Drenching instincts ambling in the park.
Sun-rays soon flicker, as rain-clouds part
Spreading golden dust on cobalt-blue sky
Intermittently oscillating light and dark
Floating breezy patterns on emerald grass.
The multi-hued sky then picks up my vibes
As charming horizon evokes your smile.
The voice I hear, speaks to me so softly
First time ever, it greets me with a kiss
Holding my posture, I sprint for a glimpse.
But there's no one, for no one there was
Except the chatter of agitated bird calls
Warning of danger from a lone stranger
Conjuring daydreams in fleeting rainstorm.
August 26, 2018
Placed first--End of August standard contest by Brian Strand
Gleefully you and I smile from a scenic window on life
Enchanted by nightfall befriending quixotic autumn sky
Embossing crimson brushstrokes on vermilion arc
Akin to a painting in classical style of renaissance art
Parading in front of our eyes on a thrilling train ride,
When orange glow of sinking sunset playfully smiles back,
As we savor shrimp-creole with red wine in the dining car
And train-tracks beneath us rhythmically clickety-clack
Negotiating the panoramic curves befitting forested lands
Announcing the mighty reach of whistling train-horn,
When the half-moon above peeks through twinkling stars.
Balancing gingerly footsteps we jaunt back to our roomette
Settling in on narrow bunk beds in a tiny modest space
Marveling the red, brown, golden foliage trickling outside
Falling on multi-color motif carpeting the misty grounds,
As engine screeches intermittently, braking, slowing down,
Screaming loud whistle-calls, approaching station stops.
We endeavor to sleep until dreams invoke beauteous dawn
Awakening to thick white clouds of dense morning fog
Slowly giving way to glorious sun-rays piercing the forest,
Where cheerful robins dance upon a long leafless branch
Welcoming marigold sunrise on the horizon’s blue path
As you and I reminisce in the whispering night of romance.
October 24, 2019
HM: Strand special by Brian Strand
From Atlanta to Washington DC on an overnight train
I attend to my garden each day-
though a tedious task, it is true.
With the seeds of ambition, I pray
it will flourish for me and for you.
Do you know how it prospers my dears?
With the sunshine of radiant love,
and the moisture of falling wet tears,
intermittently splashed from above.
And by nurturing it with the swell
of bright hope for each new shining day;
the faith fetched from my deepest dark well,
it will grow in a glorious way.
Then, by weeding it daily, it should
give new seedlings room needed to grow.
Quick removing unwanted dead wood-
left uncluttered its beauty will show
As my blooms open wide in the sun,
all their colors will blend bright and dim.
I’ll caress them so gently, each one,
and breathe deeply its fragrance, with vim.
Through the Summer, my garden will spread
filling spaces so barren before,
and not fearing the Winter ahead
it will flourish and thrive even more.
Now, I know with the coming of Fall-
my old garden will soon fade away.
But, through Winter's sleep, wait for the call-
to awake on a reborn Spring day.
October 6, 2014
~1st Place~
Contest: Garden Inspirations
Sponsor: BJ Legros Kelley
Judged: 04/20/2022
~5th Place~
Premiere Contest: Any Poem You Are Proud Of
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
Judged: 05/20/2017
~1st Place~
Contest: Screwed VII
Sponsor: Rob Carmack
Judged: 12/03/2015
Tonight, I think, I’ll write a few lines.
As the clock strikes the dead of night
And the thick darkness is slowly swallowing me up
Nothing but the inner screams of cancerous depression
Rise within me; I think
I am about to issue a necessary dream-shelled poem.
The entire world sleeps now; even the nocturnal
Owl is contemplating a siesta, some glow worms
Twinkling intermittently; a distant window is about to close
Its dusty wings; a group of workers are returning
To their tired homes
I think it’s high time that I should pen some lines.
Because now I feel a little shiver waving through
The muscles and veins of my body
As I keep looking at the insane blade of the knife
Which has just made love with my helpless wrist.
Eagerly I arose to welcome winsome spring
Anticipating an ebullient, sun-swept morning
Only to witness opaline skies turn gloomy
Shrouded in dampness of rain pitter pattering
Swirling dust emanating petrichor themes
Scattering dreariness on visage of dawning.
You too were awed, extolling scenic setting,
Lauding crimson hues that darkened swiftly,
Adulating rustling winds swaying maple trees
With echoes of thunder heard intermittently
As gray clouds hung closer, roiling hastily,
Pouring down streams, flooding streets rapidly.
Farther in distance, storm was now fleeting
Where sun’s golden rays began emerging
Scintillating mountains in amber ray beams
Lifting my spirits in birds’ rhythmic chirping
As your intimations warbled amorous hints
Arousing rhythms of romantic heart strings.
Charmed by tempo of dawn’s chromatic arc
As rising sun vanquished remnants of dark,
Lovingly we embraced missives of love spark
Echoing lyrics strummed by doting hearts,
Drawing inspiration from gilded azure skies,
Hypnotized in allure of your enamored eyes.
November 11, 2022
Placed 1st: Inspiring Rainy Days Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
Peering in the windows,
Of those lives I barely see,
Except when tokens are procured,
For rides, intermittently,
They look at me, I look back,
Nothing severed or taken,
My pith, unimpaired,
And by them, unmistaken,
Do they think that my life,
Should be transformed to theirs,
With foreign exclusions,
And tainted, quaint stares,
Their subtle indifference,
No case dares to appeal,
Embodies the essence,
Of a world they call real,
So they ask with green eyes,
Should I now switch with you,
Would that make my self-worth,
Somehow, progressively true,
I glance, to respond,
That neither is needed,
Because as tolerance failed,
Manipulation succeeded,
We both yearn to validate,
Our courses of being,
Amidst choices of learning,
And preferred ways of seeing,
For now, the windows are closed,
The Santa Anas, they're blowing,
And those lives which premiered,
Have no interest in showing,
We will then pause to wonder,
If the sill might be locked,
Therefore sealed from exposure,
And no chance to be mocked.
(12/30/01)
Fall brings mosaic colors of falling leaves,
soon after hues dissipate to barren trees.
Storms churn clouds in mighty thunder,
thrashing rains fall, sun quietly surrenders.
Softer breeze flows as horizon says hello,
awaiting hiding sun to peek with a rainbow.
Stars roam to brighten the Milky Way soon,
moon transforms from gibbous to full moon.
Winter pleases revelers with gusting snow,
mountain-peaks shine with enchanting glow.
Spring paints rising meadows pleasantly green,
nature hosts panoramic vistas of lively scenes.
College kids flock to beaches on spring break,
exploring moments of love, joy, and heartbreak.
Celebrating graduations and wedding season,
a new chapter on impending life gets written.
Joy of summer wraps in rampant humid heat,
glimpses of cool breeze intermittently greet.
Random changes speak of unpleasant themes,
foretelling broken lives and shattered dreams.
Earth rotates, sun rises, night accepts defeat,
perseverance harbinger of awesome new beat.
Winds of hope cheerful new day will bring,
singing birds foretell arrival of another spring.
September 1, 2017
Placed 1st: Winds of Change
Sponsor: Julie Rodeheaver
Placed 3rd: Strand choice W contest by Brian Strand
THE IMMORTAL
“Once there was a tree, and she loved a little boy.”
Shel Silverstein, The Giving Tree
You will go to the land of Oblivion to remember. You will bring in the hands the faithful document of your calligram and the children's bread, as always, under the arm. You will turn to see, and there will not be a column of salt that will martyrize you the rest of the way. Your map is the snow, but, it is in the forest's fire that the Silverstein's tree awaits you, on its stump, sit down, your feet burn, your heart goes out through your mouth. Do not be afraid to take it out and lull it like a meek bird that trembles wounded. These things are and were written, but not as you will imagine the journey to the center of the seed. Go with peace, the root of your flesh and my flesh is hollow. Sometimes you will see orchids grow from their venom, but don't be afraid to take them to your chest and rub them as a symbol of your purity, they are helpless, they wither. Don't believe me a single word, shut me up with your back and follow the voice of the river peeking in the distance. Upon arrival, observe the water twitter, and the water birds that simulate fish but that nobody has seen and you will doubt. Perhaps it is an illusion, a deadly rant that collapses to mourn over the grave of heaven. A cold, cold in the neck, which strangles in the brain stem, and yes, produces a fine rain that transcends ghostly pain, and there, incline to its throbbing. Don't leave, the night waits intermittently, it loves you, it needs you in its orbit because you know its tunnels and without wings you fly. But it is not all. The absolute flash of a star at death is that; a poem that opens in solitude, in loneliness, and then, who reads?
We worship* You, Lord … praising You for Who You are
majestic in Your radiance, verily magnificent
splendid in Your goodness, constantly present
wondrous in Your glory, drawing us near to Your altar.
We worship You, Lord … trusting You and Your might
subduing our problems midst persecutions and trials
fighting our fears by Your omnipotent portrayals
meeting our needs with Your provisions' delight.
We worship You, Lord … listening to Your instruction
truths helpful to our miraculous transformation-seal
statutes ready for our revival with rejuvenation-zeal
precepts vital toward our maturity and sanctification.
We worship You, Lord … clinging to Your promises
faithful are they like Your forgiveness, greatly triumphant
immutable, remaining steadfast with Your bestowed covenant
reliable, though unbelief within us, intermittently oppresses.
We worship You, Lord …thanking You for Your counsel
guiding us through life’s puzzle to vanquish skepticism pout
leading us against vanity’s dazzle to learn from challenges' bout
teaching us to flex spiritual muscle to build divine testimony-castle.
We worship You, Lord … submitting to Your will
perfect in its entirety for us to enjoy serenely
holy in every angle where You direct us persistently
blessed in each aspect moving us to work, while Your purpose, fulfill.
We worship You, Lord … waiting for Your coming
reminder for Gospel sharing that grants everlasting life, indeed precious
inspiration to labour, propped by Your mercy, always gracious
excitement of eternal fellowship, truly heart-warming.
*Psalm 29:2 Give unto the LORD the glory due unto his name; worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness.
August 8, 2021
1st place, "Your Favorite Rhyme Poem in August 2021" Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 9/2/2021.
The snow falling intermittently around my little cabin
Covering at times my beautiful tree
The only life I have ever known
I dream of sunny days and flowers poking out of the ground
I know not where these dreams have come from
Nor the memories of waves crashing upon an unknown beach
When I venture too far a barrier I meet
My face pressed up so close my nose becomes smashed
I try to see beyond the wooded shelf my home seems perched
But all becomes a blur of lights of green red and blue
So I stay close to home
The lights bring a melancholy I don't understand
How I came to be here is a mystery that time seems
Not to want to solve
Loneliness hits from time to time
I talk to my tree
She does not talk back which is fine with me
For it does lessen the risk of disagreements
That which I am not fond of
Sometimes I feel I may be missing out
That there may be more to see
I tell myself how silly
I have everything I need right here
I feel neither cold nor heat
Hunger nor thirst
Wait... where did that thought come from
I do not dwell
Though I do not feel tired
I do still sleep
It breaks the monotony
The dreams are of a different time that I don't recall
Like watching a movie...
A man a dog an experiment gone horribly wrong...
11/26/2019
Stuck in a Christmas Globe Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Bobby May
“birds care not for whom they sing” Quote by: Silent One
The Gemini garden is in full bloom
Looking glorious in the month of June
The sound of silence, apart from birdsong
Is magic to whom the garden belongs.
Birds sing intermittently all day long
It’s their language spoken in tweet-along
Their tunes are music to us humans too
Do they know that? one would hope that they do.
Rose and honeysuckle, jewels of June
In a vase boom ambience of a room
Lily of the valley and lavender
In Gemini gardens add their lustre.
Roses, being the symbol of romance
Grace the air with their alluring fragrance
Honeysuckle too are a gift God-sent
As are all flowers, wafting heaven scent.
At the close of day when moon and stars glow
Nature puts on a magnificent show
Stupendous delights in silence of night
In Gemini gardens, peace does ignite.
A song is a poem
With rhythms and rhymes
It would be a blasphemy
Not to say it and explain it.
A song is a prose
Put on pause
Intermittently
With various beats and tempos.
A song makes you dance
A poem makes you dream
And a prose helps us examine.
A poem is a classical prose
With harmonic words
And well-calculated rhymes and verses
A poem is really fantastic.
A song makes you live
A poem makes you revive
And a prose helps us survive.
Copyright © December 2016 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Control of breathing is quite complex
And if you really check the specs
You find all kinds of balances and checks
Within the medulla, cells playing their role
The DRG, inspirational control
Using cyclic neurons for their goal.
Actions potentials from the DRG
These cells are cyclic and fire intermittently.
Then muscle contract to the best of their ability.
To the external intercostals and diaphragm they talk
And these muscles, at the neurons’ stalk
Follow orders and they do not balk.
And when they stop, the muscles relax.
Air is forced out as muscle slacks.
Volume decreases and Boyle’s Law acts.
So breathing in costs ATP
That means the use of energy
But calm expiration? It’s just free.
But when you need to force air out
Or at something, really shout
The VRG is what it’s all about.
It talks to abdominal muscles as well
As internal intercostals to make pressure swell
And air in the lungs can no longer dwell.
The Apneustic center in the pons is a source
Of a center dealing with force
Of an inspiration’s course.
The pneumotaxic center deals with duration
And both centers talk to each medullary station
And help regulate breathing condition.
The limbic system has some sway
In breathing fast or slow at bay
More than most realize, an important say.
And the hypothalamus, always of import
With its influence never falls short
In aiding ventilation, it lends its support.
For other than limbic, it deals with fever
When it tips the temperature lever
And makes ventilation a greater achiever.
Lastly there’s the cortex of the brain,
Whose job most think, is always to reign.
But when it comes to breathing, it is quite plain.
You can’t stop breathing by your will.
The lower centers always still
Make breathing a reflex, cortex input almost nil.
And just what drives this reflex to ventilate?
From where does the need originate?
From the chemoreceptors, it does emanate.
Receptors monitoring proton concentration.
Then messages sent without cessation
To the brainstem for increasing ventilation.
And hydrogen ions, where are they from?
Carbon dioxide and water, voila, they come.
The magic formula, carbonic acid does succumb.
Stuff
The paraphernalia of life,
Memories collected,
Emotions rejected,
Gathered over time
The appurtenances of life,
Possessions collected,
At times rejected
Accessories thought necessary
The accouterments of life
Beliefs collected
Sometimes rejected
Always evolving, always growing
The appendages of life
Friends collected
None rejected
Perhaps at times disconnected
The stuff of life
Constantly collected
Intermittently rejected
Yet cherished wholeheartedly