Best Keenness Poems
Also known as May Eve, May Day, and Walpurgis Night, happens at the beginning of May. It celebrates the height of Spring and the flowering of life.
Colors are the Rainbow spectrum. Beltane is a festival of flowers, fertility, sensuality, and delight. Selena Fox
In the cosmic blast, eternal fires create the cosmos.
An incensed mind is like a tarot deck close.
Awareness of human feelings' everlasting nature
soul-igniting, head-raising, flame-purifying feature
Beltane, a Pagan festival, goes by the name of May Day.
It occurs between the equinoxes of Ostara and Litha.
The festival commemorates spring in the best way.
An event tied firmly with fertility in the pagan era
It occurs three hours after the sun has set.
worn a wild beast to depict earth, fire, water, or air.
Toasting nature, life, and future by fire dance minuet.
A fairly grim festival that may aim out of a dare
Event held in 2020 during the COVID-19 shutdown.
Had put all who participated in the COVID threat.
I feel it is unfair, as holy sites are closed in each town.
It is not moral to leave others out of this event yet.
The keenness amid the eternal inner stillness
Ignites God's everlasting flame upon reality.
I travel in the light of heavenly happiness.
which is the vowed road to the vivid hall of deity.
Written: March 04, 2023
Which fire is eternal Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
Light and shade are vital to life's beauty, charm, and richness. By Poet.
sun
sunshine
dawn to dusk
nature supplies
vivacious hues clash
cumulonimbus cloud
sprouts expanse toward the sun
every day, it swells keen and vast
as crocus sprouts muzzle widespread breeze
in stark peacefulness through the strides of verve
Melted gold gleams in the thoughts of moonbeams.
As light wanes, faint stars tackle to glow.
they shimmer like zillions of studs
while embedded to sunbeams
Scudding blue-purple swarms.
soar through azure sky.
gazed birch leaf buds
and clean grass
spring's rays
warmth.
scour
the bliss
tweaked and deep
blue fades to mauve
humped at hearts of stem
stream heavenly keenness
as waterway of sheer praise
sequent the path of least toughness
same as a flower's smell loads the air
linked to bode love, uttering lease to flow
Written: February 15, 2022
1st place contest winner
E Forms- Etheree - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
King of Kings can surely
Kill the soul and body.
Kingdom of God is nigh,
Kiss the Son lest you die.
Knowing that His loving
Kindness calls you today,
Keep mum, can I? No way.
10th March, 2017
Call girl of Thulhu?
I smiled at the voice at the end of the phone.
Not been in action for many years, but had a keenness for a kill.
Sure is, I said in my youngest voice.
Happy it did not crack or give my age.
You can do some delectable things for five hundred? A question.
I said “six” to see if he would bite.
A slight hesitation
We negotiated to five fifty.
Agreed to meet at the Slingback, a seedy motel.
You could torture someone here.
No one would call the cops.
They would not show up in this divvy place
Too scary.
More than one cop had probably
already been murdered at the Slingback.
Run by Mama M,
Nickname: Mama Mortician.
Got out my knives and lovingly polished them.
They had not seen daylight since ’85 when I took out several men
No idea my trick was polishing his knives too
Written: December 14, 2023, For Ink Empress Contest
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Sipping from nature's cynosure duct
as yearning subtly for sweetness
quaint wings of golden glass.
lifelong square keenness
barely seen but loved
drifting nearby
reedy bird
held my
sigh
time
sunset
this winter
it feels peaceful
grasping the instant
sweet infant in my arms
she struck her velvety foot
much giggles brightening the mind
Touched my face with rose-dipped fingertips.
I hand over the bank notes - the box I take home
A flat pack tech gadget wrapped up in white foam
I peel open the packing - my keenness obscene
To lay out and make up my new time machine
I look at the pieces - feel ill and confused
Some look rather old - some look quite misused
The box should be mint - instead it's been torn
The branding is tired - the printing is worn
The instruction's in Swedish - the picture's unclear
This thing-gummy-doodah - screw there or glue here?
A few bits left over - a few bits amiss
I'm losing my patience along with my wits
It doesn't look perfect - I hope it will do
I sit in the cockpit - time travel debut
I dial in year zero - an interesting time
I arrive at last week - a paradox crime
In anger and sadness I pack the gizmo
I take back my purchase to reclaim my dough
With box under arm I storm into the shop
My future receipt slammed down counter top
There isn't a problem - my money's returned
They know that in practice it's really a loan
The box is repaired and returned to the shelf
And next week they sell to my good future self
Rewritten 16th April 2017
Entry to "Jamie's interesting contest 2 - travel back in time topic"
If I could go back
For just a day
Even just a few hours
I would set up the board
Put each checker in it's place
I would see
Really see
Grandpa across the table
Him with his furrowed brow.
I would be less concerned
Less focused on winning
I would relish his laugh
Listen carefully to his tales
Record them
indelibly on my mind's eye
Combining
Past
Present
Future
I would see
The eccentricities of me
Passed on in perpetuity
His playfulness
The keenness of his former mind
Before the disease stole what was left behind
With each play the minutes would pass
I would take my time
Make them last
There would be questions to ask
Sadly the time is gone
The board has been put away
It's a game I no longer play
It was our special thing
He left long ago
On angels wings
Yet one day
When this
Life has passed
He will be there and I will ask
"Set up the board
It's time to play.
We can take our time
We have all day."
Gold or gladiolus or golden sapphire fine;
Delighted, even if I divine light define;
If, like an orange, the details I do not peel,
Will my rhyme-lyric like an angelus-bell, peal?
Like a disciplined mother rearing her infant,
Timely sleeping, rising, nourishing comprehend;
Shaping each brick of my creation if I build,
Will my greatest works as unskilled ever get grilled?
Is my concept clear as a transparent crystal?
Does my thought target, shoot as sure as a pistol?
Do my ideas, views flow like fluent rivers?
Are my imageries as reflected as mirrors?
If I write 'pudding' when I need to write 'wedding'
When it necessitates making the amending;
If my ego, like a wall, stands strong on the way,
I'm not a poet perfect; I should get away.
As the wave-sound of the sea both feeble and rough,
As the chirping of birds are coarsely sweet enough;
As wild animals have roars, gibber, brays, and hums,
My words should vary from simple to complex-sums.
Is a writer full in him that he should not read?
Do the shores of the seas ever a limit need?
Voraciousness in keenness make my wisdom vast,
The wisest of wisdom should be my true breakfast.
11 August 2021
The Writer In Me, Wants You To Know Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
You don’t see the defects,
You only see the muscle,
And when he is accused,
You cause a kerfuffle.
Adjacent to beauty, truth,
That youth so lively and vital,
Vibrant with colour spread,
He speaks with his amble.
Two sociology’s merge,
Into one lovely scene,
And technology assists,
With where you’ve been.
Having only conversation,
Through looks and kindness,
Facilitated by still silence,
Interspersing strong keenness.
Bed lying open to anyone,
Enclosing only the two of you,
Glueing that modish freshness,
That expects to act and do.
I need her,
Her lips that show up the blossoms,
so much I pinch her bottoms.
Her hair more soft than corn silk,
and her dark nipples leaking milk.
Her happy sport I am proud of,
she flies to score like a raptor.
Her keenness is studious,
I taught her to obliterate struthious.
Her comedy and drama,
she'll make a very proud mama.
Her castle in the desert,
I'll gaze at her sheer skirt.
Her Eastern wisdom,
knowing so well she rules her own kingdom.
Her skilled parle with me,
used cleverly over tea.
That partly is what they mean to me.
Since it was Sunday in late December
the sun perched softly behind a dark
swirl - and the distant dust
turned the last ray from red to pink
well before the dainty fingers
of her small hands could count to six
The tide was ebbing but left lopsided
lines of foam-beige brine surrounding
crooked batons of driftwood settling
for the evening - in wait of the dawn’s
salty brush and the mermaid’s call
that only the mullet could hear
Sandpipers skipped across the scrawls
where some spirited soul had neatly
spelled the name Luna and etched
a lazy heart in the sand
made barely legible by the suckle
of less than a half moon of sweet Gruyere
Holiday lamps from the shops in the village,
baptized by a light steam, lifted green and blue
watermarks off the horizon toward the mangroves
and left markings of indelible ink where crow’s feet
tried to sleep and halfhearted whelk
nestled as salt in recesses of aged eyes
The scent of the sea was mild
Then again just the thing to suit
The keenness of the cilia that lined
the inside of the only nostril that still behaved.
And though the Mumps had left one ear utterly deaf
I observed the pelican call
This was neither the place nor time to breathe meekly.
A wordless titter throttled my throat
and I asked myself how life might be sounder
Her lily white hand, half covered in sand
touched the truss in my mind.
Smiling out loud my deaf ear could hear
her juddering blood - for she was totally (and wonderfully) blind
When drifting water of the river Hebrus murmurs
a heartrending cry surges from the bottom of the river,
and when this cry reaches the midsummer night’s sky
the stars echo and a lyre in the constellation by Zeus’ throne
plays sad music. And when tone adds pathos to deepen the darkness,
a nocturnal bird soars in the dark air, too, singing a sad song over
a grave in Libethra.
The reason the river weeps with a plaintive requiem is,
not because Erebus is too far or Styx is too wide,
but the stern ferryman denies Orpheus’ passage
to netherworld where he once passed with the crowds of the dead.
Although he once made the Furies cheeks wet with tears,
won a Proserpine’s sympathy and made Hades himself gave way,
why Orpheus has to cry a heartrending cry over Eurydice again
with his plaintive tuned lyre and song of touching story of his beloved wife?
It’s because he couldn’t cross Styx for second time.
He cried through the weeks of sleepless nights,
regretting why he turned his face back to assure
Eurydice followed, and therefore, heard her last cry of farewell.
He called Eurydice’s name for the weeks of agonizing days and
nights without food stretching his arms in air as if trying to hold her,
though she is not there.
Since his second farewell to his beloved wife on the dark and steep passage
of Erebus, Orpheus played his lyre and sang sad songs unceasingly. He sang
to tell his regretful experience on the way to this world at Erebus to the rocks
with melancholic but touching tunes, he chanted an account of the tragic life
he underwent with a gloomy but moving sound to the trees.
A viper, therefore, struck Eurydice with its sharp fangs again,
a horror that of the Maenads’ desire to capture Orpheus
tore him limb from limb.
And when the river murmurs, Orpheus’ limbs fell in water
parted from his body call to one another wishing to come in one again,
Orpheus’ keenness to see his beloved Eurydice grows more and more.
In a pain that persist like a stain
Baby remain standing to obtain
Remain the king of your own
Emotional sovereignty,
If you should shriek let it be
Not like young lamb without
Keenness for tomorrow.
It is that pain of lost love
Which shattered sorrow
And fetched it out of
I for one
But weep not
Remain taciturn: let silence be golden
For time only heals the broken hearts
Cry not, cry not
Young one
Let the night be known for its silence.
Hushed be Quiet...
Silent….
Silent…..
I’m programmed to love and be loved, yes I’m your beloved. I know how to tease, excite and
please and even lots more besides these. I’m a lover in harmonious soul, that adores romance,
beauty and plays the part of a lover's duty. I have elegance, charm and good taste, and think
that I can never be replaced.
I’m sensitive to my lover's needs and had the gift to his almost psychic extent by looking
in his eyes and knowing his needs, and care about them with my own optimism. I maintain
balance in everything, no wonder our hearts seems connected. he were got captivated by my
smile, and he loved how much I’m versatile.
My love for harmony and sounds, Colors, poetry, and proper use of words, and i never escape
the influence of art, all this makes me so smart. Extremely loving I’m daring, having a heart so
full of care. Terrified I am of being alone, Count on me, I'm your own. I’m more doers rather
than thinker, As libran's, i'm my own trend setter, a leader but but not a follower.
Beside be calm and perfectly balance, I can be annoying, stubborn and restless, even depressed
and confused, then be desmused. I’ve had equal parts of kindness, gentleness and keenness all
vanishes away my stubbornness. I have a positive soul, yet not getting what I want whenever I
wish can drive me wild. I can win a bottle before it’s fought, all because of my kind heart.
contest:ZODIAC ZONES( kelleyana junique)
They may want to bring back,
the selective schools.
Simplify a complex reality,
the underlying relationship of keenness,
wherever it comes from.
Persisted,
portraying the label,
developed by power.
Uncoerced,
questioned as viable.
Symptoms worsening,
getting education right for the working class.
Their children remain a challenge,
the odds are stacked against.
Unstilling aspiration,
strive to create opportunities,
The gap in monetized literacy,
bright but poor.