Best Kettles Poems
Tattered Petals: Wounded Heart
Tattered on the garden path are petals
from roses, beheaded by Summer rain
when storm clouds emptied their brimming kettles
In the garden, my tender blooms were slain
Raindrops cut them like needle sharp nettles
I viewed the masacre with grim disdain
Thunder bellowed a victorious roar
Baneful Summer rains continued to pour
~ ~ ~
My tears fell like rose petals to the ground
Recalling a rain storm of years ago
When lightning struck my heart with force profound
Summer's rain became a fierce Winter snow
a blizzard of barbed words ran love aground
It died like roses from rain's pelting blow
Tattered were petals; wounded was my heart
From lashing torrents that ripped us apart
August 21, 2017
Spring Rain Storm Contest
sponsoredby Dale G. Cozart
Categories:
kettles, lost love, rain, rose,
Form:
Ottava rima
. Mr. Kopp flies his Kappa kites on nights with
kaleidoscope skies. Lying
on a knoll Mr. Ks’
dreamy eyes
are mesm erized
as his keel pulls from
where his body lies.
kites scrapping the night
become kappa knights
ridding kangaroos against
storm filled cloudy skies.
Clouds were shaped like
steamy kettles filled with
kappa brand ketchup covering
kamikaze curly styled French-fries
Categories:
kettles, fantasy
Form:
Concrete
Christmas shopping I will go
Red kettles at department stores
Sidewalks covered in snow
Bell-ringers spreading Christmas joy
Volunteers bring Christmas cheers
Give a dollar or two or more
For the needy the bells ring clear
Red kettles need to be filled
Goodwill is in the air
Giving donations is what it's about
For those in despair
It's the Christmas sharing and giving part
"Jingle Bells" for Kim's contest
Categories:
kettles, holiday, hope, inspirational, passion,
Form:
Quatrain
In the pot, a memory, stirring, sweet,
Blended leaves, a dance of flavors meet.
Mornings greeted with a warming brew,
Guests welcomed anytime, with joy imbued.
Evenings, families, mingling delight,
Snacks and tea, a comforting sight.
A bygone era, those moments vast,
My heart yearns, wishing to recast.
Now a tea bag, in water's lively bubble,
Worldly varieties, a sip, a subtle cuddle.
The stirred bag, a lingering trace,
Sipped with pleasure, a fleeting embrace.
Tempo shifts, living's altered rhyme,
Kettles abandoned in this modern time.
Tea bags tidy, no mess to confess,
Yet, the charm of stirred leaves, a timeless caress.
Categories:
kettles, social,
Form:
Rhyme
In my chair, atop an old phone book,
I sat as proud as can be.
My first time at the grownup table,
surrounded by company.
I lifted the edge of the table cloth,
and felt the smooth wood beneath.
Solid maple, hand oil rubbed,
I counted eight chairs underneath.
Earlier that day, I heard Gram exclaim,
"It's time to stretch that table."
So, off Grandpa went to the attic,
while Gram toiled over pots and kettles.
Then I watched as Grandpa and Mom,
pulled the table sections out of their sleeves.
You knew it was a special occasion,
when Grandpa put in the table leaves.
Placement: 3rd
For the contest; "Leaves"
Sponsored by Carol Brown
Categories:
kettles, family, time,
Form:
Rhyme
Leafy ferns and little frogs
Toads live in the garden
Weeds and grass and daffodils
And poop...I beg your pardon
Yes poop is in there from the cat
That roams around the houses
Just pick it out or grind it in
It should be full of mouses (meeces or mice)
There's ceramic figurines in there
Little deers and little dogs
To go along with little stones
And plastic little logs
But, beware the garden gnome
A treacherous beast is he
With evil eyes and long white beard
He is plotting after thee
The garden gnome looks daffy
In his jacket and his hat
But, look deep in the gnomey eyes
And you'll see just where he's at
There's rubbish blown from up the road
Candy wrappers and old tins
The neighbor kids are lazy so,
They never throw it in the bins
The cat lies sunning lazily
Beneath a summer sun of gold
With it's job of chasing meeces down
For a while, put on hold
There's ivy, climbing everywhere
And things you can not tell
They got there from the squirrels
But you keep them for the smell
But, beware the garden gnome
A treacherous beast is he
With evil eyes and long white beard
He is plotting after thee
The garden gnome looks daffy
In his jacket and his hat
But, look deep in the gnomey eyes
And you'll see just where he's at
You tend the garden lovingly
Moving figures in and out
You never move the gnomes too much
Too much trouble, I won't doubt
You transplant flowers, move some trees
Cut the weeds back, till the soil
You head inside, the whistle blows
The kettles on the boil
While you are gone, something goes on
The gnomes attack the cat
You come back out, and wonder why
The gnome has lost his hat
yes, beware the garden gnome
A treacherous beast is he
With evil eyes and long white beard
He is plotting after thee
The garden gnome looks daffy
In his jacket and his hat
But, look deep in the gnomey eyes
And you'll see he's looking at the cat!!
Categories:
kettles, cat, fairy, fantasy, flower,
Form:
Light Verse
Now that December has descended
with it's roots of ice and skies of snow
our timber fortress is a sanctuary of ethnographic enlightenment
and embassy that entreats the exchange of craftsmanship,
lately I have been preoccupied with my etymological research,
it is important to President Jefferson, an anthropologist
that we discover the origin of the natives through their languages,
he is obsessed with understanding the diversity of the human race
a bone collector of civilizations and shaman of scholarship,
Private Sheilds, through his blacksmithing expertise
has allowed us to barter iron for corn without which
the Corps of Discovery would either lose vital quantity of provisions,
be reduced to malnourished paupers, or even engage in unscrupulous raiding,
there are still a thousand arduous miles to go
from all estimations, before reaching the Pacific,
as is, the Elders, especially from the Hidatsas
are suspicious of our motives
because of the 18 foot high pallisaded fort we have built adjacent to the Mandans,
so mistrust is suppressed well with an open door policy
and liberal trade of battle axes,
knives, weapon and tool sharpening, kettles, needles and so on,
January 1805,
the new year has introduced 40 below zero weather, syphilis and fists fights,
to stave the ills of boredom we routinely go on hunting expeditions
through the gruelling grip of winter's madness,
another activity that warms the soul are the spectacular jamborees
that conjure the whiles of instincts
and reminds us all how the heart seeks it's deepest expressions,
Cruzzatte plays the fiddle like a tempter of lunatic love
while Silas Goodrich thumbs a mandolin into the dreams of romantic heroism,
the squaws often coo with eyes of diamonds
arms outstretched with fingers swaying like wind blown wheat,
York is a sensation with the Indians
they have never seen a Black Man before
describing him as the black clay of chaos,
they believe there is magic in his skin
touching and rubbing him constantly like a healing stone,
J.A.B.
Categories:
kettles, adventure,
Form:
Epic
Fort Clatsop is up and true,
50 feet square, with a smokehouse, pallisades, barracks and two gateways
furnished from the aromatic and reliable wood of the great Fir trees,
we keep busy by scraping elk hides for clothes, making moccasins, hunting
and boiling sea water in kettles to manufacture a nutritious salt,
the Clatsop Indians are not the onery thieves that the Chinook are,
in fact, they are merry hustlers with fine things to trade,
the Clatsop chief, Coboway was in fort today, smoking and learning how we leather stitch
when I began negotiating for his sea otter robe,
a fur of extraordinary waterproof warmth and deep colored beauty
several layers ringed, overlapping one another like roof tiles
with a thin elk hide underneath
the length of a knee cloak with the incandescence of morning mountains
snowy whites, granite greys and cool browns,
I believe that is why Clark and I are contending for it,
that rare robe reminds us of the Rockies, the rugged majesty,
Coboway isn't being simple though, actually he's being a prick about it,
refusing all sorts of neat and valuable things
and then Sacagawea comes into the room shakin her meaty hips around
and the chief comes to life and says he'll trade for her beaded belt,
Clark looks at me like hey, not fair
because he knows I can get Janey, Sacagawea's American name,
to give it up for my blue velvet coat that she just purrs for,
J.A.B.
Categories:
kettles, adventure, business,
Form:
Epic
September is aging with a cool beauty
and the Missouri seems to be hurrying the expedition
into a world of natural splendor that is impatient to strip our spirit to it's bare light,
in my silent moments of strategy I feel the birth pangs of winter in the air
and know that an emergency of shelter will soon be the crucible,
more days than not the river wind has aided the Corps of Discovery's adventure,
rarely have we had to pull Destiny along by ropes
and today I'm off the boat, hunting a fleet and mammoth goat
the pronghorned antelope, unlike the buffalo and deer herds
that have easily been in excess of 500, these shy creatures
move about in small groups, seemingly familial in manner,
a hide of short, soft white and brown hair
which stripes the throat, and vicious charcoal horns
that could impale a man in a single jolt, none of us has ever seen such an animal,
these damn goats bolt like bullets every time I creep near
they must be catching my scent for I am stealth and camouflaged,
they are so agile and swift, unafraid to speed through the most dangerous ravines,
getting back to camp with no hooves to show for my time
I see that John Sheilds has sacked a peculiar hare,
he calls it a jackrabbit, it is a monster rabbit no doubt
20 pounds dead and can leap like a rock across water, 20 foot spreads at full speed,
we all laugh and agree this place is becoming more of a jungle than a prarie,
any moment we may encounter apes and wherewolves,
its good to see Private Shanon chuckle well since returning
from being alone along the river for sixteen days nearly starved and maddened,
the fires be hot and the kettles be kickin with the right stuff
most of us are consuming 5, 000 calories per day including several pounds of meat each,
the mission is teaching the men's' bodies new extremes, the exertion is remarkable,
sunburn, blisters, rolled ankles, sprained wrists and backs, inadequate sleep,
mosquito bites, spider bites, ant bites, hours of tedious paddling and foraging,
no woman love, gaurd duties, chores, the stress of Indian encounters and ambush,
home sickness,
the only thing familiar to us is eachother,
sharing our sufferings, sharing our survival,
J.A.B.
Categories:
kettles, friendship,
Form:
Epic
A time of many lights to see,
Of tinsel, garland and wreath's so fair.
Of hundreds of bulbs upon a tree,
With twinkling lights and angel hair.
A festive time with thoughts of Santa Clause,
Of jingle bells, and distant sounds of sleighs.
From the daily rush we're in, we pause,
Remembering once more our childhood days.
The time for eggnog and a cozy fire,
Have the Christmas story and often games.
Of candy canes, children never seem to tire,
While watching a Yule log's flickering flame.
A time for the hanging of mistletoe,
The singing of carols and children at play.
A time of merriment and places to go.
To many, these are this holiday.
For early mall arrival and long lines,
To retrieve that last gift before we rest.
Parking lot disagreements, fights and fines,
We're seeing free enterprise at its best.
Of bells and kettles in the mall,
With scent's of baked goods and pines.
While searching for gifts for one and all,
We encounter rudeness and sold out signs.
Christmas can be like this, it's true,
But lest we forget this time of year.
Let's look at things from a different view,
As the birthdate of the Christ child dear.
In a twinkling stars five points I see,
Two arms, two legs, a head.
I see the cross in a Christmas tree,
Where a Savior hung and bled.
In the manger scene I'm taken back,
To the place the Christ child lay.
I view the gifts in Santa's sack,
As those the wise men brought that day.
In a simple wreath of vines I see,
A crown of thorns that Jesus wore.
Of a scourging he once took for me,
And of man's sin that at Calvary he bore.
Within each candle seen glowing bright,
One thought comes to my mind.
That in my world He's still my light,
God's precious gift to all mankind.
In a candy cane of white and red,
I see His body without sin.
The crimson, being where he bled,
So that man might be born again.
Then looking into a yule log set aflame,
Unable to imagine the torment one will feel.
If living life as though Jesus never came,
Only to discover at death, that Hell is real.
Categories:
kettles, celebration, christmas,
Form:
Lyric
"Alhumdulillah, Ramadan is here!
Its the month I eagerly await, incessantly praying to Allah in hope and fear.
Giving up food and water is only for his sake, just fast for a few hours, and then you can savour your delicious homemade cake.
Allah opens the gates of Paradise, and closes the gates of Hell,
And he chains the devils up, so that you can be free from their despicable impels.
Fast with complete faith and hope, my friends,
Before you regret your holy Journey as Ramadan ends.
Its a peaceful month, filled with abundant blessings and love,
At every second of your life, Allah is watching you from above.
Pray and pray, and repent and repent,
Don’t you want the hereafter? The taste of delectable fruits and beautiful Paradise scent?
Ask forgiveness from Allah, the Most High, the Most Great,
Do not think that He won’t hear you, He is the All-Powerful, the Changer of Fates.
Open your fasts with sweet, sweet dates,
But don’t forget to help your mother wash the dirty spoons, kettles and plates.
Try to complete the Quran, try to get closer to your Creator,
His punishment is great, but his Mercy Greater."
Categories:
kettles, allah, blessing, devotion, forgiveness,
Form:
Rhyme
To know thyself is not to find,
What gods for you had in mind,
The fingers that wrote your code,
Left untouched an open mode,
A chamber of sorts, an unlit room,
An empty space free of doom.
Furnish this place with mysterious grace,
Your secret garden is dignity’s face.
Upon the walls compose sweet songs,
Name every flower your heart belongs,
Come in silence, hide and seek,
Leave behind what makes you weak.
To know thyself is not to see,
What cause and laws made you thee,
The serpent’s trail that led to you,
Casts no light on what to do,
Choose a way, a path to follow,
Life’s grand seed is never hollow.
Blaze the road with midnight oil,
Leave your blood on fertile soil,
On journeys end begin again,
Sleep with lions in their den,
Highway men kiss fortune’s fate,
Women’s risks does love create.
To know thyself is not to fear,
Sharp tongues of neighbors in your ear,
Voices like sparks up with smoke flow,
The crow’s remarks, ignore, let go,
There is but one refrain to chant,
Never focus on what you can’t.
——
Though precious coins be shaped in metals,
And soup of bones cooked in kettles,
To know what makes you what you are,
Ignore the elements that make your star,
For you, my passing sun, far outshine your sum,
Be bold, be brave, be what you become.
Categories:
kettles, inspirational,
Form:
Free verse
Sixpence none the richer Christmas day
unwrapping that pretty silver bow
hoping for the proverbial pot of gold
amongst treasures Santa left in tow
Street corner kettles all dressed in red
full of empty promises and seasonal semblance
of somehow now caring for that colurless fellow
bells relentlessly taking toll inside my head
Gifts of wine and cheer soon to disappear
at the first fall of winter's fresh flakes
slip sliding downhill on an icy terrain
blaming all your faults on others mistakes
Curling up with the cat eyeing tinsel on the street
preferring a cup of eggnog over other's company
waiting for the last light bulb to bust
and the return of normalcy, hatred, and mistrust
Categories:
kettles, christmas, culture, hate, satire,
Form:
Rhyme
Thrill knowledge with the desire to spread
Ideals across heads like grains of sand
Sprinkle little rays of brightness
Into cups full of vanilla ice-cream
If the sun doesn’t sparkle
Then there is no one to blame
But one’s own eyes
Blind to the legacy that showcases it’s prize in the middle of the day
If the moon’s enchanting lullabies don’t soothe the soul
Open up the heart and let winds
Change the currents and ease the turmoil
Tealeaves soak in small kettles over the stove
Passionate inferno and a stream of serenity
Measured into china cups and a sugar lump in each
To put into a smile and a twinkle of the eye
Do the world a favor and breathe between bamboo shoots and bowls of rice
While Time runs his hand over the strings on the guitar
And plays Life a love song
Time is not eternally handsome or young
Life is not always bearing silk and jewels
But the hourglass keeps flowing and love grows despite the looks and pearls
Arpeggios play slowly while dusk draws further away and it’s another day
I could hold your hand and run forever through lanes of cherry blossoms
Racing towards storms of crimson flora that from a hurricane would be shamed
Falling down as I open my heart and let them rest in memoirs
Whispering secrets and thoughts that take a lifetime to say
But a second to realize
Mysteries never really bothered me
If everything was known then why should I blink
To renew tears for sorrow and tears of laughter
I’d love to know most of it but I’ll be fine if I die without knowing it at all
As long as I know how it feels to live then I’ll be fine
Molecular Biology and Genetic evolution and all terms fade
From textbooks and minds
Awakening dreams and aspire to devote themselves to dew drops
Disciples of a flawed world
Defects are perfect to judge the worth
Of perfection
Inside endless worlds there lies just a simple dew drop
Prisms reflect giving ideas of complex
Intricate weavings and deeper then deep thoughts
Everything to you has to be a little more then less
But less is maybe exactly what your looking for
Despite riches and greed infiltrating peace
I have more wealth in a glitter of an star
Then in a stock bond
Laugh it up and respire
To expire and depart this life
With handfuls of luminous memories inside of balloons to help one float up
Into the Sky
Categories:
kettles, time, heart, heart, love,
Form:
Free verse
Shifting focus from farm to stars
the drifting night begins
where listless day turns to mist.
Beyond the harbour bar
boats put out to sea.
By dawn the salty breeze
is flecked with foam
it peppers the Postie
as he makes his way
around the quay.
He stops to watch
the fishing boats
ploughing home
through pearly sea.
And dreaming
of what the day might bring
sleepy couples, yawning,
pad downstairs.
In chorus all the kettles sing
above the morning news
of stocks and shares.
And thirstily,
a hundred cups of tea
are raised to lips
simultaneously.
Categories:
kettles, happiness, nature, people, places,
Form:
Free verse