Best Landed Poems
I slipped on a teardrop and landed in muck.
No inkling had I of my future bad luck.
The tear I had cried started out, oh, so small
I’d felt little need to be crying at all.
But crying that one single tear was enough
To bring to me to this! Now my life’s getting tough.
The muck where I landed is not disappearing.
And sometimes these days I can feel my eyes tearing.
I do what I can though to stop tears from flowing.
It doesn’t much matter; the muck just keeps growing.
The muck is becoming a loose and wet sand.
Yes, quicksand! It pulls me. I reach for a hand. . .
Then hands from my loved ones; then hands from each friend.
With so many hands out, this can’t be the end!
The muck turned to quicksand could swallow me whole,
But I must believe that it can’t take my soul.
My family and friends are comfort for me.
Their hands I grab hold of; then strong I can be.
I’ll keep loving life, and I’ll laugh. In a while
The quicksand will have to subside, and I’ll smile.
I’ll next be the one whose comfort gets handed
To one who has slipped on a teardrop and landed.
Written 6/21/16 with gratitude for all who were there for me in a trying time
Now for PD's Deep ( 001) Poetry Contest
an eagle hovers
swoops down to a tranquil place ~
mission accomplished
They trickled down my cheeks in steady streams
and blotting was no use, the dam gave way.
As tears continued, some fell to the floor.
I bent to wipe them- and began to sway.
I lost my balance, and my right hand slipped
upon the tears and somehow shoved my head
against a bench and stabbing pain set in,
while flashing lights appeared- in yellow- red.
It seemed I landed on a soft white cloud,
and angels kneeling all around me wept.
I was not frightened- just felt quite at peace,
like this was where all happiness was kept.
And on this cloud, I floated through the sky
without a care or worry in my heart.
But oh, the angels kept on weeping still-
I did not know where sadness played its part.
My tears were gone, and gladness filled my soul;
my heart was free of all my doom and gloom.
I felt so light and happy floating in the air.
Then, all at once, I woke up in a room
upon my bed with loved ones all around!
I had passed out, you see, but now was fine.
Intensity of sadness now was gone-
and slipping on my teardrop quite benign.
I had landed in an unconscious state
inside a glimpse of heaven, overjoyed
that heartbreak from my kitty that I lost
was there, but my strong spirit- not destroyed.
Those angels where I landed cried for me
and spared me my own tears to mourn my pain.
They helped me ease my burden, heal my heart-
embrace life's peace and happiness again.
An alien landed in my thoughts today in the form of a gnat,
Right on the paper, it happened like that.
Not bothersome, not a worry at all,
Not big or fat or two feet tall.
Which is sometimes what happens when I see
An alien from Planet X, Y, or Z,
My mind is ready to grab any idea coming to me.
I look down for an instant, and she is out of my sight.
I flip on my reading lamp,
Springing forth some good light.
There she is, what is she doing?
She is tormenting the dog,
Who is booing and hoo-ing.
Should have been the cat, then she would have met her match.
The cat would have eaten her in one quick tongue snatch.
I watch her in disbelief, as she flips around, alien from planet X.
She yawns, and she preens, and she stretched and she flexed.
Alien Sweetheart, come give me an ear,
Come over to the paper, you can sit right here!
But she giggles and wiggles and scurries away.
Tinkerbell? Already done.
Alien seemed like a bunch of fun.
Wait, inspiration,
Come back! Come back!
But she has gone, sneaking out a small door crack.
the eagle has landed
standing guard on the remains
these courageous vets
sacrificed for our freedom
young hearts that rest neath tombstones
Written for the Bald Eagle in the Cemetery contest
and dedicated to all our veterans
A fledgling reporter discovered the story of a lifetime
Tim O’Hara came upon an alien aircraft that had crashed
He took pity on the sole survivor who’d committed no crime
Helping him out of the strange orb that in a barren desert smashed
Tim brought the alien home but his identity concealed
Suddenly living with a bachelor, Uncle Martin was his nickname
For four years we laughed as Martin’s odd behavior was revealed
Tim came to love his new “uncle,” realizing this was no con game
Martin, you see, had been blessed with more than telekinesis
His antennae kept emitting radio station songs and news
To hide them, Martin donned a hat that caused antennae creases
And the scope of human behavior Uncle Martin did bemuse
Bill Bixby and Ray Walton quickly stole my heart away
And as a child I could barely wait for the next episode
Perhaps my favorite show explains the feelings I have today
Belief in life on other planets to this TV show I owed
For Michael's "Rhyme Me an Old TV Show" contest
TV Show: "My Favorite Martian"
By Carolyn Devonshire, January 11, 2012
* "My Favorite Martian" was an American television sitcom that aired on CBS from 1963 to 1966. The show starred Ray Walston as Uncle Martin (the Martian) and Bill Bixby as Tim O'Hara (a reporter).
She landed on my moon,
Even though she was from Pluto
Too cold, to get too close
Her confusion kept us from fusing
She felt she shouldn’t feel this
So insisted I was an illusion
Yet and still kept intruding
She knew my light was to illuming to elude it
But too deep to consume in
Would she choose to refuse it or pursue it
How could I loss this
I lived my whole life stiff and tight
But she’s who I get loose with
We fit, so for me she makes room quick
I know she is complete and whole
But together we are continuously improving
She the one win when I’m losing
So this won’t be confused with
Any other emotion
I know that you can see from the sea
That I am an open ocean
Only for you to float in
Don’t focus so much on its
Approach just notice my closing
And know this, it won’t end,
My devotion
Plane has landed
Interrogated by customs for hours
Back on the plane again
*My first bash at this
I awaken after said storm thrown weakened am I
In awe in wonderment as to where I espy
Fervent to silent as I witness this breathing space
As I slowly rise my tall in this seeing succulent heaven place
Barren beaches of gold amidst greened hue
Hearing cresting of thundering waves crashing true
As I start to look around in hungering thirsting cry
It's the time to ask myself as to where am I, sigh!
To a palm leafy avenue I take to a rest
As I contemplate such wonder in tiring drained zest
I awaken to my belongings and to my belongings saved
For what I had on this journey, caught waves now waved
Thinking thoughts caught, then cast like the waves brought
So many like the drifting bringing waves, leave me naught
Contemplation runs wild as to where my wanting's declare
Recalling looking around, was it purely saved heaven stare
I know it's time to address the needing's if I'm to be found
With unknown known bravado in my mind has to be sound
As I look around me seeing what simply surrounds be
My time is to be taken to the accommodation of me, thee
Having searched seeked determined and decided such
In amazement abound, it's all in bountiful clutch
Coconut and their palms grace me shelter and food
Berries I dare to taste, feeding me fishing I should
Fresh water apart the nuts in rainy filled capture
I'm feeling Crusoe, of reading book stature
Sleeping I do soundly to the caressing waved shores
Whilst burning embers deter these petulant scores
Creatures of difference with no accountable stockabilty
Deem to me useless, with no accountability
It's the plantation that offers survivable quantities
That feed fuel my wanting's reaching inevitability
As days turn to weeks I'm in possible addressed talk
Not knowing the many creatures, in shyness I baulk
As weeks turn to months, and months into years
My name is Robinson, soon I'll share these tears for fears.
It vanished
The chain
To this heart of stone
Just gone
Slept for a time
In your realm it seeks
Not words nor touch
But the silence of your romance
And I am drawn
Like a spirit with wings
To a passion reaching out
That calls my name
And you of all Kings
Haunted a Queen so far
And to your Kingdom’s love
I have found my landing
It is all happening in a vacuum,
This impossible grand illusion
Burning in its full spectrum
Never meant for our narrow vision
Our spaceship built itself in orbit
Launching satellites to add to its moon
The descendants of a crash-landed astronaut
Our noses always trying to balance a spoon
The atmosphere’s aqueous delusion
Allows us to breath like fish in an aquarium
As seen from a different dimension
Destined to exist in this diluted medium
We are chasing endless days
Not fast enough to escape the sun
Preparing the last days before it dies
Our impossible universe undone
Today, I feel her-
she alerts her soul-mates, their storm-
colored bodies. She..cries,
her wings contracted,
a honk mingled with a " I am
amongst you", and chimes
so dampened, they toll
like Hemingway's Bell. A Goose,
Canadian- a wife-
is in my dried throat
this morning, within the drops
of the shower; a peal,
but a high note "oppressed".
The fat, so off-key with the song
of my being, folds
into pastel wings.
They are light, like an American
shore bleached by the Suns.
My wet, soft blonde arms
reach for Irish sea-tints: a bar,
and a rainforest (shampoo).
To cleanse coffee oils.
My hands rub against the porousness.
The bouying scents,
like the sparks of incense,
sink into my entity.
And the shrine could flood.
My hair twists like rope,
enshrouds my loosened countenance
that is a burnt rose.
The sheen of this skin
shines in the yellow watt's glow.
I sing; I lift the grass-
green towel to dry.
I grab the faded face cloth,
the hue of a weary
field, barren but for the gold
butter-cup weeds of the longest
days. I toss the tough
machine-threaded cotton,
to FLY..off of my body.
My damp hair is night
colored; blonde wings clipped
at birth. Yet, within the misty
brushstrokes of morning,
beneath a gentle
wedding-white sky with lilac
lace, she may feast, hushed.
The Aliens have landed
This is the third day of the new, year and days are equally dark
and miserable as days before the fireworks and drunk people
filling streets with hoarse screams, scaring dogs and cats who
do not understand the collective madness that grips people by
celebrating peace with thunder.
Most of my friends are dead and yes, we danced around
the golden calf, we wanted it all, we got illnesses and old age.
The third day of the new, year and it is the same old ****, car bombs
exploding, a WikiLeaks no one reads as the truth is bothersome
enjoy yourself; our democratic system is going down the drain
and no one will look up and see when they are swamped by
an alien culture and the darkness.
We have been conquered by our lack of respect for our system
and not a rifle shot has been fired.
Kneel down you infidels; there is a minaret in every town.
A flying saucer landed
In a farmer's fallow field.
It had come from far away,
Beyond Orion's starry shield.
The aliens were mystified.
They giggled and they squealed.
The cows were in the pasture,
Chewing on their cud.
They watched the flying saucer
As it landed in the mud.
They bellowed as the hatchway
Descended with a thud.
The farmer drove his tractor
Beside tall stalks of corn.
A flock of crows erupted
When he tooted on his horn.
They flew inside the spaceship
On that cool September morn.
The aliens were studying
The farmer's dairy herd.
They saw their craft invaded
By the band of big black birds.
Legs retracted, hatchway shut!
The flying saucer whirred!
The moral of this story
Is very plain to see.
It will be written down somewhere
In Alien History.
ALWAYS SHUT THE CABIN DOOR,
AND DON'T FORGET THE KEY!
A Bird landed dead at my feet--
It fell from the air onto the sidewalk next to the street--
And what was I to think...
It must have felt something
A sort of "Dying is Knowing".
And still it flew... a poetic end,
Something I wish for my friend