Best Leapt Poems
Verse 1
That night we kissed, my heart became a butterfly.
It sprouted wings and danced across the velvet sky,
then leapt across the multitude of stars there strewn
along its happy way to touch the crescent moon.
You held me close, but did you know my heart could fly?
Chorus:
Oh, heavenly night when my heart could fly!
And in its pounding, did you hear it testify
that you, and you alone, could ever satisfy
the woman that emerged from her secure cocoon
that night you flew me, Darling, to the moon!
Verse 2
My heart soared onward, constellations yet to try. . .
My yearning heart, once captive, was no longer shy.
How can hearts set free be ever more immune
to sweet caresses in a night that all too soon
must have an end in bittersweet goodbye?
Chorus:
Oh, heavenly night when my heart could fly!
In its pounding, did you hear it testify
that you, and you alone, could ever satisfy
the woman that emerged from her secure cocoon
that night you flew me, Darling, to the moon!
(Dedicated to one of my childhood friends)
You were one of those charming lilies
that bloomed, so fresh, in my springtime pond;
when my homesick wings of longings flutter and soar,
and my mind alights
on the periphery of the playparks of the past,
I reminisce all the little fun we had
along with our other friends -
as we strolled through the narrow trails
in the verdant flowery meadow
that sprawled near our school
during the tender years of our lives.
The giggles and the laughter
the chuckles and the chatter -
those shrieks and the squeals
that baffled even the needles of time
to forget their own pace
and hop and waltz along with us.
Then roads diverged, new air we breathed
as we took new paths to pursue our purposes in life.
Years later, you arrived once very near my place
yet we could not connect and get ourselves to meet.
That day when we talked on the phone
and I heard your voice after a very long time,
my mind leapt for joy and soaked for some time
in a summer drizzle of rainbow memories -
of those I had long forgotten
as you reminded them to me in our chat -
they linger on like pleasant petrichor.
Later, I tried to recollect and sing our childhood songs
rhyming it perfect with the
unrhyming clamor of our choruses.
When commitments in work and family responsibilities
seem to have rusted the gate to my nostalgic dam -
your call was the key to open it - and when creaking opened
wistful emotions gushed forth
to form an ocean of yearnings
to be a child once more.
You revived the puddles of my mind with paper boats
that carry leaves, stems, and flowers of fond memories.
I felt like a gleeful kite in the vast blue,
fleeing for a moment from the humdrum day.
You will forever be the same charming lily
adorning my little lake of most treasured blossoms.
My bestie, my soul-sis.
It was in September that Poetry first came to me -
a time when summer’s embers, for me had not yet caught fire
until, that is, Poetry walked casually toward me
wearing bell bottoms and a young man’s angel face.
Visited by such exquisite grace, I felt the spark of sweet desire’s flame.
Our kisses in the night made my spirit sing; the flame leapt higher.
Yes, a night to remember is what my angel boy gifted me,
and though the fall was near, I was in the springtime of my youth.
The years have come and gone gone gone
Memories of my old flames are cinders now, softly glowing In my mind.
They cannot be revived to brightly glow again; they are the past.
After Poetry walked in all those years ago,
a few decades passed. One day I felt the urge to put pen to paper.
Recalling nostalgically the fire that once had so consumed me,
tender words flowed from me; passion was reborn!
Recreating fantasy, I became the lady who danced the unicorn,
who lived, and who still lives romance, again and again and again,
for the passion now is in my pen!
It was in September that Poetry first came to me.
I just didn’t know it then.
I once knew
my Xanadu.
It lay
gleaming as green
pastures before me.
I only
had to
reach out
and it was
there for
my taking.
When I leapt -
I could touch soft clouds!
Oh, the fertile time of
my
imagination!
June 2, 2020
For Edward Ibeh's Pick-A-Title, Vol 18 - Yalto 2 - Poetry Contest
Title chosen is #5: Xanadu
Soul progress
back field in motion
The guff
Chose, chose, live grow leave! GO!
Leapt from heaven's gold
Jump started into a human mold
White clapboard poverty with tiger lily blooms,
blueberry rake poverty woolen looms.
Riffs of Emerson, Whitman, Longfellow dawns,
mothers’ hazel eyes, father Davidesque form,
chosen to drive twixt a Jew and a screw.
Magnet of lunacy...
Tumbled like an agate into the stream of life
part of the dream lesson
scream lesson
Abuser of power, one who had once roared,
Eve shaped now, weak and mewling
between the weeds of woe.
Care taken by lovers torn.
Watched over by pedophile uncles.
Befriended by lewd Father of sons.
Adult child, searching amongst the Word
for the Word is God and GOD …
There are so many words
Root ripped scenes from beauty to horror
Shiksa* taunts seep in with the smell of borsch.
A pumpkinseed amongst the pricks of Brooklyn
A wild rose planted in the asphalt soil
Doo-wop ditty
Jew’s bop to a Dago harmony,
bagels, bialys and the French twisted strands
of great grandma’s hair.
Clipped, stripped of family shoved whole
into yet another new mold.
True believers, ah yes, fanatics all.
The struggle to survive whole healthy
dipped in, dripped in, a bath of acid and thorazine.
Polish priests pedal platitudes to the sisters of St. Joseph
behind the gilded glory of the Church.
Raped by trust and betrayed by lovers,
a rose married to a prickles thorn,
so empathy is gained, and a healer born.
Metal must be formed in a crucible of fire
A healer can not be born without tasting the pyre.
It had been a long night, an hour drive just to be with my sister. One must stay in touch with family; it’s the right thing to do. I don't even know what movie we saw. Here she was again in all her glory whining, and whimpering, about her conditions. Confined space is the wrong place to be with someone bi-polar. Sometimes, I think the family should mark her eruptions on a calendar, maybe there’s a pattern? She was hungry; her blood sugar was low; hurry, get her home!
“Geez Sis, if my life depended on carrying peanuts, I'd make damn sure I had them with me!” I my replied.
the sleet fell
through the headlight beams:
fog inside
“You bleeping self-centered witch!” Her reply.
And on and on, enumerating all my faults at the top of her lungs. Her face was darting back and forth across the stick shift like a viper. The weather was so bad, and her screaming so loud; I almost drove us up a telephone pole. The back road to her house was serpentine through a pinewood, and over narrow, slick, bridges. Well, about fifteen minutes into my dissection, I burst a gut.
“You need to have some control. Your diet is horrible. I wish you could see yourself eating. Your plate might as well be a trough.” There now I’ve gone and done it, I thought to myself. The little devil in me was all smiles. When we pulled into the driveway; she leapt out.
the car door
slams rattling the glass:
eyes wet as rain glass
It only felt good for a moment. It was true; she did deserve the comment. She’d felt free to butcher me, but, it was wrong to try to hurt her. The momentary release, which felt so good, has given us months of anguish.
Published in Dead Snakes Magazine Winter 2014
Memories of the sea wash over me
on days when clouds are drifting cottony
above my head through placid azure sky.
Such images flit like a butterfly
across my mind; I seize them gratefully!
They bring with them sweet thoughts of family
and times of which I now can testify
flowed out like tides to leave me by and by. . .
memories of the sea.
How young we were in days so summery!
Through waves we leapt, expending energy.
Sated, we lay sunning on the beach to dry,
till sunlight - like our youth - sank down to die.
But I will keep for an eternity
memories of the sea.
.........The Belly Dancer.........
Stood beside her teacher on the stage.
Young, brunette. Hip hugger magenta
jeans and a short bandana shoulder
less top...
Her young heart leapt with dreams of
dancing fame.
Shoes were forbidden, just her
beautiful feet showed.
And heavy finger cymbals from Syria
She imagined herself already in
prismatic, sequined flowing veils.
Creating licentiousness by
weaving her hips,
And the trembling waves of her torso.
Performing before colored lights.
Much to the audience's delight.
When the Moroccan music began,
she was swept into a magical
dance.
Her teacher, encouraging her to do
more so!
And full use of the serpentine stage
she made!
Imagining herself in that surreal costume
of femininity,
Designed to cover the body perfectly.
Voluptuously,just glistening with coins
and intoxicating crystals.
The blend of Moroccan-Mediterranean
sounds,indeed!
That remind her clearly now.
This was just the lyrical foundation
and introduction to the man who
is her heart's eternal vibration!
He is the music that keeps her
alive and eternal connection to
life and the stars.
She will always be his "Faiza,the
Turkish Delight."
His love of so many nights.
Till her spirit clandestintinely soars
to their Romios Star.
There she waits for him in their
celestial dwelling.
To dance for him...forevermore!
September 30, 2019
I wrote this letter
today
knowing you’d never see it.
I wrote so carefully,
as if I thought you could reflect
on my words and carefully fold them
within your heart.
I wish you could have heard the words
one more time before you left.
Your journey so quickly arrived
that no one had
the chance to say good-bye,
not even I.
I have spoken with you
every day you’ve been gone,
oh, these many years,
as if we were speaking face-to-face.
Not a day have I forgotten how my heart leapt
to see your face, your smile.
Your visage has never left me as many say it does.
Always
you raised my awareness,
made me use logic without losing humanity.
You shared your confidence in me and gave me
the push I needed to be the best self I could.
I confide my secrets,
my deepest, darkest thoughts,
and share with you my life and loves,
my good deeds and my bad,
knowing
you still watch over me.
The Duck That Lost His Quack
A Duck woke up late one day last week,
And all he could do was to squeak.
He looked everywhere and listened to different things,
Even heard sounds all around, from pings to zings.
For example, he tried many gates, stairs, and barn doors,
Then went and stepped on cracks in nearby creaky floors.
He visited several witches, doctors and some were both,
They prescribed everything from lemons to ginger troth.
In his travels, he came across a quaint woodshop,
Being so tired, he sat down with a solid plop.
A carpenter saw that the Duck was so very sad,
From behind the counter, he came to help the lad.
After hearing of the tale of a missing sound,
The carpenter leapt up with a double bound.
He said, “From within is where it comes,
Not outside, as most would sum.”
“I have made many instruments for music,
And what you need is something acoustic.”
He brought out a short board with a nail,
Then attached several metal strings to a pail.
The carpenter said, “Play away and listen to the sounds in your head.”
The Duck strummed everything from Enya to the Grateful Dead.
After a fashion, the Duck was soon lost in the tunes,
And started to dance and sing like a midnight Lune.
Who knew that this Duck had a knack,
And in the middle of it all started to quack.
So you see, it’s not external to what you seek,
In many cases, its internal and who you meet.
Written by Michael Eastman, 8-25-2015,
This, after listening to Bubbles the Mouse speak,
And hearing a long story composed of squeaks.
Drowning in the ocean depths
I was sure to meet an untimely death
until an ocean angel lifted me up
I came back to life with a breathless gulp,
As he dashed through the sea I held on for life
until a tropical island was in my sight
I let go of his fin in the shallows
and treaded water for a little awhile,
I admired his dolphin bottle nose
and his echolocation squeak highs and lows
he was really quite extraordinary
intelligence in his mammal eyes I could see,
I swam the couple of feet to the shore
and looked to see if he was there anymore
amazingly it was as if he was saying goodbye
his clicks and squeaks almost causing me to cry,
With that he turned and leapt through the air
to meet up with his dolphin pod who all shared
the same lifeguard attributes that constantly amaze
all heaven sent mammals of the ocean waves.
12-30-17
A BUSH FIRE
One scorching afternoon,
A sudden splintering sound was heard,
The nearest was the buffalo herd,
They smelt the smoke and felt the heat,
And began to charge, they had to beat,
The, scorching red hot fire.
The monkeys who swing and never tire,
Screeched loudly in tongues,
Whilst smoke, stole oxygen out of their lungs.
A mighty midget the porcupine,
Warned chancers that his quills so fine,
Would incur great pain
Not only a red blood stain,
For he dreaded to be turned belly up,
And had no intention, of being anyone’s sup!
The birds began to fly very high,
Away from the smoke, in the sky.
The unfortunate tortoise lost his way,
And sadly, with his life, had to pay.
The giraffe with tall spindly legs
Ran wildly destroying nests and eggs,
His wildness came from his wrath,
And, the chaos along his path.
The animals ran faster away from the fire,
Whilst the flames leapt higher and higher.
A mamba slithered forward next,
Whilst a frightened cub looked on perplexed,
A Zebra, tripped and broke his back,
Causing more confusion in this race track.
The springbok and hyena together ran,
They were now close to the water pan,
The pan was next to a river,
Would they make it,
Each animal began to quiver,
Could the springbok be tomorrow’s lunch,
A tree falls with a thud and crunch,
Distracting the hyena from his would be munch!
The fox cunningly glances from side to side,
Nimbly a burning log jumps wide.
The lions mouth their cubs gently but tight,
As they run from this horrendous plight.
But water is in sight!
Everyone is close to the finish line,
This race has become competitively fine,
The crocodiles are savagely waiting to dine!
They have spotted their first meal,
The frightened perplexed cub hurriedly steal.
Only a quarter,
Can get into the water.
A stampede starts, animals clamber over each other,
The young ones protected by their mother.
Unfortunately only the strongest will survive,
To tell future generations of their strive,
Of what it’s like, living a bush veld life.
I accidentally let one loose -
I was tipsy and had no excuse
It happened at the rare breed’s zoo
When I decided to cuddle a cute kangaroo
As I crept into the fenced off enclosure
I struggled to maintain my composure
The joey leapt past me, I just couldn’t stop it
as it bounded away like a flaming rocket!
I tried to catch it by grabbing hold of its tail
but I slipped on a grape, and let out a loud wail
I could see the joey bounce away into the distance
It was clear I needed professional assistance
I got the attention of the kangaroo warden
She turned on me like a demented gorgon
and shouted at me, the air turned quite blue
as we both chased after that small kangaroo
The footloose joey demanded more intervention
His keeper spluttered words too rude to mention
The kangaroo bounced away at lightning speed
We needed to ensnare it, the keeper decreed
We were joined in the chase by the local vet
who used a long pole, on the end was a net
He managed to place it over the joey’s head
Soon joey was captured and locked in his shed
I tried to apologise until I was puce in the face
But they wouldn’t listen, said I was a disgrace
As a result of my action I’m banned from that zoo
I guess I won’t get to cuddle a baby kangaroo
I accidentally let one loose Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina
7/7/18
Grandma, The Farm And The Silent Young Cat
Before soft golden rays the roses slept
Night, its slumbers had not yet bid adieu
From its barn perch the young, silent cat leapt
Upon the old farmer's empty brown shoe
And from the farmhouse, breakfast call rang out
Grandma had no time for late sleepyheads
In her sternest voice, she gave warning shout
"Up and at'em, all rascals out of bed"!
That ringing throughout the place came alive
The cat swiftly raced to the backdoor
Soon as it opened in it would dive
To chase away mice was its daily chore
Table set with coffee, eggs and pancakes
Surrounded by those hungry mouths to feed
So delicious like only grandma could make
Out we went to fed livestock and plant seeds.
Midnoon her roses glowed vibrant red
Each paid homage to life and mother sun
Decked around the porch and the old shed
Grandma watered them having such fun
That garden and her kids her pride and joy
She still agile and spry at eighty two
With sweet memories of her three young boys
Each new day she thanked the good Lord too.
Before soft golden rays the roses slept
Night, its slumbers had not yet bid adieu
From its barn perch the young, silent cat leapt
Upon the old farmer's empty brown shoe
And from the farmhouse, breakfast call rang out
Grandma had no time for late sleepyheads
In her sternest voice, she gave warning shout
"Up and at'em, all rascals out of bed"!
Robert J. Lindley, 6-29-2021
Rhyme, ( Those were the glory days of youth )
Note:
As was promised, I wrote this new poem today,
using the phrase, the silent cat leapt-as was noted
from the haiku in my new blog, title-
"The Image, The Inner Reaches Of The Mind"
Thank you, James Marshall Goff for noting it
as your favorite line of that poem….
I promised to write a poem using that phrase
and have now done so.
I face the final test of nature's truth.
The nights coming fast, I travel unheard.
The reverence I feel, was born in my youth,
tempered by sage, burnt offerings for birds.
Tormented by brambles whose thorns I collect
I come to remains of struggles long gone,
feathers and crushed bone, on these I reflect.
I'm hoping once more, my arms are still strong.
A pine marten scurries, close to my step,
the sweet scent of birch gum, his claws unearth.
My arrow's still sheathed, for creeks I have leapt.
Though I grow cold, my spirit is re-birthed.
Tracks at the creek, the water I savor
the thicket moves, my aim must not waver.
01/25/14