Best Locating Poems
Peering beyond reach of human capacity
I revolve around the sun in a solar orbit,
Looking deep in space for origins of bygone
Going way beyond anyone has ever gone,
Exploring unknown world of astronomy
Searching light from first stars and galaxies
Traversing back in time where it all began,
Forming our universe after the Big-Bang.
Some 13.6 billion light-years my eyes reach,
Studying evolution, formation of galaxies,
Vast, colorful, mysterious shapes and sizes,
Eying origins of life and planetary systems
Probing, discovering, unfathomable infinity,
For one light-year equals six trillion miles~
A feat, only for the confidence of audacity.
I capture images spectacular to every sight,
Viewing light that is invisible to human eye
Locating nebulae, gas planets, dust clouds,
Collision of galaxies where stars are born,
Traversing back in time where it all began,
Probing galactic universe~ terra incognita.
No longer a phantasy, I am real as can be,
An eye of science and a mind of curiosity,
Intellectual tenacity and proof of ingenuity,
In acumen and wisdom of Astrophysicists,
I am the bold vision of infrared astronomy,
I am the flight vying hypnotic destination
Buoying on wings of scholarly inspiration.
Much is yet undone, for I have just begun,
Orbiting diligently until my work is done,
Until dreams become reality of my mission.
For insight into creation, I am the ray of hope~
I am the James Webb Space Telescope.
August 28, 2022
Placed 1st: This or That, Vol 13 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Terra Incognita
Note: NASA launched James Webb Telescope on December 25, 2021.
Images are being released starting July 12, 2022.
You can view the spectacular images at: Webb.nasa.gov
Webb is an international program led by NASA with its partners
European Space Agency and Canadian Space Agency.
I am a Burn’s Night baby
(named after the Ayrshire bard)
So we’re off to hunt a haggis
locating one is extremely hard
We scour the hills of Scotland
and have dull and rainy weather
There’s not a haggis to be seen …
they’re all hiding in the heather!
All of a sudden we spot a rare haggis
So hubby fires his gun into the gorse
The haggis scurries into the undergrowth
Hubby missed the wee beastie of course!
We spend hours out there on the hills
All the little haggis are all lying low
I scour the land with my binoculars
But not a hair of one is on show
The sky is getting really dark
we are tired and soaked to the skin
so we descend the slopes to the village
we see a butchers, and swiftly walk in
Hundreds of haggis are on display
With gaping mouth I stare in surprise
Their orange hair is so beautiful
I cannot believe my own eyes
I tell him we’ve been on a haggis hunt
And he glowers at me in shock and alarm
says the one’s on the hills are protected
He gets his stock from a breeding farm
I choose a wee haggis from the shop
When it’s baked we both have a slice
Haggis is a Scottish delicacy
I’ve got to say it tastes 'offally'* nice!
* Haggis, the national dish of Scotland, composed of the liver, heart, and lungs of a sheep minced and mixed with beef or mutton suet and oatmeal and seasoned with onion, cayenne pepper, and other spices. The mixture is packed into a sheep's stomach and boiled. Information sourced from google.
01/24/18
Stepping over the threshold
Locating the floor buttons
I press the 3rd floor
~ my brain images still flashing ~
Disfigured long flames curl around
Cherished memories-
Dry spruce branches smoking and crackling
Glowing coals cooking steaks in a fire
Above the crashing waves on the North Shore
Of Lake Superior with mom and dad
Laughing and sipping root beer
Spying a twisted piece of petrified oak
most likely a plank
From an ancient sunken vessel splintered
In the Gale's of November
Loosening the piece from the grips of glistening
Basalt boulders, etching our names and place
Of discovery above striated agates embedded in
Crevices a millennial ago
Proudly displayed on the mantle above my fireplace
Gone
Now
Only precious memories remain
I flash the card lock on my hotel room
Entering
The
Future
2/18/23
Written: October 15, 2023
_______________________________________________
Shadows dwell in the confines of dreams.
I delve into an abyss of enigmas streams.
The soul is a marvel waiting to be unfolded.
To be felt, embraced, and aired to the world.
I slowly peel up my mask for each wary tug.
Disclosing the truth lies beneath the shrug.
Finishing yet another conundrum or quest.
locating the vitality trapped inside the chest.
Inhalations of holy trees yearn to be heard.
A tune rich with wisdom, haphazardly blurred
It falls down in pools of various hues of gray.
Time hurdles have been destroyed in clay.
Lyrics fall akin to twigs in an autumnal breeze.
Build vivid notions in the mind with salient ease.
Imaginary oxblood leaks from your lover's lips.
Whispering whispers as the full moon dimly dips
These archaic cursive instances appear in wait.
I wish tears to dry before my memories slate.
They linger on a blank page since it is too late.
Or, mingle on a shared stage as poets relate.
Before such radiance fades in the night.
To waltz and wanton, yarns of moonlight
Stars strike notes, nurturing a symphony.
A tune that vibrates in the soul is harmony.
Thus, I disclose the core of my being.
As a star sways, watch its hint of foreseeing.
The soft rumblings of the heart's embrace
A romantic choreography, a cosmic chase
But we can bear power at any given time.
To fit inside and enable our souls to sublime.
Whispers of soul embrace a cosmic love chase.
I glance inwardly for calmness and grace.
by: Poet destroyer
I investigated many poems today
Friendly people on this (Love Boat)
Everybody different in their own way
The evidence I found is hidden in every poetry line
Mysteriously, one poet comes from (Fantasy Island)
I am filing charges on the lady
Who welcomes you to the soup
Leaves you a comment, without reading your identity
Today I read a report on the supernatural.
Billies demons vs' (Charlies Angels.)
Investigating a woman who poets you advise, gee's how nice
I will give her a ticket, for making me feel guilty as can be
How about the clown who does not wear a rubber nose.
He puts on a show with his pen and paper (THAT IS TALENT)
He is using his ego another way
He makes us laugh, with one whip of his Belt
I will not release the name on the depressing poem I read
For her, I will stop traffic, and move everyone out of her rain
Her words made my heart bleed
A warrant goes out to the girl who used too much imagination.
I actually got to see tongues to tongue vividly.
I will never ticket the poet queen
Murder she wrote and got away,
I do not know who is the John Doe I found today.
I will be reading his poetry file.
To make sure, he is not misleading this investigation.
I also confiscated an old antique or two
Unique skills found in their retired war shoes
I did my undercover work on a serial killer case on the soup.
That is one report I did not want to picture
I hope the writer will bargain for a life sentence
In a paradise so Green.
I will soon end my file, and turn in my report about Big Foot
After I arrest them ladies who write about butterflies
It is against the law to lead us on a goose chase
We are nowhere near (A highway to heaven)
I have to go join a (S.W.A.T.) team.
To raid the aliens who invade (The little house on the prairie)
I call this group the (A team)
You know A-liens team who you are.
Someone just posted bail
For the girl who blinded us all
She wore her neon converse a straight ticket to jail
I am on a manhunt locating a molester
Every time she is spotted in a pick out line
She comes back and deletes her trade
Erasing her only profile, just to edit all over again
This coming from a crooked cop, (Magnum)P D
Reporting live on the poetry soup
Eco-locating dreams of a wounded me
Rejected by the fins cutters of bloody Reality
I had strong arms but could not walk
on powdered carcasses of my friends' hopes
they had only gills...lungs “saved” me...
drifting on a dry land with no melody...
copyright@iolandascripca2012
My husband and I had a good laugh!
LOCATING THE SWITCH
light in the attic
when i asked for directions -
just push up or down
5/4/2022
She's been kicked to the ground in the dust of despair , kicked in the ribs by human hyenas...
When trying to stand up she was stepped on like a cigarette butt
...and Time threw at her the acid of aging in an unexpected attack.
She never complained to the outside of her Soul. Dirt could be hosed down and she never needed ribs anyway:
She was one with the rhythm of Nature in Spring
and knew how to blossom despise desert winds.
We rented a boat out of a Pacific harbor.
I sat next to her for one hour ride.
We whispered and giggled memories of childhood while two whales accompanied us echo-locating our Soul.
"It Was Time!"
The motor went mute as clouds dissipated like a curtain, the Sun - the only stage light - focusing on the monologue of a sad. lonely life.
I picked up the urn, a silver Deja Vu.
My wings started to tremble as I was struggling to open the container. How can you grab and unscrew the lid of your Life wearing feathers from Heaven instead of fingers?
I whispered the Captain to help...
It was time for me to throw myself into the beloved Pacific ocean. It only lasted for a few seconds until I made contact with the tears of the dead. I have never imagined how heavy my ashes were. . I felt nostalgic but, oh, so very light...
We both said: "Farewell" to the lonely captain with blue tears in his eyes ...
he accelerated disturbing the balance , he was mad with the world
but still willing to anchor on Life...
Iolanda Scripca
So relieved at the Christmas bells,
Which abound in stores and on cards,
That we hear on Christmas Eve,
From churches sounding for their services,
Reminding us that there's a story behind it.
A bell can be rung to call someone,
Stating that a person is in need,
Endorsing an act of service in care,
Whether you close a window or feed.
It reminds us that all people have the entitlement,
To presume their right to be cared for,
And not just accept what their carer wants to give,
But demand the help which lets them live how they want to live.
A bell can chime the last call at the pub,
Signalling you to abstract and summarise your conversation,
Collect yourself, your thoughts and conclude,
And feel the warmth that your friend has given you.
And of course, bells remind us of history,
That old technology which stood for so many things and operations in the past,
Like calling lifts or elevators,
Signing to shopkeepers that customers had just come in the door of the store,
Announcing danger ahead for a ship (like the Titanic),
Locating a lost dog or cat (now done with a GPS).
An elevator's bell never asked for your weight,
A store's door bell didn't specify your identity,
And a care call bell didn't state your request,
Nor how it was to be given.
I like bells, because they make me feel secure,
They suggest that making another aware of your presence or problem is fine,
And they normally sound so happy, so joyful,
Without any suggestion ever of guilt,
About their possible calling purpose at the baggage you may have.
*Image of Curious Knowing by Pixabay.
Curiosity
I woke to a word that was beyond me,
Comment of some familiarity,
Foraging my senses most thoroughly,
Locating lots of discarded debris,
This way, I gave myself a third degree,
In hopes, I shed this stifling mystery,
Dictionary as clear as the Black Sea,
At last, I discovered a remedy,
Twas the source and impetus of Curie.
2022 August 29
*RZ & HMS; 10 syllables per 9 lines.
Dressed in orange yellow green white
Walking the streets alone this night
Beam of light do you carry
Locating the zombie and the unbury
Shuffling along dragging their limb
A long haired creature looking quite grim
You flash your light and they did scurried
They seeing you made them less worried
Along you go but following behind
Turn you do quickly light brightly shined
A fanged toothed vampire ready to bite
Quickly discouraged from your shining light
Monsters ghoul's goblins around
Dimly lit houses with ominous sound
Boo! Is the screech form behind the big tree
Jump is the feet in numbers of three
Relax you're the adult don't be naive
Tonight is the night all Hallows eve
Tricks for candies treats for a chore
The better the trick the candies are more
Watch them wisely they many in number
Someone to guard them before their slumber
In your bright vest volunteer protector
Neighbourhood watch for Hallows collector
WHAT A PLEASURE IS THIS ONE ?
It was a dull an evening Sunday
Nothing except HCL,was in my stomach
Asked my daughter to prepare some snacks
Until now here,she cooked nothing for me...
I am crossing 57 annum in this life
Left to assist her Mom, my wife
Keeping rice in cooker washing plates
Called me, daughter to assist her there
Went with a knife and sat on a stool
Chipped the onions cut some greens
Locating the salt, scrapping the coconut
Mugging water and pouring in bucket
All these work done by me as assist
What she spoke her college life and pals
Routines and projects pleasures and looks
Went while chatting along with her!
Ragging of juniors and cheating the teachers
Presentations, missed calls and messages
Loves and hates pals become partners in life
All jolly of studentship
I want to show what much my mighty
From my side spoke all, Pak to China
USA to USSR and UN to BRICKS
Modi to Sonia and Obama to Osama,
Within one hour we went round the world
Finally we saw the food is ready
Slowly...slowly...some Happiness came
Peeping in to the gate mind of mine...
One I never experienced and was a different
New type of one which was not in wine
Not in many and not in money...
Nothing was like this, never I seen !
If anyone wish to have this mirth
Take a step of cooking your food
Chatting with your Daughter, Not
With your wife where you find Negative!
[WC2 is a London postcode which stands for Western
Central 2 and takes in the area around Holborn]
________
Over in Ireland an unhappy mother
Hired detectives, one after the other
To take on the task of locating her son
Who went by the name of Neally Dunn
He'd run off to Holborn and all his mum knew
Was that was in London, WC2
Perhaps she would sleep much more soundly at night
If he would just ring, if he would just write
Her money ran out and she broke down in tears
No letter from Neally for so many years
An old friend she met who she told about Neally
Said, 'I shall go find him and I'll do it freely.'
The kindly old friend took a boat and a train
He travelled to London and stood in the rain
He showed people pictures, his search now begun
But no one had heard of nor seen Neally Dunn
Eventually all of the streets had been trodden
The photos were soggy and he was now sodden
He so hoped to offer Dunn's mother some word
But nought had been seen and nought had been heard
He entered a pub, had a Guinness or two
And after another he went to the loo
But then he saw something that filled him with glee
In fact he forgot that he went in to pee
For he had just spotted a brilliant clue
A sign on a door that said WC2
Thinking he'd finished the task he'd begun
He tapped on the door and said, 'You Neally Dunn?'
He fully expected an end to his caper
But a voice shouted out, 'There ain't any paper.'
Our man said, 'Poor reason, so think of another,
for that's no excuse not to write to your mother.'
[This gag goes back a good forty years or so. Sorry if you’ve heard it
before but it’s not my fault that you’re a bit long in the tooth]
Arriving home late one evening,
There were people in the street
Most standing
Drinking Blue Moon Beer
Consuming moon cakes.
It was a harvest moon party
But the moon was playing hockey
A missing puck lost behind a low ridge of cloud.
But this was Silicon Valley
And we all knew where the damn moon was,
Our iPhone apps locating it precisely
Though nothing was visible yet.
Then suddenly the clouds thinned and parted
The moon looked embarrassed, still fully eclipsed.
In just seconds the shadow began to lift
And curved light again embraced lunar surface.
Suddenly it was early morning
I was somewhere in an eclipsing forest
Laying on my back, looking up at a
fall tree canopy -
colored moon phases seasoned
black and white shadows
Brian Johnston
December 9, 2015
Swapping and siphoning off layers upon layers of antique sprays is very very basic. Antelopes occasionally make brick a brack piles to occupy even the most dormant of cloths. Opiniated eagle ducks soar above many canals in worldwide signature. When an oath is contained in a loaf and wide cavities fall from eating a mild curry. So it may be an ear in a shrouded shape, an eye peeled in a glass and a pretty decor in a basement. It is the wishes of many a tadpole to climb the many pillars thus releasing a once captive orb. Injecting ones mind. Mingling of souls aboard a half ship of time. Official offices can be used to see if a large portion of lemon can have a dance in a cup. Whilst in a cupboard sits a curtain pole whose ideology is to view hems. Ink not a large protruding boil. And jest not on matters regarding the blackberry for they are strong and can jiggle their wares even on energetic jellies. So hail! Arriving is king jellyfish. To the ocean spray party. Particular his tastes. So to prepare well the prawns place ten kilos of wine,cider and whisky in undercurrents. This gives the right impression to royal arcs. Beating a moth ball out of a shirt. To attend is the fortune of the elite clans. Ignorance is not pleasant. And fame is neither a frog nor a fish finger sandwich. So peel a scone, consume 80 figs then give great thanks to the sphere. Apheresis models are modes of adjustments and figures in temples are giant folk of whose wisdom remains in clay. Clotting clogging clucking coop cooperation cleaning clans clandestine cinemas cantering catering categories. Club of clap. Trade deals. Travelling. Multi dimensional space and time. Bi-locating birds. Bullseye bullets. Businesses. And a tailored tapered tease tastes tantric tongues. Talismanic glows from a shrewd heifer. Heifetz. Head. Headlining headlights hybrid hunters. Hickory hic hocks. Visitant vacation. Vigour. Place a pea in a dual diameter of seven feet. Festivals feeling fragrant. Exonerated economic exploitation eases erotically exact energy. And now I will balance a pickled egg on my snout. Divination. Xx