Best Maven Poems
There's a lady whom I've never met
as enchanting as the stars,
I know this from her written words
and how she sets the bar.
Of excellence in ideas and thoughts
flowing through her veins
And the way she shares her loving heart
With others like a flame.
Burning bright and beautiful
with her pure, poetic voice
(While falling in love with a stranger
Is nothing but non-sense, of course).
She's got Arete' in Greek, they say
But stupendous works for me,
this fountain of truth and beauty abounds
like a caged bird set free.
Destined to live on the fringes
between all our poetic lines,
where boundaries are blurred and only our words
will outlive us in due time.
Yet still, I can't help but wonder
About this mysterious maven I found
Spreading her bliss as if a sweet kiss
might secretly find me somehow.
The calling gull leaves her nest
her wild magic cleaves the nimbus.
An avian aerialist suspended aloft
she sails on tapered feathers of cirrus silk,
ruffled sea breeze ironed ‘neath her lustrous wings.
A wind witch, she defies and defines the w-i-n-d…
a weaver of worlds, knotting strings of stories as one wampum belt
in union with the sea’s connection to land and air.
She steals the sough from the surf and the sigh from my sinew;
my guide to a mindful haven. This nurture-maven
glides among bouquets of pink-peony-cumulus.
She; my blue-sky-muse in celebration!
She; my compass rose, mediates my meditation.
I unfurl fresh wings, a night-to-day tern, and claim my turn with the wind
no longer a granite stone asleep on sand. I soar
from the glacial-age strand and lift through fog.. brief my tryst
with mist. Eyes blessed by the crest of a humpback’s breach.
I distill myself, my will; a droplet, tear, a sphere free of guise.
An ascendant of moon-magnet tides yet a descendant
from stratus to stratum, I settle upon the cliffs along the coast
in union with my soul’s connection to body and breath.
In the cup of my hands I hold the sun and drink its yolk,
white-cap breakers below chant a soluble sonnet.
From my inner dark, a flint-spark flares as I find what I lost.
My heart, a wild cranberry, reborn from the womb of dawn.
I inhale the moment. Red clay cliffs, lifeblood, fire-skies merge.
Windswept pitch pines croon as I grow roots for my tabernacle,
cosmic beams stream through stained-glass-eyes.
The calling gull rests. A distant, silent witness to my quest.
My pulse a psalm as I emerge; a cathedral lit by sunrise.
April 2, 2013, 5:04 PM
Fairy of the Forest
Fairy of the Forest on a mossy stone
Casts her magical spells
From atop her wondrous throne
Daily she sends helpers winging through the dells
From evening tide until the morning’s bells
In the spirit of beauty and truth she rules
surrounded by secrets she rarely reveals
She orchestrates leaf and flower renewals
From the highest of treetops, to ferns she heals,
while creatures from prying eyes she conceals
Her dress is fashioned from bluebell petals
Her wings from gossamer tightly woven
Her chants from deepest earth’s espousals
Decrees and rules from a rainbow’s haven
We revere this leaf- green forest maven
Suzanne Delaney
I am...
a lamb of the Good Shepherd; seeking to love and follow him more faithfully
the husband of my college sweetheart; with her, I hold a winning lottery ticket
a family man; seeking to make my clan a place to thrive, a safe haven for all
a hard worker; seeking to pour heart, soul, strength and mind into each task
an empathetic friend; seeking to acknowledge pain and help you find your way
a waistwatcher; seeking that enigmatic perfect ratio of flavor to calorie count
an aficionado of nature's beauty; seeking moon rises, waterfalls, and sunsets
a trail maven; seeking to conquer unattained summits and enjoy unseen vistas
a pedal pusher; seeking to luxuriate in the great outdoors by cycling through it
a careful arranger of words; seeking to write poetry qualifying as transcendent
a student of the arts; seeking to divine their secrets and know myself better
a creator of music; seeking to be a blessing, mindful of those far more talented
a lover of humor; seeking to laugh at myself, and 'dish' with a wink and smile
a player of games; seeking camaraderie over a win, fellowship over high score
a solver of puzzles; seeking to use math and science to comprehend my world
a connoisseur of the fine wine of baseball; seeking that elusive championship
a perceiver; seeking to heal with a compassionate ear and encouraging word
.....
I am blessed and grateful to be alive and loved by such wonderful people
I am a zoo of many animals; come by some time and find one you like!
Opportunity and Curiosity
Lost their sweet little velocity
On a sojourn in space to a volcanicity
Mars, the god of war reddened to see two freaks
Were they the angels that Zeus had sent to bring life?
Or were they aliens to destroy through his smoky red shroud?
This astral invasion he knew for sure was by no accident or coincidence!
Opportunity with clever robosticity
Was the first to alight the lander on the dustycity
Curiosity quickened his agility to search for water before Opportunity
Mars waters flooded up at these angelic aliens' audacity
Dare they to gather his Martian soil and rock with so much of incivility?
Study? Research? Photographs? Do aliens wish to build another concretecity?
The two rovers researched blissfully in the picturesqueness of a forbiddencity.
Opportunity walked back to the spaceship towing Curiosity
The Maven took off from man's futuristic home, orbiting the fourth solar planet
Before reaching NASA's international space station with its top secret mission.
May 11, 2016
For Brian Davey
*Opportunity and Curiosity are robots sent by NASA to collect soil and rock to see if human habitation is possible.
* Volcanoes on Mars are now extinct
*Maven is a lander sent by NASA with the two robots
*Mars is the fourth planet closest to Sun
*Red dust covers most of Mars
MAVEN tastes the air
too thin to hold oceans' broth
wafted on Sol's winds.
Note: this is my entry for NASA's "Going To Mars" campaign. I believe it deserves to win, because in 17 syllables it not only summarizes MAVEN's (Mars Atmospheric Volatile EvolutioN) mission, but also alludes to the meaning of its name as an expert or connoisseur (as though it were a master chef, lifting the lid on the desert planet to sample its boiled away oceans). If you agree with me, please visit the link below (just copy and paste it into your browser) to vote your support, before July 29. You may make this offering one of three haiku to be carried to Mars -- THE FIRST POETRY TO ANOTHER WORLD.
http://lasp.colorado.edu/maven/goingtomars/entry/?13480
Thanks to you all.
Join me in making our planet our safest haven!
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You may be wondering what I am pensively looking at that far!
It's the new world where I want to take you from where we are!
It's a place where the weaker you are, you deserve more care!
If you are strong, in looking after others you have bigger share!
We see too many who want to grab a lot to satisfy their greed!
While they gorge with that glut, they deprive ones in real need!
We talk a lot now about the special people with special needs!
But there is so little of what we say that shows up in our deeds!
Unlike the wild jungle now that favors the survival of the fittest!
My people will believe that the frailest of us get the cosiest nest!
You would not yet find my visionary land at this time and place!
But we can put it all together here without venturing into space!
I feel sad why what I wish to happen soon looks far and distant!
Yet it can come closer and happen tomorrow if we've the intent!
Would you like to join me in making our planet our safest haven?
To get there we just need the will; neither a guru nor any maven!
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The best place for a poem to live is in the heartbeats of those who love it!
Blessed are the poets whose verses are read, not on papers they just sit!
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Moshe, Larry, Curly,
Howls, cries, nyuks;
Three silly comic stars:
Smile, clown -- Cluck!
Chico, Harpo, Benny, Berle,
Moron grins, happy chins;
Crazy nutty comic kooks:
Funny jokes -- egads zooks!
Alvin Ailey, dance gaily,
False teeth: Brush daily;
Silly Sally, Dilly-dally,
Ollie, Holly, Mollie!
Belly flops, fatal plops,
Messy slops, lemon drops;
Harry Caray, Tooth Fairy,
Music Maven -- Chuck Berry.
Pitty-patty, kitty-katty,
Ticky-tacky, Cinci-nnati
Polly-Wolly, Wooly Bully,
Diffy-daffy, Laughy Taffy!
March 22, 2018
Contest entry in "A little laughter five," sponsored by
Edward McCall, closing date - March 23, 2018
Notes: Moe Howard's (of the Three Stooges) actual first name was Moshe.
'Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk' was a trademark line of Curly (3 Stooges.)
Berle is comedian: Milton Berle (aka 'Uncle Miltie').
'Egads zooks' is an exclamation my mother and others of her
generation used to use (frequently).
'Wooly Bully' was a pop song by Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs,
released in 1965; it soared high on the Top-40 charts.
To the North, South, East, and West...
Geniuses are lost in the jaunty jewels of rakish cads,
The hazard morsel palaver allot odium on idioms...
Rankle virulent mishmash wheeze addle chagrin jives,
Loosing a volley of expletives ordure waft charmed oafs,
Self-iniquity gull maven heresy when blighted wizardry jinxes,
Ticklish cynic infidel swindle dupe cozen duress...
Squall patois and whammy sham schemas wriggle hoaxes,
Charlatans and hoodlums melange to dunce vows,
A shyster unquiet quivers with jester gestures now...
Semi-sacrilege vitiate and endemic jargon raze imps,
This collides as a white energy as dolt hooligan knaves beget...
Colloquial bilge putrefy, the rascals soon flatter us,
Bollix of potpourri lingo wanes to tutelary tongues,
Harlequin coercion argot musical novellas in history,
Pray our shifting shrapnel of karma, varnish boor minds,
Erstwhile, live grenades made of better lives are unvanquished as they are
thrown by unsung heroes into the North, South, East, and West,...amen...
since maintaining a diet
of exercise heeding "yo dude"
(you look like a lady)
the inner fitness maven against
the temptation of high caloric junk food
and nightly snack king
on a flexible fitness routine,
this LIX aged body electric feels good
these myopic eyes and
well-calibrated hands measure less dense hood-
winking bosom, that if I feigned being
a "bared naked lady" -
as per this chest lewd
city in reference to "man boobs"
that seemed to materialize overnight
now appear to decrease as well
that unwanted "love handle,
this chap more inclined
tubby in a greater mood
to parade around
this noncrowded house shirtless
AND definitely NOT in public,
BUT no weigh Jose
would this generic guy go completely nude
cuz being self-consciousness of my physique
might prompt outsiders
to consider me a prude
and even during closed bedroom door
sexual exploits deter me tibia rude
fellow (with average go daddy long legs)
and my dangling dipstick smallish
(concluding biology screwed)
a chap worthy tube he more endowed,
though gratitude proffered
to same divine cosmic consciousness
but as the year's pile up appreciation
of functional faculties alter matts' at tee 'tude
accepting physical characteristics
more or less static
hoe ping belive mass elf ya wood.
Rose, a maid so fragile and young,
found her way into my life;
like a ray of light and of love,
she healed my inward strife.
From faraway she appeared,
sage, wise, and maven;
and as she grew closer to me,
she saw in me her twin.
But from fear and from distrust
I sought to push her away:
For I feared to let her in and
let her have with me her sway.
This I did oft' now already;
but dear God in Heaven!—
by doing thus all I’ve achieved
was hurting my new twin.
Alas, alas! what have I done
to one so giving and so kind?
I'm unworthy of her friendship
and heart (one that's so hard to find).
But…O happy, happy day for me!
With her great heart and soul
she forgave my many offense
so that we may again be whole.
My comely, long and sable-haired Rose
with your apple-green eyes!
How good to me you are,—how kind,
how mild, how sweet, how very wise!
I am so honored that you call
yourself my twin and equal,
a version of me at twenty-five:—
indeed, we are reciprocal.
You have so much potential and
mastered so much, dear Rose,
that you ought not have to live
in cruel self-doubt’s shadows.
Sadly, you once said to me: “Men
like me, but I can’t see why.”
But I see why, dear Rose—for those
you love you'd give all and die.
Clouds hover above.
Water flows around my rocks.
Where'd yours go neighbor?
Green peas and all kinds of beans
are split open to release their seeds,
like those peas in a green pod,
that mother cooked in a huge pot!
One of my dad's friends who wore a veteran's brooch,
would shamelessly cheat to get a delicious split-pea soup;
mom didn't know he was a cheater, and surely would have hit him
with the wooden dough roller when he peaked with a grim!
And mom slowly stirred the vegetable soup,
she used to say, " The longer it cooks, the better it tastes! '
And my mouth was drooling to taste those soft peas...
that I took out of the seeds' casings without miscue!
Mother rushed in the kitchen with a roar of an enraged lion,
" That idiot is playing no fair game! He is a menace to all!
And he passes glasses of brandy to get everybody drunk! "
" He wants to win no matter what the cost...oh, clever maven! "
The split-pea soup steams like a hot volcano erupting,
the cover of the pot blows off, " What a mess on my stove! " mom screams...
" It's all his fault that I am in this state! " she continues yelling...
" I still hear his big mouth mocking...wait 'till I have finished cooking these peas! "
Entered in Nathan's Laccese contest, " Two peas in a pod "
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Chris prompts his friend, Cyra
to help him win the
heart of his true love,
Roxy
Chris is easy on the eyes
a dreamy kinda guy
but as far as conversation goes
he’s got no game
Cyra articulates like no other,
a maven of expression
But visible impression?
Not so much
Chris plans the evening well,
standing under the spell of
Roxy’s second-story window
(taming butterflies)
Cyra too on the scene
is nowhere to be seen
as if hiding in a cloud
awaiting a cue
Chris tosses candied sweethearts
at her window, she finally awakens
Roxy’s appearance is captivating,
stirring Chris’s senses
Surrogate Cyra begins on cue
launching love-struck expressions
Roxy nearly swoons …
Chris starts coughing
Discerning the subterfuge
as coughing Chris chokes
Roxy beseechingly begs,
“Who are you? What is your name?”
Truth undisguised
Cyra promptly replies,
“Cyra—NO! I will not lie …
I am generative AI”
Roxy faints, befuddled
Chris’s words muddled
Thus ends this mad romp—
AI awaits a prompt
You’re so bourgeois,
it ain’t materialistically funny
You’re so smug, lady LaDeda —
you’re a maven for making money
Always turning your nose up,
and looking down
at poor, working class people
Thinking you’re better than most everyone else
because of what you got
You’re so bourgeois,
I hope that Dom Perigon don’t give you gut rot
You’re so smarmy, lady cougar —
you believe your own press, that you’re some big shot
But you’re not
You’re just that same bratty little kid,
whose nose was always dripping with snot
Somewhere along the way in life,
you came across a piece of money ...
now you think you’re so bourgeois
Class is more than a custom car,
honor is more than a huge house
True success is not measured
by how much is in a bank account
But you still don’t understand,
do you, lady Bourgeois —
money can only take you so far,
before it drops you
into a river of cash flow funk
Riches got wings
that can fly away,
sending you back into poverty
Such an empty feeling,
ain’t it Bourgie lady ...
No green got you turning so gray