Best Mids Poems
Military and civilian linguists and intelligence analysts, my colleagues and I were monitoring the Balkans troubles, supporting our troops in theater 'down range'. We were working the 'Mids' shift from 11 pm till 7 am at Bad Aibling Station--formerly a military intelligence site. I had read that we were in the western European zone that would experience a total eclipse of the sun that morning. One of the other Serbo-Croatian linguists had a car on post. I voiced the thought "wouldn't it be cool if we drove out to Mount Wendelstein and saw the eclipse from up there?!". He and another agreed. After shift we drove to the base of the mountain, and decided to hike the trail to the top rather than pay to ride the cable car up. Many Bavarians had the same idea, and it was somewhat crowded on the summit. When the eclipse was finally full, it was like standing on shadowy clouds surrounded by a large ring of light--eery, bizarre, and colder than anticipated both due to the elevation and darkness. Two minutes and twenty-six seconds of totality. I had goose bumps for several reasons, and could understand why primitive man would have been so terrified of the experience. Returning back to base, we learned that it had been overcast down there; so local people only saw it get dark, but missed the actual eclipse. However, three Sergeants had been in the right place at the right time, to see the first total eclipse in Europe in forty years, and last one of the twentieth century....August 11th, 1999.
I close my eyes to all the despair and worldly strife...
I sit and rock in my little rocking chair; ear buds tightly inserted like a life saving prosthetic...
I let the world rush by as I immerse myself into my last refuge...
The bass and treble... The mids and highs... The soft variances, to the percussive booms...
The timeless lyrics jet me back to where my days were longer, and things made more sense...
It was a time when my entire identity was the music... My entire being... My reason for living...
With the passing of that infernal notion we know as time, priorities have changed.
Life got very serious and stoic, but the music remained... A constant in an ever evolving world...
It is not merely an escape... It is a vehicle of transportation; transcending time and beauty...
Dismissing the harshness of reality, and launching you into a sublime world of cosmic vibrations...
What else can evoke such emotion as a lonely cello? The strings cry as they touch your very essence.
A happy melody of your youth instantly forces a smile; and you can ride the notes of a symphony like a galloping horse through endless, summer plains...
You may remove my eyes... You may cripple me, and take away everything I hold dear...
The music will always remain; if only an echo in my vacant mind...
Throat was dry
Even no tears to cry.
In mids of the desert-
Failure was every try-
It was then-
A sudden change-
When I felt drops of rain-
Came and washed away my bane.
Breeze then whispered a doh-
Pointing to colors of rainbow-
Your message came like that “Bea”
Though this time not from Pretoria.
(sami)
The Bowman's Shaft
Solo archer gathers mist of amour clouds, dipping venturous arrow tips in a veiled concocted potion, drowning its mettle in a whimsical bliss of a dreamt liquefied mirage that defines the elixir,
Cupids errant arrow is liberated openly o'er the arc of a rainbow, exuberantly hunting its e'er sought Terra, whereto, it scarcely flutters passed feathered twain turtledoves,
Trifle off-track as projected, titillating a canine whose tail waggles unceasingly as its tongue laps remarkable welcoming faces,
Then piercingly redefines a right-angle course, that mids passionately, a well-managed bramble with shoots flowering in vivid red velvets,
Calculably sailing o'er gray-haired couple, whose one hand hugging canes and their free hands locking each other,
Promised target a fused-kissed envelope proffering treasured eloquence of, Missing You, in numerous expressions, introducing assorted confidences perceived by yearning intrepid bluish eyes whose heart grows e'er fonder.
2019 November 04
*2nd Place*
Metaphor of Love
~~Bobby May
"
Colourful Dream
I wear your star within my heart,
To guide my dreams of love pursue .
Behind a backdrop of colour,
of equal bright compare no other.
A kaleidoscope that sets aflame,
clouds of beauty compound the frame.
a painting done by hands from heaven,
second comes the rainbow seven
Within the mids your silhouette,
transgressed emotions travel free,
to forge a spiritual bond with me
my dream reveals my love for you
it shines so bright your star is true
©Copyright M..A. Bell (alfi – m.za)(2013)
i swim you ...
like a river, wild
feral flesh, fiery ... merged
my press to your moans and motion
clasped in warm rapture
minds, mouths, mids ...
emotions spin
like sugar into cotton candy
the Stylistics float, dreamy ...
musical hooka smoke that swirls
moody tendrils that wrap us, sexy ... smooth
i surge to your source
touch and taste and twist and tickle
timing all with prurient precision
to free your flood
your legs about me, demanding
nails burning sensual glyphs on my back
you kiss my tongue like sweet, tender fruit
then devour ...
it, me, my sanity ... my selves, desires
"murder me," i whisper, moving deep ... forceful
"please" ... begging
for my will is no longer ...
my own.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Completely New (2) Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
As the night sky began to dim
And u really want to commit a sin
That sex instinct kick in
In this youth and time not having sex is like committing a crime
The pleasure and please make you lose your mind
Its like taking a sip of some fine wine
At times it lead to bad things
But yet we try to get a early fling
Its like a young bird with broken wing
Sex in the mids of absence
Sex is like an addiction
Not having it won't give you redemption
But the crave will leave you reluctant
January:
Journey into an another Era
with many aims still raw
begins with a Jaunty January
into a heart throbing journey.
February:
Flower in fine fields flow
into a stream and film of rows
It is the quite Freezy February
welcomes us with unique flowering.
March:
Mutely comes the month Marching
with many multiple matters
of music, It is the Melodious March
exactly a nice tune played mutely.
April:
Aspiring interest are adored
like a hill covered with lot of snowed
May the struggle rise it is Aiming April
If you miss to aim, then no aspiring.
May:
Metres high in the heat of feet
full of melons, mangoes and meat
definitely rare, its the Magic May
none other shower love in high metres.
June:
Jotting the dates that went
with the rest left for rent
Its the Juicy June
That’s, just to sip and jotting.
July:
Jaded with full of work
nothing there to wonder
As it is the fine Joyful July
a month with loads jaded.
August
Attention! you're in the mids
try to know the way it leads
surely it is lovely and a Attracting August
never to miss the way, have attention!!!
September:
Smooth and slow, free and low
like a pure stream with no blow
busy with songs of Singing September
lovely song birds utter sweet and smooth.
October:
Old is gold as goes a line
often with many memories fine
still all goes well in Oddless October
as the gold move the new and the old.
November:
Nature with all good and best
rest in a few places and others waste
As it's a Naughty November
changes everyone into a fine nature.
December:
Down the end comes the dues
with all the do's to be done in sue
as not to be away in Dreamy December
always to be correct though we come down.
"1...2...3... Abracadabru, Please and Thank You!
Let The Light Turn...Green!"
Seven is a whole passel Max, not Mid,
But never shirk you did, never asked for a Bid,
Never also, we would not, you be Rid,
One O'Them, Rusty, the third floor Kid,
Lindsey was "Heart & Soul" 'til her digits did Skid,
The Rob, Brave Knave, yet 'neath a shore table Hid,
Kristie the Red "Incred" to Lee lovingly Slid,
Jen the Wren, Rambunctious Doer, her Rick Did,
Hilary, numbered John, even Lamp Lids,
Nori Pooh Bear gymnast, flipped Tom's Id,
Seven is a Duo, and How!, Plus a Quid,
All by Wooden Spoon marched, like navy Mids,
Your Caesars cut us 7 from rough Burlap
"Veni, Vici, Vids"
Written to demonstrate that post-stroke I could still write verse on Mother's Day
that was 7 yrs. ago
I wanna play, what's your name...
My name is Noah and I built a boat.
Got some tablets that said she'd float.
Then two by two and just after goats,
I stuffed them in, minus the rain coats.
Little miss, on the jist, of the Note.
I wanna play, what's your name...
They call me Albert and I'm in.sane.
After I died, they digitized, my brain.
Now a computer bares my name.
Wrote a book so they could see,
the speed of light in a recipe.Almost.
Just 2 eyes shy, the chicken boast...
I wanna play, what's your name...
They call me King, but it's all the same.
After I died, I gave you my name.
Oh shoo! The cinder.fella called me You?!
My three 'mids are still short two.
I'm no fool... Just is, Khufu.
I wanna play, what's your name...
They say Pacal, but it's all the same.
After I died, I kept the flame... for you.
Long later on, she gave you my name.
Elevation, is what I claim.
You wanna play? What's your name...
Who me?
Lines being drawn in the sand
When will we ever live to understand
How do you all live without God
As you travel each day in this earthly sod
Can't even cope when
Society Insanity
you have a fight with the soap on a rope
God gave and he takes away
So learn how to behave
Society lives for self to please
They keep spreading their deadly disease
They can't help you cause
They can't even help themselves
Evil mids which plug destruction
Sorcercing there brain washed minds
With tempers of fire
Blown up with full desire
Searching for truth out of a garbage can
Blind leaders of the blind
Soon will fall into a ditch
Living dangerous getting delirious
This much i confess
Society insanity in there own eternity
DROWNING IN THE MIDS OF THE SEA
DWELLING ON THE SORROW SO BEAUTIFUL TO SEE
SWAYING AND CRAWLING ON THE FLOOR BENEATH
ON THE SHADOWY MOON THAT IS FULLY LIT
I SCREAM IN AN ENDLESS TEARS
FULLY AWARE THAT THE WORLD HAVE BECOME MY FEARS
A MAN OF WISDOM SPEAK OF TRUTH
BUT WHAT USE OF HIS WISDOM IF HIS HEART NEVER BEEN TOOK
SO I SAY AND HE SAY
FOR SUCH PRICE FOR KNOWLEDGE
I AM WILLING TILL DEATH I'LL PAY
O what light;
Shines ever bright;
At mids night;
The star of David;
3/10/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
Abreast over the sunrise light
these dawning daunting promises
I confess I will be blessed as I confess
Confess my love for you as the sky is ever true
Forlorn I come so in sight
As a moonbeam in midsummer's night
9/4/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
FOOD FOR THE SOUL!!!
Food, is it when the of a Man is inserted into the of a Woman, with the moist release from the longing loins of the Bodies, aching to meet for that, satisfaction. Is that Food?
Food to the Soul.
Food, is it the legumes that are cooked together, in that old beaten steel pot of on a cook stove, served for Man to eat? It consumed with the anticipation of Satisfaction. Is that Food?
Food for the Soul?
Food, when she reads that book, out of boredom or not, hoping to gain something, she knows not what? From feed the Brain with serotonin? Did she understand? Is that Food?
Food for the Soul?
Food, is that when He hears the Call to Prayer, he hastens to perform his ablution. His prayer has started even before he stands behind the cleric. He is aching to worship for God to answer his Prayers, his heart, his intent, his wishes be heard. His soul is crying out to God to accept his Prayer; In anticipation he hopes. Is that Food?
Food for the Soul?
Food, is that when a heart is broken, and it is hurt with the thought the soul is torn apart, with tears, wrenching tears from deep within, sometimes in stifling sounds in the mids of the vold night.. She wakes up with something that she can best describe as a feeling perhaps, relief. Is that food?
Food for the Soul?
Food, is that when time has met with yearnings for wanting that Partner. To start a journey with the right one. He searches every, “nook and crany”. He tries with his all but, in his soul that his rob be completed.. Wedding Day is all his thoughts. Is that Food?
Food for the Soul?
Food, is that when a Baby born, just barely a month old is yelling so much, a Mother in despair does not know what is wrong. She tries every mothering instinct she has been told. The Baby won’t stop yelling, she feeds the Baby milk from her raw, aching breasts. The Baby won’t stop yelling. She cuddles and rocks the Baby, perhaps sleep has come, the Baby won’t stop Yelling. She steps on the patio, thinking it’s time to visit the Doctor’s. Suddenly, there is silence. Mother looks over her Shoulder, there across the road, a Puppy is sat. Beautiful Silence…. Is that Food?
Food for the Soul?