Best Novella Poems
Some say you are lost
If you are not found
On their ground
Some think you are blind
If you do not find
What they find
I am an atheist who believes
The universe is a tapestry
Not a thread
The science to chart the stars
Is but a celestial church
That medicine and vaccines
Are answered prayers
That communities
Can save each other
That math and music
Language and learning
Rebuilding destruction
And regretting a wrong
Are inherent miracles
That to plant a tree
Water a garden
Kiss a scar
Soothe a bruise
Give a smile
Hug a sorrow
Cook a meal
Play a song
Clasp a hand
Bandage a cut
Wipe a tear
Hear a need -
Is divine
I believe the soul of nature
Is sacred
and a rainbow's refraction
Is all the more radiant
For the formula it contains
I believe the finitude of life
Makes a more precious day
And, to my friends of other faiths
I believe - we can meet halfway.
4/27/20
(this was inspired by a poem I read by Anil Deo called Any Athiests out there - thank you for your kind response to my novella-of-a-comment, Anil!)
Underneath the red umbrella,
my Johnny stole a kiss from me,
so I felt like Cinderella,
for like a handsome prince was he.
Despite the cold, I melted when
underneath the red umbrella,
Johnny gazed into my eyes; then
whispered softly, “You’re my bella.”
Oh, the kiss from that sweet fellah!
Although the rain kept falling down,
underneath the red umbrella,
deep love is what would make me drown.
Romance cut short – though filled with bliss -
just didn't fill a novella.
Yet I cannot forget that kiss
underneath the red umbrella.
Nov. 7, 2018 for Eve Roper's Red Umbrella Poetry Contest
the rapture of a souls song plays out inside the mind
as she sits quietly reading in a late fall moonlight
trading the falling leaves for the keys to the kingdom of pain
she scours the printed page for flaws to crow about in the dawn
but she fails to see the falling tears and the raging snowstorm
she feels but refuses to see
all our childhood dreams lined up as toy soldiers
on a battlefield of right and wrong
of love and despair
with one absent minded finger dancing in her hair
she fumbles for the meanings in the steady rain
she feels out the sentences written in summer skies
the novella there in between the covers are the story she reads
but its the long silence in the room between two people
that shapes her fate
writes her tears
the rapture of souls song plays out
with a beautiful melody
and such heartfelt lyrics
but no beautiful song lasts forever
anywhere but in the heart
and her song still plays for me
She was certainly the most beautiful woman I would ever see.
Not appearing to age at all, the young lady's name was Nefertiti.
As my guide, Nef gently took me by the hand.
I saw a beautiful town where anyone else would see just sand.
There were no children in the town, but the adults did not age.
This was a place where the book of time turned no page.
The redolence of orange groves permeated the desert air.
Residents went about their daily business without a care.
I have to return to this place where nobody has to die.
This is a huge task, but it is something I have to try.
based on the novella "Now and Forever, Somewhere a Band is Playing" by the late Ray Bradbury.
On a Day Like Today
by Amy Swanson 12/2008
On a day like today,
I just want to scream.
This day is so cold!
I'd much rather day-dream...
...of a small tropic island
where sun always shines -
Yes! That would do nicely!
(though just in my mind)
On a hot sandy beach,
where the water's deep blue;
relaxing and warm,
with palm trees in my view...
and a drink in my hand,
with that little umbrella!
My warm, leisured day
would read like a novella...!
But I open my eyes -
drat! this dull winter gray!
I prefer my day-dreams
on a day like today! :)
~Once upon a rhyme, many years ago~
a charm of wordsmiths gathered on an emerald mountain
took dreamy strolls on piney paths along its golden crown
dipped their wits and winsome in a pastel-painted lake
while sun and shadow played a game of enchanted charades.
The moon unchained a spray of applauding stars
from the muses' hearts, the gemstones gently flowed
like a rush of songs from a bevy of meadowlark
Shakespeare's ghost stirring just beyond the glow.
All the while the old poetess listened quietly
her novella etched in the eyes and beech bark hands
seeing things the green sprigs would never see
her cane tapping stardust into an empty hourglass...
The coals slipping silently into quiet blush
as sonnets wove seamlessly upon a sable brush.
A ruby-throated angel fanning poetic vows
sealing us to our muse in a jaded stand of boughs...
We bid farewell and made promises we'd never keep.
Carving our weighted hearts into the shag bark of memory.
I'm the One to who you should pray;
I'm the Voice that shall never fade away,
I'm the Daemon that haunts your 3am sleep,
I'm the Whisper that eases your weep...
And in this novella, your lissome dreams,
I'm your nightmare; your midnight screams!
- I'm the Yeshua that can make pain fade,
I'm the abolition of the razorblade...
Clad in shadow I stalk your soul,
Invisible but yet in perfect control.
Thus let my voice be your destination
Away from a world with flawed harmonization.
So why cope with a life so bleak?
which has done nothing more but make you weak?
Take my hand and I'll assuage it,
Follow me down to Death's tethered pit...
Here we are, welcome to the Abyss,
Don't worry about people, you won't be amiss.
Give me a smile, a shotgun smile,
Don't worry about pain, atleast not for a while!
Aw, how your mind was delicately bent,
Like the Eye on the Earth's breast you'll descent,
Deep in it's crust, to Oblivion you fell;
A warm hearted welcome to Lucifer's Hell...
Endow my being with ecstacy and mystic tonight
dazzle my psychology with your fine art and experience
forever to possess my mind like a wight
promise with every nerve that your life and mine will end ever stay in this trance.
Let the wind relay these vows of stability and fidelity you moan
all the way past the skies ,stars into heaven above
so the Angels and His All Mighty may be your judge should you make me morn
or ever decide to neglect your bride or give me any less than all your love.
Honor my hood and anatomy with the seed of your nature
mark me habibi,let them know i am the one,your habibati
give me a prize,a baby,your baby,our baby that i much desire to nurture
nine months from now let the universe bow at the glamour of our mini habibti!
Bring into reality all that we been dreaming and planning
all that we have talked and sang about
implement,its about time you supply and apply, no more of your enchanting
make a conclusion in this novella,a totality to our lives,time to show your devout.
It is now or never my darling,everything with us does fit so fine, why more try
we trust, respect,adore the other,have friendship,and are the best of lovers and mate
we have tested the limits,learned to live with the other gone as high as we can fly
so what's to delay a fusion of such great love? let us merge and embrace one fate,our fate.
Tonight baby,do me crazy, no more restrain
am done with safe days ,no more count
do not withdraw,spill it in,am done with refrain
body to body,flesh to flesh,blood to blood,soul to soul, am yours forever without a doubt.
Beatrice: Tu miri a la funestia de l'austeria
commistion de l'invidia e d'acerbe
quando crescer non vive e pur ingeria:
principia sono falde e non riserbe,
scienza che non impozza ma s'intenda
innesta a la puerizia unìce berbe;
così l'amplesso de' sofismi addenda
a 'l mondo la piètra ancora e rude,
e non liquor ch'accidia disincenda.
O altrove negasi qüelle drude
artefatte sentenze sanza cura
d'esser venène se non crude?
Ed esse cinte d'ingloriose mura
inspazia lo su' autor ne l'avvenire
non come munificio ma 'n usura;
per ciò che 'l suo miasma 'ntende aulire
intorno al pensier suo immaturo e marcio,
e assuono di sua sorditate benedire.
Ioàn: In nome de la tua spada disquarcio
onne mia dedizione pria diletta
se no da mia equità meco disarcio:
name mi sono appreso intra la letta
in che lo flume de 'l discorso rade
d'aver d'una rugiada l'aude umetta;
(Lat.absisto)astito da le mie false contrade
i' vegno a 'l primo freddo de 'l mattino
e sì novella possa mi pervade!
Beatrice: Ricorditi virtute è 'l tuo confino
ma 'n ella libertate a te è plenaria
e teco suggellar non può 'l destino.
Allora fa': di molte isquame acquaria
il laco de 'l tuo cuore mai diverso
d' amor che tutto 'nvita e seco invaria
e fé l'oceano sempre limpio e terso.
Who is Edgar Rice Cakes? What does HE have to do with John Burroughs. Jesus Crisis. a
google search What is this? A novella nuevo bye charlaxandroidoneseven. CA17. Short for
Para Cayce. I have read the DeadSeaScrolling. On the PDF machine. Let me inform on my
brothers in the LORD there is seldom any evidenced. These fragments of Aromaic Archaic
would cause language EXPERTS in the field years of Formatting on a Word Processing
machine. Butt Doctor Caycey has Decided it somehow pertains to Jesus.? Oye Vey. I
admitted in a Court Room of lawyers I have not studied all his problems yet I must admit I
cannot read those fragments of isometric triangular wordage. You must admit these people
did preserve it as iff it were a GOSPEL message. crisischronicles dot com A cave a bunch of
yearns placed near the Monestary Remains to find considering the way Climatic Changes
occur the evelation of the Earth is never level Seas rise where desert climes once failed to
thrive. Perhaps a sub culture of Future Post Apolyptic Snow Men; all white and hairy like the
Yeti. Abominable in every way with patches of glowing purple hair where the radiation has
burned some of the fur away to reveal faults underneath no clothing there. They find a
pristene City walk into the Revolving Door and fall back out until Discovering when to exit
one. What fun. The lobby generator comes on. The Computor Hums. One Yeti moves the
mouse Experimentally they gape at Windows song. Not one of them Yeti can get the
Computor to do anything they are all just too old. A Robot walks up to the terminal. May I
help you SIRS? and /or Madames? They step back agape at this hairless ape a tinsel steel
replica of charlaxandroidoneseven. He types in poetrypoem dot com charlax7 Let me show
you my website boys? Do you like poetry as prose? As they fall about the place guffawing
they come out rolling the first time I ever saw a bunch of Yeti lawghing. So here we pause.
As DeadSeaScrollingbyeCharlaX grows cold.
Who is Edgar Rice Cakes? What does HE have to do with John Burroughs. Jesus Crisis. a
google search What is this? A novella nuevo bye charlaxandroidoneseven. CA17. Short for
Para Cayce. I have read the DeadSeaScrolling. On the PDF machine. Let me inform on my
brothers in the LORD there is seldom any evidenced. These fragments of Aromaic Archaic
would cause language EXPERTS in the field years of Formatting on a Word Processing
machine. Butt Doctor Caycey has Decided it somehow pertains to Jesus.? Oye Vey. I
admitted in a Court Room of lawyers I have not studied all his problems yet I must admit I
cannot read those fragments of isometric triangular wordage. You must admit these people
did preserve it as iff it were a GOSPEL message. crisischronicles dot com A cave a bunch of
yearns placed near the Monestary Remains to find considering the way Climatic Changes
occur the evelation of the Earth is never level Seas rise where desert climes once failed to
thrive. Perhaps a sub culture of Future Post Apolyptic Snow Men; all white and hairy like the
Yeti. Abominable in every way with patches of glowing purple hair where the radiation has
burned some of the fur away to reveal faults underneath no clothing there. They find a
pristene City walk into the Revolving Door and fall back out until Discovering when to exit
one. What fun. The lobby generator comes on. The Computor Hums. One Yeti moves the
mouse Experimentally they gape at Windows song. Not one of them Yeti can get the
Computor to do anything they are all just too old. A Robot walks up to the terminal. May I
help you SIRS? and /or Madames? They step back agape at this hairless ape a tinsel steel
replica of charlaxandroidoneseven. He types in poetrypoem dot com charlax7 Let me show
you my website boys? Do you like poetry as prose? As they fall about the place guffawing
they come out rolling the first time I ever saw a bunch of Yeti lawghing. So here we pause.
As DeadSeaScrollingbyeCharlaX grows cold.
I wish I were a tree and no matter the times am cut down; my roots will still be planted in your heart. If I were a ship I would vote you as the captain of my heart, for you I will lay asunder. If this was a novella, you would be televisa ‘the greatest broadcaster’ and I would be the greatest writer. It would sell big time with your charm and golden heart driving everybody nuts. Your sizzling eyes and angel smile awaking all buried happiness. Your muscled frame sending all in awe, like you drive me crazy. You will be the window of my heart gaping whenever necessary. Whenever I look outside for comfort, you would be the smiling sky, you would be the fresh air for my calmness, you would sweep away the pain and whisper words of hope to me, all my dreams would come true. You will be the lock that protect my fragile heart and the watch that never delay my expectations. I would be your cell phone, you will be my password. Your fingers printing themselves all over my body; every click would be unforgettable moment. If only the stars can sign this I can ink you all over my heart, and the angels can be my witness.
(To be sang to the tune of "Cruella DeVil"
from Disney's 101 Dalmatians)
Novella DeVil. Novella DeVil.
She writes to humour,
To move and to thrill.
She stirs her readers feelings
With her Quill.
Novella. Novella.
She stirs her readers feelings
With her Quill.
Novella. Novella DeVil.
On the surface
She is quite a shy one.
Yet, through her works
She reaches out to you.
You'll look into her eyes
And you will wonder why
She's worn a cloak called "Fear"
Her whole life through!
The time will arrive
When she'll realise
The cloak doesn't shield her
But it cramps her style.
She'll throw away her fear
And she will shine.
Novella. Novella Devine.
Novella DeVil. Novella DeVil.
She writes to humour,
To move and to thrill.
She stirs her readers feelings
With her Quill.
Novella. Novella DeVil.
I'm bald and have piss-yellow teeth; don't use balm or whiteners to appear young again.
Every scar is a jagged path to a novella called living.
Cursed and blessed with a good heart,
Wild horse temperament that's bucked most riders off.
Loyal to the few who've stuck it out,
through all the ups and downs.
I could blow out of here at any time
, but for now everything's just fine.
I've crash-landed on a cay of calm.
Quite proud that I've made it this far.
More than halfway to a hell, oft mistaken as a star,
At times slipping into the murky waters of mundane,
Just another battered face rooting through a discount bin.
Always on the fringe of a spinning tassel of contentment.
Everywhere there are mounds of glitter glued to plastic bags.
Covering up the dry rot-I've no interest in any of that.
Shocking I can pull it together at a funeral, but not when I'm putting down a pet-
I want to be a whirling dust devil outside this hollow town.
Not inside the plastic masks of all the dead-hearted clowns.
You stayed in your home
yet not alone, but with others,
and fate did mock at you
and you borrowed a different form.
They locked you in
and often hurt you,
and you fled from hurt
and came here.
First, we concerned;
second, we rebuked you;
and then we, too, hurt you
letting you live as a ghost
in a dark room.
We hated your presence,
and we banished you
to a different place,
seeking sheer relaxation.
One day, we heard of your
tragic death.
We built a gigantic sepulcher for you,
in our guilt-ridden memories.
But, now I remember you………………
Cockroach, Gregary Samsa,
If you lived “normal” in our fairy palace,
I know you would still live with us.
A 3rd Place in Catharsis Poetry Contest judged on Dec. 10, 2020.
Catharsis Poetry Poetry Contest
Silent One
Dec. 6, 2020
Inspiration form a Franz Kafka’s novella, The Metamorphosis