Best On A Wing And A Prayer Poems
On a wing and a prayer
a soldier is shunted
here and there
The wing is his fear
the prayer is sincere
Bird in a guilded cage, a broken heart, a solitary soul
Road less travelled, a soul full of longing, my heart bleeds
On a wing and a prayer, my heart is a lonely hunter, a weary soul
Kiss the rose, look into my eyes
Endless words, my heart laid bare
No man is an island, tears fall like rain
Words that were left unspoken, over and over again
It's never too late to change, wish upon a star
Near and dear to my heart, when all is said and done
Give it a whirl, as time passes by, my soul is weeping, weeping
Stop and smell the roses, till the end of time
______________________________
May 9, 2015
Poetry/Verse/Cliches/"Broken Wings"
Copyright Protected, ID 05-671-486-09
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
An ingenious device is a basketball net:
Swish, swoosh, swoosh, swish---
Its sweet sound made
From a cager's wish. (A 'cager' is a basketball player)
Close your eyes; let your mind run free,
Picture the ball arching gracefully,
A round, rubber rainbow coursing through the air
Willing its way on a wing and a prayer.
Swish, swoosh, swish, swoosh:
One after another the balls pour on in.
Swoosh, swish, swoosh, swish;
The nets' cords snap,
Cagers high-fives slap.
Swish after swoosh,
Swoosh after swish:
The sweet sound made
From a cager's wish.
.
"She is not earth tied - running, stumbling.
No one has seen her hiding in shadows.
Her fear is not here but spread below her
A claustrophobic obstacle course
Fetteringly beautiful in its surface beauty.
She flies eyes down. She is a raptor.
A predator preying on a wing and a prayer
For those waiting, against the rocks beyond.
They pray, while her prey, in turn, prays.
Her hunt is no trivial pursuit but forever survival.
It is the present that determines her future
At the top of an interminable food chain."
Inspired by Robert Frost, Escapist - Never
and Tracy Decker's RSVPoetry contest...
though, as it is not really a response, I don't think it qualifies LOL
but I had great fun writing it.
Gikuyu the father of the peoples
Came down from the heavens
Accompanied by a spirit - Nyaga
They came to this realm earth..
The soul Gikuyu and the spirit..
Journeyed from the land of light..
Touching down on the sacred mountain
Kerenyaga - they surveyed the land.. Bururi
It was home to beautiful ridges and valleys
Spoke the spirit Nyaga.. Son this is all yours
Tend the soil its your inheritance..
Surprised for the spirit had been silent..
Silent from the beginning of the journey
Only issuing telepathic communication
Gikuyu turned to where the spirit stood
Now stood the heartbeast - Ostrich
Then the Supreme deity - Mwene nyaga
Addressed gikuyu thus.. Man master the land
The land will offer you life and possessions
From today you are a mortal your immortality
Nonetheless rest in your soul... in your blood
I have bestowed dominion over all..
Whenever you or your descendants are in need
They shall come to the sacred mountain and offer
A sacrifice to the supreme creator Ngai Murungu
You and the spirit Nyaga owe obeyance to Ngai...
The seers in their wisdom say life came from
Water, Earth, Air, Fire and a foreign element
They use the symbol of the ostrich.. Esoteric
They say life- muoyo.. came with Nyaga.. Ostrich
code 254
LKN
Thoome wairegi
King's Counsel
A stitch in time could save nine that makes sense
Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, that’s recompense
By hook or by crook, by the skin of your teeth, as old as the hills
You’re as young as you feel; come what may, keep taking the pills
Don’t upset the applecart, many a true word said in jest
Cut off your nose to spite your face, a change is as good as a rest
Nothing is certain but death and taxes, on a wing and a prayer
Neither a borrower nor a lender be, let the buck stop here
Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, diamonds are forever
Better being safe than sorry, better late than never
A riddle wrapped up in an enigma, you have been warned
Because hell hath no fury like a woman that’s been scorned
We each must seek to walk our very own walk
Although most getting stuck inside its box
Through the door of hate well learned,
Another tear drop subsides;
For each table has been turned
The interpretation of a dream,
She was living on a wing and a prayer
Other matters of the heart may have caused dispare
Through shadows in her head;
A cause of panic feelings of dread,
The interpretation of a dream;
Out of mere madness sprung its inner silence
As in caged barbaric schemes...
Through a base of triumph shadows felt its gear toward silence,
The interpretation of a dream
Fought back its silence from within.
Texting whilst driving
Should not be a crime
I've got me a truck
That stops on a dime
I steer with my knees
Now isn't that cool?
Good God Almighty
Just look at that fool
Driving straight at me
And texting away
We're going to crash
And ruin my day
Hold on a second
Life just isn't fair!
I'm ending this text
On a wing and a prayer . . . .
I moved onto the farm when I was eleven,
To the farm eroded of trees.
I’d stand on the hill in the middle of summer,
Unshaded in a blistering breeze.
Then the winter shook hands and my work it began,
Iron barrow, saplings, and a spade.
I planted, I nurtured, hundreds of trees,
Before I realised I’d been betrayed.
It took a plague of rabbits a week to destroy,
Every tree in my little plantation.
So I replanted each tree, surrounded with plastic,
In a war of land occupation.
Then the sheep we had, broke through a fence,
And devoured every little one.
Damn, new strategy, wire mesh for each,
The regrowth had, now, just begun.
Then a drought, “you’re kidding” every tree turned to dust,
Every tree I’d planted with care.
The drought broke when I was fifteen, so I replanted the hill,
Replanted on a wing and a prayer.
Now, thirty years since, you can’t see the hill anymore,
It’s blanketed by leaves on the trees.
You can now stand on the hill in the middle of summer,
Shaded with a cool, calm, comfortable breeze.
Trevor Jed Engelson Unwittingly...
launched Meghan Markle into royalty
American divorcee
catapulted from “AA” to “Zed”
at break neck speed, and with cachet wed
Prince Harry, and soon
twill begetting, bestowing,
and bewitching her
chromo somal thread
(complementing, furthering, and
weaving together "Quod Erat
Demonstrandum", or QED
for short) within United Kingdom
coat of arms, perhaps
naming the first heir Ned,
and according one online
dictionary definition and ken
translates as French
(Old English) name Eadmund,
meaning rich or happy,
and protective akin
to a mother hen,
not just mollycoddling
hatchlings, but even
shelling out care
on a wing and a prayer
long after offspring
fly the coop and been
fending for themselves,
perhaps merely earning
chicken scratch wage,
assigning doomed fate,
sans cooked usage
if perchance "chick(s)"
go thru a foul stage
within their duff
fenceless hierarchy,
where pecking order doth rage
worse case scenario, would presage
finding errant peep(s)
sent to gaol,
not much bigger than a bird cage,
unless they comprise
noble henny age,
ideally taken in as a pet
by newly bridled
Duchess of Sussex
treated like totally
tubularly true blue blood
with opulent accommodations
(cheaply) tricked out
with life size Tyrannosaurus Rex
(spoiler alert: actually done
with special effe Hex
with latest computer graphics
showing rippling reptiles flex
sing and holo
graphic smoky mirrors)
intending "FAKE"
balances and checks
to boondoggle aggressive paparazzi,
one of whom includes
Meghan Markle's ex.
Life hands us lessons
From these we should learn
Unknown and unexpected
Around each and every turn
Good, bad and indifferent
That alone is a surprise
Bringing joy to our hearts
Or tears to our eyes
Life is not always easy
At times completely unfair
We do the best we can
On a wing and a prayer
Celebrate the life you have been blessed with
As it comes and goes so fast
Another unknown and unexpected is
We know not how long it will last!
Some are smooth, as smooth as a song,
While others are spiked like a boot,
And some are ripe, ready for now,
Ripe as a plump freshly picked fruit.
Some are mounds of a hill full of beauty,
While a few are as flat as a bat,
And a couple, here and there, are all over the shop,
Sort of a wild bric a brac.
Some poke right out for everyone to see,
No user manual needed there,
While others are hidden nowhere to be seen,
Only found on a wing and a prayer.
But all of them make me feel happy and free,
As free as a bird in the sky.
I love every one, each colourful joy,
I love every newly born butterfly.
Nestled above the canyon high
Eyes searching across the sky
Nothing and I mean nothing escapes its stare
Another day another meal
Another’s loss, another’s kill
This bird of prey, the prowler of the air
The mighty hunter rests on its throne
Yesterday’s meal now only bones
Up, up where only eagles dare
To survive and live in this world so real
One needs speed for a fast kill
While another lives on a wing and a prayer
Run fast, run hard or die in vain
Day in, day out, the same old game
Nowhere is safe, but life must go on
Beware on the desert, deaths in the air
The speed of the flight, it’s just not fair
Another that lingered never made it home
Life seems wasted, but death give new life
While the claws of the predator cuts like a knife
A swish from the heavens and another snare
Nestled far above in the canyon high
Eyes starring across the sky
Nothing and I mean nothing escapes its stare
From the Penthouse to the Outhouse, all places between;
We ran from ourselves to the end of our means.
We saddled a horse that turned out to be wild
And slept in the tree fort of our inner most child.
Threw caution to wind, blew here and elsewhere
Without GPS on a wing and a prayer.
The landing was rough till we put on the brake
And let someone else steer for sanity’s sake.
With pursed lips she thought of words with rhyme
The ticking time, hot tea, a short fun time.
Thus Rachel wrote a poem to search a mate,
Then replies start, some shy, some asked to date.
Raj chanced upon her gauntlet poetry
One sunny morn and wrote back something cheesy.
The tocking clock, earl grey, the bright of day
Brows focused on finger keyboard ballet.
“You're pretty witty”, his first failed attempt,
“Be my Munroe hoe?”; second so contempt.
Feeble empty, would surely seal his doom
Honest reflect, might lead his words to bloom:-
My mind identifies lies as clear as day
My mind though open battles not to judge others
My mind sees positive amidst oceans of other's despair
My mind seems complicated with it's simplicity of thought
I like to wiggle around and masquerade it as dance
I think about pulling monkey faces at naughty pensioners
I bought a maiden hair fern plant and now worry if it is happy with me
I once told a distraught 13 year old that I too wet the bed at his age, when I didn't
My passion is the morning calm before the bustling day
My passion is for art though I know it helps just a few
My passion is planting seeds and waiting for miracles
My passion is syntax, with rhythm and depth
And those were the words which Raj wrote to share
With feathers crossed on a wing and a prayer
The rhyme escaped and the iambic lost
Was it a worthy risk or would it cost?