Best On One Poems
if you wanted to dance with me
i mean really wanted to dance with me
then i would
i would dance with you
if you needed me to walk on water
i would stand there until the lake froze
then i would
i would walk on water for you
if you suggested i climb
a mountain
warm at the bottom
freezing at the peak
i'd buy you a snow globe
turn it upside down and up
hold your hand warm
watch the freezing snowfall
climb your suggestion creatively
if you mentioned
you'd like me to paint your portrait
i'd buy every different colour of acrylic paint I could find
blend them on a canvas
paint your colourful internal portrait
every crayon in the box
that's who i see
if you said move me
i wouldn't hire a truck
or even touch one stick of furniture
i would write this poem for you
put a bow on it
fingers crossed
i would move you
your lips are always on my mind
if you want a man
willing to do...
...a man...
...hold you gentle but firm
i'm here
ring in hand
on one knee
November 28 2016
There's a certain somebody out there
i'd rather not name......
showed a little interest , at playing a game ,
she's bold in her talent's ,
say's she'll put me to shame....
such big talk , from such a tiny frame....
smiling inside , being challenged by this dame
a fine lady , no doubt , but game is not lame
you're quite the find " BABY " , I'll give you your fame........
until then , i must warn you , this game won't be tame !!!!!
{ ciao bella }
is there such a thing as one-eyed fr.ass?!
Huh.
Maybe, maybe not
ha. Do (doo? does?) frass even have eyes. I think not!
Sure looks pretty though...
if I were given the chance to choose what my poop looks like,
I'd choose frass!
Form:
on one gold-leafed limb
where shadows now sooner fall. . .
a forsaken nest
Posted 8/12/2010
For 'Favorite Nature Haiku' Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
One On One…
A peculiar similarity between
you and me;
I born a slave being;
you , seemingly free.
My father toiled in bondage;
yours to serve and protect the same;
mine lived and died in disguised rage;
yours lived and died in unfretted—denied shame.
Strange fruits of the same human tree
are you and me. We
searching the blood soaked rooted key
the door to set us free.
Reciprocity can be a raging *****.
I refuse to be a wretched witch.
While striding up to a greener hillside,
Looking at my surrounding with eyes so wide,
I can feel the coolness air under the tall trees,
Birds are singing and the buzzing of the bees.
Enjoy the quite moments on one hot summer day,
Decided to take a rest on busy days is the best way,
Embrace the beauty of nature just for a day,
To gain my strength but in the end I still want to stay.
Clouds formed a heart shape to comfort me,
Flowing water from the river makes me thirsty,
Grasses and flowers everywhere looks perfect,
Blue mountain, lovely day, sun is up..its magic!
June 8, 2013
For Francine's "A Summer Day" Contest
Mickey Mouse and Winnie the Pooh played ball
at the old schoolyard next to my friend’s house
after they were done only Pooh stood tall
we all looked at each other where’s the Mouse?
Pooh was sweating and panting out of breath
I handed Pooh a towel and he smiled
Pooh started crying about Mickey’s death
Mickey just vanish like a losing child
I never thought Mickey as a sore sport
out of nowhere two stretch limos appeared
Mickey called out lets go to the resort
after the Disney Buffet we all cheered
Walt Disney has brought happiness to all
our childhood memories will never fall
we have lost the meteoric
icy-blue, sky-fire
above the heated planetary core
of a thousand covered suns
in the center of oblivion
where confluence
carries hope
in warm symbiont souls
and lambs
wear ragged fleece -
iconoclastic mediocrity
reflective fables
of future past history
unlocked - foretold
the shamanistic path
of return
through stalagmite tunnels
would lead our spirits home
as tribal songs retreat
oppression
ever-present present past,
shaman seer
resurrected spirit healers
weeping, weeping,
weeping,
for the buffalo
bitter flood of salty tears
blood of man
soaks the trail with broken souls
man and beast, stink and sweat,
co-mingled
bathe in single sacred tear
underneath a future vision
four white devil idol faces
spirit sacrilege
breathing devil breath
upon the sacred hills of black and gold
the ancients from the sky
watch and weep
and still dust stirs
forty thousand spirit feet
walking, winding, wending,
in a never ending line
worn and torn, shoeless feet,
blistered toes to blistered souls
trail of fear,
women wailing, pain prevailing,
psychic suicides and tribal death
takes one final breath `
Homeless On One Stormy Night
In the winter of 1984, I accepted a pastoral position in San Francisco.
The salary was not sufficient to live in the City by The Bay. So I found it necessary to obtain a second job. This relationship worked
well for two years. In the late spring of 1986, the church decided to
go in a different direction.
Losing a substantial part of my income meant that my family could
no longer live in San Francisco. So I kept my second job and moved my
family to Sacramento. We only had one car which meant that a daily
commute was not an option, not to mention the cost of such a venture.
I found a room with a dear friend and spent three nights a week with him.
I was home four nights a week.
After many months, my friend's brother needed a place to stay; so I thanked
my friend for his generosity and moved out of his home and into another friend's 50-foot boat. In a real sense, I was houseless but not boatless. I was alone
on a boat docked at Point Richmond across the Bay from my job. Here, I spent
the winter 0f 1988/'89. It was a short stay, but the memories are enduring.
There was no music, but I certainly experienced one rock and roll stormy night.
By early morning and my time to go to work, it was still dark and the power was out. I was afraid to walk along the dark walkway for fear of being blown into the water. So I exited the boat and crawled across the walkway, making sure to dodge all the fallen electric wires. Thank God I survived and went to work.
My homeless experience was much longer than these few lines. My lessons
of life learned about storms, about God's grace, and about friendships are
enduring. Yes. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
10252016 PS Contest, Being Homeless, The Seeker
He has a Roman nose, bright eyes, flashy teeth,
Chocolate brown complexion,
Features which animate only when he interacts—
Otherwise, typical unscholarly looks!
A nonconformist in religion, a revolutionary in spirit,
A stoic in practice—
Epithets can be multiplied.
Sought strange experiences:
Travelling in a locomotive,
Witnessing a surgery,
Learning math on his own.
And living on a glass of lassi,
Which I would call starving!
He speaks with conviction.
His memory is prodigious;
To call him a philosopher is no cliché:
He is one by temperament and self-training;
Teaches philosophy involuntarily—as praxis,
As ‘a set of operations,’ as he’d put it.
No nonsense,
No snobbery:
He has been
To New York—as a Fulbright Scholar,
To Oxford—as a Visiting Scholar.
Never chips in to say, “When I was in England/US….”
Never affects an accent.
He is an Indian source of the Poststructuralist virus,
And I was the one immediately infected—
On his return to India
From his stint at New York.
The infection still remains—incurable!
His love of me is something like election love:
Parallels are Krishna and Kuchela,
Kopperuncholan and Picirantaiyar,
Johnson and Boswell.
Would speak for me
Without my knowledge or consent!
We have stuck together
For about five decades now,
Defying the Machiavellian dictum: There are
No permanent friends or enemies in life!
He can’t, ugh, bring himself to love a pet—
On which subject
We violently disagree:
He dubs me St. Francis of Assisi, though!
Was born at Christmas
And so christened Noel!
— Ram, .R.V.
Dancing on one leg,
On one leg we live with agony.
Agony shapes our wobbly footsteps.
Footsteps made into inaudible power.
Power blossoms through a series of gaffes.
Gaffes in life we must encounter.
Encounter the collapse,
Collapse that let us instill how to soar
Soar through tornadoes.
Tornadoes that hover steadiness
Steadiness leading to respire hesitation.
Hesitation converts into intensity.
Intensity that coals irrepressible souls.
Souls molded by cracks
Cracks that find cadence in the obscure.
Obscure leads to dawn
Dawn still pirouetting on one leg
Poem by N. Mugisho
Gathering, waiting
As dusk settles near,
Patiently anticipating
To watch and to hear
The first shooting spark
To utter a boom,
And fill up the dark
With a crackling bloom
Familiar faces angled
To get the best view,
Of a sky spangled
With red, white and blue
Joined by the fireflies
And their show of light,
'Til the last firework dies
On one July night.
Oh, woe is me! Oh my! Oh my!
I am going to be singing this song until I die, oh man!
"I’m Henry the Eighth I am. Henry the Eighth I am I am!"
I’d stop singing if I could; I am not even a fan….
This poem is stuck in my head forevermore.
"I got married to the widow next door; she’s been married seven times before!
I’d love to stop strumming and singing; it’s starting to be a bore!
It is a song I used to kind of adore…..
"Everyone was an ‘Enry, ENRY! Aint’ had a Willy or a Sam!
Or a Sam!
I’m the eighth I am, I’m ‘Enry, Enry the eighth I am I am
‘Enry the Eight I am I am."
"Seventeenth verse, same as the first."
Would singing another song be better or worse?
I cannot believe this song is stuck in my head.
I’ll be forced to sing it until I’m dead.
I was walking back home through a park tonight
when something happened that gave me fright.
A big dog romped up and placed its teeth round my heel
and then romped away without taking a bite.
Good thing this dog must have just had a good meal.
On One Day, It Did Amaze
For my poems, people were waiting on the edge
And to write many more poems I now pledge;
Interest in them hope this will also arouse
While in the barn milking brainless cows.
What am I doing on this now eager earth?
Milking my poems for all that they are worth;
According to outrageous, contagious statistics
To make minds a poems merge requires catalystics.
My highly developed word will never be found;
Mixed it up in my mind, and then up was ground;
Many well-taught people, it truly did amaze;
It had became part of a new brain food craze.