Best Personalize Poems
Window covered by a sycamore tree
Constant friend of my snowy Maple days.
Memories spring as insects on a tree
Turn my gloomy days in glorious days
Hippocrates got his inspiration
for search in medicine he began.
Buddh sat under it for meditation
and enlightenment of mind to attain.
Desdemona sat sighing under it
in agony to hear willow song treat.
Flying to Egypt Mary stopped a bit.
Crann ban “Money tree” in Irish spirit.
To demystify health, to personalize,
To me sycamore is to poetize.
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December 2, 2014
Form : Sonnet {Iambic Pentameter)
Dr. Ram Mehta
Sixth Place Win
Contest: Structured Forms by Georgio V. Venetto
Come with a smile,
come with a wink.
Come to the land
of pink, pink, pink.
Imagine
yourself
as a pale pink fairy,
wearing an earring
that's a pink clip-on,
and real pastel pink petals
held in your pinkie,
pointing to the pink chink
glow upon the horizon
at dawn.
The garden's dye this July
is floral pink blossoms.
And at times I do
have such pinkish dreams,
where everything is hued
in pink ice-creams.
Where I own a fine
posh pink cadillac,
parked in a pink chateau
festooned
with fallen pink lilac.
That,
overlooking
a pink sea
ebbing on pink pebbles,
where a pink moon
looks like big bubbles.
In pink colors,
if I could customize
'n'
personalize
my world:
so pink cushions all about,
and pink curtains unfurled!
My birthdays always wish
for pink balloons.
Oh, I love to decorate
and celebrate
with pink festoons.
And nature lovers could watch
salmon pink flamingoes
who stand upon one leg,
hiding
half their pink toes.
Or even bunny rabbit eyes
in bright pink glows.
Ah, pink's so feminine.
Think of pink hair pins,
pink lips 'neath two pink
blush cheeks,
right above cute
chinny chins,
or as buds in a rosebush
take pinkish peeks.
I see as well baby pink
frocks
and frilled pink socks,
and pink pom-pom caps
upon golden locks,
their pink sashes behind
them upon the walks.
Ah, I've always believed,
and still I think,
that pinkish is girlish and
girlish is pink.
It is funny!
Very funny how
A masked preacher can preach honesty;
And even points at the wrongs with his
Fingers of hypocritical righteousness…
We stare with grim satisfaction
Because the black winged Angel
Ridding a flaming chariot tells a tale;
And proclaims that God is love,
Yet he, himself is an Angel of death.
Day after wretched day Humanity walks!
He walks down the dark alley of freedom;
Freedom which shouts fairness;
Fairness that begets confusion—
And he tries to bottle the spittle of birds…
Every night he lies in bed and tries to hear
The voice of fishes shouting gender and Sexualty in a world where the scale of
Equality is unevenly proportional and
Equal rights mean the oppression of men.
Apartheid, the history of Mzanzi is
The present for the African world and
That has caused his inferiority complexes
To suffice and personalize racism and
One after another, generations play along.
Lest we forget,
The victims are just as guilty
As the perpetrators but at some point.
Humanity weeps as he inspects
His isle of hopelessness!
But just like the majority, men;
They cry in hiding.
Where no-one sees,
No-one hears and
No-one dares speak for the black sheep!
Deep down this egocentric radicalism,
He orders rotten eggs to make an omelette
With which he feeds pirate justice,
And he goes all year long
On a running stomach.
Although the words never sink,
Humanity hearkens to
The rumbling stomach of justice but
When the rainbow of life turns
Grey!
Humanity's children cry day and night
While the Angel of death entrusted
Their protection feasts on their tears
And dances to the beautiful sound
Of their troubled voices.
And when the wolf comes for their
Brazen souls we hail at the smiling lady
Who says 'I am virgin Mary'
With fangs behind her white vail
And poison under her tongue—death!
The rich are poor but morally,
Yet no-one sees
And no-one cares;
They say 'each one for himself'
Come shall the final hour do.
It is funny!
Very funny how
A masked preacher can preach honesty;
And even points at the wrongs with his
Fingers of hypocritical righteousness…
Humanity looks on
And passes his judgement.
The masked preacher scoffs:
“No-one is perfect.
No, not one!”
"To hold as 'twere, the mirror up to nature. " William Shakespeare," Hamlet 1601."
Window covered by a sycamore tree
Constant friend of my snowy Maple days
Memories spring as insects on a tree
Turn my gloomy days in glorious days
Hippocrates got his inspiration
For research in medicine to begin
Buddh sat under it for meditation
The enlightenment of mind to attain.
Desdemona sat sighing under it
In agony to hear willow song treat
Flying to Egypt Mary stopped a bit
Crann ban “Money tree” in Irish spirit
To demystify health, to personalize
To me sycamore is to poetize.
** The notion of a "mirror held up to nature" has been taken over for any mimetic theory of art — the idea that art should represent reality and nature as closely as possible**
+++++++
Revised and Reposted May 4, 2014
Form : Shakespearean sonnet in Pentameter
Dr.Ram Mehta
Contest: Shakespeare by Frank H.
=========================
Dr. Ram Mehta
Date: 4/19/2011
Fourth Place win in :
Contest:The Tree sponsored by Constance La france-A rambling poet
=========================
* I wrote a sonnet Maple Memories in 2000 while living in Windsor-ONT
and was posted on 6/29/2005 on PS as Maple Memories.
The present poem is re-written for the contest.
** Maple Days- Maple is the national tree of Canada.
* Buddha is pronounced one syllable
( A Shakespearean Soonet - with 14 syllables- rhyming abab,cdcd,efef,gg)
My balcony was covered by a huge sycamore tree,
My constant companion during the snowy Maple days,
Memories come as insects around a flowering tree
Turning my gloomy days into that of glorious days.
First candid approach in medicine to initiate,
Hippocrates sat under sycamore tree to explain,
As Buddha sat under the Bodhi tree to meditate,
Nirvana or the enlightenment of mind to attain.
Father Cavanaugh aptly called it ‘The tree of vengeance’,
Othello’s Desdemona sat sighing by sycamore,
Flying to Egypt Virgin Mary rested under once,
Known to be as crann ban “money tree” in Iris folklore.
To demystify health care and known to personalize,
My sycamore exists to socialize and poetize.
=====================================
Fifth place winner in
Contest: Shakespearean or English Sonnet in honor of John freeman
You like most carbs and sweets
But you hate bitter gourd,
When you type your shout outs, tweets
Sixteen letters entered, ten letters
Are being alone and cold
As you say hello and wave your hands
Your triceps also say hi,
I’m glad that you lose negative pounds
Oh my darling! : ) at least you try…
Your favorite place at the mall
Is the fitting room,
But you shine
Like flowers in full bloom
When we walk together with hands
Embrace to each other,
We form the date of our monthsary,
Number “10” and forever
I don’t afraid in calm, cold days and nights
Because I know that you are here, by my side,
You’re my pillow, my blanket, my Bed
Your tummy makes it complete,
My future wife, I will love you till the end…
Love, even though you have your own measurements
And even rings require more gold, diamonds
Personalize…
Especially for you…
You’re so sexy… and I’m happy
That God gave me the most beautiful girl,
My heart… My destiny…
The heart that has taken on many parts, the lead role in every play,
Stands up on stage too many times, after a while he forgets his name,
Lost in the illusion, gaining attention from every side,
He starts to personalize every role directing his very life,
A love letter catches his eye from a distant lifetime ago,
Awakening him from the illusion to face a love he's long sinced known,
Shaking him from the dream, bringing his heart back to his roots,
Defying the image in the mirror he sees, this love he misunderstood,
Out of the woods and back to his heart, he gives his identity away,
Recognizing his soul from a past long ago, before he ever lost his way,
After the crowd applauses, he steps away to be alone,
And reads the love letters one more time, for the innocence to find his way home,
An angel stood beside him, unseen and unheard from the crowd,
She took his hand to face the pain, to bring his heart back somehow,
At first he fought her tooth and nail, and pushed the letters away,
She begged and pleaded, you must see the truth, or your heart will truly fade,
He said I will replace this love, there is no time to face this fear,
But the angel warned him, if you regress, you'll be hiding this love for years,
You will be in the moment, here and now, with some happiness from time to time,
But you will always look back, missing your true love, searching for her the rest of your life.
Consider the unlimited possibilities of the creative mind
In the realm of the fine arts many genres of expression
The world’s museums could not contain the whole, I find.
Music accounts for equal numbers of diversities in kind
Literary arts from the classics to the sultry confession,
Consider the unlimited possibilities of the creative mind.
Then, of course, think of the poetic works being mined
Adding to the storehouse of lyrical and verse impression,
The world’s museums could not contain the whole, I find
These cover only a small portion, add graphics assigned
For therein lies art, in almost everything now a profession
Consider the unlimited possibilities of the creative mind.
With forms of art, I could spend much of my life confined
Forgive me if I personalize this poem, a bit of digression,
The world’s museums could not contain the whole, I find.
Art, friends, is not merely for sophisticates or the refined
Without it, many of us would be thrown into a depression
Consider the unlimited possibilities of the creative mind,
The world’s museums could not contain the whole, I find.
Written August 28, 2022
My balcony covered by a huge sycamore tree,
My constant companion of snowy Maple days,
Memories come as insects around flowering tree
Turning my gloomy days into glorious days.
The first candid approach in medicine to initiate,
Hippocrates sat under sycamore tree to explain,
As Budhha sat under the Bodhi tree to meditate,
Nirvana or the enlightenment of mind to attain.
Father Cavanaugh called it ‘The vengeance tree’,
Othello’s Desdemona sat sighing by a sycamore,
Flying to Egypt Virgin Mary rested under the tree,
Known as crann ban “money tree” in Iris folklore.
To demystify health care & known to personalize,
To me sycamore exists to socialize and to poetize.
==============================
Ninth Place win in Chris's contest
This is dedicated to my precious granddaughter, Amiana Rose Love, as a gift for her 19th birthday. Lots of Love!
Amiana in Grandma’s Eyes
This is a poem about Amiana
As seen in her grandma’s eyes
It’s one of her birthday wishes
Custom made to personalize
Well since I am her grandma
Let me tell you what all I see
First of all she’s energy filled
And nonstop talking like me
Now her mom makes clones
As her 4 sisters you have seen
She has similarities with me too
Like our favorite color is green
There are many other things
We carry together in common
One of those things would be
We do enjoy bathing in the sun
The heat is felt down to our bones
In visual beauty where nature lies
Admiring God’s life surrounding us
Bugs, plants and pretty butterflies
Amiana is a super smart girl
When it comes to technology
Scientific issues are simple
As knowledge comes naturally
For playtime and fun things to do
She’ll select paperwork or an art
Any type of office or technical work
To write, organize or create charts
She even likes to sing and dance
Give a performance and entertain
She also modeled several times
Working on community campaigns
It sure is a pleasure working with her
Amiana truly loves to communicate
Going out of her way to help others
She is one who everyone appreciates
This is just one of my 20 grandchildren
Amiana is oh so kind and very sweet
You may think I’m showing favoritism
Unless you know her or did ever meet
Florence McMillian (Flo)
Soul's mirrors and mind's
study are the eyes,
and the verdict is clear,
wild animals cave in the
hollows of your mind, herds,
escorting your thoughts
and opening your eyes wide,
front window to a
spacy mind's fantasies,
and easy smiles drawn,
as thorny roses pricking
your fingers, you're hurt.
Call it gathering of the herds,
or.... the others showed up.
Snakes spell words ?
One word one snake ?
One stabbing one wolf ?
Feels like jungle, go hunting,
chase the wild with the risky,
personalize the unknown,
then look for the stick.
Seems to feel like
being in other places,
in their places ?
too small a world ?
meeting them everywhere,
always away from a home,
in your home.
You're searching all the time
without looking for something,
you're here and there and
your thoughts everywhere,
pages never turned,
a bit of each on a lot,
starting one and continuing another,
thoughts are powering you,
natural energizers,
consuming yourself.
You're consumed unhappily,
sleeping seated and eating laid,
waiting with the mornings for light.
Enjoy watching the horizon
at the sea shores,
not the sky,
guess how big the world is,
don't wonder what's on
it's other side, reporting
leave of absence.
You always want to see
where your gaze can't reach.
Look at the mirror
and see something.
Where are you ?
You seem to think, it's not worthy it.
But everything ? Everybody ?
Who's remote, you or the others.
Where those you looked for are ?
You are leaving us,
if you could look at me and see my
concerns, would you stay with us.
It's not an end,
forests will keep making oxygen
and the seas rain's water.
Live, Alive.
My Meraki Gifts
So special are some days to celebrate
for family and dearest friends I know;
a joy that fills my heart is to create
a splendid card for each, my love to show.
I blend my gifts of art and poetry
to personalize each and every one,
designed with help of new technology;
computer art, my words, then print when done.
How special to present my unique cards
with names upon and wishes that hit home;
a joy for me to show the deep regards
I have for each with art and words my own.
With soul, deep love and creativity,
each card presents a little piece of me.
Sandra M. Haight
~3rd Place~
Contest: In The Moment
Sponsor: Heidi Sands
Judged: 06/18/2018
~2nd Place~
Contest: Meraki
Sponsor: Silent One
Judged: 12/21/2017
"Meraki [may-rah-kee] (adjective) This is a word that modern Greeks often use to describe doing something with soul, creativity, or love — when you put “something of yourself” into what you're doing, whatever it may be. Oct 20, 2010" - Google
My balcony covered by a huge sycamore tree,
My constant companion of snowy Maple days,
Memories come as insects around flowering tree
Turning my gloomy days into glorious days.
The first candid approach in medicine to initiate,
Hippocrates sat under sycamore tree to explain,
As Budhha sat under the Bodhi tree to meditate,
Nirvana or the enlightenment of mind to attain.
Father Cavanaugh called it ‘The vengeance tree’,
Othello’s Desdemona sat sighing by a sycamore,
Flying to Egypt Virgin Mary rested under the tree,
Known as crann ban “money tree” in Iris folklore.
To demystify health care & known to personalize,
To me sycamore exists to socialize and to poetize.
The morning has officially begun
It’s the new reality of my life plunging ahead in full gear
It’s only fast forward from here to forever on
I don’t wanna look back but whenever I try…
I’m impressed by how fast that bit of history fades away into insignificance
A brand new life with brand new possibilities
My greatest dreams revised
This sure has to be the time of my life
All the signs are bright to this light
Today I celebrate mediocrity’s demise
I know what I want and I know I can get it as soon as I want
I swear allegiance to creativity, discipline and commitment
I sacrifice my unnecessary pleasures for study and prayers
I’m focused on the rewards, for they belong to me if I dare to believe
I’m the prince of a dream and it’s now time to conquer reality and personalize it
Heart searching eyes,
Responding to personalize,
Feelings interwoven,
Ties that can't be broken,
The soul yearns to free this heart,
It is part of who you are,
Say nothing if you must deny,
It is better than telling yourself lies,
Who you are,,,,no better than the other,
Just a name doesn't bring us together,
The shallow may label on this earth,
But the heart is always eventually unearthed,
What was that? You say you can't have both,
Has the fear stricken, and judgemental scare you the most?,
To deny the name you were given at birth?
Do you honestly believe that depletes your worth?,
My dear friend, don't deny this part,
It is a piece of who you are,,,,,
Will the shallow come looking once you've given it away?
Yes, but fear plays no part, you must see past that game,
Your love is stronger for yourself and others,
Why do think God has allowed us to meet one another....