Best Pleat Poems
Spring bows to thrill of cayenne summer,
dreams spiced in youthful glow come May.
Bright ribbons wake my bare feet’s slumber.
Spring bows to thrill of cayenne summer!
Rainbows pleat dance, no clouds encumber
my twirling limbs, life's weaved sashay.
Spring bows to thrill of cayenne summer,
dreams spiced in youthful glow come May!
Spring sighs with age come broaching summer,
blue tears, red smiles ‘round pole in May.
Life's colors flow from gold to umber.
Spring sighs with age come broaching summer!
And shall I join wind’s lively number
or watch bright ribbons twist and play?
Spring sighs with age come broaching summer,
blue tears, red smiles ‘round pole in May!
written 2/5/15
It is so nice to feel greeted by the day
All around I hear a happy tumbling laugh
Waves rolling playfully in swish and sway
Under my feet I feel the known sandy path
All your life a continuous unfurling beat
Where time shifts to welcome open faces
The oceans harmony folds the waves pleat
Holding my cares in each curl it erases
Lay me in your arms and rock me to sleep
The sea is a lullaby of melodies complete
I reap the bounty swirling right at my feet
The gifts of Poseiden are mine to ever keep
Soaring high above in an eagles embrace
The breeze my wings, the sea my birthplace
written 6-9-2020
HM Brians select A
Honorable Mention
ODE TO A NEVER RECEDING ECHO
For Onyebuchi
Day and night in an eternal combat.
A truce : the eternal cycle of night and light
Lost in the ruse of an eclipse.
Where is the truce in the ruse of going and coming?
You found yours swinging on that threshold,
Where udara tree dances to the choirs of the wind.
Then you bend to itch the scratch.
The debt of birth repaid too soon.
Where lion wimp and head dancer limp!
Crippled Aligo!!!
Have you journeyed through the chart on your palm ?
After a drunken sip of prerian spring.
Soured tryst with Sophia.
Cherubim through the umbilical returns
To the progenitor?not conceived! Unborn!!
Halo on rusty hair sits.
Or was it your iyiuwa. Unburnt
Pleat, unpleat then pleat…
Under the star-apple tree,
Where all roads meet
Do not live on the threshold
Stay with me, ignore the whispers of these shadows
Itching your feathered cap.
You have sucked through this nipple time dry
Leave her, now flaccid, bosom. see she shrieks.
Head of the Baptist shrieks
Superfluous gift for many half Christs,
Too proud for Baptism.
I wonder why?
A pine piercing the sun
Withers at the descent of a dozen, score moon.
Eleodimmuo it is you I am calling.
You, eternity lost in time.
A dance to a never receding echo
If now is dusk, I hope the echo stays
At least,for me, a pedagogic star.
While the magi?me, beside the manger wait
For the birth of light.
While owl hoots dove’s lullaby;
Vulture hatching in eagle’s nest.
You are my Ogbanje, my forerunner
Even if the lips of days hums dirge as they pass
Now, Soldier ant from the udara returns. again.
Matching, invading my tryst, feasting on a depleted layer.
Futile to chase; deliberate in pace
Need I learn this tune?if it never rest?
Fallowed stream bites as dreams cradle me.
The black thing chants Ogbanje, Ogbanje and I sign
At this never receding echo.
In memory of Onyebuchi
If you in dancing to, faults, my beat. see a fore admission of a mortal's fallibility
Uraoma Nwannem
© Chikwado Nwattah . 2014
I suspect in my feckless youth my folks thought me rather slovenly,
Obnoxious, averse to work and associated with dubious company,
But Air Force sergeants dealt discipline with lingo at times unsweet,
Convincing me that life is easier if things are regular and complete!
They taught me to hang my clothes on hangers all facing the same way,
With buttons buttoned and shoes shined which I observe to this very day.
I prefer button-down collars; my pants must have a crease and pleat,
Because you see, I insist on things being regular and complete!
The Caddie DTS must be washed and waxed to a perfect sheen,
And when dining out, woe to the chef who screws up my cuisine!
My lawn must at all times be the best manicured on the street,
Because you see, I insist on things being regular and complete!
My barber must see that my eyebrows and hair are neatly trimmed.
The barkeep must serve my beer ice cold with all the suds skimmed.
I like folks who keep their word, show up on time and are discreet,
Because you see, I insist on things being regular and complete!
I detest cell phones and the 'magpies' who on them endlessly blather,
Especially when driving or dining; they work me into a seething lather!
I reckon some folks think me an old curmudgeon and rather off-beat,
But dad gum it, I insist on things being regular and complete!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Europe was frozen in a tide of hate
The genius Jew was being persecuted
Bound to the intransigence of fate
His violin played the tunes they executed
Now it was time to think as they electrocuted
The hopes of young people in the dawn of their history
Whose own stories would have so much mystery
Down in the baker’s the story ran around
Hitler was marching to a frenzied tune
He bruised the flowers underneath the ground
And told them works of genius had no boon
While the bridal pair planned their honeymoon
On country roads, a visit to the town
Where they would see wonders and a family found
The day of the wedding dawned so fair
It would seem creation began again
Every single person going there
Wore the best they could, the men
With dark serge suits, and a fountain pen
For Granddad to write to his daughter
Who lived across three thousand miles of water
The wedding Nora had lived for all her life
Now like fate, could be too late to cancel
Nothing would please her more than being a wife
No longer a woman her relatives liked to spancel
They went the evening before to the quiet chancel
Made their vows in private for each other
Far away, war’s declaration on a brother.
His thoughts were far away this harvest morning
The corncrake singing in the flowery ditch
Struck into his heart like a heavy warning
That life was choked with love, so rich
A fantasy dove-tailing in augured pitch
Be faithful to me, the bird sang, my husband
I never want to wear another’s riband
She wore the oyster dress her sister gave her
It was soft and crumpled like a clotted cream
Her veil was raised when he kissed her
And she thought she was fainting from the dream
What could matter now, but what could seem
His handsome face, his hair so fine and black
There wasn’t one feature where he lacked
Her face was lovely as a golden flower
Her dress, a simple thing with fine kick-pleat
It lay like wisps of cloud upon her tower
Where beauty, youth and kindness all could meet
Such tiny pearls slid on her throat so neat
Their hour of tortured chastity was over
Profusion, perfection, they were like gods in clover.
(c) Rosemarie Rowley from "In Memory of Her", 2004 Dublin
I’m the one that the winds enjoy torturing
The one being crushed under roaming feet
The only one feeling lonely during spring
I’m the most eager one to unfold my pleat,
And rise again: tall, bright and smiling…
Pleated and crushed, but I keep moving on
Because my soft petals refuse to surrender.
I would be dead, and my soul would be gone,
But my spirit never dies; strong but tender…
Survival is not an age, it is not a number.
It is a prize that must be earned and a token,
For all the flowers would proudly remember
The little Daisy who refused to remain broken.
My spirit that never dies would live inside
Every beating heart. As long as hope exists,
Every flower will gain glory and pride…
For every flower is a Daisy that resists.
Standing tall in the greenness of the land,
I shall be a legend that survives the ages…
I shall always be the beginning and the end,
The slave that shatters the slavery cages.
I’m the one that the winds enjoy torturing
The one being crushed under roaming feet
The Daisy that begins and ends with spring
The one that unfolds every single pleat…
It was the season of spring
And the time for the bees to sing
Hey, I'm a small flower bud
Grown in a pot of water flood
And tasty nutritious mud.
Eagerly waiting to bloom
And spread my wonderful perfume.
Id always hear my sister leaves saying,
" There is a lady
Who looks like a fairy
Comes here daily
To pick the flowers which are lovely"
I always feared of separation
And wondered about my next location
Soon came the night of my blossom celebration
Where I was crowned as Miss. Floret for the current generation
With the first ray of sun touching my petals,
And the dew drops glistening like shining metals
The fairy lady came towards me,
Plucked me,
Put me in a basket of new friends.
There I met Tulasi- Who had a look of transcendence
Sooner we were put on something which looked like my far cousin- lotus
When I looked up a bit I saw it wasn't a lotus
It was a person with eyes, nose, feet, everything like lotus
But something more beautiful
This beauty made me blush
And I secretly told Tulasi about my crush
She introduced me to Krishna, the one with lotus feet
And recited few stories which were soo sweet
By then I was stolen out of the lotus feet
And replaced in a black pleat
I tried to run
But then I was captured in a black bun
I wanted to hear more about Krishna and relish
But I was caught in a mesh of hair like a fish
With sadness when I was about to wither,
I heard the chanting and stories of Krishna with a river
With the hearing of these beautiful words
I turned brown like wheat
And wished to be born again as a jasmine to meet the lotus feet ...
Hector McLean.
Not Grandpa, nor Grandad or anything in between,
He was simply Uncle Hec to us, was dear old Hec Mclean.
The Western District, up Casterton way, from where he hailed,
And stories of his youth up there he happily, for all, regaled.
A thin and wiry frame he wore, a tough and wethered face,
Button shirt and pleat trousers he wore along with double brace.
The front porch he often sat, cigarette or pipe in his hand,
On a simple chair, deep in thought, gazing across his land.
Comfortable in the company of children, he really did enjoy
Providing fun and games to play, their idleness to employ.
Practical jokes were often played, the lark in him was led,
He liked to put a huntsman spider into the childrens bed’.
Out into the paddock collecting mushrooms, dig the garden for spuds,
No need to wash them down, just wipe dirt away with his duds.
Cut chips and mushrooms in the pan to make a lunchtime feast,
A cup of tea and slice of bread, and he would have the least.
A seldom trip made into town to stock up on supply,
Sit in the car, chat a bit and watch the town folk stroll by.
On the trip back to the farm he would let the kids have a drive,
Childish curiosity he encouraged, their requests were not denied.
I’m sure he loved us all, weather girl or boy,
Having kids around him always gave him joy.
I don’t know if our parents knew the influence he had on us all,
I just know that when I stayed with him I really had a ball.
Shall I compare you with -
Nectar-filled fine flowers?
fruits deliciously sweet?
Trees tall, sturdy and tough?
Soft curvy creeper-pleat...?
Shall I compare you with -
Mountainous green valleys?
Rivers and endless seas?
Amazon rain forests?
Tempests and gentle breeze...?
Shall I compare you with -
Creatures so beauteous?
Beasts of deserts and woods?
Sea creatures of all shapes?
humans with multi-moods...?
Shall I compare you with -
Cosmos and Milky Way?
You are the sum of all,
And have your say and sway;
In you all live and fall...!
10 April 2022
Form M - Monchielle - New Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Theme: Nature
Raindrops descend, puddles form,
A stream engulfed, a river is born,
A course is set, the sea to reach,
Meandering ponderously to a far off beach.
The sea reclaims its myriad young,
Kidnapped by clouds, thunder-slung;
The storm is long past with calm all around;
Albatross glide, with a whisper of sound.
Seagulls circle, dogfish sleep,
Gannets dive and dolphins leap,
But black clouds return and lightning flashes
O'er storm-tossed seas, as thunder crashes.
Once more a stealthy cloud abducts infant water,
The sea's own offspring: a son ... a daughter;
The thief sets off at a wind blown pace,
The anguished mother unable to chase.
The criminal finds refuge in a partisan crowd,
A formless body in a vaporous shroud;
The cloud has no guilt, shows no remorse,
But heads inland on a predestined course.
A hill stands guard, like a customs post;
It stabs the guilty, but allows past the host;
The rogue cloud is ruptured, severed seam and pleat,
Releasing its captives and accepting defeat.
Raindrops descend, puddles form,
A stream engulfed, a river is born,
A course is set, the sea to reach,
Meandering ponderously to a far off beach ...
I
Whenever would thou bleed, thus bind,
Thy lying heart will shed its feel;
Why art thou kne'd? Thy eyes art blind
To drops whose sight them ne'er heal.
II
At order yours, domain of fever,
For I did never flow had got;
Blush all my farewells to the river
Through spirals shore hath been forgot!
III
Lost are the roads, the walks, the flies;
and e'en my wraith the glimpses shend;
the gust of Love becoming craze:
alone the light will pose to me withstand.
IV
Nor gaze the cheek at kiss thereof
It rouses; turns should yet event;
Neither at coldness pale the waving luff,
As always breathe is left but never sent.
V
For I ply remissance drawing this-
If the world shall to pleat lade,
Not 'twas drawning for thy bliss;
Not for thee was pour'd: may maid.
VI
Is mine horizon as tears gray
Thy love the light through whom;
The bosom not for hour, day,
Nor night it pray, But to its home.
VII
Is lone an hexitating fright,
The silence rounding ridge of woes;
And as forgiven one's dreft faith,
Thus be the roves, and not the lies.
VIII
'Tis be the greatest grief
To dare a kiss to coldless path,
Thus frame the soul in lineless wrath,
Bleeding the crown thou hath- and still relief.
Clue
see the truth
have a clue
reuse fuse the manger
recreated by a stranger
tame the shame
claim the brackets
rackets
eye glasses
tassels times of hassles
shackleton historian
explorer
arctic circle
turn cold
frost bighting nails
numb with firing guns
stunned with bees
flea infested turmoil
scratch the catch
sprayed with chemicals
to pleat our existence
Written tonuhalan13/04/06/Thurs.
The fairy tale a powerful message about morals about courage about education.
Some say are lifes are written out is it something permanent like ink
or erasable like pencil is a question i have often pondered. The writtings before of
me are a man unsure with himself lost almost in the art of the good act and
blinded by love to behold the grand illusion. So hmm I have found a new anthem
a new lease on myself. In the mass destruction of my mind the rebuilding has
begun. A new man has imagered in a new surrounding with new opportunity at his
feet. A new generation under him seeking his guidance bonded over music
watered blood but still blood weather a different last name ethnicity. A pleat-her of
rebuilding in the world. So hmm i have begun to see myself know myself in a way
that i have never felt a new phoenix has risen in my soul good riddance to the
negative vibe within me. I can never understand but the pondering and the
images in my mind will remain.
Pennilessness shadows black
unemployment endless track
rails tie-er less lee when dumbly staring
overdrawn account issues
another clattering smack.
Income pleat undergraduate degree
contributed to the role of a sporadic employee
time to acquire handy dandy blues clues key
lost within vacillating undermining spree.
Mental state can be a precarious widget-like thing
directly at the whim of financial sliding swing
self-destruction demonic ring
courtesy of pauperism
delivers the destructive poisoned scorpion sting.
Immortal force of please hear my cry
provide support while
under the sheltering sky
steady (just out of reach)
sought income bolster up high
mirage vision brings transient delight
to this great (former
Civil War Yankee) supreme guy.
If no breakthrough I do not foresee
charity not for profit (but only prophet) I will bee
and this blurb carved outside my cave-like hovel
many moons and break of the day find me
imploring existential vagaries this baby boomer
sans middle-aged man who hankers to be free
thus though aye to be a schnorrer
who scrounges parking lots for scattered change
yet...decries blubbering the beggar's credo
write out a check and mail to me.
Philanthropic persons
may rightfully balk and get irate
at such brazen plea to squelch
ma pecuniary financial state
yet where the crossroads of mine future
most likely crop up which
would cause far a tete a tete
meanwhile, stoicism bids me wait...
For Godot, Curly, Shemp, or Moe
the stand-in for a Stool Pigeon
or even an odd antagonist
or protagonist dreampt
by Edgar Allan Poe.
“Progress Being”
The opportunity struck that I grew to find,
I took a risk and felt no urge to change my mind.
In the “now” to live my life without regrets
The game of life’s chance called roulette.
I don't think that I would be where I am today
If I didn’t live out yesterday!
What you see, is what you get
I’m the human in “progress being,” see who you met.
Aware of owning what I lead.
Aware of the strength that is rising through my feet.
Of choices I've made,
Of the ‘yin’ that I've saved.
Of the things that I've done,
My belief in myself, in another-you, and the One.
Forgiving of the words of my friends,
I know who they are to make mistakes, and make amends.
Follow my instincts, follow my inner star
It is the unedited version and real true radar.
On my sleeve I have worn to show my heart untamed
I am whole in the “real life” of moments and unashamed.
Double “A” free in actions. “Berkley,” free in mind, body, and spirit.
What comes next the guitar or good night dreams to visit?
The down beat is the inner drum,
Like the dark that feels the enigmatic rhythm.
Does not understand impact.
Does not like to get exact.
Understands the subtle feel.
Like authentic wine, whispered “sealed.”
As I wrote before, the timing in life is always NOW.
Perhaps that would be a philosophy as you know all to well in Tao.
Carpe diem another platitude or cliché’
It’s a waste of time to be high-browed as they say…... My focus is to be light and live
with a LEAP of Faith.
To share the positive things that we learned from our past
Takes time of building a rapport with another hopefully steadfast.
Getting to know someone to laugh with is a find.
Because what is learned and applied will not fall into the traps laid on NEW created paths
from behind.
Adding up my life, will total all my dreams.
I am counting all my blessings
And gifts like you that I receive
No matter what the expectation or what the other perceives.
I own my day and my thoughts,
Gentle not to challenge them to be fought. ?
Took this time to understand the perfect-imperfect
And the crinkled-pleat…
That I am what I am, who I am no defeat.
No sleep walking, hair untamed
“Progress being” is what is named.