Best Prefers Poems
"America First",
is the worst.
Should not thinking of others,
be your thirst?
Those who are selfish,
end up being cursed!
Soon they'll be last,
instead of first.
Who among you,
prefers guns and war?
Do you really have freedom,
shore to shore?
If most have less,
are you happy with more?
Should the privileged few,
be guarding the door?
Protectionism,
rots you to the core.
In the end,
you won't know who it's for?
What does it mean,
to be "Great Again"?
I'll listen to learn,
try your best to explain!
Were there fields of cotton and sugarcane?
Was it back of the bus perfect,
everyone staying in their own lane?
A pain striped passport,
for those on the soul train.
If you know the truth,
please speak it plain.
I want to find great,
I've wracked my brain.
Whose America are you trying to regain?
“If you fall in love with the imagination, you understand that it is a free spirit. It will go anywhere, and it can do anything.” Alice Walker
I write upon my Fancy. Often she takes flight
to the heavens blue or to starry skies,
mountains, forests, rivers or seas,
or to a desert and
leaves me there till again she flies away
to find a flower or majestic tree!
I write upon my Fancy; she makes me feel free!
Sometimes she flies to places that are grey,
but she prefers gold, sunlit sand
where she floats on warm breeze.
She might even soar high to a wondrous sunrise,
for flights of my Fancy are often bright!
I write upon my Fancy whether day or night.
I love when she flutters like butterflies -
flitting over meadows with ease.
She guides my writing hand.
Though sometimes serious, she mostly likes to play,
and with Fancy, I always hope to be.
Feb. 1, 2021
for the 'My Invented Form - I Write Upon' Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
The raptor and the peacock hence,
Sit pensive on a rambling fence.
The first, inclined to be the host,
Jumped down to claim the nearest post.
The pea averse to snubs or quailing
Moves closer on the weathered railing.
Both immersed in trailing thoughts
Mused on nigh, and what was naught.
The Pea fans its tail in public splendor
Cramped raptor prefers an opposing gender.
He clasps a plume of gleaming thread
To implant it on his own stark head.
On and on, a grueling day
Feathers plucked; cold work at play.
Peafowl’s once featured feathered shafts
Now forlornly bare and subject to draft.
The predacious bird, a cocky thief
Snidely at par, to a native chief.
Clips of sun reveal a shadowy bane
The unlikely pair cast as one and the same
(Was on a pic of a llama with a thick lock of hair on his head, styled in quite human like fashion and it was grinning. If u google llamas perhaps then u will understand what I mean)
This flesh 'n' blood cousin of the ship 'o' the desert
here is given that funky punky , stylish haircut?
Could it be optical illusion or screen manipulation
causing him to grin in mock jubilation?
And ain't he gonna toss those bangs like some real groovy llama?
My doesn't he look ready for any showbiz dromedary drama?
Ah yes, he does look handsome, do come have a view
of this fuzzy, comedy dromedary beau!
Send in the paparazzi, for he's already saying cheese
But he prefers his own kind, send in some lady llamas please.
Hey, like humans, llamas can stick their tongues out and spit to express displeasure
So keep your distance from angry ones or you will regret the mismeasure
The one I see in the picture is a cool llama teenaager
but he's no teeny-bopper, for he's a teetotaller
as no one ever saw him
with a bottle of gin or lager!
Zanthoxylum shrubs with clustered yellow flowers,
Yolks of eggs and yellow jackets make her want to scream.
Xanthophobia ensnares her. It is sickening
Wakening to an aureate dawn’s bright rays.
Vehemently she shakes!
Ubiquitous are sunny days; she much prefers the clouds.
They keep her safe from light and her anxiety at bay.
Secluded in her rose pink room, she stays inside,
Rarely venturing outside except at eventide.
Quick is she to greet fast-falling snow.
Pedestrians abandon streets. Then she likes to go
Out to see the colored world buried in tranquility,
Nauseated she becomes just seeing people eat
Macaroni’s yellowish cheese, all things buttery,
Lemon cakes, bananas, mustard. It is a feat
Keeping herself calm. Sometimes she panics.
Jaundiced skin can do her in.
In many cases, she turns to Xanex.
Hideous to her is this disease,
Growing, never slowing. Even therapy
Fails to help. Whatever can she do?
Emotionally frazzled, living with unease when
Dandelions, daisies or ducks come into view.
Corn, baby chicks, and girls that she has seen
Bleached a brilliant bombshell blonde so bold!
All of it - florescent dreams - are nightmares laced in gold.
For the First Ever ZYX Contest sponsored by John Lawless
In our Asian-cum-Eastern land
No one prefers or admires
the dark-skinned or tanned
Gosh, as if the fair-skinned alone
belonged to the so-called fairer sex
And here, 'black is beauty' a phrase unheard
All falling for the light skinned almost in reflex!
Bachelors on the hunt for a non-fictional Asian 'Snow-white'
Even an ugly heart will do if the skin is white, pale and light
For them lighter skin tis brighter and better at beauty
even if superficial and skin-deep
The dark-skinned maidens thereby left single to weep
But while the ebony dark- pigmented
go on applying whitening and lightening creams
The white Westerners frequented
the sunlit beaches for dark tans from sun beams!
So in westerners females wish to look browned and tanned
Thus the opposite is preferred
so to that end they may sun bathe for hours on beach sand
Ah and though from the point of view of my motherland
I am luckier that God chose
to model me from a peachy whiter lighter clay,
I still feel this tug-of-war between complexions
needn't really join the fray.
For when you and I glance at Naomi Campbell
we know beauty can be white, brown and black as well
Like love, beauty knows no colour, creed or race
As proved by this gorgeous black supermodel.
Besides, we all have come across
both dark-skinned angelic saints
and fair-skinned folks with sinner's taints
Ah, Black Beauty, or Fair and lovely
Beauty has never known any bounds
For God He distributed beauty rather equally
No argument can last on these grounds
Oh, a soulmate's inner beauty ought to be earnestly sought
Too bad lustful passions fall for those merely outwardly hot!
Don't worry my child
if it is or not snowing,
be sure that old Santa
will get where he's going.
And though he prefers his
fast reindeer and sleigh;
old Santa can surely
come some other way.
There is just one rule
that he'll always be keeping.
He only arrives when
the children are sleeping.
So off now to bed
and dream of the toys
he's bringing tonight
to the good girls and boys.
You say you are worried?
It cannot be right
that he travels the world
in just one single night?
Well now don't you feel silly
right down to your bones?
You forget that you all live
in different time zones.
He starts in the East
and he goes toward the West.
He keeps up with time changes.
Now aren't you impressed?
Each zone takes an hour
and when he is done,
It's the very same time as
When he had begun.
So hurry to bed now.
Don't get Santa off track,
or you might have to wait
until he comes back.
In this life I have seen beauty
With its majesty and cruelty.
I believe in reincarnation doctrine
Would like to be butterfly divine.
A pure beauty of rainbow colors
Not as civilized as men who prefers
To have half of the happiness
And the longevity much in excess.
Would count moments not years
Flirting freely around without fears
Fire is beautiful its beauty kills
Care not if at all its beauty thrills.
Better to burn up for the beauty
Than long bored life without a cutie.
=================================
Dr. Ram Mehta
Second Place win in:
Contest: If I was an Animal, What Would I be sponsored by Kristen bruni
I am standing naked on a crowded street
But nobody seems to be noticing me
I am less embarrassed by my nakedness
Than by my invisibility
They all seem to be looking right through me
Or staring down at the concrete walk
With iPod plugs shoved deep into their ears
Nobody can hear me talk
I try flagging down a taxi
But their “Off Duty” lights are on
On the black and white checkerboard
I am the sacrificial pawn
The Queen moves in every direction
The King is rooted in place
I try catching the eye of a policeman
But he has mirrored glasses upon his face
The world is swirling in circles
The Bishop runs off with a boy
My wife no longer lies with me
She prefers her electrical toys
The teacher wakes me up in class
Why am I in school when I’m fifty-five
I don’t remember being captured by the Rook
Is it possible I’m no longer alive
The King has no more safe squares to go
Laying him down is his only fate
Tangled up in a sticky spider web of life
I’m stuck in a permanent check-mate
Twas’ by a waterfall quite late,
Beneath the stars, full moon awake,
I saw my tiny love, my Fay,
Upon a mossy bank, she lay;
At first glance, I thought a dragonfly,
Poor thing had died whilst on the fly,
Fell there dead on that cold wet ground,
Until a closer look, bent down;
What I thought a mosquito hawk,
Sent me shivers whilst I gawked,
Arms, two legs, such delicate wings,
With Violet gown laid my undine;
I dare not touch her least she break,
Then realized it was my fate,
To take her home, to mend her there,
My little Fay with golden hair;
I placed her in a matchbox bed,
A cotton ball beneath her head,
Cut blankets from a silken scarf,
And tucked her in with weeping heart;
The days that passed where dreary ones,
For I was worse than faerie dumb,
And cursed myself each pacing night,
Inept to help my fading sprite;
With drooping eyes, and quite depressed,
I felt my heart sink in my chest,
My dear sweet Fay was turning blue,
And there was nothing I could do;
My shoulders shook, my tears were rain,
My love for Fay an aching pain,
I prayed take me, take me instead,
Then little Fay moved in her bed;
Into the air, a dart she flew,
Her wings a blur, no longer blue,
Around my head, she circled twice,
Then out the window, lost to night;
My heart became an empty thing,
Until I heard the buzz of wings,
And saw sweet Fay had spun around
With wand in hand, she shrunk me down;
My clothes are piled on the floor,
Gargantuan garb, which I once wore,
Dear Fay prefers my naked skin,
And woods have spider webs to spin.
Here on the cusp of all things, is where I succumb
Ceding my stuff blindly, toward oblivion and none
Unwilling to persevere, without a modicum of fun
Listing in perpetual stasis, til the spasm’s undone
And yet a god may save me, or a talisman of love
Some prophet of euphoria, quelling ennui thereof
Placing good tidings, into a universal equation
Edifying eternity…..revealing its exact duration…..
Alas he speaks in riddles, and treads a mobius strip
Each cycle forming a twist, convoluting his trip
Determined I follow, my awareness in collapse
Narrow-mindedly stumbling into mortality traps
Now I sense the endgame, but decline to exalt
Its a distortion, an abortion, a cataclysmic fault
Chance meeting with a nihilist, yields positive results
Unable to see past zero, he reveals nothing but cults
Here on the cusp of all things, is where I begun
A contorted brain-f*ck, had no choice but to come
A demon of clarity, with an open ended measure
One who gives to please, but prefers taking pleasure
To believe for one moment, I’d live off a dying spark
Only denies potential, when again life goes dark
With more light to come, my sunglasses prepared
Eternity’s not polarised, just infinitely layered
If a blind man articulates, I’ve seen all this before
Screaming and convinced “I’m a seer at my core”
Could be he’s mistaken, or deluded with Déjà vu
Begs his final question, “do I have a point of view”?
Her luxurious penthouse
is like a cocoon with plenty of pretty distractions,
so she keeps her door firmly closed,
because she prefers fantasy
over the handicap of reality.
Afraid of light,
her malingering mind,
keeps her hidden inside.
To shield her from the sun,
she won't open the curtains,
as she thinks it's certain,
her mechanisms may melt.
Shyness is her veiled excuse
to separate her from society,
But it's the anxiety, anxiety, anxiety!
Preferring to be an option,
rather than a priority
her caution from socialising,
breeds from the alarm bells,
set from abandonment,
betrayal and manipulation.
Trust is her terrorist.
People hunt like packs of wolves,
devouring her mind like a candy snack.
Fears of her heart are like an aeroplane,
shaking from a turbulent storm,
with her hopes forever crashing.
Trying to forget in a flash of courage,
she takes one step towards the door,
but the noises in her head become louder,
and Louder and LOUDER!!!!
repeating, Repeating, REPEATING!
Violent vibrations induce vertigo,
silent screams screw with her sanity,
struggling to breathe, feeling like
air is being sucked out of her lungs,
she vomits, collapsing to the floor.
Nothing can take off the 'edge',
the therapists do not work.
There she remains in her internal prison,
away from her eternal nightmares.
Safe in her sanctuary,
from engagement with stranger's eyes.
Like a chocolate bar
in her shiny wrapper,
that looks so sweet
but feels so darkly bitter.
My father-in-law went through this phase with his Alzheimer's.
We’ve recently noticed that grandpa has made himself a friend,
We’re pretty sure that this one will stay with him until the end.
The new guy has his room right next door to my grandpa’s place,
And every time my gramps stands at the window he can see his face.
It seems that the two of them are as compatible as can be,
And they both decorate the same as near as gramps can see.
Gramps visits with his friend to share iced tea and a smile,
Until they both run out of steam and decide to nap for a while.
They make a pretty good team they’re just like day and night,
The new guy uses his left hand and Gramps prefers his right.
And Grandpa never looks in the window just to stand and stare,
But every time he walks past the thing the other guy is there.
Grandpa says the only thing about this guy that might turn into a curse,
Is that the guy is so good looking and he might steal away the nurse.
One year I spent Halloween in New York City.
O Henry was the name of my taxi driver. I told
him to Take 5 while I stopped in a candy store
for some favorite candies to give out for the
Trick or treaters I would encounter that night.
My kids always loved Skittles and Nerds, but
my husband prefers Kit Kat bars Now and Later.
My choice has always been Mounds because I
adore coconut. I paid the Chunky clerk and hurried
back to to the taxi with my arms full of candy.
It was already twilight as we passed 5th Avenue.
Mr. Goodbar, my boss, was waiting for me at the
hotel as we drove down an older Rocky Road.
I was on a business trip, but I had time off to
enjoy the evening on Halloween. I got into my
Jolly Rancher costume. Pay Day left me with
plenty of funds to give out candy to every kid
making the rounds on the streets, so I intended
to have a candy Spree with lots of Snickers.
Some of the kids were little Smarties, but I still
had fun passing out a Skor, Bar None. I passed
Three Musketeers in gorgeous costumes on the
street and as the night wore on and the Air Heads
began to get scary, I had enough. I had Zero
candy left anyway. I walked back to the hotel like
a Slo Poke gazing up at our Galaxy, the Milky Way,
and I viewed a Starburst which capped my night
with Almond Joy!
10-10-18
How Sweet It Is Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Carol Connell
ON RESCUING AN INJURED PIGEON
I.
sliding screen door screeches, pigeons scatter
thump of wing against breast, shockwave breeze
more frequent than in the past, shimmering necks
soundtrack squirrel zig-zags, new-green lawn
perches like the pigeons, await my departure
II.
he appeared in the night, a tattered statue
grey as the rumbling skies, white patch on his back
must be hurt, too painful to move, teal collar
my compassion swells, how can I help?
leave him seed and water, natural healing
III.
red-toed demon leaving bird-turd on my deck
can barely walk let alone fly away, railing perch
rain or sun sits most of the day, ruffled feathers
hit his head or fallen, maybe a scuffle with a cat
wants to be part of a flock, I move closer
IV.
day three I made him a coop, Bucky by name
Becky if it’s a girl, I’m not checkin’, won’t go in
moving better, flies a little, short bursts
still prefers my perch, watch him sleep, still
hours to days, nothing seems to change
V.
the four-legged’s have found the coop and feed
I become my grandmother chasing chipmunks, futile
Bucky likes grass, hacksaw walk, double-banded
looks strong enough to fly, abandoned racer
wonder, is it psychological or could it me?
VI.
trail of seeds brought him to the edge, coop and me
as I watch him he watches me, wide ruddy eyes
huddles in a ball on one foot, freckled vest
finally, twice today he found his way to the coop
sad he can’t go home, sheltered but dispossessed.
VII.
animal rescuer Howard came with a net today
tried clumsily to catch him, lift and accelerate
over the treetops he flew, circled back to land
from the rooftop he smiled down at us, relieved
proof time heals all wounds, in rock pigeon world.
Aug 30/18