Best Procured Poems
Women in my family
are lovers of laughter and life.
Not often feeling much fulfilled, however,
in our individual roles as someone's wife,
still we have kind hearts, and do the best we can.
In childhood, no great connection with our father did we feel.
Were we doomed to have it not with any man?
We saw our mother’s struggles and how she endured.
That same perseverance we’ve all inherited!
Good, strong friendships for ourselves we procured.
Our children are raised. Older now, new challenges we face.
It’s just by phone that in each other we are able to confide,
but we long for fun reunions and each other’s fond embrace.
We find joy in simple things continuously.
After all, lovers of laughter and life are we!
June 23, 2022
for Sotto Poet's Women In My Family Poetry Contest
Jungle Drums
Well known was Molly by gossips
Words fell so easy from her lips
They always found ready ears
Revered was she amongst her peers
A casual meeting Molly made
Good conversation she displayed
Invited then to mothers meeting
Where received a rapturous greeting
For all the ladies gathered there
Knew Molly had a tale to share
About the folk at forty eight
Procured across a garden gate
Passed along tongue to tongue
It must be right, it can’t be wrong
Second hand, thrice removed
Each time the details are improved
Behind her curtains, Mrs Rose
Who sees all that comes and goes
From her shadowy oasis
Offers Molly on the basis
What she tells her will be treated
With respect and not repeated
Knowing only far to well
Molly cannot wait to tell
Everyone she knows
All she’s gleaned from Mrs Rose
And Peg the paper shop assistant
Said “It’s true”, she was insistent
She had heard the news confirmed
By Mrs Smith, who had learned
About the tale and of course
From a most reliable source
It’s not hard to understand
How she holds them in her hand
Like ducklings on a pond to feed
Molly delivers to their greed
Her listeners are now captivated
By her words uncomplicated
Said with such simplicity
Masked by dark duplicity
Who would believe, ill intent
From a face, so innocent
Having spilled out all her news
Others offered up their views
Ever wilder each new claim
Fending, proving, placing blame
Then Ginger Adams put her spoke in
“ I had heard, “She’s done her bloke in”
With a glare from Molly’s eye
Ginger just wanted to die
For she had not learnt quite yet
Where the sights they should be set
Which appears to be somewhere
Between uncaring and unfair
With no way to recognize
Which be truth and which be lies.
Please forgive the implication that this behaviour is
exclusive to the fairer sex, it is simply for the purposes
of this write. I have known men that easily equal any
woman in this sphere of life, and be just as catty, hahahha
I s’pose you've heard of Tamworth and the shindig there each year,
where country music reigns supreme and all its stars appear.
They’re in the pubs and all the clubs and arcades 'round the town
and Peel Street is just full of pics all strumming up and down.
In years of late another breed of artists have appeared;
Bush Poets with their rhyming verse, who are now quite revered.
The Longyard and Imperial pubs and Leagues Club host a few,
while golf and bowls clubs house more mobs and Peel street has them too.
It happens that I'm one of them and have for six straight years
performed to folk my style of verse - The Laughter and the Tears.
You make them cry, you make them laugh, you keep your tales true blue,
for that is what the folk demand: be Aussie through and through.
Most folk they see us poets as the ocker type of bloke
and know we see line dancing as some kind of flamin' joke.
They stream to Tamworth each year and stretch out along Peel street.
These hordes of blokes and sheilas with their fancy prancin' feet.
They’re shapes and sizes are diverese, no two frames look the same,
with fancy shirts embroidered with the place from hence they came.
They tuck their thumbs behind their belts then line up in a row
and when the music kicks on in they boot scoot to and fro.
Each year they have this ritual, that really is a bore;
They try to break the record they procured the year before.
Like locusts they assemble and I watch them with disdain
'cause surely they've got Buckley's chance of doing it again.
[CONTINUED]
I do not recall
The bravado with which I spoke
The titillating prose
Seduction’s prelude to a poke
You spoke of love
with a lust that I understand
your heart a bloom
your derriere met my hand
I pulled you closed
my eyes nearly met yours
your bosom winked
thank God I wore drawers
Do you not see
that my passions are pure
a burning in my loins
for which water has no cure
We gazed upon the heavens
I wrapped her in the moonlight
I looked at the time
my prayers faded into night
We danced till dawn
I had answered her romantic call
I whispered sweet somethings
Before her foot procured my fall
Peering in the windows,
Of those lives I barely see,
Except when tokens are procured,
For rides, intermittently,
They look at me, I look back,
Nothing severed or taken,
My pith, unimpaired,
And by them, unmistaken,
Do they think that my life,
Should be transformed to theirs,
With foreign exclusions,
And tainted, quaint stares,
Their subtle indifference,
No case dares to appeal,
Embodies the essence,
Of a world they call real,
So they ask with green eyes,
Should I now switch with you,
Would that make my self-worth,
Somehow, progressively true,
I glance, to respond,
That neither is needed,
Because as tolerance failed,
Manipulation succeeded,
We both yearn to validate,
Our courses of being,
Amidst choices of learning,
And preferred ways of seeing,
For now, the windows are closed,
The Santa Anas, they're blowing,
And those lives which premiered,
Have no interest in showing,
We will then pause to wonder,
If the sill might be locked,
Therefore sealed from exposure,
And no chance to be mocked.
(12/30/01)
She floats among palazzo halls
in teal brocade of lambent silk
procured for ladies of her ilk
while sepia of gloaming falls.
Candescence rises in her skin;
awakened is her heart within
to hear her lover's twilit calls.
She twirls and plucks a biding rose:
He Loves Me, comes the whispered prose.
The timbre of his voice enthralls,
the tickling whim of evening breeze
that waltzes through her mind's reprise.
As deeper into love she falls
the halos 'round the candles rise
to beg the lucence of his eyes.
She floats among palazzo halls
when sepia of gloaming falls
to hear her lover's twilit calls.
The timbre of his voice enthralls
as deeper into love she falls.
Israel and Palestine duel, as Iran pulls the strings
Abiding under the rule of the Country with the wings
As Russia looks down Turkey is twisting in the wind
All seeking one crown or just the chance to rescind
As Trump stokes the fire, Maduro concedes to Putin
Netanyahu's situation now dire, separation so thin
And as China stands by harvesting lands procured
Isis continues to try yet no land has been secured
With Libya falling apart as the Sudan follows suit
Each actor and his part following the precise route
Just as the Bible had said as it all falls into place
Man would rather be dead than accept God's grace
Watch that eagle with wings, watch what he'll do
The deal that he brings a peace deal made for two
Then after three and a half years as the Bible said
Realizing their worst fears those of the living Dead
Ezekiel 38
Luke 21:28
When you see these things begin to take place, stand up and lift up your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.
*prose was six lines when posted.
STOLE HER HEART TOO
A golden feather, shaped like a heart - the point like a prima donna’s ballet toes. Spoiled feather fell from forever into mortal hands. The giant screamed, stomped at his loss. The whirligig like the lamellae of a music box. Falling from seventh heaven alongside the corkscrew tree. Jack, deliriously descending, on his way to visit his procured harp, plucked from the giant’s brother. The fair lass in silver slippers hugs the feather, agrees to kiss Jack’s stupid lips.
8/31/2019
Writing Challenge 4, August 2019 - Six Lines
Sponsor, Dear Heart- Wiishkobi Ode
Fearless flames licking the night
as the glow flickers fire in their eyes
ah the tales round campfires light
of Sasquatch shadows and cougars demise
When sleepily those embers to ash burn down
like marshmallows slipping to the ground
lanterns cast their final shadows
In exchange for adventures awaiting tomorrow
A final gaze at a zillion stars
shinning their sign of specked hope
for a soul to know peace is only so far
as blackened woods against constellations cloak
As I lay me down to sleep
not a care in the world can persuade me
to take for granted my humble retreat
safely bunked with my horses by the creek
Sunshine flashes her brilliant stare
like diamond wings playfully fluttering
over morning rivers greeted with prayer
while wee ones still in tents lay slumbering
Until the hunger fails to quit
resisting whiffs of luscious scent
hash-browns and bacon crisp...
with flapjacks bearing the final lament
Here they come sleepy and wistful
cocoa for the kido's hair in a muddle
and coffee for the men now donning stubble
the ones bearing tissue and the O'l faithful shovel
The slightest breeze sweet smell of earth
shooting, hiking, splitting wood
traditions passed down again to preserve
laughter in a still frame subtly procured
Camping is the life, simple yet rich
meadows of wildflowers by the lake
kayak drifts near wild lavender I pick
with a wave saying thanks to the boaters wake :-(
Of all the trips money can buy
exotic lands, places to fly...
there's no place better to spend a summer
then camping where the wonder comes uncovered
COAT OF ARMS
Last night I couldn't sleep,for thinking only you...
As I wrapped in warm embrace, your spirit tinted blue
To oust away thine pangs, in hopes to see thee smile...
I'll yoke ye 'pon my shoulders, to carry through this mile
To trade your tears of sorrow, and see them shed in joy...
I'd jest for thine amusement, and be your favorite toy
For thine malady been expelled, I'd invoke it banished 'way...
Taking it 'pon mine self, so you've strength to seize th' day
Though I'm not an king, nor prince 'pon ivory steed...
Th' possessions I've procured here, are thine if felt th' need
I'll sweep thee off thy feet, if not familiar with th' waltz...
To breathe ye 'cross th' ballroom, as an feather floating 'loft
Mark mine words I state here, and hold me to their true...
I'll prove I 'steem thee precious, as unfeigned I surely do
Just promise me one thing, that next time when your down...
You'll wear these words as armor, 'til I mend thy broken crown
?Randall ('~A~')zaza Martin
a.k.a. "Thunderwolf'69" ??????
like a night fairy
you invaded
my side of the room
stealing my coffee
hot handed
like the money
with which it was procured
selling poetry
composed with heart
and sore fingers
holding ballpoint pen
put together
the old fashioned way
carrying the books
everywhere I go
asking anyone interested
to buy a copy
now thanks to you
I have to purchase more
of this daily necessity
with what is left
in my wallet
A season to delight, to sing and thrive
Birth of spring beckons new life
Casting aside the winter nights
Dancing gay the flowers bloom
Endless days of soothing clime
From the trees the wind chime
Grasses lush and green grow tall
Hotter days soon to follow
Igniting the passion strong
Joining in the lovers song
Kites brought out by children gay
Lurking ice soon melts away
Moist soil that promise growth
Never doth such time come oft
Over the hills the sun emerge
Promising the awaited warmth
Quivering underneath its touch
Rosebuds kissed by hungry bees
Sucking at the lingering beads
To fill their need for sweetness deep
Unfolding the rainbow stretch
Vast corn fields flourish much
Water taking silent course to sea
Xanthic carpet beneath the tree
Yonder lies the clear blue sky hued
Zenith of happiness is procured
© Nadiya (14 Feb '15)
Placed 3rd in the contest 'abecedarian' by Shadow Hamilton on 27 Feb 2015.
Olivia, or Livvy, is a Sky Academy Sports Scholar,
Competes in sprint T38 and long jump events F38.
She was born in Guildford, England, to a mother,
Who is Welsh and to a father who is of Irish state.
Born with Cerebral Palsy, Livvy raced at school,
In her primary years and she’s experienced
even though she’s very young. She has a stool,
At the Diamond League meets; she’s referenced.
She is coached by Jonas-Tawiah Doddo tough,
And Julie Hollman, and at the London Paralympics,
She won bronze in the 4x100m womens relay rough,
Doing very well in the 100m and in the 200m antics.
That same year and Holland, the Stadkanaal’s locale.
Livvy travelled to these IPC European Championships,
Where she procured the honour of the bronze medal,
Twice over, in the 100m and the 200 metre battleships.
Her mother’s country, Wales, in Swansea in 2014,
Livvy won at these Europeans a bronze and a silver,
In the 100m T38, and then in the 100m T35-38 gene,
Storming to victory like a train needing to deliver.
Then in 2015 in Qatar at the World Champs in Doha,
She won the gold with three team mates in the relay,
In the 4x100m they did pound with speed and power,
‘Cos Livvy had Di Dougherty as her mentor to sleigh.
2016, and the Grosseto Europeans happened in Italy,
And Livvy won a gold medal to boast about back home.
Then in Rio she came 7th in the 100m sprint, her tally,
But she was removed from the relay so she did moan.
for formerly Bonnie L. Garcia
and formerly Marci K. Garcia,
with fondness and humility
Holistically speaking, she you divorced
is one fantastic fitch on a quarterly
basis at minimum. That's three months of coerced
servitude, bloody attitude, disorderly
fits of public theatrics, so on and so forth,
for every single frcking year endured
with an egg-shedding nut-cracking whore worth
exactly half of everything procured
by you who's kissed his retirement goodbye
from the couch where you live in your mother's den.
Forget her! You're a peacock primed to fly!
As was I - which is why I get it when
I see a brother, sad and confounded,
that absent his wife, life's a mother; grounded.
They climbed
resuming the mongrel form,
The twelve.
A catcalling mob
burdened by sympathetic stimulants,
Procured from the neck.
Yippering yowls
break from a youth,
Torn from thick, incongruous lips.
As a pack
they leap onto the quivering metal,
Slender paws slapping on ice.
Ice all round;
leering...over bearing... ungracious ice
To aid their whimpering might.