Best Pursing Poems
A gauzy haze rises from the flickering gas light,
revealing the face of a blushing coquette.
Stepping through time in voluminous dress, bustled and bowed,
a petite silhouette.
She offers her hand to the handsome uniformed, callow cadet.
She moves with eloquence, poise and grace;
He, smitten by her charming demeanor, peaceful, porcelain, angelic face.
Flustered at first, heart pounding accepting his advances,
a gentle kiss and lingering embraces.
The afternoon brought festivities of equestrian competition.
Young cadets, eager to advance, entered to raise their rank and position;
His prowess boasted by the charm of his lady admirer's recognition.
She arrives in a brimmed bonnet, settling in her seat, vying for clear view;
Awaiting her chivalrous cavalier,
preparing, taking position, for the race to ensue.
A shot is fired, she sees him from afar,
waving his silk flag of gold, green and blue.
Gallant and proud, spurring his steady steed without yield.
Thunderous hooves in a cloud of dust, neck and neck as he rounds the field;
Pursing only, the love of his lady, and winning the coveted, golden shield.
February 6, 2017 For Stepping Through Time Contest, February 22, 2017
"The Glass Slipper"
I was waiting for a glass slipper
For my prince in shining armor
to take me away from my sorrow
into my happily ever after.
I sat around wishing on stars;
Kissing frogs wherever I went;
Dropping coins in wishing wells;
Waiting for true love's kiss.
It was only after he never came
that I realized what it all meant.
Magic is not naturally present,
but created through love for another
I did not encounter magic until I looked in my daughter's eyes;
Did not get my fairy-tale until I worked toward a better life.
I learned happily ever after does not exist,
not in the way we imagine.
It does not mean princes balls, and perfect hair,
but the feeling of fulfillment that follows
a life well spent caring for others
and pursing the dreams we had hoped to achieve
So don't be like me.
Do not wait for your prince to come for you.
Create your own happy ending
and I promise it will come true.
Sordid tales your eyebrows tell
Insinuations start to sing
Things we all know very well--
Say, did you miss my wedding ring?
You’d do you worst right here and now
A stealthy drink from your chalice
Want me to forget the wedding vows,
A mechanical bull with phallus?
Pursing your lips, parading your hips
All the while, I’m stifling quiet laughter
As if your fries and shake could eclipse
My seven course happily ever after!
Coworkers of giant ego
And undersized self-restraint
Have fallen prey to your libido
Flushed it all to taste your taint
But see, here’s the baseline reality
About my availability you’re mistaken
Unless my wife’s nonexistent bisexuality
You can magically awaken
Sure, maybe you can be a roast turkey slice
Between our marital sandwich bread
Or our fresh sushi covered in rice--
I shouldn’t joke; now you’re being misled…
But seriously, there’s nothing to discuss
What you’re implying just ain’t happening
Further coquetry is simply superfluous
Back to the regularly scheduled programming
And in closing, here’s what I’d do
If you’re looking for lifestyle enhancement
Instead of looking for married men to woo
Perhaps try some legit career advancement.
5/1/16
© Thomas W. Quigley
When did the children stop embracing
The wind in their hair
Downhill racing, bright orange skies
With no due care
When did they all go home and scrub up their smiles
No longer free spirits to roam
With hours to while
Away with friends down by the railway track
Find a new hiding spot
Sharing cheap wrappered snacks
Whispering secrets
And a fight for their space
What happened to good ole fashion dirt
Smeared as a memoir, now
Replaced
By sterile little ones
Squashed within dry stone walls
Electrical wizardry
Beats, muddied deflated balls
Why did the children decide now
To stay at home
No longer free spirits
Til dusk out to roam
No longer bicycles skipping ropes
And girls chewing gum
High heels on tiny feet
Impersonating mum
No longer unkempt hair pursing their friends
No longer blood brothers
Promised to the end
Poor little ones gaze at a two dimensional spot
Wish they'de step outside
Rosie cheeks the vision that time forgot
you stare ...
wink, and walk over to me
leaving your circle of admirers in disbelief
sullied manner, (and skin), of a Magdaline
prospect, differently indifferent
(a vestal view of Heaven)
faultless form, lulling the room with your sway
smile dressed in coral bows, blossomed
I say hello ... (hello back)
then stumble like a boy over the shape of your words
locution, sound, meaning - adrift
lost to the roiling sweep of new portent and sensation
pounding heart thrums my bones
coursing fevered arteries …
thoughts, a dervish of combustible ideas
bewitched - transfixed and hungry
and no focus but those bows -
the dewy fruits that frame your lilt smile, dancing hypnotically
curling, closing, pouting, pursing …
toying with each other, (and with my core)
o'er a glistening white chiclet expanse
speaking to me more of temptation and taste
than whatever words may be forming
(or whatever sound may be tangled in the air between us)
intonations I can NOT hear
for sake of what has become my sole pursuit
a crave, singular -
my adventure, sublime ...
your kiss.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 12" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
Those years were freshened years but the sea
Was filled with stomach cramps, and with burning tips
Against the psychosis on essential truthful belly
Vibrating of dying fishes
As they were jumping angry over the sun's rim
as if they were a kind of greener monsters.
A toxic light as the procession of ecosystem essentials
With its own measurement fled over all these scattering shadows
Of abiotic paths, and evil emerged
Everywhere from east, west; north, and south
In addition, its demented ray makes love
To the son of Harlot who was striking suddenly a final world
As a wedding ass in a golden plate, which contain
A reference to the uncommon value of what we are
And in addition why we must perish.
In a small fountain, however in such concentrated waves
By diluted waters, I drink the rich juice
Of the silence, the directness of the naturalness,
The profundity that dominate the fool,
And from those who create the essential truth
I try to be alive, and that is the only reason
I was loving this unknown monster because I myself not human,
Not a soul sailing but a rare thyroid that created those
Structures threatening to evade the failing
Moment; as they say, the Hope made the killers
Smiling, when the verdict was just a fancy holder,
Moreover, there like a virginal snake, I bite the most
Sweet breast of heaven, not that gracious evil,
Because I am the third appeal, the one you hate.
And when the monitors were still
Invisible, I know a voice shall be thrilling off:
"Oh! I born tomorrow and I can erase
Myself today and see myself in front of you
Twenty thousand years for now, but I am the child
You kill, you rape, oh, you bastard.
As an antibiotic behind it,
All things still pursing each other,
By the still unknown forcer and with intensity
All smashed around me.
I am the one!
It's like overhearing whispers
Above the rustle of fallen leaves and twigs
Breaking under two pairs of feet apiece
Of bachelors and spinsters
And remembering, it's the dead of winter
A mixing of elements. Go figure
You turn a pillow and sleep some more
But the beauty of it is that you lived
And dreams would have come before
People sitting under the shade of a tree
In the front yard, steadying hands
Over the flames of a sputtering fire
Swapping silent reminiscences
Over good times that could have been
But lost over wisps of nonsensical chatter
Brethren like thieves in the streets
In verbal subterfuge, flashing daggers
And hissing Judas pursing lips to make a kiss
Currents of had-I-knowns running deep
In the rivers of memories about the departed
When a log splits and makes a flare
You dare think it's because you stared
Unlike you, I wasn't there too, in the cabin
Not standing over a pan
But like you, I could also spin yarn
Tell the story of two mountain trout in the grease
Developing a crispy gold tan
And the girl, followed by the lugs
And, of course, hook nose
That hefty door of a man with a Greek name
And a sinister mane
Saying you should have stayed in your lane
A green bud between two attractive leaves
Looks at me from shade mixed sun, a glory
I'd like to spend my time pursing my lips
Musing on some lukewarm cups of story
The top two leaves and the leaf bud they cut
Nimble fingers of love and eyes in smile
They live in rows of shabby ailing hut
Pain and pleasure wander many a mile
Snowy hill wind lends you lovely love-touch
Soft palms of those tea girls warm affection
Passing rain drops fondle your smell so much
Leaves and buds can spread a fascination
Come aroma in bone china cups close
Let my molecules in lips dance in rose
____________________________________
22/11/2016
Sonnet of 10 syllable lines each in 14 lines
Myself, a cup:
Resting quietly
in a stained glass cabinet,
I wait for Desire’s approach
upon the uppermost
shelf:
That moment--
when the warm coarseness of His leather
dares to reach,
when the cabinet doors finally
breach;
when He lifts me
to the pursing slope
of pink.
He has not come,
yet content I remain.
(Dust becomes me, I think)
The glass hues rain my reflection
in purple and jade:
I am a shell of ceramic roses;
enamel strength,
delicately made.
I admire the pearly wax and wane
of porcelain,
all the wondrous variety that may be held
Within;
With or without knowing--
the brush of His lips
to my skin.
It started with the collecting on streets,
Little dead animals killed by traffic
Day and night searching for death on the beat.
It went wrong when it turned pornographic.
Sometimes the fresh flesh could cause arousal,
The divide between right and wrong did warps.
My attraction oft was somewhat spousal,
Through the masturbation of decayed corpse.
Hunger for live game incited the hunt
It brought me on the prowl, pursing prey.
Surfacing my masked warm and friendly front,
Acting eyes did not my darkness betray.
I appeared a victim feeble and meek,
A mere costume to snare the truly weak.
Never so sweet - as the rosebud's feat
to capture the bloom of the rose
ensconced within - it's petals thin
to break forth with color intense
lips pursing up - shining with dew
carousing the sun for it's heat
sensuous wiggles - the flower entails
seducing it's nutrient's meat
radiant rays - soft petals caressed
it's fertilization bestows
the velvety blood red kiss - of -
the passion embraced by the rose
These modern day girls,
they don't fall in love
like they did in the black and white movies,
no more Audrey Hepburns' sipping on chardonnays
and pursing gold flake cigarettes
over a bowl of delicate conversation
they're unsophisticated,
they puff on cigars
and gulp down jello shots
while attempting a balletic demeanor
as poetic as Grace Kelly
but their actual depiction
is gauche
and lacking the ability
to fool any heart,
especially Cary Grant's
Yep, it's just like I mentioned in the tittle
we all strive for it whether we
want to admit it or not
we all tried to be perfect
at one point in our life
whether it was trying to be
the perfect mate
the perfect lover or
the perfect athlete
we all tried to be
perfect at one point in our life
I'll be the first to admit it
since no one else will
yes, I tried to be perfect
but I found out that it was
impossible so I stop pursing it
but others keep going trying to
become perfect in many ways
they went to the extreme
in their quest for it
they altered their bodies
in an attempt to become it
while others sold their souls
to the devil to become it
but still they could not become it
only one man became what they could not
only one man could become perfect
and his name is Jesus of Narzerth
he is the only living person
to reach perfection
he is the truth
the way and
the light and
through him all things are possible
the doors he opens no man can close
and the doors he closes no man can open
Jesus is perfection and
perfection is him
now you want to know how
he became what you could not
sorry I don't have the answer
to that question that is something
that you are going to have to ask him
when you see him, that is if you
are able to make it there
Ooh...this... just an amazing grace note
recalling how I felt like an ass
and wanna toot 'bout me getting steered
(as a heavy metal kid Rocker)
toward befriending a brass
see gutsy, horny,
and MainLine snooty upper class
action button down
(grace fully slick as vaseline), airily glinting
forcibly hawked, laundered, and pawned
by the instrumental
Mister Deangelo O'Donnell, High School
(mud flapping, ornery hearing,
and quid juicing Ska Welch ching)
music teacher oompah crass
tone deaf when aye trumpeted desire
to master the Coronet
analogous to pursing lips
blowing tightly held grass
blade between two abetted,
cinched fastened opposable thumbs,
which tooting a supposed aural aphrodisiac
to attract a zaftig well proportioned lass
(ideally shaped like a miniature Tuba)
with one steel funnel like mouthy mass
that probably explains, how such a gal
could easily emulate
facial pucker earning pass
to illustrious honorable first chair
and blasts gratitude akin
as Gabriel would declare
heavenly expressions conducting
angels thru atmospheric ether
alighting on mortal ushering melody
with rites of harkening
springtime Renaissance Faire
solar rays golden raiment
splays rainbow fragments off
beveled, bellowed, and
bedecked polished flare
audiological sound waves trick
saw toothed reflected
silhouetted orchestral shadows
to dance as conductor's baton gear
musicians horns ensemble
epochal feast to hear.
where did s/he first learn
to snort in the snot
funneling it backwards
right back up into his/her head
until a slight headache
occurred &
then pursing her/his lips,
throwing out the large wad
of festering phlegm
out from said mouth
with all the force of a
personal leaf blower
buried within the mouth
(picturing inside one’s
head the power of a
dust devil roaring through
& between the salivating
cheeks)?
that first gob sent back out
into the atmosphere around
us, polluting that environment
which sought to pollute us,
reveals a manner of taking
care of one’s own, mixed with
the added “rudeness” of
defecating from the mouth
right out there in public
without a care or concern
(willy-nilly) for those
non-gobbers around one---
at least that is what the
non-gobber community is
supposed to believe, to
indulge in the fantasy that
there is some island out there
where individuals walk around
all day without a gob, a fart,
a queef, a groan, an itch (when
skin flicks off), a chattering
biting of nails right down to
the bloody stub, a scratching
of the ass, balls, crotch or
underarm between them---
patiently dying away in that
9-5 cubicle, properly packaged
in that business casual, waiting
for death, marinating in their
own body odor stank.