Best Push Up Poems
Springtime rain brings fresh array
of flowers east to west.
The Rockies’ red and purple tufts
of mountain pride are best.
And mats of foliage named moss pink face south to get the sun
while buttercups put forth large blooms
so not to be outdone.
Then comes the rain to bleak terrain
where gloriously unfolds
alongside barren roads - in patches -
desert marigolds.
Mojave yucca, blue lupines,
and sego lily whites
with Indian prairie fire flowers
paint the deserts bright.
And common flowers of the fields
in every place abound.
Sweet Joe-Pye weed; Black-eyed Susan
push up from the ground.
The California poppy makes
a patchwork orange and blue
while dandelions most unloved
will countless seedlings spew.
In southern marshes blossom too
the water hyacinths,
making of the waterways
pesky labyrinths.
In northern streams grow pussy willows
naked with no petals,
and somewhere on a touch-me-not
a bumblebee now settles.
Blossoming in woodlands now
are flowers in the shade,
but most prefer the sunlight of
an open forest glade.
The wild columbine dressed blue
and handsome in the breeze,
fragrant like the violet,
gives nectar to the bees
All across the country
there awaken everywhere,
each in their appointed region,
wild flowers fair.
Daisies, clover, daffodils
and lovely Queen Anne’s lace.
They briefly stay, but we can see
more fully nature’s grace!
(now for PD's Contest on Best Flower Poem)
For Constance La France's mini-contest: Wild Flowers
Once there was a famous king,
More famous than Ozymandias.
His name was King Wolf.
Sultan was his nickname.
He called himself a benevolent despot;
And his style of government
A ‘democratic dictatorship.’
He spoke good English—
A foreign language, though;
Only a minor problem with 'l' and 'r':
Once, for instance, a reporter asked him,
"What about elections, Your Majesty?"
His response:
"Why, I have them everyday!"
The poor reporter was thoroughly confused.
His kingdom was a land of superlatives:
The oldest civilization,
The largest standing army,
The largest population,
The largest exporter—of people,
The largest emitter of carbon dioxide,
Now the second largest exporter of goods, too,
And will soon be the largest.
Since his was the most populous kingdom,
Demography was his obsession,
Which he called his specialization.
Of course, Sultan had tried his best
To check population growth—
By means of family planning.
It didn't work.
So he curbed people’s Right to have children.
But still there was a huge difference
Between the optimum number
And ground reality!
Therefore, Sultan hatched a wonderful plan:
Started a war with a friendly neighbour.
Every section of twenty soldiers in his army
Had just one primitive rifle between them:
If a soldier went on,
He would be shot.
If he went back,
Again, he would be shot.
A Catch-22!
Many of his men were slaughtered.
But still Sultan won—by sheer numbers!
Oh, God!
But the King did not believe in God.
Like king, like people!
But the dead soldiers were only a small number.
So, now another plan:
Government is the boss.
Let people overwork.
Sultan cracked the whip.
And a number of people died—
Of overwork, year after year.
Further reduction in population.
Production increased:
Cheap goods flooded the world market:
From PCs to push-up bras.
No warranty.
The economy boomed.
Ah, his kingdom became a Big Power!
But once some workers gathered
In the Capital and protested—
Against exploitation.
The name of Karl Marx was in the air.
“Listen,” Sultan roared, “Marx died—
Long ago.
So should you—now,
For raising his name in vain.”
So, still further reduction in population!
Now, when this narrative ended,
Sultan was busy, planning for another war.
Poor soul!
How else could he solve the problem—
Of overpopulation?!
***
My yard harbors lots of big trees
And in them live squirrels, with ease
In comfy twig nests
They do what is best
To live and survive as they please.
I feed them some nuts every day
And watch how they run 'round and play
They know me so well
And come 'ring my bell'
By tapping the window this way:
They come to the back kitchen door
Jump up on the rail from the floor
On the window sill
They sit very still
With paws against, glass beg for more.
I push up the window with glee
They know I'm their friend, for you see
My hand holds their prize
They watch with bright eyes
And take nut away tenderly.
Now, one day I thought I would try
To give something new, and so I
Supplied day-old bread
With smooth peanut spread
They loved it so much, with a sigh,
I made little sandwiches soon
On bread, spread nut butter by spoon,
A new treat for them
But so surprised when
I saw chunks of bread below- strewn!
They learned how to get at their prize
Nut butter between, and so wise,
With paws, they would pry
The bread part would fly
Enjoyed just the spread- I surmised,
Like kids open cookies to get
The cream that's inside, never fret
To throw rest away
Enjoy them that way-
The squirrels saw their need was met!
Too nutty, these squirrels taught me
They're smarter than I thought they'd be
They do things their way
With we humans play-
Together we live happily!
October 13, 2015
~1st Place~
Contest: "N" New Or Old Poetry Contest Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Judged: 09/21/2021
Theme Chosen: Nutty
I just KNEW I was a woman
a woman inside a man’s body
therefore I went under the knife
(My surgeon said it went well)
But when I looked in the mirror
I was appalled and yes, horrified
Even after applying makeup
and donning a push-up bra
I was just plain----Ug-LEEE
(We shan’t discuss chest-down)
Thus, I had a change of heart
I wanted to restore my manhood
and kindly asked my doctor
for a reverse operation...
Wanna know what she told me??
“GIRL, you ain’t got the BALLS”...
Trees still denuded but burgeoning with buds
Will soon be bedecked in the brightest of duds.
Small birds renew flitting amid bursts of bright song
While crocus heads from the soil shyly push up along.
Freshness and newness is what they declare
When brightness and music do fill the air
Hope and joy in simplicity blend
With which no other season can ever contend.
Summer's profusion ,autumn's decay,
Winter bleak, brightened but by Christmas Day
Yet spring with its simple and artless style
Young and old alike doth beguile.
Vivaldi's Four Seasons, a work of great art,
Depicts the cycle with humour and heart
But the princess of seasons stands merrily played
To leave the rest in its shy little shade.
Hello my exotic, glorious maiden,
By now they all know you are taken.
I possessively, poetically, clearly, and eloquently
Told them you are promised to me, a sensual, delicately,
Known beauty, could not marry a canal walk about, a
Wannabe, curling his moustache and swinging his cane,
With no title or aristocratical fame,
And who is just playing a game.
He drinks he smokes, he womanizes, and he is fat
His face ruddy red, he belongs in the sewers with rats.
Every time I see you mon amour, be it every minute
Of every day, my heart goes aflutter,
Concerned my romantic words will go asunder.
As I helplessly stutter.
You push up your corset, and alluringly overflow,
My lovely, anymore tightening, you will explode.
Your thigh high slits in your dresses tantalize men,
And with your matching parasol you look so irresistible,
No one in this town matches your looks, not even contestable.
Love of my life I love you as you be, my mistress soon to be wife,
For the rest of my life.
Time drags by so slow,
I want a ring on your finger,
Then I will whisk you away, to my Chateau,
You blow so many kisses, I know they are for me,
Your blue-eyed wink, a secret code that we will meet in the
Gondola and enjoy our passion,
You are breathtakingly beautiful, considered to be quite the catch,
We have known from our teens, that we were the perfect match.
Under her burqa
there is a secret she keeps
a red push-up bra
Winter Bows to Spring
In the midst of sullen cold
pink cherry blossoms burst open as winter bows to spring ~
yellow daffodils spring up from frozen icicles ~
white snowdrops vault through soils of howling storms ~
gold jasmina scampers up fences between winter's wildness ~
purple crocus stand tall midst blazing blizzards ~
rosy tulips push up past untamed storms ~
lavender glory-of-the-snows awakens in shivering snow ~
purple daphne spreads perfume to hoary frost ~
Heralds and harbingers of spring in the midst of winter
3-11-22
Contest: I Imagism
Sponsor: Constance La France
All three of us did partake the heart pills we each ate
sharing it like candy because it had a sweet taste
no knowing the dangers we may face
Mama is a yelling we have to make them vomit or surely they will die
mixing coffee with mustard giving us to try
sticking fingers down our throats trying to make us purge was an endless hope
Rushing us to the hospital all three of us in tow
with the doctor on standby we loved called Dr. Joe
on hard metal beds were watching Dr. Joe his eyes full of dread
With a long skinny hose he starts to push up our nose forcing medicine down below
all at once we start to spew the tiny pills flowing out
giving all three of us a second chance at life.
3/16/2015 T Reams
i could sit here. day in and day out
thinking of the most proper way
to let the ink in the pen spill out
but as of late im feeling prehistoric
so much weight on my shoulders
and i dont know where to go
resuscitate my soul
look back up and head to the goal
so much evil around. i feel like the devils workin double shifts just to bring me down.
on the road to redemption
you can take a seat up in the front section
just so you can feel the emotions
in this electric notion
i've done a lot of things that hide the halo
let it all collaborate when i medicate
now look at me, mind workin like plato
formulate a new path to take so i can
maneuver through all the mistakes
we all know we cant change what we've already made
but we can change the next thing we create
startin to sound like a serenity prayer
5 steps till im thirty
and the twenty four before i was never a player
found out when the lights came back on im strictly a lover
its the strongest drink for your soul, when its thirsty
so careful how much you intake or be left hungover
even worse be the one she ran over
i dont mean to come off like im too deep
but the obstacles made there way through just to scrape through
and leave me suffocating
just for me to re-invent a new way to breathe, re-decorating
is your life so complicated
you rather wet up your pillows and revoke from the life you live
just think of your kids mourning
theyll never see that pretty face in the morning any more
cheer your self up
you got a lot to live for
your a gem and im that friend
trynna appraise the value
that you dont see inside of you
just another day for him
goin about
searchin wonderin what his purpose is
running in circles
till he found a way through all the turbulence
Words
Words make verses and rhymes.
Expressions of my mind
have been with me throughout time.
Rhyme and reasoning
Words with grammatical seasoning.
They can hurt you
or nurture you.
My words can be uplifting
life shifting,
even spiteful,
some needing decrypting.
They can be soul searching
thought provoking and
soul cleaning
Put your thinking cap on and decipher
my meaning.
The words can touch your heart
And hit that just right spot,
to make you think without a blink
and giving a wink
to the person who used the ink
to print the words
you’ve just heard
too open your soul
to help you gain or loose control.
Vowels, consonants making words and phrases.
Some may garner praises.
Some eloquent, some raw, some poised some powerful
and some hilariously crazy
may make the sleep push up daisies.
Words on war, words on peace
Words of the decease.
Words of suffrage
from women wanting passage
to be an individual.
Words of bravery endurances
Words challenging occurrences.
Words about our favorite people
Words about people worshiping under the pointed steeple
Words about people and faraway places.
Words about different races.
The words are sometimes the same.
Some bring thoughts of possibility
Some may bring shame
Still expressions of caring and sharing
Some soul searching and soul bearing.
So read my subjects, adjectives, pronouns and verbs,
and formulate your own expressive words.
Give access to your thoughts and feelings,
because words can be very appealing and revealing.
Yesterday I found myself slumped
into the saddest of trenches,
for no particular reason
other than a new moon cycle.
Instead of flopping myself
in my studio’s armchair to write,
I drove to the mall for an outing
probably more expensive than
what a therapist would charge
for an hour in his armchair.
I wandered into the shoe store—
something about leather
which grounds me, whether
the flimsy strapless heels
or the closed-toed pumps or walkers.
Already lugging two bags, I meander
into the lingerie store for silk
to accentuate my only remaining
middle-age curves, skipping over the thongs
and hesitating at the push-up section.
I try on four or five pairs of underwear
to accentuate my butt area,
the part of a woman which shares the
secret of her fitness, that I work on
each morning at seven.
I arrive at the boutique who sells my favorite
blouses, gather some more bags, walking out
with an almost terminal case of rope burn,
until I finally decide it’s time to head back to my car.
On my way I stop, smile, and realize
there’s no better way to fight trench warfare.
Morning breaks
A farewell twinkle from the morning star,
As darkness leaves, on fleeting wings.
The driftwood left of yesterday,
As life anew begins.
My eyes drawn to the cliffs above,
its granite outstretched hand,
Mighty proud and awesome,
As they push up through the sand.
Never ending with relentless zeal,
The sea is pounded at the stone.
carved and weathered, in crevice deep,
as a blade that’s now been honed.
The rolling tide she beckons,
As I walk the morning shore.
Waves cry out like a sirens song,
As she enchants all, with her call.
For upon breeze it seems to say,
Come join me if you dare.
A trance like state that draws you in,
So all out there beware.
As sparkling water laps my feet,
The sensation of sand now warmed.
A shimmering sun now rising,
Signals the coming of the dawn.
With the idyllic beauty of a painting,
On which the brush still wet.
As tomorrow now becomes today,
A new canvas we shall get.
N windle
© 2016
Never give up, won't call me a quitter
My heart's like soap water, so nasty and bitter
Do it big, call me gigantic, it's going down, Titanic
Got the heart of a lion, never see me panic
I got hoes but I ain't farming
Ain't giving out handouts, why you got your arm in
Stack money, like a junkyard, let it pile-up
Don't sleep, I'd rather take the game while you're up
See, I'm a hustler, I'm gon' get mine
You heard it face-to-face, not through the grapevine
I'm a stand-up guy, even when I'm sitting down
Like a moving vehicle, I get around
Start your crap, that toilet get a flush
Wanna fight, get painted, I got my brush
I push weight, it's like I'm doing a push-up
You're a *****-cat, gettin' handled, with your tush up
My trap's like a bomb, all it does is Boom
Play with my money, and end up in a tomb
Race to the money, I'm passed the finish line
I earned my respect, you gotta give me mine
In her last breath,
Her phantom slid in the air,
Dissipating into nothingness
Just as she was nothingness.
Laying draped in our tears
Hades cuddled her lifeless body
And smiling,
Clawed her by the skin
Dragging her beyond our understanding.
Nothing to claim for our own.
Lunch arrived.
Nibble. Crunch. Chew.
Dead never tasted sweeter.
Sucking the vitality from her,
They push up beyond her decaying flesh.
Brown. Raw. Destroyed.
And into a fragrant spring.