Best Puzzle Over Poems
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with many interests that she shares with us each day in blogs and poems,
she enlightens us with information and photos that makes us ponder,
makes us pause, think, question, speculate, deliberate, puzzle over!
How did she get so darn smart and clever is what I wonder most of all,
oh, how she loves to sponsor a contest and just let our minds soar and flow,
and to win in her contest is just a great spirit boost and so inspiring,
as for, her writing, well she can write anything and make it just amazing!
Poet Destroyer, a wonderful, phenomenal, astonishing extraordinary person!
" I dig deep into my soul each day because of her"
_____________________
May 24, 2013
Poetry/Free Verse/In Honor and Appreciation
Copyright Protected, ID 05-480-545-24
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Appreciation (In Honor of PD)
sponsor, Abdulhafeez Aywolo , Judged 06/07/2013
First Place
I wonder of what the Whippoorwill sings
as he sits in the tree and trills.
Amid the shaded, shadowed limbs
its call, the fragrant air, it fills.
I stand in awe of the mountain range
that cleaves the land in two.
A rugged beauty that comes alive
in sun and shadowed hues.
I contemplate the lone Wolf's song
as he calls out to harmonize.
From deep within the wooded hills
which cause ancient fears to rise.
I marvel at the vast oceans
a ne'er to be tamed frontier.
How, far below our feet of clay
a whole new world awaits there.
I puzzle over mans idea
that we are superior.
When in fact, we should bow
to the majesty of nature.
i just want to sit around,
drinking, sniffing things, scratching
myself, getting high.
just watching my pen
fill up a page.
do whatever it takes
to become a 'writer.'
a 'poet.'
something i admire, but
never really aspire to.
i just don't think i'd fit in.
they write poems about insignificant
relations and parallels to the
most trite of insights.
so here it is.
my poem about nothing.
about Pyrrhus and his futile
fight against tyranny,
how krebs will never fit in
either.
we've both survived a war
that's killed us.
'another victory like that
and we're done for'
'for Hecuba!' but
who is either to any of us
that we should keep
burning their name,
a revolutionary backfire,
Orc consumed in his
own final livid flame.
even your own wings cannot soar
so high past the wax-melting maze
of the sky, past this
palace of wisdom.
the house shifting finding
for you another pit,
with clouds round rolling
the mighty choose to reside,
hidden in their labyrinth,
behind their podiums, judicatures
& wooden caricatures of humanity-
writing poems about nothing,
terrorizing imagination &
out-lawing sanity.
will you be my Valentine on that day?
we'll be spurning christ's terrene body
watching the whole demon-built-world
descend as our flesh melts away.
let this mortal loss gain immortality.
let them puzzle over this for
centuries never fitting the edge
pieces together, if they do,
make room they'll be muzzled
& burning too, our doom
obstructed by Crass Casualty
dicing Time into eternal mansions
once this beast called man is surpassed
and the illusions are masked
in the mirror of life imitating art
imitating wilde paradoxes,
such a poetic heterodox.
{"How ones life has been going on, keep writing hard times a sentence on, you can be a light switch off/on."} - Loverboi
The suffering of today echoes a mile away, do I puzzle over faith in Lord God in anyway
Wrongdoings I shall regret, no outline on knowing the street ropes, the street aided me astray
Puffing pom-pom opera's, tiny opera's bashed on a ash tray, like letting my life go a way
Clearly wasn't reasoning such a thing, the galaxy milky way, stellar universes, milking a pathway, inked a verse
Pin I pad it, weed I had it, Tobacco Free Florida has persuasion to educate it
Debit card on a manage, hindrances I'll damage, upon granted an advantage
Good old days wounded, wound size enlarges, shapes, and withes
As each day announces a rooster, poor kid's are birthed including a tumor
Family speaking, staring pointing to a spine, A rumor, what's not brought to a men's acknowledgement is a rumor
Online typing applications browsing jobs, visionary on helping a consumer
Heart is circumcised, pumping echoes suffer, improved days I fantasize
Seize a card, imprinted letters and digits, profit a debit card name discover
"To collect bravery to attempt a extreme risk"
As we now know time is a cover
Willingness to endure is undiscovered, eventually discovered, the lustful eyes, to a mortal visionary sight, is sightly recovered
Suffering returning, overturn, didn't have control over the birthed sperm
More I live, More I learn
Rejoicing in the absence of money, usually lending away money, comes a limit where we all master to be joyful in the absence of money
" Perhaps Next Time"
Financial stability, Be spent on necessities abilities
Silver and gold no yearning, handle responsibilities
Showing helpfulness, your faintness, one couldn't pack and run, families the bloodstream vein run
Common people turn like a driver test turn, pray the poorest days, pave runaways
Devotee in God, Jesus, one's own effort, visualizations, have no doubt
Have faith experiencing a miracle, faithless guaranteed tomorrow
Life advances to a beautifully visionary paved pathway
- Loverboi
Didn't know that love could make
life so incredibly difficult and painful
Nothing moving in the positive direction
There is no winning, only loss and new wounds
Make fuss and braid lies with spider thread
Maybe words need to be broken
so they no longer have any power
Words do not disappear by themselves
They can become blurry due to age or being forgotten
It's all about finding the right balance
When the tears dry out and thought carousel loses spinning
The loss of love that was never satisfied is a fact
No one wants to build the same puzzle over and over again
Destructive pondering, crying and hunting for peace
Worn shoes through many trails in several years
Meat and blood are a guide in life choices
In the wake of loss, gives us permanent scars
There's nothing left to say
15/11/2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
To marvel how fast the world spins around,
or how the years have been sifting, (too quickly, I've found)...
This is not something new....from a mom's point of view
Some will say that my eyes have been clouded
Perhaps they will say, my opinion is shrouded
by my rose filtered glasses
But here, now before me, is my wonderful child
this barefooted lass...
She stands here before me, ...barefooted and beautiful
Wearing her jeans......smiling with ease, calm and serene
Queen of her home
My daughter,… my child, is all grown up
There are times I must hold back the tears...
and hold back my longings for all those yesteryears....
I reflect upon the moments, then, when she was very small
Her shoes were tiny slippers, pink,
In a blink of an eye, she outgrew them all
It gives me pause to think
I puzzle over silly things, the things that mark the passing years
Like other mothers do…
While wiping childish tears, calming school day fears,
Teaching her to tie her shoes
I wonder how I could have missed
The secret of those shoes,…
You see, from tiny slippers, she quickly skipped...
Into dirty sneakers, ....(for tomboy moods)
I speculate, like many girls
So many phases, that she outgrew…
Sandals, flip flops, bouncy curls
Those wobbly legs in high heeled shoes…
I stand in awe, how can this girl with honey hair,
Who holds a babe in loving arms, be my very own?
When yesterday she was a child with cheeks so fair
Now kisses the toes of her own sweet child…
her own two feet on solid ground
...............................................................................................................
CRAZY HORSE
My crazy cat's called Crazy Horse;
abandoned at birth, she's a bit different
like calls to like its said.
No mummy to teach catty behaviour,
tiny blue eyes barely open
desperate to live, on discarded cat kibble.
Brought home, snuggled to warm,
under my chin -
suddenly – eyes still shut, smelt our blue vein
in bed snacks, special treat!
Fierce fluffed one competed easily
quickly got the lion's share
we were too bemused to argue.
Tiny tum replete – napping all.
Then wah, what where? Jerked awake
tiny pogo stick legs
boinged all night long!
On our duvet covered chests
seems blue cheese an instant fix
for dearth of mother's milk!
And hasn't stopped galloping since.
Her favourite game is chasey
which keeps me warm!
Has taken 10 years to finally
jump to my knee.
Takes much talking, trying both sides
patting my legs til makes the final lap.
Still wild instincts want to flee
doesn't stop her nagging me loudly
butting in with her conversation
when I'm on the phone.
(especially to the bank)
who puzzle over my giggles
during our numerical discussion.
Her second name 'Talks to Flies'
though not a healer, has the 2nd
language of cats
though it's usually employed
in talking to birds!
So as I've said slightly wrong
in the head.
As a youngster puzzled me greatly
beans I'd picked would disappear
to be found much later -
under furniture desiccated.
Caught her one day – stalking prey
intent – crouched, waiting
on a freshly picked bean to pounce!
Oh dear! Still no worries
for the native bird flock!
On arrival home, she hurtles thru cat door;
galloping and skidding mats about
So happy to see me
my doggy like Crazy Horse!
I love him but he does not love me
Although he once seduced me with his art
His complex face I still do wish to see
I love him yet but he does not love me.
I puzzle over this anomaly
And wish the grief of lies to leave my heart
I love him but he does not love me
From his seduction ,I in pain do smart.
I detest him yet for I was then unknown
He hung on me the clothes of his desire
And when I called him once on his i phone
He labelled me a whore and quite unknown
His fantasy was not one I could own
Tried,judged ,condemned to perish in his fire
I detest him , hate him for I was newly known
And knowing me, he sent me to my pyre
How come 50 cents bags of chips
taste so much better,
than their big-bag cousins?
Or 7 oz. nostalgia coke soda bottles
have such a taste, oh, so devine?
I puzzle over such things,
I guess I'm just the wondering kind...
So it follows I should be happy,
To have this shrunken mind.
With three more weeks of holiday vacation,
Lisa and I’ve started studying 5 hours a day.
You can read a novel for atmosphere
but you have to puzzle over and wring-out academic books
- with their essays and worksheets after every chapter.
I feel a simultaneous focus and boredom
- but the pull of school is staggering
- like resisting it could break me apart.
you can’t wait - all around the country, thousands of Yalies are already back hard at it
When I see images of moorland or fells,
I say to myself,
‘yes that particular moor is mine,
that mountain is my mountain.’
Then when I see people walking on
a moor path that I used to walk on
or climbing familiar mountains
that I once climbed
I often wonder what I left there,
that still makes them mine.
When Ohio knocks on my door
and rattles my windows;
I say to myself
‘that is my door and my window,’
yet I puzzle over
what I will leave here
when my boots have walked
every inch of this little patch
of suburbia, and if those shoe prints
on wet paving’s will ever be
recognized as me or mine?
Restless in the cradle night.
I spin and curl,
witless I puzzle over
a timeworn conundrum of self.
The brain buzzes on
being its usual endless blunt toothed saw.
The body belches and rumbles
as it tirelessly works to produce
the odd snort or snore.
All is a normal stasis on an escalator
speeding to nowhere,
Just the random outtakes
from under-rehearsed thoughts
dropping like dying mammoths
into tar pits of forgetfulness.
Then your hand, or is it mine
lays an imminence on my inner sight.
Can a hand be within a hand?
All five senses but also a sense of presence,
as if my flesh were a glove
for some beloved ghost – yet
a warm substantive entity,
more a reality than I.
No harm is here,
only the begetting of love,
a flowering,
both an opening and an enclosing.
There is a voice,
one I realize I had left somewhere
returning now to charm time,
to show me
where a loss had occurred.
There was a bifurcation,
two voices grew deaf to each other.
This recollection becomes
a mirror of awareness.
I am now translucently unilingual.
Oceanic and free.
This is how the All speaks, said one voice.
This is how the All listen, said the other.
A third voice said:
and here is the grace of silence.
Oodles Of Google Doodles...
visually delicious as germane strudels
the following cooked years ago
courtesy me noggin awash with noodles.
Yours truly crafted remaining poem
around 27th July 2018
idea arose within me cerebral dome.
...As poetic theme came to mind
in a Serge without a waiver
thus, I took a virtual Page
from Google LLC to slaver
with little effort
in an acceptable
rhyming rant and raver
about said American
multinational technology company
that rode dot com bubble,
where other startups did quaver
specializing in Internet-
related services and products
rolled out amidst
much fanfare palaver
though odd, how such an obvious
idea hit me like figurative brick
over thine noggin
upon instantaneously espying
Lyudmila Vladimirovna Rudenko
Soviet chess player, and second
women's world chess champion,
from 1950 until 1953
when bitta bing bitta
chitty chitty bang bang
that eureka momenta did click
mental wheels and cogs
as if...an oil derrick
hit a mother lode, thence subsequently
inducing automatic flick
as latest feted persona grata
gets done up in bold face and/or Italic,
nonetheless a commendable
spontaneous fantastic burst
of inspirational magic
commensurate with mine
modest prolific quixotic
of course, I WON'T applaud
idea de jure as terrific
and puzzle over, how such "a ha"
brilliant idea did not occur to this -
Ok la home ma sooner
ushering world wide
webbed trumped "FAKE"brouhaha
sooner to the mind
of this humble caca
Louie, who admittedly
feels tidy bowl flush with
goo goo Lady gaga
(tony the TIGER FEELING great,
a mild euphoria if gifted
as lottery winner)
over the top smugness -
unaware of jeering ha ha ha
within dark internet arena,
where the much maligned,
loathed, and feared Jaw
bar wall key (jabberwocky)
dwells ready to pounce
outsize egos hated
like an incorrigible outlaw
hmm...perhaps cognizant
ex post facto, I set
a deadly faux paw
forever remembered as
ornery oaf forced to eat raw
bits (hexadecimal at that!)
sucked in via last turkey in straw
that broke the camel's back.
It’s unbearable, being me.
Very hard and difficult
Trying to put on the face for faces
To please people of different
Races and places and tastes
I know to laugh when the
Punch line is given, to thank when
I’ve been given, even for the smallest of things.
I know to cry when
Others are grieving, to puzzle over
Others confusion, yet never tell them
That they, in fact, were in the wrong.
I want to know when I can
Laugh and cry for me.
Is it so much to ask for?
Is it too late to turn back now?
Is it rude to take off my face,
And show them the soul underneath?
Will the world crumble under me
For doing such an unforgivable thing
I find it harder every day,
To take off the face,
Even when I am alone.
Shall I die with such a fake face?
I do not want to.
No! I refuse to meet my Maker
At his heavenly gates, as a stranger
With someone else’s face
I fear he will turn me down
For he will not know it is me.
My Heavenly Father will not know me.
I shall remove this face while I still can,
For I have only two beings to please,
My Creator and me.
I never cease to puzzle over
life's mystery, how on a drizzly morning
I found my long wished for love
crossing the street in opposite direction,
eternal love was conceived in the moment
and she passed by unnoticing my gaze
that could have lasted a century.
There was never a more tender and sweet face
lost quickly in the crowd. Her beauty so
enchanting, eloquent, and divine.
And every morning I cross the same intersection
hoping, praying, for another glimpse
at my true love, months after months,
distracted by nothing, the thought of her
entrenched in my deep sleep, and oh
how sweet it is, the dream of dreams.
The sweet smell of her perfume
still lingers in my mind.
Evil is hopelessness, so I shut it up by
this murmur of love raised by her footsteps.
Alas, years have passed and rain or shine I keep
crossing the street for the sake of a second look
at the girl who once walked past me unnoticing
the hurricane she caused in my soul.
To this austere duty, piously faithful
She will show up one day and ask me
“So what is it you want?” And I will not have an answer.