Best Readied Poems
One year, over the ocean, Santa veered off course
His reindeer were battling a hurricane force.
As the sleigh went spinning and spiraling around,
an island appeared far below on the ground,
dotted with palms on a white sandy beach.
Santa took heart that land was in reach.
Through starlight’s glow and the light of the moon
Santa touched down — not a moment too soon.
A lavish Luau on Lahaula mats was laid,
a sumptuous feast over which a Kahuna prayed
with fish on ti leaves, tropical fruits, and eggs-fu-yung
colorful flower leis were draped after being strung
Pearly shells glimmered on every waving palm
Ukuleles were strumming to songs sweet and calm
while dancers swayed ami with soft hula hands.
Santa had landed in a paradise found.
His beard was snow white, his boots shiny black
and he wore a red suit with a red elfin hat.
“I’m Father Christmas,” and - I’m surprised too
that we celebrate in much the same way as you
with peace and goodwill, and with eating and singing.
‘Mele Kalikimaka,’ is our song of greeting
As we celebrate Christmas— in island style.
On they kept strumming, and singing and drumming.
while Santa felt tempted to stay and join in.
But time was short as Christmas morning grew near.
He had sworn a duty to all he held dear.
He saw a bright star rising up in the East
The time had come - he must leave from this feast
So he readied his reindeer to take to the stars
This was the latest — he’d ever been — by far
to bring toys to children all over the world
curled up in bed in their little dreamworlds.
“Come Dasher, Come Dancer, Come Prancer and Vixen.
Come Comet, Come Cupid, Come Donner and Blitzen.”
We’ll find our way here some other midnight
“Mele Kalikimaka to ALL - and to ALL a Good Night.”
(Inspired by dance steps from a belly dancing class I once took!)
She rolls her pretty head from side to side
while, raised above her face, are slim curved arms.
Brief pose. . . . She’s readied to expose her charms.
Wrists twist, and serpentine, arms downward glide.
Her undulating silk-draped hips move round.
She churns them slowly, flashing bright green eyes;
then minces “Camel Walk” to tantalize
as ankle bracelets make a tinkling sound.
With bills in hand, men beckon with a glance.
She shimmies, jingling toward them in dim light;
then spins and thrusts her pelvis right, left, right.
Seduction of delight - her belly dance.
For Barbara Gorelick's "May I Have This Dance?" Contest
Of the items in the store,
All were second hand
An old computer did I buy,
With a broken stand
One side was badly scratched
Two knobs were missing too
But that’s not the story
I’m about to tell to you
T’was about the second week
Of the ‘puter at my place
Sitting there against the wall
Near the old staircase
I recall the night was late
As I readied me for bed
When I turned the ‘puter off,
The screen … it turned blood-red
The appearance caused a start
I gasped a gulp of air
I couldn’t turn my gaze away
I stood right there and stared.
Then a low murmuring
From deep within the set
Cold chills ran over me
I’ve not forgotten yet
A voice, low and menacing
Containing graveled rasps
I could not then stop again
My involuntary gasp
I stood there mesmerized
My gaze remained transfixed
Emotions racing through me
And all of them were mixed
The Voice on the other side
Of the blood-red display screen
Issued a command to me
So ominous and mean:
“Place your hand upon the screen
And repeat these words to me:
Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
I felt my arm move upward
Powerless to resist
I felt a burning in my palm
As the display screen it kissed
I heard a voice and realized
The speaker it was me:
“Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
As the words transmitted,
Involuntarily,
I could feel a change come on …
Overwhelming me.
As I stared in disbelief
My hand – it disappeared
Absorbed into the blood-red screen
As the burning onward seared …
Through my wrist, up my arm
It’s hotness I could feel
Inward was I screaming
Not believing this was real!
In reflection from the screen
I was being pulled into
I saw a face, and then I screamed:
“That horrid face is YOU!”
The rapid assimilation
Continued then until
All feelings were extinguished
And all was calm and still.
A trillion beings there transformed
To tiny bytes and bits
And ‘tis every part of us
All websites now transmits
Now here I am deep inside
This computers’ display screen
If there’s disturbance felt
Oh so sharp and keen
Just place your hand upon the screen
And read these words to me:
“Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
A slight hint of consternation was in her voice,
“Why did you tell those people I’m deaf and dumb?”
“I never said you were deaf, my Dear.”
She laughed, but I kinda felt like a bum.
Hell. It was just a joke.
One evening, she asked, “Will you love me if I get chubby?”
I responded, “Of course I still love you.
It would take much more than pounds and cellulite
To make me fall out of love…it’s true.”
Hell. It was just a joke.
“Would you remarry if I die before you?” she asked.
I said, “No…probably not…I’ve been spoiled by you.”
“But you’ve been a great husband. I think you should.”
“Whatever happens, happens is the best I can do.”
“If you remarried, would you play golf with your new wife?
And would you let her use my clubs?” she demanded.
I calmly smiled and said, “Your clubs are safe.
You see, my Dear…she’s left handed.”
Hell. It was just a joke.
Then, she whined and whined about her butt.
I responded, “Want to knock some inches off that ass?
It may sound strange, but I heard it works….
Rinse all your panties in Slim Fast.”
Hell. It was just a joke.
The next day, I readied for work, took ‘undies’ from my drawer.
They were engulfed in a fog of white, why I didn’t know.
So, I asked, “Honey! Why did you put talcum powder on my shorts?”
She slyly smiled, “That’s not talcum powder. That’s Miracle Gro.”
Hell. It was just a joke....I guess.
So, what is my wife’s most endearing feature?
Her sense of humor.... there’s no doubt.
Always a smile where angst or anger might have been,
A smile I never want to be without.
I had much to accomplish last Saturday,
But far too many things got in my way:
As always when awaking, I took a pee,
then went to see the emails piled up for me.
I stayed so long, missed boxing class, so then,
I grabbed some food and went downstairs again!
Decided I’d swim laps at 12 instead.
Felt tired, so I lay down on my bed.
Put the TV on; dozed off. Oh my!
Woke up at noon, so skipped the swim (sigh!)
Told myself I’d later use the gym.
Then called my hubbie - talked a bit to him.
Called a sister too and talked forever.
Thought about the gym. I’d get there never!
Decided to do lesson plans and got my book.
Went to the computer, but at Soup I took a look!
Saw some blogs and got involved in those.
Got up to pet the dog and blow my nose.
Remembered I had vacuuming to do
But had to write a poem that was brand new.
Decided that the vacuuming could wait.
Took a bath and readied for my mother/daughter date.
Put on better clothes and got to thinking
lesson plans and gym were off (my heart was sinking).
Happy nonetheless, I drove my car.
Went to my sweet daughter’s house; it’s not too far.
Drove an hour more in pouring rain
just to eat at Maid-rites once again!
Satisfied and chatting, headed south.
Taste of Maid-rites lingered in my mouth.
Arrived in Sandy for a film called Child 44.
Resisted smell of popcorn and the urge to eat once more.
Got home late. The dog was filled with glee.
I let him in the house as he jumped all over me.
My lovely weekend’s nearly gone. What fun. . .
when vacuuming and lesson plans are still not done!
(A list poem written for Sara Kendrick's "What I Accomplished Today" Poetry contest on the following day, Mother’s Day,when I actually finally did the vacuuming and my lesson plans! Nothing like putting things off till the last minute!)
She leaves Southampton
This Titanic ship
Her maiden voyage
New York trip
Channel crossings to Cherbourg, France
To Queenstown in Ireland
Where passengers dance
To some, a new life awaits
The future will seal their fate
Newfoundland waters
Temperature drop
Impending disaster
Without a thought
Lookouts, Fleet and Lee
Spot a large iceberg close to she
Sitting off her starboard bow
Sweat dripping from their brow
Telegraph indicator
In confusion state
This colossus of ice
Sits and waits
Inevitable meet
As natures diamond rips
Starboard side
Of this most wonderful ship
Rivets pop, buckled hull
Atlantic intrusion, in volumes now
Compartments fill, this White Star gem
Will we ever see her likes again
Distress signal sent
As the crew are readied
This ship of ships
Emotionally unsteady
Lifeboats launched
Woman and children first
On this terrible night
Many fear the worst
So many passengers
Few lifeboats
As all around
Bodies float
Stern raised, props showing
Metal talking, funnels choking
Lights flicker off and on
Blackout
'Twas the night before Christmas...I was home all alone
I had nothing to do...so I wrote down a poem
I just couldn't get it...my poem to look right
Perhaps, it would look better...if I had turned on the light
Words were mspeld...and some were left out
The light would have helped...for sure, no doubt
Ten times I re-wrote it...I drank ten cups of tea
It took me ten hours...boy oh boy, ten times I did pee
I wrote about Santa...for all the children to believe
I figured out what to write...I had a trick up my sleeve
I wrote in my poem...so that all the kids knew
That Santa's real mother...well, she was a Jew
After finishing my poem...I readied myself
I fixed up my sleigh...and I hired an elf
To take hold of the reigns...and to deliver my poem
To put in the stockings...in every kids home
The Night Before Christmas Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
11/23/2018
I know in this bonding spark tethered in the nets of clouds,
There is a must to patiently listen to your heart
For once I open my mouth, it will be closed again to your dismay…
I easily am loved by you, yet you swear I do not understand you
That I must fight for you,
As—you may never believe—I do…
That is where your head is…
In a cloud of airy snares,
Waiting for me to fall into the words you long have known I would utter
To spit me down to the ground so I may taste the soil of how wrong I am
You must oppose me at all costs—this I understand!
You must teach me to trust you—that I insanely dare!
Can you believe I have vowed to one day fail to disappoint you,
That one day, in my silence, I will complete you
So all will be revealed in these cloudy traps
As you wait for the next naïve nymph to try her magic in jaded reality
My rays will burst through the immaculate whiteness of your ego
And stun every eye…every mouth that has tasted the soil of your disappointments
They will feel hope, as your snares part from their lives
As you learn to let my warmth teach you -
It does not matter who is wrong and who is right
It does not mean anything to me that I delight or displease you
I easily love you in the temperament of playful nymphs
Who listen as an ancient tree to the breath of safe and sound reality
Ready on the roots of her feet to end the quaking heartaches of fatality
Biding her time, stalking her prey;
Knowing that far he can not stray
The huntress has readied her bow
And just waits for his heart to show
She’s set a trap and, once again
The hunted bites finding naught within
But false hope and the fresh new pain
Of another dart’s bright red stain
Her aim is true, never missing mark
A shot through ear straight to the heart
Finding company amongst wounds
That haven’t killed but surely doomed
Satisfied hunt, the quarry alive
For pain is all the archer strives
The game stays up and keeps coming
The Huntress smiles and keeps gunning
Shot after shot from near and afar
Each creating a brand new scar
Save for the one that sailed over head
And only scrambled his brain instead
Battered and bruised, not giving ground
Wanting to scream, making no sound
The hunted feels warm but shivers
Waiting for an empty quiver
But more missiles fly, tearing flesh
Slowly putting out fire in chest
That once burned full of amour
Now growing colder by the hour
She could put end to agony
“But where’s the fun in that?” says she
So she fires on with bolts of guile
At helpless prey, sad, in denial
Feathered shafts always boring in
‘Til weathered soul was beaten thin
And arrows bounced and couldn’t mark
When,
Soft warm flesh became cold stone heart
What has been said,
It has readied the air
The melody of truth
Spread there
A misconception is the tale
That we should dread October's spell
It's time to wear your scary faces
For cloudy nights, and creepy spaces!
Mummies stretch by light of day
Ghouls in shadows want to play
Ghosts, behind the pillars, peek
They practice wailing, tune their shrieks
Spiders weave around the room
A wart-nosed witch will mend her broom
The cauldron cleaned with spit and shine
Prepared to hold a drink of slime
With tasty toads and wormy molds
It boils steamy brew that's bold
Graveyards readied, dark with gloom
Bats in belfries wait for doom
No need to dread the harvest moon
All Hallow's Eve is coming soon
They've all worked hard to be prepared
Join the party, IF YOU DARE!!
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For Linda Marie's Contest: Creatures of the Night
By Carrie Richards
The candles are extinguished today and the crucifix covered in black
for the One whos life was once bludgeoned with ignorance and greed
As He readied for heaven, he took each heavy Pontus whack
for sake of a world that could not accept nor believe, His Holy Creed
Some repented while others shouted profanities and ignored His tears
as He carried the Cross towards His final resting place, He slowly wept
the sky, grueling dark unbending, did not shed the rain nor smear
while His laced up sandals walked the sand without God's intercept
"But If I, With The Finger Of God," He once implied before he died
but this was not to be, for the Son of God belonged to man's transfix
He walked through throngs and herds as he closed the great divide
they watched, as clustered Halos grew around His bloodied Crucifix
But If I, With The Finger Of God could wipe away His pain
be more then just a writer recalling His death with ink and quill
The world would be changed as I know it, and He would Reign
Yes He is the One who died but also, the One they could not kill.
All are feeling anxious on the old camp ground this night.
Weary Yanks are girding for tomorrow's awful fight.
Young soldiers loll about, staring blankly into slowly dying embers,
Dreaming of home, recalling happier times that each remembers.
Supper is finished, the usual rancid coffee, hardtack and beans.
The sentries call out, "All Is Well!", one of their hourly routines.
Sergeants huddle with comrades, offering solace to their platoon.
From across the way is heard a harmonica's melancholy tune.
From afar, Rebel cannon is heard, a portent of things to come.
Men in gray are readied for battle to the beat of muffled drum.
The ebon sky is aglow with the cannons' awesome display,
Competing with the moon, overshadowing its mellow ray.
Here and there a Bible is opened to the Twenty-third Psalm,
To once again be comforted by that eternal message of calm.
Pensive eyes that on the 'morrow may be forever sealed,
Gaze upward, imploring God's embrace as their guardian shield.
Hastily penned notes read, "If I should be borne to heaven above,
Know that we will be reunited in The Father's gracious love!"
Gallant men draw upon their innate will, apprehensions to allay.
The dulcet strains of "Taps" lowers the curtain on another day.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Her birth was never trumpeted,
Nor caught any media headlines.
Born to Joachim in very ordinary settings,
Virgin Mary, the simplest of the simple,
Was specially chosen to perform a task divine.
As she grew up, she pledged to keep her body and soul,
Free of all blemish and stains of fleshly desires.
But in her teens, she was betrothed to Joseph,
Perhaps, part of a divine plan.
Did dreams come to nab her sleep, no one knows!
She found joy in prayer and absolute surrender to God.
Once when in silent communion with God,
Hearing the flap of wings overhead, she looked up.
Seeing the flash of blinding light in her dim lit room
She stood in dazzled astonishment,
Not knowing what was about to happen.
Before her, appeared a winged seraph.
A radiant silhouette with such gentleness n’ grace
Its hands raised in benediction,
Saluted Mary and said,
“Blessed art thou amongst women…
……………………………………
The rest she heard in a trance.
Unable to digest what was said,
The girl looked up nonplussed.
Again, it said, “The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee,
And a son shall be born of thee,
Whom you shall call Jesus.”
“How can this be”,
The question lingered but didn’t ask.
In that nanosecond of a new revelation
Did Mary’s world shatter like glassware?
Or did her virgin womb thrill with new life?
Did she swim in the waters of joyful tidings?
Or gyrate in the sweeping swirl of tidal waves?
For a girl already espoused to a man
In whose dreams his comely form had begun
Flitting in and out,
Was it a moment of silent ravishment?
Or of stupefied bewilderment
Did a dagger cut through her heart?
Or did her soul take wing in flight???
Without questioning,
She surrendered to the will of God,
Thereafter, never wavered nor bemused,
But readied herself for the great task.
Forever she remains a symbol of mercy and love.
Her immaculate grace is reflected on her radiant face.
Her lovely visage having greater beauty than any flower,
Emits sweet fragrance that perfumes our souls.
Remaining ever so pure with no trace of sin,
She is acclaimed by Christians all over the world,
As a symbol of unassailable purity and godly grace!
When he came to it, he found nothing but leaves,
for it was not the season for figs. (Matthew 11:13b)
Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward him and said of him,
“Behold, an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no deceit!”
Nathanael said to him, “How do you know me?”
Jesus answered him, “Before Philip called you,
when you were under the fig tree, I saw you.”
(John 1:47-48)
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Two interesting passages, one fairly harsh lesson:
A tree without fruit reveals unbelief.
A fig tree will fruit first, before it leafs out,
so a tree that has leaves should have fruit underneath.
Fruit underlies the outward appearance;
at least that’s the way it is supposed to be.
And how true this is of the human condition:
to say we’re a thing when we’re not is deceit.
When I say what I am, and I am what I say,
then I’m like Nathanael: a man without guile.
When Jesus first saw him there under the fig tree,
He knew he’d bear fruit; about this, no denial.
Our fig leaves conceal us on Facebook and Twitter,
daring the world to see what is behind.
We're fearful our flaws will soon be discovered;
our facade and its shallowness, others will find.
And so we beguile and we weave and deceive;
naked, ashamed, we hide in those leaves,
not trusting the one who tore back the curtain,
purchased us broken, in anguish and grief.
You may not recall, but shortly thereafter,
at this deceit, Jesus levels a curse.
He returns from the temple with his disciples;
the fig tree is withered, unbelief is judged worse.
A blessing is given to those who admit need:
a dwelling place readied, with many a room.
But woe to false pretense and to the deceivers,
whitewashed and empty, alone in their tombs.
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for the This or That, Vol 11 Poetry Contest
sponsored by Edward Ibeh
on the subject of 'Fig Leaf'
written 04/02/2022