Best Recitals Poems
~
Here on the night before yesterday’s dream,
twilight composers retreat
Laughing at whispers a’ flow on the stream,
happily taking a seat
Practicing meadowlark lyrics to sing,
strumming a toadstool in tune
Awaiting the light that the fireflies bring,
blinking a wink at the moon
Tulips with tambourines gather around,
spider web chandeliers glow
Shade tree sonatas, a wonderful sound,
echoing up from below
Pine cone recitals and blueberry sighs,
star dust ovations in rhyme
Choruses sung beneath velveteen skies,
harmonic three quarter time
Orchestral canopies glisten above,
melodic rainbows the view
Performing songs written solely of love,
played on this evening for you
~
I reposted this one because.....I really liked this one. : )
Born in Madrid, in fifty nine,
A military Kid, 3rd of 7 in the assembly line;
They named me Michael, but I answer to Wedge,
A Master Sergeant’s son—not much here that's cutting edge.
I grew up a runner, and I wrestled some,
I was a skateboarding brawler and a surfer bum;
Didn’t try very hard in primary school,
Laziness, not ignorance—I was a bit of a tool.
Then I met this fine girl, long hair just like copper,
Who took me to church, sweet, innocent, and proper;
At Wood’s Grove on knees, accepting Him for long haul,
In 1978—just weeks before Uncle Sam called.
In a flash came the Navy, Marriage, college, and kids,
A submarine, 2 surface ships—I was a bit of a squid;
On to Chapel Hill, where I taught Midshipmen,
By ’94, farewell my Navy—I’m now a businessman.
Life moved fast from the crib thru each grade,
For Mom & two girls—my female brigade;
Growing up we did lots, mostly travels and school,
Plus church, school sports, dance and piano recitals, how cool!
Today, they’re gone—our empty nest in their wake,
New lives, with spouses, and pups—and new names.
So I paint and I hike—while my soulmate sews and she reads;
And we both now teach high school—sharing Christ as He leads.
I’m grateful my Navy recalled this old goat,
To lead men and women, ashore and afloat;
Retirement and selection, to teach young Cadets,
A large pain in the butt—but I have no regrets.
After 60 odd years, I’m modestly content,
With where my life’s been, and headed—once spent.
But mostly I’m thankful—family, friends and great health,
And for wonderful friendships—the source of my wealth!
Some say sixty's getting old,
Creaky knees, aches and pains, hard hearing—all told.
And I contend, aging's NOT for the faint hearted,
But most who know me know—I'm just getting started!
What Happened To GOD’s Old Fashioned Women?
Women who were careful how they spoke and didn’t use
profanity to get their thoughts across. Who loved their
husbands and children and their GOD.
Stay at home mothers raising their children well and respected
their husbands and worked at having a loving home.
Old fashioned women who were careful how they dressed,
and did their best to keep their children safe but in
line with the rules of the home.
Sometimes, mothers and their children went to pick beans
and berries to help out with the family finances and
with school clothes.
Women who supported their children’s efforts at
school by attending their plays, games or recitals,
but, realizing all the while that then, the schools were safe
and moral.
It was a different time then, it was a more peaceful time
where neighbors were friendly and helped each other
by keeping an eye out for intruders and any other danger.
I can remember several young mothers who would go to
the park with their toddlers and watched them play
together.
Also, I can remember my mother passing along clothes
down from among the three of us girls, hemming
dresses, making them over, or making new ones.
Mothers who did canning and preparing the family’s
food for the coming year. Doing yard work and
landscaping and dressing up the yard to make it beautiful.
Of course the breakdown of the American home has
come about by divorce of so many couples and families. And then
there are couples having children without the benefit
of marriage which has brought about a total
breakdown of the American Sweet Culture.
I am remembering to, hearing the sound of church bells
ring Sunday morning telling all of us to get up and
get ready for church. There is an old saying, “The family
that prays together, stays together”!
Lastly, that is the country and feelings that I miss but,
times have changed and we REALLY need to look
up for our REDEMPTION DRAWTH NEAR!
JESUS IS COMING SOON, ARE YOU READY?
Written by: Marilyn S. Jennings
2/19/19
St. Milt’s Grand Opening today
Come and celebrate with us
On Martin Luther King Day
Worldwide choirs and gospel music
Singing MLK’s best loved hymns
Mahalia Jackson, Nina Simon
It’s grand opening, today
“Poetry Kids” reciting poems
Perfect for honoring the mission
Of this humble man, preacher, and scholar
It’s Martin Luther King Jr. Day
Celebrate the great works he
Did for the Civil Rights Movement
Come and see our gallery
Recitals of Dr. King’s “We Shall Over Come”
“The Dream” his glorious words
That all men are created equal
Representing love and non-violence
We are serving MLK’s favorite foods
MLK was a minister, father, husband
And a son of the South
Here are the foods he loved to eat
Classic Southern foods we all love
A big Sunday meal
Southern delicacies
Fried Chicken
Sweet Potatoes
Pickled Eggs
Smothered Steak
Macaroni and Cheese
Collard Greens
Warm buttermilk cornbread
Quilly-Dr. King’s mother’s recipe
Pecan Pie
Where do we go from here?
Dr. King because of you, we are
Fairer and freer than in your time
Bigotry began to fade
More justice for all
Progress has been made
Dr. Martin Luther King,
You’ll march on in our spirits
Dr. Martin Luther King`s dream lives on
Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into friend--Martin Luther King Jr.
In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends—Martin Luther King Jr.
Sixteen years ago he left me,
I was only two years old.
He chose a life of crime instead,
At least that's what I've been told.
He never tried to come back,
No gifts, cards, or calls.
While he was drinking and running from cops,
I was learning how to crawl.
He missed my first steps,
Missed my recitals and my first play,
He missed all my brothers football games,
I wanted to know why he didn't stay.
I thought it was my fault,
I turned toward men and drugs.
I was only eleven years old
Meeting up with plugs.
I replaced him with pills and powder,
Their love in place of his.
For seven years, I road the high,
Until the overdose had proved what this life really is.
Mom forced me to detox,
To rid my body of the addiction.
The drugs, the drinks, and the wanting to know
How my father could cause such an affliction.
I've been sober for a year now,
Sober from drugs and my need for him.
And though it took some time, I know,
The truth is rather grim.
He’s never coming home again,
He chose the life he leads.
And from him and all of my hurdles,
I have finally been freed.
Ted was a professional farter
and at his windy recitals he’d boast
that could even toot Moonlight Sonata
If his wife fed him baked beans on toast!
There was an annual farting competition
Held in downtown Chicago, (the ‘Windy City’)
Ted had pre-loaded his guts for the mission
To lose his title would be such a pity
Ted knew that the competition was stiff
His groaning guts how they gurgled away
He farted an exceptional guitar riff
hoping he’d be winning the trophy that day
Ted raised his left leg and let rip
But disaster was about to strike
His todger got caught in his zip
The searing agony Ted did dislike
Limping off the stage in great pain
Bitter tears fell from his blue eyes
He re-adjusted his trousers again
Could he retain that coveted prize?
Now Ted returned to his farting position
With the microphone close to his tush
And with determination and good nutrition
He farted all of ‘Mystic Rhythms’ by Rush
The audience gave Ted a standing ovation
(Lucky for them they weren’t too near the stage)
And much to Ted’s delight and jubilation
The judges thought his farting was all the rage
Ted was eventually declared the winner
And he returned home to his lovely wife
She’d prepared chicken curry for his dinner
To safeguard his job for the rest of his life!
06-30-17
See this girl in the painting, this skinny girl
working on a puzzle at the bottom of the stairs.
With big rimmed glasses and her plain brown hair,
she’s an ordinary girl, with nothing seeming special.
Now see this girl. . . really SEE this girl.
At age 12, she’s just been fitted with new glasses -
They are black horn-rimmed - an utter disappointment
in the life of a young girl.
Some guys now call her four-eyes, and they don’t even notice
the beauty of her light green eyes and
long lush lashes behind those big-framed glasses.
But still she likes to fantasize, and in her dreams
she’s idolized by every boy she likes.
Always having wanted to be part of the “in” crowd,
she was a girl that struggled for popularity.
However, she’s been learning of another way to be!
Seeking out girls more like her, she hardly has to try
to fit in with her new friends. And now she’s much less shy.
With fun new friends, she is witty. She makes them laugh.
She’s even feeling pretty, wearing lipstick frosty pink.
She’s discovered she is smart in all her classes.
This girl who now is wearing black rimmed glasses!
She gets into the Glee Club, even sings on PBS!
With her athleticism, she also has success.
She makes Top Twelve in tryouts for cheerleading.
And though the student body does not vote her through,
she’ll soon get over it. She’s blossoming!
The glasses she will change for contact lenses,
and she does not know it yet,
but soon enough - a number of boyfriends she will get!
Also years of dance lessons and being in recitals
has boosted her self confidence.
Both her body and her spirit are transforming!
See the girl in the painting; a puzzle she assembles.
She does not know that one day
her mind will be on puzzles of a very different kind:
She will be assembling many words inside her mind,
and she will be partaking in an art called poetry.
I know all this because
the girl inside that painting - that ordinary girl -
is the one I used to be.
Based on the painting "Assembling the Pieces"
from Contemporary Figurative Artiste Stephanie Deshpande
for the Contemporary Free Rhyme Contest of Cyndi MacMillan
I hope you will see the painting at this link. When I saw the girl, I was
struck by how much it looked like me as a young girl: http://www.stephaniedeshpande.com/porfolio/
Die on your feet or live on your knees
Live as slave or die bold and free
Ringing that bell of liberty
Through thorns and thistles
Bomb blasts and war whistles
Floods of fire start to sprinkle and sizzle
Taking a stand or even walking alone
Every Goliath has a stone
Stumbling blocks turn into stepping stones
Conquering the crooked and dividing the spoils
Monsters of madness turned into blood and bones
Every Goliath has a stone
Facing our fears with a force called faith
Shooting the devil straight in his face
Mice turn into men and jokers get aced
Taking new lands with righteous revival
No time for rehearsals
No time for recitals
Victory is vital
Every heart should have a home
Every Goliath has a stone
May is my happy month, for she is my birth month
Some people treat themselves with a birthday.
I made the decision to celebrate my birth month
And I do. I buy whatever I want. Packages arrive daily.
Lilac trees, snowball trees, red hot rose bushes,
hot pink geraniums, fiery gold marigolds, things to plant.
Earth therapy is my favorite sport, and May is the perfect time
to plant; my yard is a living park, oozing beauty in all directions
I go through lots of birdseed in May; heavy, so I order it online.
It calls cardinals, blue jays, wrens, sparrows, into the yard
They serenade me with lovely tweets, chirps, peeps, and whees.
They sing their happiness with May daily.
May, when rains finally stop, and sun comes out full force
The amount of vitamin D she puts into the air perks people up.
School ends, and you hear giggles and laughter of children
As they spend their days biking to each other’s homes,
happy to be free.
May starts out fancy with May Day.
A day small town children make May baskets.
Filling them with violets and dandelions, popcorn,
and caramel candies, placed on top of lacy doilies.
Delighting unsuspecting neighbors, left on doorsteps,
as if May faeries have arrived, and they have.
My birthday is the last day of May,
when we celebrate our Veterans in Memorial Day parades.
May is an adventure all to herself,
unique in the amount of joy and
enthusiasm she brings to the calendar.
Delighting and exciting us, May dances and prances pure joy..
There is no other month that can touch her enthusiasm
although June comes close
As June is the wedding month.
Wait. Graduations, dance recitals, and proms are in May.
Three more reasons why May is the Queen of Happiness,
I almost called you several times
I know it's been a while
I had the phone right in my hand
but never got to dial
Something kept distracting me
every time I tried
Babies crying, P.T.A.,
my son needing a ride
Two weeks ago I planned to call
but many things came up
School recitals, soccer games,
we got a brand new pup
It's always nice to talk to you
I know it's been a while
Every time we chat my friend
you always make me smile
I'm sorry when you called last week
I couldn't talk with you
I'm sure my son explained that I
had many things to do
Finally when I got the chance
just the other day
The stranger's voice that spoke to me
it took my breath away
I've always loved to talk with you
I know it's been a while
It's really very easy to
pick up the phone and dial
Oh, how I'd love to talk with you
for you, some time I'd save
But it's too late and here I am
weeping at your grave
An Obscenity Trial
by Michael R. Burch
The defendant was a poet held in many iron restraints
against whom several critics cited numerous complaints.
They accused him of trying to reach the "common crowd,"
and they said his poems incited recitals far too loud.
The prosecutor alleged himself most stylish and best-dressed;
it seems he’d never lost a case, nor really once been pressed.
He was known far and wide for intensely hating clarity;
twelve dilettantes at once declared the defendant another fatality.
The judge was an intellectual well-known for his great mind,
though not for being merciful, honest, sane or kind.
Clerics called him the "Hanging Judge" and the critics were his kin.
Bystanders said, "They'll crucify him!" The public was not let in.
The prosecutor began his case
by spitting in the poet's face,
knowing the trial would be a farce.
"It is obscene,"
he screamed,
"to expose the naked heart!"
The recorder (bewildered Society)
greeted this statement with applause.
"This man is no poet.
Just look: his Hallmark shows it.
Why, see, he utilizes rhyme, symmetry and grammar!
He speaks without a stammer!
His sense of rhythm is too fine!
He does not use recondite words
or conjure ancient Latin verbs.
This man is an imposter!
I ask that his sentence be
the almost perceptible indignity
of removal from the Post-Modernistic roster."
The jury left in tears of joy, literally sequestered.
The defendant sighed in mild despair,
"Please, let me answer to my peers."
But how His Honor giggled then,
seeing no poets were let in.
Later, the clashing symbols of their pronouncements drove him mad
and he admitted both rhyme and reason were bad.
***
A well-known poet criticized this poem for being "journalistic." But then the poem is written from the point of view of a journalist who's covering the trial of a poet. The poem was completed by the end of my sophomore year in college.
light penetrated dark, sound birthed
the Word ~ p o e t r y
a superlative emitting that which changes
emerging when ripened as verse
speaking to people faraway
unlocking alphabets from minds
to glide, fast fly, jump or slowly crawl, landing
at destined places, swords or aces
I am Poetry ~ weep or whimper not for me
existentially dancing, enthralling, glancing at
blank paper to be embroidered in ink
ruby red, black or olive green
free flow I from fingers fragile, artistic or sturdy
regulate me only for joy or exploring expansion
perhaps for judicious judgement
I, P o e t r y ~ sequins of Love convoluted or rayed, in service
purifying emotive sentiments conditioned, romantic, missioned
Heart is my home where rest my letters, forms
cadences, couplets, epics
in non-bewildered intelligence visioning dreamscapes
divine, liberated from bandages, buckles, bondages
alive is my Supersoul breath giving voice to electrons
protons, neutrons which fleetingly capture
essenced life through observed elixirs
as Poetry, I witness action followed by pure
stillness ~ transcendental whirlpools in orbits
my limbs reach language lyrical or plain
burnished and wise
cherishing recitals in sacred spaces
I activate thoughts and visions remaining
supremely unattached attuning words
for Grace ~
undulate imagination in perfect waves
misty, clear or intricate, intriguing, unblemished
gratifying, swivelling, sizzling in my own
fire or ice
I, Poetry, consummated
voice the W o r d
Hopscotch, barbie dolls, playing house and jump rope
Puddle jumping, finger painting, needing lots of soap
Baking cookies, stuffed animals and having a pet rock
Vibrant drawings on the driveway with colorful chalk
Dance recitals, swimming lessons and girl guides
Zoo visits, riding bikes and amusement rides
Beach pails, sand castles, playing in the sun
Building snow men, tobogganing, oh what fun
Make up, nail polish, and lots of pretty dresses
Pigtails, clips and head bands that tie up lovely tresses
Bubble baths, cuddles and telling fairy tales
Playing dress up... pretend weddings with silky veils
Hide and go seek, swing rides and trips to the dollar store
Tea sets, making crafts and laughter and smiles galore
Kisses, hugs, abundance of love, never will she be deprived
Time to rejoice for my precious first grand child has arrived.
Abigail Clara Rose
Born March 11, 2012
I'm feeling sick from your two faced hypocrisy
When you say one thing and then you're doing another
Cold whispers behind my back you talk about me
Then you act like my best friend with no apology
Why do you beak these friendship rules
And why am I left a suffering fool
I'm left with thoughts of violence and then I'm feeling weak and passive
I'm now a massive walking talking contradiction
And I'm left believing the facts and fiction
It's all because of your backstabbing dealings
I want to know your game and why I'm the victim of your play
I will not be left the loser of this game
I intend to stay strong and take my prize
As I will face you full on and cut you down to size
This may be hit and miss
But I will expose your cowardice
As you look into my eyes and see that I'm miffed
And so sick of your ficticious recitals
Now you will realise for you to have kept two facing me was fatal
So answer to me fake friend your front is now broken
And you feel you're struggling to breathe
But now I've lost my use for sensitivity
Remember who crossed the line
I have one fast thought of does it matter at all
Then it all comes back that it's you who broke the rules
Now you've been confronted and your colour fades to grey
You feel your time ticking by as tomorrow turns into today
This was my revenge on you fake friend
My fake friend revenge!
WRITER'S BLOCK
THE WOULD-BE POET
I thought I'd write a word or two,
Like all them famous poets do,
And then mayhap I would be known,
And folks would ask me to intone,
The lyrics that were world renown,
In recitals throughout town;
So I sat down with pen and waited,
For inspiration, breath abated.
I waited long into the night,
Then came the dawn and morning's light.
I thought I'd write a word or two,
Short story, pome, just one or two,
But seems to me there's no such luck,
So I got in my pick up truck,
And drove around to clear my head,
It did no good, my muse is dead;
Or else she's just abandoned me,
I prayed to her on bended knee,
But as far as I can see,
This effort's in futility.
DANG!!!
For Block, Block, Block Contest by Detroyer Poet