Best Rehearses Poems
A lonely figure twirls itself, concealed
by blades of wheat as clouds float through the sky.
The form, a boy, looks up from golden field
and sees the clouds as wedges of cream pie.
He hides despair as if it were that wart
beneath his sleeve. A no-fuss, lonesome lad,
he thinks of things most wonderful to thwart
forlornness. . . He rehearses being glad.
Skipping to the thicket, near a brier,
he spies some lovely flowers; standing there
he uses the demeanor of his sire,
pretends to hold a Bible, thumps the air. . .
and preaching to forget-me-nots, the boy
imagines what might be. . . imagines joy.
For Chris' Anything goes!
God signs off on His handiwork
releases into the world a human soul
First inside the womb and then outside
that soul begins to unfold
For mankind yearns to be free, free of direction
ignores all instruction as its sets sail
Free of direction and of directions
Freedom the goal, man’s Holy Grail
With good luck comes wonder
at creation, at a cosmos so awesome
Though the journey leads, inevitably,
to frustration, disappointment, unripened blossoms…
Then the cruelest blow when eventually
the unfolding process reverses
The ramrod-straight frame
folding in on itself as it rehearses
its return to its Maker, Who delivered it here
Who lets man search vainly for freedom
and come up empty year after year
~ for only His Truth makes everything clear
I turn to my girl highlighting Mayday is near
A day of spectacle that the whole village views
There's Jesters of folly and Knights without fear
Witnessing lances and jokes, always going askew
To view such we can venture along different ways
We can stroll by the river listening to many sounds
In awe as we walk amidst most wondrous displays
That on any given day beautiful vistas abound
Decisions, decisions, as we contemplate which way
It's such a special day wondering what to wear
Beauty personified will my Olive be on this day
Knights or Royal Princes, all they can do is stare
So tomorrow we've decided to be our chosen route
Two hearts in decision, declaring what's their suit
Mayday morn now greets as I turn next to me
She my guiding light as beautiful as the dawn
Excitement illuminates for into her eyes I see
Onto my back I lie, that feel she's now upon
Into this day we go heading along the river
Crystal clear translucent such serenity in it's flow
Under greened canopies cooled shaded deliver
Wafting leaved dress in delightful fanned throw
We sense the clearings near for scents we sense
Sporadic clusters in capture of welcoming eyes
Mayday games have started, distant heard suspense
Knights on horseback mounted, now in espy
Now we're in amidst encapsulated we now are
She's here to cheer, her Sir James, soon to spar
Balcony she now awaits, white steed he's now astride
Blinkered pairings gallop towards intended foe
To win this Mayday he, to fight for her his bride
Eliminate his enemy, witness his crimson flow
His lance in now connect, thrown metal disperses
Petals of beauty hurled of rainbows selected
Images of we, now thinking marital rehearses
To know on this day, her intended she's elected
Moments of their previous now in recent past
Knowing they're now free in kaleidoscopic stream
Spectrum of feelings now in view full cast
In colourful extremes, fight for your dreams
.
This is the story of the daredevil, Frank Todo French-Fry.
He thought he was special, thought he could fly
But one day he was taken and placed on my plate
He did not want to be eaten; he did not want this fate
So, with hope and courage he leapt to the floor
I was sad a fry had fallen from my plate, but it was okay ‘cause I had more
I picked up this fry, set him aside on a napkin to throw him away later
But my best friend Laura wanted to keep him, give him something greater
And thus he became, Laura’s pet fry
Known forever as Frank Todo French-Fry
And he lives in a small purse
Where he continually rehearses a blank verse
He ages, and decays, safely tucked away
Glad to have been saved that fateful day
From being eaten, tossed in the trash, or even forgotten
Now his moldy potato frame, is bandaged and rotten
But Frank Todo French-Fry still lives
To this very day, somewhere misplaced in storage, he still lives
I sing the songs of the aspens and the oaks
They sing to me harmonies and lovely verses
Accompanied by the breezes’ instrumentation
They teach me while the forest choir rehearses.
The taller pines express fervent gratification
That Mother Nature has given them height
So that they may see horizons far and near
Much to their swaying imagination’s delight.
Generous maples the value of seasonal giving,
A solitary mahogany the meaning of solitude
Since it is not native to this woodland, you see,
For my notice shows its everlasting gratitude.
I talk to the trees, and they whisper back to me
Teaching me we are exactly where we need to be.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Written May 15, 2022
submitted to "Wisdom from Trees" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Twilight downs the sun as dreams appear on the screen of sleep
Slips into the subconscious realm and trips a few fuses in slumber
Adapts and clears clutter and narrates and alters the story in kind
Strips and clips a mind full of sentience like an ad-blocking app
When dreams slip into a magical edition it proofreads my soul
In magic Morpheus tenders to soft renditions and rehearses
A new dawn for sanity’s sake and rearranges bedlam in silence
Ties new meaning to fake news and spins alignments afresh
Compounds and rearranges while the curtain slowly descends
A dress rehearsal in night gown patiently waits for the curtain
A sacred orange globe dances with ripples dissected by clouds
Ultramarine parades on the fading horizon of tangerine canvas
As the gatekeeper confers with clairvoyants and hobbling goblins
The mermaids charter the voyage with sea gulls and dolphin as they
Tie holy knots onto the tapestry of fabrication and spirited truths
Sometimes my aspirations and recollections call for clean slates
When charcoal rules anthracite waves draped in sombre veils
Or polychrome splashes beg to hold on to the palette forever
Sleep brushes over karma and vagaries and tames with a stroke
Of restful fortune in infinite renditions of what the future might hold
A life line appears on the horizon anchoring a courageous flare
Regardless of whether my journey explores a secret underworld
Or ships critique onto the blatantly obvious faults in the vessel
Poseidon pumps up the raft as tears and regrets rock the boat
Blows caution to the wind and advises to hold on for dear life
Neptune challenges his counterpart and weighs for good measure
Yet Atlantis refuses to sink and Nirvana sweeps the ocean’s floor
Phoenix gathers soaked ashes while jetsam jumps into the current
When the night parades its blessing the sun resets a new dawn
The moon watches over assorted memories baggage and hope
19th April 2020
Outside the classroom
Sun and cloud dapple the vale
Thrush rehearses triple phrase
The while overhead
Lark ascends in descant stream
Studies the Elysian scene
2 May 2019
Contest: Bite sized poem No.4
do you dress with shapeshifting dreams,
when the blanket of eyes unfolds
reeling... a realm of myriad realism ~
in echoes from elements of delusive domains?
there's a veil so thin, enlightened between ~
t r u t h and l i e ... f i r e and a s h ,
and must you lose your eloquent elixir
to inhale their dusty deceptions?
when we only need to choose not to conform,
and resolve to realise that every lifeline
is a palpitating paradox in this musical mosaic ,
~ of possibilities and promised uncertainties ...
life is what is faithfully lived ~
through a lavender lens made for not two,
but one, unseen in the metaphysical ~
yet felt closely in the inner sanctum,
resting within the runes of the lotus chakra
and bridging the balance between
the bleak blankness breathing in space ~
where memories flow distant
in the marrow of astral mantras ...
as everything fades from this funeral flame
I will not be lost, but found... a homesick soul,
the searcher of silence, that sleeps within
the spirit of the One, my divine sculptor ~
in his purified prayers, desires lose their form,
when the seventh heaven rehearses
a ray of selfless spiritualism amongst the stars
syncing salvation as a rhythm ~ a crystal pulse,
flickering through the illusion of solidity ...
Little boy ill and in bed every day
couldn't join friends or go out and play.
Little lead soldiers marched on his bed,
many adventures whirled in his head.
The land of counterpane lay on the bed
his landscape sewn with needle and thread.
That quilt all wrinkled, crumpled, and more
are hills and seas and fierce fields of war.
Pirates, sailors and soldiers galore
Imagining brought them all to his door.
Stories and poems, a boy's mind rehearses
"Treasure Island, Kidnapped," and
"A Child's Garden of Verses."
Give thanks that the man remebered the joy,
of the visions he had when he was a boy.
So many books from those dreams in his head,
he willingly shares when I am sick in my bed.
Admonitions well-expressed in verses
maxim or adage that truly blesses
your wise counsels are valuable indeed
like Scripture proverbs my soul rehearses.
With your narratives of faith-propped fervour
along vibrant lesson-filled endeavour
your voice reverberating through poetry
shouts experiences with worthy savour.
Echoing your delightful victories
via testimonies and good stories
your lingering poetic legacy
lives on beyond nostalgic memories.
Thankful am I for your virtue-advice
reminding me of David-Psalms’ great price
precious in exalting name of the Lord*
midst communion in prayer-paradise.
*Deuteronomy 32:3 Because I will publish the name of the LORD: ascribe ye greatness unto our God.
March 15, 2021
1st place, "ALL YOURS (Apr 12)" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 4/12/2021.
My knees wear out on me
My feet feel like lead of rue
My knees give way, you see?
My numb feelings isn't because of you
God gave me freewill with no strings attached
I hurt myself so much in the past…in the past...
I love you, Lord, but self-hatred once hatched…
I almost killed myself to end the pain at last
I smoke away the sorrow and put me at ease
Just hand me another bong and tell me that I truly belong
I mend the horrid scars of yesterday's anxieties
Give me another tomorrow; I'm sorry I've done You wrong
I don’t want to live in an adverse world in reverse and I want to quit the quitting urges —
A tragedy that is a gift and not a wretched curse..grind away the unhappiness and chaos that Satan rehearses
I want to kill away the pain in my heart —
From the start, it's been tearing all of me apart
My knees can't take it anymore…
Feels like no one cares that I'm sore
But I have a supportive family that loves me so
And a beloved daughter and beautiful wife, I know
Allow me to brew away the grief inside
Allow the resin to settle inside the stem
The water below the bong is boiling as I take a puff
I take puff after puff because this life can be so rough
Strife is corrupting my mindset,
So let me breathe in peace, dude
All my life, I've been in pain and sometimes, it gets me so upset
Well, man, I don't mean to be rude…
I am so lucky and glad I have a wonderful mother that cares for me deeply
And will do anything to keep the family happy and works hard exceedingly
My father was never there for me and I have already explained that
But, I am slowly but surely accepting reality like a cat that can't catch the rat
I want to live in an adverse world, not in reverse —
A tragedy that is a gift and not a wretched curse
I want to kill away the pain in my heart —
From the start, it's been tearing all of me apart
Shatter away the shame that embraces me,
Never leaving my presence relentlessly
I don't want another pain killer to swallow
To numb the pain temporarily until tomorrow
~inspired by and dedicated to my brother-in-law, AJP~
The Year: Long Squandered 1999;
Frank Flynn had found my sent parceled poems ‘fine’
“They can lend themselves... to live performance”
Wherefore I mount for each surveillance….
An Atypical BBC Staff:
His signed statement A frankness not by half;
Laminated have I his bold comment:
Above My First Degree ‘A Document.’
Saw Frank, too, in My Enclosed Verses
‘ Originality of Rhythm’
Then, whoever, their action rehearses
Hasn’t The Spurious got to fathom.
And Frank had marked their “freshness of vision”
I began to crave their prompt diffusion…
Owe I Frank self-rediscovery:
A focus sidelining livery;
Strong reasons to start idolizing self
And speedily start assembling A Shelf…
The Last I should crucify of The Crew;
If he were still alive The Safest Jew.’
Mingled highs and lows from the weather
All around earth gives forth flowers
Radiant sun awakens and birds gather
Constant change as each tree grows higher
Hopeful season of spring; spirit towers
Majestic springtime sunrises
Amorous hidden feelings spring forth
Rapturous aroma surprises
Captivating senses of mirth
Heavenly days linger, henceforth?
Magic moments float into night's prizes
Attentive doting companion
Rehearses love's verse excited
Completely engulfed unabandoned
Hauting thoughts float like jasmine
Mingled highs and lows from the weather
All around earth gives forth flowers
Radiant sun awakens and birds gather
Constant change as each tree grows higher
Hopeful season of spring; spirit towers
Majestic springtime sunrises
Amorous hidden feelings spring forth
Rapturous aroma surprises
Captivating senses of mirth
Heavenly days linger, henceforth?
Magic moments float into night's prizes
Attentive doting companion
Rehearses love's verse~ excited
Completely engulfed unabandoned
Hauting thoughts float like jasmine
Written: August 12, 2015
Like a hurling sling
Is a poet’s pen.
Both are sent
To pursue a purpose.
He errs by will
And rehearses error;
The critic mumbles
And so in prose.
Than prose poetry is harder;
Moods must be spelt
Attitudes choreographed
And scenes preserved.
Who is the poet’s critic
But lay specialist
Who’s career founds
On a poet’s error?
One writes of merry,
Another reads of dirge;
One writes of birth,
Another reads of wedding!
Poetry is god-like,
Poets are creators
Who set in motion
The world of literature.
Makers of good and bad,
Poets suffer indefinite
But are proud founders
Of life on paper.
MS 26072016