Best Remarked Poems
Nervous as a harried hen, Mom was in a dither
Would wedding guests be kept away by the winter weather?
My cheeks so rosy from the sting of howling, bitter winds
White lace and pearls, car door opened and a young girl stepped within
Fresh mums adorned the altar of “Our Lady by the Sea”
Blue bridesmaid angels led the way; John waited lovingly
Vows exchanged as God smiled down, crystal kisses danced in air
The reception band played merrily, all invited were there
Many guests remarked they’d never seen a happier bride
At midnight John took my ring-adorned hand, we ventured outside
Snow drifts piled ‘round the cars, Great Nor’ Easter just ending
My mate high on love (and champagne), wheels on highway spinning
Pulling into a gas station, trying to get a grip
Still in my bridal gown as the dipping temperatures nipped
The station attendant ran out and smiled, he’d seen us reel
But we were laughing and trading places behind the wheel
My tipsy spouse in a tux, truly a sight to behold
When we reached our new home, I carried HIM o’er the threshold'
For John's "Winter" contest
I could not refrain from asking what it was that made her sigh
When each picture that she started she took down. I wondered why.
The young lady was forthcoming; said her thoughts were fresh and bright
Every time she started painting nothing seemed to turn out right.
Then she glanced at my own painting and declared that it was great
She remarked I found it easy to imagine and create.
Well, I smiled and softly told her that it was my special brush
That afforded all the wonders; careful handling with no rush.
So I told her she could use it, to be gentle for a start
Till they reached synchronization so that both could play their part.
What about the other brushes? Do not fret or give a hoot
Mine will be the instigator, all the rest will follow suit!
I went off to have a breather while she went to work anew
Gave her time to get on with it then returned exact on cue.
I could see her face was radiant and her work intense yet cool
She expressed appreciation at my most fantastic tool.
I will let you on a secret; I have played a hidden card
For my brush is only normal. You were trying just too hard!
You can paint, you have it in you. To your talent be not blind.
As you see there is no magic; it was only in the mind.
So good luck with your endeavours. Some advice, precise and brief
You can make the perfect painting; all you need is self belief.
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Note: This poem was written to pass on a message to all those who
suffer from low esteem. Self-belief is the way forward.
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Author: Paul Callus
Contest (Favourite Poem...) sponsored by Carol Eastman
Placed: 1st
Nervous as a harried hen, Mom was in a dither
Would wedding guests be kept away by December weather?
My cheeks so rosy from the sting of howling, bitter winds
White lace and pearls, car door opened and a young girl stepped within
Fresh mums adorned the altar of “Our Lady by the Sea”
Blue bridesmaid angels led the way; John waited lovingly
Vows exchanged as God smiled down, crystal kisses danced in air
The reception band played merrily, all invited were there
Many guests remarked they’d never seen a happier bride
At midnight on Christmas Eve John took my hand; we ventured outside
Snow drifts piled ‘round the cars, Christmas Nor’ Easter just ending
My mate high on love (and champagne), wheels on highway spinning
Pulling into a gas station, trying to get a grip
Still in my bridal gown as the dipping temperatures nipped
The station attendant ran out and smiled, he’d seen us reel
But we were laughing and trading places behind the wheel
My tipsy spouse in a tux, truly a sight to behold
When we reached our new home, I carried HIM o’er the threshold
*For an Angel's contest!
For you and only you, my love, I’ll wait.
I’ll wait through evening’s dusk to early dawn.
On corners or at stations; by my gate
I’ve waited - and at night with curtains drawn.
The hands of time keep moving, stroke by stroke.
My calendar I’ve marked and then remarked.
What muse of tempering may I invoke
to cool these everlasting flames you’ve sparked?
Please come to me, unholy knight of love!
I cling to threadbare promises you made.
My tarrying I've grown so weary of
while off again you go on some crusade.
Fine gallant you are not, but - oh, perverse!
A heart grown fonder lingering is my curse.
(What I should have written to an old crush of mine
whose modern day crusades consumed his life!)
He would visit the wharf of the pond very often
Peace and joy writ large on his lips and eyes
He would whistle a tune to call the shoal of fish
From inside the water as well as from his heart
The clouds got intimate with the flirting sunlight
Like a comfortable poem the shoals appeared
In three or four groups they would come up to
He would look like gleefully chatting with them
In wonder would look on the tales in the reeds
Shadows of tall palms played hide and seek
He would feed them as if they were his children
Sometimes he just talked on with no motivation
Their movement would raise ripples in the pond
Inside would pulsate an impressionist painting
The euphoria in water would erase and redraw
Clouds in loud colours would go down the water
And would watch in wonder the blue rendezvous
He shed the foliage of his unquenched passion
Into the mother water that with a purple comfort
Would convert them in the lotus of his heartbeat
Country folks remarked he must have been a fish
In his previous birth in a very deep pool or lake
No, others would say, an angel accompanied him
In his surreal bridge of love for the water and soil
The mahogany at the roadside would smile a little
He would write so well his poem inside the water
Where human and piscine tongues would meet
Time halted a while in the warm breasts of geese
As the sessions came to an end he would depart
Sweet and salty sweat-drops would wet his shirt
_______________________________________
14 March 2017
I heard my name in the wind where the willows do weep,
Such a moment of bliss I will evermore keep.
For I sat in the silence, just a moment or two,
With paper and pen, thinking only of you.
Then I scrolled out a verse, a most delicate rhyme,
Unaware of the hour; unconcerned with the time.
Till my eyes were made blurry by the sun through the trees,
As the sweet-smelling jasmine arrived on the breeze.
So I took in a breath, just as well as your heart;
It was beating for all, and no longer a part.
Then your touch, as the grass, teased my delicate skin--
Such sweet innocence this; or such wonderful sin.
Ah, the earth is our playground; our home is the sky,
As I proudly remarked, "Look how high we can fly!"
Thus I give you my love, may it evermore keep...
Hear the wind in the willows? They no longer weep!
Collaboration: Mel Merrill and Casarah Nance
05/12/14
Another genuine soul so sadly departed
So talented a poet and so kindhearted
He touched my soul right from the start
Tears are drenched from my broken heart
A contest poet and commenter too!
Who often remarked on me and you
His voice was heard through and through
He will forever be missed by all that he knew
As we got to know him over year by year
We found that we genuinely knew he'd care
If some other poet would begone, disappear
He too would be saddened and shedding a tear
But trust in the lord, he gave him his wings
Hey Clarence..."Listen" Another bell rings
Poetry in heaven our friend "Milton" brings
To heaven he's flown- the angel sings
*Dedicated to L Milton Hankins
He will forever be missed
R.I.P. (Milt)
(Written for Jim Eslinger )
DEVOTION POEM 5, “Unspoken” ***** (for Jim Eslinger)
Young and new to each other,
There was always too much to say.
Glancing around in restaurants, we’d notice
What so many friends remarked on when seeing
Those older couples staring at their water goblets
Or their fingers and never conversing —
What seemed
Not a breath spent one to the other...
Thus, we swore, we’d never ever be like that.
Until now, we are as the telepathy of time
Often does story — full with unspoken exchanges
And kindnesses, like when I want more coffee
And Jim has signaled a waiter before I signaled him,
Or there are things regarding our surroundings:
The commotion and din; or notes about raindrops;
And the phases of the moon; points of quality;
Jabs of conflict; moments of pain; and expressions
Of known love between us. Thus so,
Our lives joined
Evermore outside of dictionaries and essays,
Even overtopping poems...
We speak in being:
Together.
********. ********. ********
(c) sally Young eslinger 2020
Thanks be to God
It’s with heavy heart I pen this verse
Watching your father pass by in the hearse
Takes me back to that night in the shed
When you said, this is like fireworks
It was, I dropped the cigarette on the petrol can
Still, as I remarked, not many sheds get a technicolour funeral
He was beyond reason
Not helped when rumours of por*o magazines started circulating
He told me straight, marry my daughter and I’ll kill myself
So we married in haste
But he didn’t keep his promise
What a waste
Still, when that great oak fell on top of his new shed
I had a grin from ear to ear
It was like the chainsaw massacre, but more fun
It was about that time you found god
I found your sister
You forgave me, I was weak
She was pregnant, sixteen weeks
Your dad went mad, he said I was the devil incarnate
Then he dropped dead
They looked at me in horror, in dread
Like it was something I said
Do something they cried
I didn’t know any songs, so I punched him between the eyes
He was definitely dead
I carried the coffin
The least I could do
I shed a tear, maybe two
We decided to scatter his ashes over his pride and joy
But they couldn’t be found
The crematorium were in shock, people were running around
It was like he just disappeared
I was agog
Couldn’t see the mist for the smog
Later that day, just to console
I produced a big rocket
Really his soul
I set it off, and said goodbye
They had a little cry
It climbed high in the sky
They gave a sigh
Should it not explode
Well it is supposed to go with a bang
Just then it made its descent
It was like he was heaven sent
Plummeting to earth
Mad as hell
We all dived for cover
Just as well
She screamed, oh god, oh boy
No need to tell you where he landed
Okay then
His comfort and joy.
POEM OF THE DAY : 20.10.25
[Poet’s Note : Form : This poem combines Haibun with
Specular Fugue, giving a straightforward descriptive journaling type Haibun more analytical depth, making for a more interesting & informative experience for reader, overlaying description with analytic style. ]
______________________
With intense curiosity five kinky haired
African women watched her. Her hair sleek, her skin caramel,
wearing lilac pyjamas. Nobody instructed her to change into
hospital gear. She did not understand Tswana. They understood
English. Her Cuban surgeon was gentle as a lamb.
Their surgeon was a tough Afrikaner.
Afrikaners were toughened by trekking,
lambs skipping across conquered land.
Tswana was not an easy language to learn.
They starched hospital gear to last longer.
Lilac her favourite colour, opp-arting her caramel skin,
mottled by disease. Her hair from Malaysian and Indian genes,
mixed stew genetics, like all from the human race.
Dark eyes observed her struggle onto high hospital bed,
hip broken, with cartilage in tatters. Noisy Tswana cackles,
like hens on heat, bombarded her smile. She kept it on, an emoji.
Slowly the chicken run morphine disco calmed.
She could not endure morphine chokes or
polite falsehood steady. Hens were her evening friends,
feeding them a favourite chore. Their eggshell membranes
she swallowed for cartilage, her eyes flickering gratitude.
Gratitude is an abc lesson.
It is broken eggshells today.
Teen friends were loyal comrades,
their feedback raw honest. Being polite
strengthens boundaries, sometimes.
Morphine is gold during war.
Cheerily she remarked : “I know you are gossiping about me.”
All five women burst into raucous laughter, forging new friendships.
Friendships forged through pain and laughter.
Some humans learn via gossip.
Be cheerful about others not knowing.
+++
hospital wards full
patients support one another ~
laughter kills the pain
__________———-________________———-
Meeting halfway in the dark.
We could have picked better seats.
The middle mark was what I thought.
No avoidance, we are caught.
Caution as the pilot’s chest rises and falls.
He chuckles and my husband says,
“Do I know you?” He says,
“Give it a minute. It will come to you.”
Two days before, we explore paintings.
We see only one that piques our interest.
The black hawk pilot and anesthesiologist
pressed against our backs with eagle eyes.
She has flaming red hair, tattoos and a stare.
He is dark; tall? I do not know. We are seated
across the aisle. They have the open bid…
And so it begins by 200’s and then
my husband ups the anti. And we square off
with them by 500’s but they want what they want
until it’s too much. With pitchfork in his back,
with cockeyed eyes, with runners legs
they go for the door…to dinner, we’re told.
And yet this jackal laughed and remarked
in a most atrocious way. He was fairly nice…
too nice. The hairs on his head spiked.
But this broke the ice. Now we’d not have
to figure out who they were. Now we know
our nemesis. My husband says,
“I’m so sorry, but not really.”
So when we look at the spread of colors, the wings,
the space between the man and the ground,
we will remember not just the hyperactive artist
but the duel - blades silver, sharp and active.
Doing our bidding, my man was as cold as ice.
There is a beat to the world,
it burns and bites, it can calm & comfort,
it will arouse and it will anger, it is a romantic rhythm,
immutable and immaculate,
an unselfish music it is, life provides this sensative song
and we all perfom a dance of danger, delight,& determination
as a humble gratuity for it's majesty,
how could any rational person contend that Nature is imperfect,
who dares accuse life of wrong doing,
how does such turgidity exist, minds on meger budget,
oh but they do, ugly creatures of hollow heads have argued so pompously
to indict the cosmos with error like how fowl beggars cavil
about quality of charity,
huffing, moaning, and squirming in their rationalizations for feeling indignant about life
inglorious as dirt on silk,
wrangling like gluttonous mosquitoes, vile & clumsy,
if they were to admit life's absolute perfection
then more self accountability for actions need ensue,
how could they slander Deity without blame,
I spoke to a religious zealot, pious as pain to wounds,
he said, oh no, life, including human discretion cannot be perfect
for there is sin and gross debauchery,
I discussed the matter with a scientist, calculating as the I.R.S., he replied,
no no, you play semantic games, nature is immensely imperfect,
like the price of fame,
I politely requested an example of imperfection from him, he smugly said,
" genetic mutations ", what unabashed ego I thought,
his response seemed word game,
I debated a logician on the subject, thorough as an army ant this one was,
she remarked that the idea of imperfection
could cause imperfect reality,
I said, if anything occurs it must be, otherwise it would not happen,
imperfection is that which should not happen,
all that becomes real is present time impeacability -
J.A.B. %
He cries in grief at the funeral, he's just lost his best friend.
He passed away so quickly, but had been loyal to the end.
Observers remarked, he's not a real man, look how he cries.
But, what do you expect a man to do, when a loved one dies.
She's beautiful to the extreme, in countenance and form,
A real temptress, in every way, a star was born.
She makes an overture to him with a knowing smile,
He turns her down, says he's been happily married for a while.
She says listen here honey, a real man can't say no to me!
He says a real man understands the meaning of true loyalty.
He works hard every day, does his best to support his family,
After work some say hey, let's go drinking, have a real party!
He says no thanks, I should really be going back home,
I don't like to leave my wife and kids there all alone.
They said you're joking right, a real man does what he wants to.
He says that's not really the loving thing to do.
His neighbor says come on over, watch the game, in my man cave,
He says sorry, I promised the kids we would go out and play.
Neighbor retorts you're so boring, a real man has all the toys,
He says no, a real man grows up, leaves behind the traits of a boy.
On the highway going home, by mistake he cuts someone off,
The other driver is furious, yelling insults, and horrible stuff.
It continues for miles till they're both stuck at a red light,
The other driver get's out and tries to provoke him to fight,
Says get out of the car, chicken, a real man knows how to fight back
His mild manner turns away rage, self-control is his counter attack.
If your father never taught you, what a real man should know,
It gets so obvious as the years pass, it really starts to show.
All is not lost, just grow up, and assume your responsibility,
Then you will understand what it means to be truly happy.
John Derek Hamilton November 1,2015
I was helping a customer with her internet issues,
and remarked that before we’re done, that she will be
like one of our field technicians.
She indicated that she did not want to be a network guru.
"When pigs fly,” she said. I told her that I had read an article of a
farmer that had done just that, he was able to get his pigs to fly.
He had strapped small jet engines and wings to the backs
of his piglets, started them up and away they went.
He had them launch from the barnyard with some geese,
horses, chickens, cows and newsmen looking on.
Lead heading on the local newspaper article said,
"PIGS FLY, GOOSE IS COOKED".
The farmer was sorry that the goose was too close
to the action, but had a great victory meal..
…and the customer was laughing so much that she
didn’t notice that she had accomplished the task at
hand, and was able to get her internet up and running.
" A close friend was betrayed by one of the Chiefs
and was tortured to death by being roasted slowly while strung up
high on a tree branch.
His misery was rich.
His name was Red Spirit in English.
I'm very proud of the Roman's achievements in law and architecture.
They were a very strange race,
very hostile & very obedient to a sense of honor which is why they could be so easily manipulated by law.
At that time in particular I specialized in making men into Gods.
Those were good times,
making marble from concrete."
you mention your admiration for the law,
some would say that you are a lawless Being
like a stone that ignores gravity,
a Jew who rejects scripture,
Satan said,
" There are two forms of law, real & unreal, defacto & dejure,
there is color of law and organic law,
natural rights and government codes.
Ultimately there are only two types of law;
jurisprudence designed to control others actions, which presents
consequences for violation and compliance,
and then there exists personal, subjective law,
otherwise known as principle or convictions.
Every man or woman performs according to their principles,
even if choosing to comply with laws foriegn to themselves.
This is how slaves are made,
people in bondage choose to be enslaved,
they accept the domination of another as mans' thought often permits
passion to terrorize, or tantilize judgement.
Law is like a rainbow,
one picks their favorite color following it all the way to the horizon." ,
what about God's law I asked,
historionically He remarked,
" God has His laws and I have mine."
Next I asked, have you ever been in love with a mortal?
" Oh yes, many times, take a look at this."
He handed me a thin, square golden casing
having an arabesque pattern etched on it,
when I touched the item it was as though an ancient sea breeze swept over me ,
He continued, " Open it, thats Tamitha,"
He was eager for me to be eager, I said,
" Shes got a smile similar to yours."
Tamitha was the daughter of a high ranking warrior named Bartos
in a large Germanic tribe
protecting the Rhineland from incursion."
J.A.B.