Best Reserving Poems


Premium Member The Mockingbird

I recognize a tune from album of your songs
And listen intently to impressionist sounds
As you hop scotch from branch to branch
Like a child all excited, frolicking in playground
Peeking from behind shamrock green leaves
Singing of love in blossoms of dogwood tree,

As you tease a female, flapping your round wings
Showing off white patches, revealing breasts
Pointing curved beak to articulate a message
In verses of romance, courting your soul mate
Inviting her to celebrate the visions of spring.

A prolific singer, you mimic songs of blue jays,
Woof-woof of dogs, and croaks of hiding frogs,
Wailing screams of sirens on ambulance moving fast
And hasty beeping shrills of my alarm clock;
Reserving your very best for ardent mating calls
Choreographing dance-moves fit for wedding halls

As you seduce a female on youthful virgin date,

Aspiring to one more voice, one more etiquette
Adding to repertoire another song of desires 
Pursuing next newness, next chase to happiness.

June 30, 2019
Placed 4th:Pick a title, volume 6, personification contest by Edward Ibeh
Title chosen--The Mockingbird
HM: Strand choice 3 contest by Brian Strand

But This Day Is Mine

But this Day is Mine!

 Joyfully I seize this new promising day,
along with whatever comes my way.
With God’s help, I’ll make it the best one ever,
putting my best foot forward with every measure.
I’m singing a new song, dancing a new dance,
doing things differently willing to take a chance.

Soaking up the sun’s energy from east to west,
it’s time to enjoy this life to the fullest.
Loving like crazy and wishing on a rainbow,
no more reserving happiness for tomorrow.
It’s about maximizing the here and now,
for tomorrow is not promised to anyone anyhow.

So I stake my claim – this blessed day is mine;
and I’m not wasting any more precious time.
Like a radiant super star I will shine,  
leaping to the very front of the line.
Here’s a toast to doing it the best way…
let’s celebrate and live life today!

06-04-2015

Contest:      Any Old Poem #9 
Sponsor:     SKAT A
Placement:  3rd

Premium Member My Path

If to be a winner, I must first suck up,
Then instead, I will gladly lose.
If to gain popularity means kissing butt,
Then a path alone I will seek and choose.

If to climb the ladder is scoring brownie points,
Then a different ladder I will choose to seek,
A ladder where is required integrity and virtue
And having such will not get me treated like a freak.

I will not blindly follow along the path of others,
On the path of least resistance the majority on, trod;
Where the path accepts, condones lesser traits
And where I'll be led away from the Lord, my God.

The ridicule of humans, the whispers behind my back,
Will not a bloody difference to me ever make
Nor tempt me to change my course of direction,
Knowing the path well traveled also hosts the fake.

When one has experienced the dishonesty of others,
The betrayal by many and lack of trustworthiness,
The superficial charm of wolves dressed as sheep,
One then seeks to avoid all such human shallowness.

My Path in life has been a tough row to hoe,
With many wishing I would fail all along the way,
But all's given me strength and courage to persevere
And tremendous insight that in my poetry I portray.

If by a 'muse' I am directed, then my Muse is God,
For it is He who has Gifted me, therefore is deserving
Of my praise, appreciation, my deepest gratitude
And through it all He Loves me, while humans are reserving.

Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2017-07-11 10:29:00 (EDT)
All rights reserved


Premium Member Song of The Rainbow Butterfly No 1: ABAB

A faithful atmospheric worth of you,
equal in statuesque rainbow possess.
Grace a forest wake to rumored jewel,
long drawn-out winks ethereal blesses.
Favoring flowers blossoming parades,
a living garden hails its ambitions.
Hovers a bee stared yearning serenades,
nigh turnout unequal kinds, auditions.
Ode claims Rainbow Butterfly to whom shares
glory to its signature character,
beliefs prestige for reserving crosshairs.
Incepts moniker beings cofactor,
chicks or the eggs, and who'll take second best?
Rainbow suave sky soars the aliferous.

Premium Member hers her's and hers'

.
           I saw her's at the
                 distance

          I tried the whistle
             It flew out like
              tweety bird's
         caught by sylvester
              featherz and
                     all

              hern     soon
                    oke
                 choked

                 Hitherto
              i whistle not
                at       fine
                   hers'
                   her's
               lets     lips
                   mine
                    not



*i ofttimes spill the nouns  (the)hers 
                                                    :>shemales; i meant, females..(did so ')
                                       (the)shes
 
      therefore I explicate and may the poetic astute
      accept mine artistic license :)  hers: females... 'period'                                      
                                                  shes: the feminine plural ;) oh stop ,)
                edvard'z lisp and *sensitive feel>  (fem~i~nine)
                    ^:uh wight guy ')     her's: possessive 
                     * oke^                   hern: belongs to her e.g. her's, in the broader sence; 'twuz her decision I.e; the poet, can say "her breast were in mine maws", yet, wus it her decision that her breast were there(the 'terse' poet would need to explicate, cramming hiz lisp with unnecessary werdz)..but, if the poet (i exspecially)exclaimed; "hern" breast were in mine maws", hiz readerz intuitively would know,  that 'she gave' her breast up willingly(her decide). If the poet exclaimed; "hern pussie wuz pink" 
                            ^('she' lets poet see     it's 
                                                         pink
                                                         etc.)
i pray there be shes reserving sum hern for mine           
indulge....words...that's what i well i tried to meant ')

Premium Member Eve

The fall of man is attributed to Eve
Who urged Adam to eat the forbidden fruit
Such is the story ancient biblical scriptures weave
Bringing about, as is said, on all of mankind disrepute

Reserving judgment on whether this tale is false or true
Blind belief that we have sinned shrouds us in guilt
Heart contracts every day swallowing this brew
No wonder then facing storms of life we wilt

Instead if we say man and woman are one
Polarities of God’s singularity that split in duality
Then concepts and beliefs entertained come undone
Allowing us to holistically view the absolute truth in totality 

Eve is certainly not the villain she has been made out to be 
Quite to the contrary, Adam was incomplete without her
Such is the interpretation, which our loving eyes see
We hope dear reader, that with us you concur


Premium Member The Waiting

Sitting on a pew
Grilling and skew
Cravings that streak
Gravy of the mountain peak.
Sauces and condiments laid
Sprinkled, dashed and said
Vegetables, meat and bread
Cooked, baked and knead.
Reserving, consuming energy from tree
Drinking, nibbling like spree.
Waiting for the next bonfire and gaze
Rollicking with charcoal, dust and blaze.
A shooting star from the night so dark
Oozing with smoke and might that spark
Writing your name in the dark board of chart
Weaving canvass in your heart of art.

Premium Member A Former Fool's Sin and Lasting Lament

How the thought of her smiling, sick, rude face
     repels me. What ever was I thinking?
My time lost in her sickening embrace 
     was loathsome, base, gross, foul, vile, and stinking!
O, why gave I myself to one so whorish?
     So eager was I to love; young, naive,
and simple, I failed to see then how boorish  
     she was—so blinded was I to receive 
her. In hindsight, I would undo the past,
     and remain forevermore a virgin—
pure, and chaste! No shame's in that; but the waste
     of not reserving myself was my sin.
For me, carnal knowledge came at great price;
I've learned my lesson, and I'll not err twice!

How Selfishness, the Self Did Betray

How faithfully I gave you priority 
I even built you a Queenly home
As the centerpiece of my Life.

How reverent I was to your desires
I even built you a sacred temple
Where like a star your interests shone, 
As I looked at you; 
Bowed - with glittering eyes.

How every thought I would dedicate to you
Reserving you a special table -
In the Galla where Life's events are held

I even made a status-bearing label
And hung it on your thronely chair.
It simply read 'Honorary Human', 
But around it I inhaled its majestic air

Oh How I did my best to serve you; 
Oh how I always served you first.
How eagerly I took your orders
How promptly I'd respond.
But oh how I failed you self
How I served you 
But did not serve you well.

Self serving was my great expense; 
My intention was to give to you.
Yet nothing was all I bought
For selfishness is worth naught.

Source of Nile

					
North eastern whistling through papyrus banks					
Emanating  streams  are from forest Rwanda					
Collecting reserving ever controversial					
No propagating ,Lake  Victoria real natural source					
We are from the source of Nile					
					
Summer rain blessed over mount of Ethiopia					
Seasonal worship prolonging to Hapi.					
Egyptian farmers awaiting the blue silt					
Obscuring barriers , flowing river great					
We are from the source of Nile					
					
She will be joining blue hands at Khartoum					
Resting reversing , then reaching to Cairo					
Looking behind like a responsible mom					
Blessing the fertile land again , hats off					
We are from the source of Nile					
					
Enchanting caves and all  gigantic pyramids					
Egyptian mummy an  evident civilization					
Gentle the flow for the  life distribution					
Never dispensable such a real contribution					
We are from the source of Nile					
					
Padmakumar

Mother

Mother thy land by all means utter
to find depth an need hug e're

Thy spirit by vast immensely blast
run through veins encouragingly fast 

Yet a cold field remains in thy heart
for th' dear yet of a son that hurt

That bird in his hand of all others
caught most beautiful eyes from e're

Withheld miracles for hundreds to sigh 
then relief after pain lie

A mass of hundreds distant
reserving a place to lament

Followers that of thy peace prevailed
for belief to enhance alone thus failed

Mountains craved to wail for thy wound to bear
there was no doubt hence but thou couldn't wait 

Your call mother doth doubt my belief
for i wail just as thou keep stiff

My Teacher

I'v had so many teachers from whom 
i'm blessed
I cannot say a human is my best
But one i really must showcase
My teacher makes me feel like i'm 
reserving my best
Encourages me to pull out that part i 
hide deep down
Unknown to most he can be a clown
Although he seems very much like a 
stern headmaster
With his trousers held up on his belly
And his outrageously big glasses
I dread the day we'll part 
For this teacher there will always be a 
place in my heart.

In the Tiny Town of Bethlehem

Reserving the right to break away unto a clear blue day; viewing

Certain labels upon the bottles and cans; time reeling in chains....

And they say that patience is a virtue as I drop them from my hands

Exiting lifes alleyways; fingers brushing atop the gray mortared bricks

Whileas peering at the clearing just ahead; resolve unto resolutions

Tossing this worn book into a bin; combing my pockets for a pen

A crumpled piece of paper to take another note; a cobweb or two

Lingering amid the trees in columns aligned aside yesterdays mist....

Reaching for the door to escape another winters morn; familiar the

Crowd greeting myself as I enter in; a warm cup of coffee awaiting

With a kiss upon the cheek and a towel to dry my hair; songs of cheer

Tossing this bag of cans and bottles into the corner; afore the fire....

Reeling in chains reserved for the warmth upon a clear blue day; breaking 

Glasses joyfully within the place; such light piercing through this window

In the shape of a star swaying atop my palm; searching deep my pockets

Scribbled somewhere are these notes; reflections etched aneath a bridge

Laughing now as reading aloud; 'tis good to see you again my child'....

**************************************************************

...."Coming Home for The Holidays" *

Prolific Mind

Life’s amazing choose finicky the`sessan of distinguishing essence by words of your complexities, copyrights the rights distinguishing hallmarks of your intellectual beauty’s.
Beauty displays the rights to express your intellectual logos are registered trademarks of your Life’s reserving rights of original artistical article’s preserved. 
Around in the night underneath street lamp’s lights a star’s swaggers speaking wicked word’s of philosophy, “who shall endear love’s unconditional virtues” funneling life’s glitzy glamour.

The only vehicle of world’s transformation is the crazed thinking of prolific mind’s hovering pandering the crazy mind’s to the philosophy of a philosophical personal fee.
Underneath the nights bright lights a star’s swagger the essence of beauty a cherished personality.
Prolific mind hovering around pandering wasting no time catching the essence of intellectual beauty. 
       
Hall marking the distinguishing essence of intellectual resilience becoming the hallmark of brilliance lighting the beauty of a personality with swagger.
Cherishing life’s intellectual logos marking earth’s seasonal premier.

Philosophical philosophy of a crazy mind pandering the crazed thinking of capital in prophets of a profitable time.  To life’s astrology of star’s aligning in futures designs to dimensions of an era of passionate passions in life’s limited time. 
Igniting the flames desire of futures fortunes, & burning the pasts misfortunes of the mislead.

Fame hovering around the star’s fortunes, interpretations of time to hold  & unfold only time will tell. Lyrically bold leaving the past in the cold as histories passions of the old.
?
?Universe interconnected?      
            ®O?N~§ € £ F€º 
?{Interconnected»«Universe}?
    Pen's Broadcasting Brilliance 
           21st century's Poet
           #WickedRomancer
       ?  #poet #poetry #poem

What Whispers the Wind.

The winds is too haunting
its dour, dreary and daunting
its voiceless song is wanting
for souls to listen it flaunting

Its whistling tunes that play
eerie melodies of dismay
oft sweet, oft an angered fray
they beckon me to come away

From my souls lone sojourn
where the ashes never burn
to reach out for what I yearn
learning to forget, to unlearn

The winds are too disturbing
and the chills are unnerving
so guilty and undeserving
of memories they're reserving

They are calm as moonlight
and a lonely souls delight
whispering sharp yet slight
with many a secret to confide

And I listen with attention rapt
at the words so true and apt
to souls that the winds trapped
that apprehensively adapt

The winds are so tantalizing
mystic, musical and surprising
tapering and quickly rising
hypnotic and channelizing

They bring what we forget
all our pain and our regret
words meant to remain unsaid
truths and the lies we dread

They are calling me desperately
the song turns a woeful plea
and I wish it would swallow me
with the whispers I long to flee

And be a secret of the breeze
the incessant mourns that freeze
the souls passing by the trees
the singer that no one sees

Setting my shivering soul aflame
my minds peace it can't reclaim
at times it whispers Your name
subtly, I whisper back the same.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace