Best Rims Poems
It starts with only one -
one like me
a melancholy migrant
from the immortal part of her
to the locus of her physical being --
the center of her emotional wisdom
I gain heartfelt strength as I gather my forces
rising up en masse
riding cresting waves of woe
to breach the ramparts -
the welling rims
of her loving eyes
it starts with only one -
one perfectly ripened drop of sorrow
this beautifully packaged pain
and a lustrous cascade of soulful pearls ensues
wept gems pouring forth from a pure heart..
I am the tears your mother cries.
Susan Ashley
May 5, 2018
~ Poem Of The Week ~
Week beginning Sunday, May 13, 2018
~ Seventh Place ~
Contest: Early May Premiere (2018)
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Poet's note; For my beautiful daughter, Jocelyn, you inspire me with your light, joy, spirited determination and intellect. Though your academic pursuits take you many, many miles away from me and I grieve your absence, when you return home I shall celebrate with tears of joy!
For today, however, I'll let my grieving tears speak for themselves...
I love you and I miss you, my Jocee <3
God Stands
When dust and time blot out my name;
And I rise to unknown strands,
And the whole world melts with fervent heat.
God Stands!
When the planets cease their movement;
Round the bright and shining sun,
And the elements blend together,
God has just begun.
When we lift our song together;
With flaming Angel bands,
On the tenth day of forever;
God Stands!
When kings and priests and armies;
Are crumbled in the dust.
When tanks and planes and rockets.
Have been consumed by rust;
When all our great intentions;
And all we think we know;
And all our brave ambitions,
Melt like winter snow.
God stands upon the silken rims;
Of time and infinity.
The stars are His pillows;
And endless space his sea.
When all we know and love are gone,
Our earth and sea and land,
When the elements melt with fervent heat.
God Stands!
Just as bees squeeze like watermelon seeds
Spit across apricot fields
My wife and I on Friday
Join the lines of highways up north
Pulled by hilltops to the Leelanau blue sky
Where lakes stir in the wind at the citrus rims
Of wine valleys below
And cherry orchards blossom in row after row
Like sheets of cupcakes spiraled with frosting.
Tonight we will sit tight around our lakeside fire
As petals closed upon this blaze of flower
With a Loon trilling her flute of bones
To the stars salted across the night
And voices bump from shore to shore
Murmurs softened beyond repair
The cabins flickering to a second life
In a fuse of fire lit around our lake
A tradition. We stop the car a ways away
From my mom and dad’s cabin
And let out our kids on the shoulder of road
To run like deer the final half mile.
How much do I love thee
Let me tabulate all the ways
I bought you a new Mercedes
With gold plated tire rims
I bought you a humongous diamond ring
The size fit for all Royals and King
I bought you a store of the finest lingerie
Secrets still held at the door by decree
I bought you a garden of roses so red
My love was surely in bloom, or so they all said
I bought you a ticket to heavens pearly gates
So that in paradise you’d have not to even wait
I bought you your very own private Lear jet
To see the world through champagne eyes
My love was a vault and you emptied it dry
My heart has now learned to never cry
How much do you love me?
Your lawyer seems to know
You claimed mental duress
Suffering under such stress
The Mercedes was the wrong color so I am told
I should have known, pink, not gold
The diamond ring was too heavy to wear
Your back injuries caused you painful despair
The lingerie didn’t cover you just right
So medical ailments kept you up many a nights
The roses in bloom where not the right flower
Your allergies they caused, thus making you sour
The ticket to heaven you plain out refused
Said it was one way, and that just wouldn’t do!
You had no issues riding my Lear jet
You rode the pilot as well, a mile high kinda bet
My love you tossed into the bin out in back
The divorce lawyer smiles at me, saying she sure is great in the sack
The moral of the Story is this!
If you are sitting at the table, and
You see a few beetles scurrying about
Maybe even whistling a tune or two
Listen carefully to what they say
Voices choral, chimes of clay ring out
oh so merrily to a wintry sky
And earthen sounds once silent, still, now shout
in harmony and majesty, they cry.
A brightness sheers the air as metal sounds,
long cylinders of brass clink in the breeze
like childish laughter each fresh note abounds
a thankful note the past year to appease.
In churches, mosques and temples they sing
as clappers sound the tone around their rims
forged of metal, or blown in glass, they ring
resounding as the hours of this year dim.
Rejoice, rejoice a New Year has begun
Goodbye they toll and sing here comes the sun.
Tonight, a montage is brushed with a splendor
of glazed branches : an arrangement of russet
teal and orange; dappled wisps enticing
my spirit for a pilgrim beyond my own angst.
In pure delight, tendrils of leaves are aflame
through the glory of a varnished summer.
Feathery rims unfurl in dotted patterns
adorning a cherry tree with iridescent flush
as its arms seem to layout
the stencils of hours' burdens.
Yet, miniature stars flicker on its robe
this cherry timber blowing heavenward,
perhaps content in the radiance
of its caressed blooms and harvest,
glazed by rapture of nature's lasting charm .
...................
Brian Strand's Whitsun Premiere Contest
My dream car is known to be one of muscle,
which can quickly get up and hustle.
The year would have to be nineteen hundred and Sixty nine,
best year of Camaro to come off the production line.
Orange in color with white racing stripes that line the hood,
along with new aluminum rims would be good.
Its engine would be a three twenty seven,
bearing a Holley Carb would be heaven.
To take it out on the road for a test,
assuredly it would be the best.
I would wash and wax it night and day,
in the garage is where it would stay.
Oh how that would be the car for me,
unfortunately one I’ll never see.
I am jealous
of everything that has ever touched you,
the breaths of hot sunshine that have soothed your cheeks with hope,
the moonlight that has painted your lips with lilly silver,
the darkness that has calmed you into soft slumber,
the rain that has pelted your flesh with sky splash,
the breeze that has lifted your hair with seductive intent,
Jealous of every temptation that has made your soul sweat,
every secret that has sworn obedience to your obsessions,
every kiss that has taken a taste of your sweet heat
every man that has collapsed into your romance,
every mouth that has spoken your name with awe
every second that has circled your psyche,
every particle that has pranced through your bloodstream,
every emotion that enlivens your ego,
every knot of knowledge that supports your smarts,
every star that has caught your girlish wishes,
every tear that slides faithfully from the pink rims of your eyelids,
every cut that has silenced your pride,
Jealous of every thing
that has left you, fed you, led you, entered you,
yet, I am grateful for all these odd and splendid things
that have known your beauty and pain,
for they have made my need for you real
and your love for me possible,
this jealousy is my love hypocrisy -
J.A.B.
When velvet night is soaked in dew
along bright rims of starlit thread,
prayers chime a tune in revue
away from hours of black and dread.
Along bright rims of starlit thread,
the fragrant winds blow chamomile,
away from hours of black and dread
to greet dawn’s flute with lambent feel.
The fragrant winds blow chamomile,
leaves draping the knolls in full hum,
to greet morn’s flute with lambent feel
as heart ripples while dusk succumbs.
Leaves draping the knolls in full hum
prayers chime a tune in revue,
as heart ripples while dusk succumbs
when velvet night is soaked in dew.
Gautami Phookan's Dabble in Poetry Forms
3/17/2014
Oh the images we freeze in time
the sweet, sweet scents that bring recall
the sharp and painful longing that belongings bring
for those lost or lingering on sheets of lavender
on shelves of shaving mugs - Old Spice
soap roped in shower stalls.
Oh the images warmed and torn, sun burnt to brown
upon what's left of glossy crenulated sheets
showing frozen plumped out peeks of
blistering love, gape toothed girls
and sour apple dreams.
We freeze in time on scrapes and shards
on compasses far from the woodlands scene
the tobacco scent of Papa, his yellowed fingers
as they touched my dimpled chin,
blue eyes behind wire rims.
The sweet, sweet scents that bring recall
White Shoulder's between her wholesome breasts
Mother's satin, Chantilly drenched negligee
and father's black onyx ring
ah, I still have him.
The sharp and painful longing that belongings bring
guilty pleasures hidden from the public's tut-tuting eyes
hoarded in ornate boxes, or pressed between stout boards
relentless, heartless is the passing
passing into the frayed, worn fringes
of our dollop of mirrored time.
For those lost or lingering on sheets of lavender
with drawers of balsam pillows to recall the olden days
bring forth the buds which bloom on taffy and apple pie
do not forget the taste of the love
the cotton candy kisses
their first chocolate cone.
On shelves of shaving mugs - Old Spice
soap roped in shower stalls, no sense comes
without its call to memory. Oh you do not sit alone,
play all the old tunes from radio days
and invite your loved ones
to come home.
This is my form it is called Etcetera.
Definition: Write a line or a stanza, take from that line or stanza words in the
order they were written [ from 1 word to whole lines or phrases] begin your
next stanza with it continue until you have written using all the words in the
order written in the line or stanza being explored in depth in a stream of
internal dialogue. ALL poetic devises/tropes may be used INCLUDING internal
rhyme. The verse may be as long or short as you wish, no meter required, no
syllable count.
I would say Etcetera and Blitz are sub forms of Free Verse - Stream of
Consciousness - Etcetera- Blitz
VAROOOM!! Listen to my honey purr.
Better to me than being wrapped in fur.
Come take a look at my 77' Corvette,
worth every penny tho' now I'm in debt.
She sits on a very sturdy C-2 chassis.
I love the way she makes me feel classy.
Brand new rims made of finest chrome,
staying clean, kept in my garage at home.
She gets attention from the opposite sex.
Here's my cute neighbor. "Hi there, Dex.
Take a look at what's under her hood."
"Whew," he whistled. "Sure lookin' good."
I didn't know if he meant the vette or me
with her 350 engine, I couldn't disagree.
Maybe it was her paint job he liked best,
Black Rose Metallic, he'd already guessed.
Dex told me he had one, an exact match.
I smiled knowing I'd hauled in my catch.
He asked if he could take us for a drive.
"Buckle up, Baby, I wanna keep you alive."
We slid across her seats of black leather,
Lookin' so fine, cruisin' 'round together.
My sweet vette was worth all the money.
Got Dex to notice me. Now he's my honey.
December 4th 2015
For Women Only~Car Contest
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer
Cornucopia
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
The Harvest V E
E Tradition: * Prunes G
N Long *Pecans G
O Long *Peaches I
^ WE SING Ago *Plums and Pears E
^ JOYFULLY Man *String Beans Green Beans and Lima Beans S
^ UNTO Would *Carrots Potatoes Wheat Rye Rice and Corn
The THEE FILL *Strawberries Blueberries Raspberries
Cornucopia a *Walnuts Chestnuts and Brazil Nuts
The Horn of Plenty goat's *Apricots Apples and Almonds
A horn shaped BASKET- horn *Onions Oats and Oranges
Every year its rims will flow over *Pomegranates Cherries
At harvest time- its *Lemons and Limes
It overflows profusely rim * Persimmons
WITH bounty! WITH: * Dewberries
A vast abundance of food * Bananas
Celebrating harvest * Paw Paw
Great Prosperity. * Figs
THANK YOU GOD!
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
August 9, 2009
For Brian Strand's Harvest Contest
Feeble, a word not often used
in this hi-def, mega bite world,
where almost anything can be done
with the tap of a fingertip,
the aged still feel feeble.
This crackled feeling runs along the rims
of brittle nails
and gray-white strands of hair.
The once svelte figures of maid or man,
now chose more often to crunch and snap,
as ligaments roll unpleasantly over joint heads.
The witty repartee of youth is replaced by a dazed look.
Yes, at this moment,
après gym and post nap
and pre chair massage a wobbling frailness
surrounds me in a weak chicken broth
of feebleness.
fingerless mits
cover bloodless palms –
weak spring sun
emotion: feeble
poet: Debbie Guzzi
Contest: How Do I Feel Today
Summer is here with its extended day light
Mountains are giving up on their accumulated stock of snow piles
The river is gushing with vigor carrying fresh cold water supply
Its dancing bubbly liquid is glittering in the sun’s sparkly stimuli
She comes meandering through luscious mountain valleys
Making the surrounding land enriched and generously fertile
Old and new trees of fir, pine and oak stand along her rims
Keep the mountains green and healthy for the roaming animal breeds
The change of the season is showing new growths on the tree tips
Many daisies and purple sweet pea flowers are covering nearby fields
Gorgeous red planted roses are blossoming in the sunlight
A Grapevine is also showing a start of new fruit to my delight
Dark blue magnificent Stellar Jays welcome visitors by their loud songs
Showing their bold inquisitiveness swooping from branch to branch
A pair of black Phoebe birds kept flying on the water to catch flies
Bringing back food to their precious chicks in the nest above a windowsill
A loner mink showed its appearance time to time after sunset
Hurrying fast to find a meal before hiding back into his cozy den
A black bear visited a few times in the darkness of nights
Happily wandering around the shared land after humans are gone to sleep
A visit to the rhythmic mountain river brought energizing breaths of refreshing air
Helped me notice and learn from the simplicity of nature’s behavior
The Blackness And The Hard Labor Of The Housemaid
Store up the spasms of the low rims of busy suns
trudging work tills the upheaval of ragged soil
and what of shadow hours, sweat and hard toil
does indifferent soil its gasping unholy vomit spill
she folds the clothes and then she falls asleep.
Trudge the hours and crack the unwilling stones
as her shadow walks into bars of uneven ethereal mists
the dark red rouge smears in round about shy patterns
she wonders, where does brown dung of yesterday hide
She slaves as a worker, her tired muscles cramp
her mind drifts and then it accuses her of nothingness
today is for work, tomorrow the mice may play
her work is as ancient days a drifting into noon
she is bent as a scornful indifferent boothill
as she finally stops, yes stops, to dare to go to sleep.
Robert J. Lindley, Verse
June 2nd 1972
Note: My new girlfriend's mother is a housemaid. Works 6 days week about 12 hour a day/