Best Romps Poems
Drained fingers jot sweet memory
calling Pam’s name in every bloom,
as laced nights recall the glory
of fondness born from love’s heirloom...
Time pauses… her Glow swirls on trees
where romps christen fire tasting life..
And though wonder darts to appease
pale the ticks, yearning for dear wife.
Laura Loo's Contest:Second Place Only Contest III
Submitted 2/5/2016 Judged 2/6/2016
For the 'LOST' Theme Contest
As I wake up to the dawn of another day
I wrestle with myself and ask why bother
Just another day, without any warmth
There is a chill in my heart, sadly this is true
The coffee pot sings, an attempt to lift spirits
I confess I welcome even this small endeavor
A machine trying to cheer me up,
In this a cold cold cold world
How can this be?
Me so thirsty and cold?
I hypnotically prepare for another day
As I curse Al Gore
I see you all scurry from here to god knows where
Curious I ponder what’s the rush?
Snow falls from a dreary sky
A blanket of white to chill us even more
A child romps happily in springtime meadows
Chasing butterflies and dreams
His heart now filled with Vodka Ice
How did such warmth turn into an ancient glacier?
In the subway deep underground
I see a stranger, a woman, tears falling
Icicles form under her eyes
She too has a frozen heart
I would hug her, with words of comfort
If not for the invisible cold barrier between us
We are many on this subway of desire
So close, yet we all feel the northern winds of loneliness
This world of love and compassion has become frozen
We have forgotten the season of spring
We have been frozen out of emotions garden
We shiver here in the cold together alone
I rise up from the subways depths
I know my heart was murdered by the arctic winds
Something inside of me , cries
Go Go Go melt something, anything
I pass the newsstand selling flowers
I buy one single rose
The woman with icicle tears is nearby
I hand her this rose
I whisper, what this planet needs
Is some global warming
She smiles a sad thank you
As I walk away, hoping
Global warming takes hold
Rain ©
I walk on slick shine streets
in the night with my lover.
Freshly out of bed and ravenous
for other food, he pauses and
licks the tears and rain drops
from my face.
Rain in its many moods
quickens to sweep the earth and
skies clean.
Settles on the skin like a damp
kiss. Cold, warm, sweet, clean,
sharp, rain.
Is designer bottled water
merely rain drops from afar?
The dog romps through the rain,
in his perfect raincoat, oblivious
to the wet.
Blinking owlishly when a drop
should fall into his eye.
Mysterious primates of the forest
sit forlornly, beneath the
umbrella leaf.
Forever patient as the skies
rupture with a torrential deluge.
Human-tender eyes reflect their
disgust and sadness at the wet,
messy coats they must wear.
The equine turn their haunches
to the storm to show their scorn
for nature’s tantrum.
Cats run for cover, sit
majestically removing the
wet rain from their person with a
wet tongue.
Wild fowl dance across the circle
patterns of the pond’s face,
beating their wings and singing.
They frolic and dive celebrating
the sublime circumstance of
being wet.
Man spends energy and money
to keep himself dry and safe
from the rain, darting from
doorway to doorway.
What does he fear? He won’t
melt if he gets soaked, he won’t
become ill or grow fins, and he
just might get clean.
Snow is rain in its wedding attire;
no two brides alike.
The rain drop falls into a rivulet
of other rain drops atop the
mountain.
The rivulet runs into the creek,
the creek into a stream.
The stream rushes to the river
and the river falls into the sea.
The rain drops turn to salty tears
as the journey ends.
It is said that chickens, if left out
in the rain, will lift their heads up
to the sky and watch the rain
until they drown.
Trisha Sugarek
Butterflies and Bullets
With shining eyes, the prettiest
advances leading all the rest.
She skips with glee beneath blue skies,
the prettiest with shining eyes.
The second, with a warming smile,
comes dressed in lace, and all the while
she lithely romps beneath the sun
with warming smile, the second one.
And woebegone, the daughter third,
walks, scowling, speaking not a word.
She trudges slowly on and on -
the daughter third and woebegone.
Now comes along a steadfast son
whose sauntering seems never done.
He perseveres though winds be strong.
A steadfast son now comes along.
The second boy along the trail
has charity, which does not fail.
He renders aid and brings sweet joy
along the trail, the second boy.
Another son, now onward pressed,
endures although fatigued and stressed.
He's labored much and cannot run,
now onward pressed, another son.
At course's end, a daughter fair
who rests - lets down her golden hair.
Most cheerful, tender, gracious friend,
the daughter at the course's end.
Inspired by the nursery rhyme "Monday's Child"
young moment spills
of fragrant wisp
imbuing new romps
that oh I taste
freedom again...
pulsed, enticed
by August's play--
a cycle in pure heat
lusting after joy, passion
in kiln of night's rapture
POTD award
Beginning a new spring with bitter sweet
memories of the past of romps in rye
of thimble sized strawberry perfect treats...
children dripping with bountiful surprise
with sugary tart rhubarb pies and cream.
oh, they were and are, honeyed dreams of springtime.
When our cheeks were pink and blossoms redeemed
The garden, ours, or the farmer's near bye
gave us mystery as we planted each seed.
Ah, sunflowers as high as the blue sky!
What joy, what a gift each spring anew
with children young and old blooming beaucoup!
Our love continued to grow as the warm gaze of summer came forth, shinning light on the skeletons we’d became, bodies ravaged from the merciless vulture that was and is the winter. No rays from the sunlight, so brilliant they hurt my eyes, could provide the warmth her love provided. The bones that tried to cut through my skin were the love-marks of our late night romps, the constant light-headedness I took for euphoric ecstasy, was really my body dying.
In the dawning light of the summer…I began to see what I had become. What both she and I had done. I was no longer a girl, I was no longer a human being. I was a breath of bones, so thin you had to squint one eye and shut the other to notice me. “What have I done?” I screamed to myself as I stared at what use to be a body in the length of a one-way mirror. She came to me then, tried to tempt me back into her arms, but I no longer saw the beauty in her skeletal form. I could only see how her love had raped and pillaged me. And so I turned her away and said goodbye…
The story of Bambi and his delightful friends Thumper, the rabbit, and Flower,
the skunk, his mother and father, The Great Prince of the Forest has been
read to kids for years. It is a beautiful story but has a great sadness too.
Bambi lives in the forest with his mother,
and his father The Great Prince of the Forest.
All day Bambi romps and plays with his friends
Thumper the rabbit and Flower the skunk.
But, his father warns him about the hunters,
waiting in the meadow ... we all know the rest !
But, in my version, Bambi's mother is not killed,
the forest is not set on fire, and his mother comes
home to their den safe and kisses Bambi to sleep.
The forest remains green and lush and Bambi,
grows up big and strong and has lots of babies,
while Bambi's mother becomes a proud grandma.
October Sun…!!! Our summer fun
and playful romps in clover,
our laid back days have gone their ways;
the equinox is over.
As climate drifts your orbit shifts
towards the Earth’s equator,
and you become the biased one,
the season’s arbitrator.
As foliage falls and coolness calls,
the days are growing shorter;
October Sun, the callous one,
the summertime’s exporter.
October 27, 2019
Xanadu may exude such percussive bliss
Youthful romps and a coy stolen kiss
Lightly tapping in jaunty melifulous splendor
Orpheus muse prances playfully tender
Pounding with swift light jazzy flourishes
Heart and soul the xylophone nourishes
Oblivious to troubles I cannot stop my feet
Notions of love brightly swing to the beat
Each crisply chimed note a gift beyond sweet
For there abide beef, pork and chicken
and the greatest of these is bacon
hot sizzling crispy to the tongue
satiating succulently scrumptious bacon.
For bacon curries no favor
plays the field tempts the stoic and saintly
slides into gustatorial beds
romps with tomato and lettuce
hangs out with eggs, hard boiled and soft
mocks the ten condiments
bathes in the sinful seven
is prideful
lusts after
the last greed filled bite
of gluttony
provokes the envy
of slothful
greasy lust.
Ah, bacon
you grease the skids
of dietary destruction
stalk the fat cells
of cellulitic cravings
tempt the tendrils of scent
with your aphrodisial aroma
inducing a pheromonal fling.
Oh bacon
you promiscuous panderer
curvaceous little porker
I believe
I trust
I lust
in and after your truth.
John G. Lawless
©11/2/2019
“Oh Emma, my cherished and unholy soulmate;
Woman of air! Raw phrases leap with love and hate.
Behind glasses seethes a romantic, daring the night
August child of gothic verse, lines we all recite.
Yet , when soirees roll, your flame the men desire;
It surprises me how that glance changes like fire!
In class, we ignite our teachers’ ire with naughty quirks
Creating romps as the batch mimes our theatrics.
Tonight, we pluck more wild seeds of younger memoirs
Still coloring our lives as time waits for girl- hours.”
.........................
* Emma is a dear friend way back in college. As an activist,
writer, and down-to-earth woman, she graduated with cum laude
honors. We regularly meet up to bond and nourish our friendship.
Emma Contest of Juli-Michelle
This is another night, deceiving myself
to be awake...blinded by the sight of
my own surreal wisp of a mellow dream
raking and turning into long reveries,
where something once pleasant is now so trite-
that Illusions of fresh morn quickly blacken
... snuffing whispers of a shadowy wind
slowly retracing its glide into my cries.
Every night, at the sight of darkened moonlight
purple lines of evening air heralds pain--
wind arriving from behind, hushed and still,
that I hide my face from such musky flavor,
carrying scents of our autumnal romps
and remind me of wind songs, play, soft cuddles
pressed in heavenly light, to whisper love
about you, young son high up now with blue stars:
And In his court are a thousand jewels
twinkling from afar with this soft wind cuddling
me in your arms to say, ' all is right, Mama.'
Shifty was my friend
Shifty was my lover
He lived not to very far
A day's drive in a car
Empty promises were his
But let me tell you this
When he lay beside me
Not another would I see
His caress and touch
Gave me such a rush
Puddles and pools
Like to intertwined fools
Moans and cries
The neighbors none to wise
Aroma of sex in the air
None could compare
To Shifty my pride
My legs open wide
Shame I dare say
Was never our way
The blush colored glasses
Naked romps in the grasses
Love or lust
But who could I trust
My body said go
Shifty never said "No"
Shower I must
To prepare for his thrust
Goodnight to the weary
Love hard don't be leary.
Late night party
Board games and booze;
Happy laughter romps
~~~~~~~~~
Whiskey aged
Booze on the rocks;
Mellow fragrance
~~~~~~~~~
Blessings loiter
Smiles on faces;
Party mood
~~~~~~~~~
Purple sweet potato
Warm soupy dessert;
Zest greets fresh
~~~~~~~~~
Evening drizzle
Hazy darkness swirls;
Raindrop orchestra
~~~~~~~~~
Scary movie
Late night interlude;
Impromptu shocks
~~~~~~~~~
Once again
Slumber's limbo sensations;
Sleep talking episode
~~~~~~~~~
Moonless night
Skyline bleached black;
Raindrops fall screeching
~~~~~~~~~
Bedtime story
Sexy postures;
Sighs and highs
~~~~~~~~~
Evening news
Foregone conclusions;
Another failure then
~~~~~~~~~
Fate is stern
No time for jokes;
Another bomb blast
~~~~~~~~~
Purple and red
Pulpy fruit slurpy;
Back to basics
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
08 May 2016
Singapore