Best Round About Poems
He grabbed me up from where I lay, peaceful in the sun,
with my brothers and my sisters round about me.
I felt four digits seeming to be one of a whole,
which clasped around my form.
A fifth one, slightly broader, pressed onto me from my other side.
And then with a jolt, I found myself next lifted high into air,
the dry hot bed beneath me but a whisper of my past.
Accustomed, at the most, to being trodden upon,
I barely had the time to assimilate this rare experience
(I seemed to remember a sweeter touch long ago from a smaller being who had picked me up, examined me and then placed me back on the ground).
Suddenly, I was moving, this time unsupported, through the air.
I spied in a single spinning moment
a world I’d not envisioned from the spot on earth
I'd shared with pebble siblings. In that place, we were surrounded
by greenery that blocked our view
and by giant old gray boulders, my ancestors perhaps.
Reposing heavily as if attached to land,
one such silent sentry supported him,
the creature who had flung me far from my home.
I found myself then bump, bump, bumping along,
making little rings across a shiny stretch of blue.
And when I lost momentum,
I disappeared beneath the final circle I’d created.
It felt much like the times I had been buried in cold whiteness,
but this instead was liquid cool!
I dropped down and down,
onto a different kind of ground, unusually soft and sticky,
the way earth used to feel for me after a sudden downpour.
Settled there, I noticed brown and silver shapes that flitted past above me,
much smaller than many of the creatures of the land above me, but swifter.
Also there were tall green blades that swayed in place.
They resembled those that stood on solid ground.
Best of all, I saw around me others of my kind;
a multitude of us, small, beautiful and round,
with whom to share my soft new cozy bed!
June 25, 2017
Submitted Aug. 8, 2021 for the Stone Poetry contest of Anthony Biaanco
May May Be
By Franklin Price
4/25/2015
May may be the nicest month
Of all the dozen best
You may ask why would I say this
Let us put it to the test
The days of winter gone
Freakish April in the past
Flowers are still blooming
We have not seen the last
The days have balmy temperatures
The nights are sleeping cool
Hot Summer days are not yet here
The kids are still in school
I remember dancing 'round the pole
When I was in grade three
Over under round about
Was a lot of fun for me
May has many holidays
In abundance they abound
Can celebrate or commemorate
With silence or with sound
May Day's the first with dancing pole
Cinco de Mayo, Teacher's Day
Victory in Europe
Take your mother out and pay
Don't forget our soldiers
For our freedom lives they give
Memorial Day is at the end
Celebrate the lives you live
For May and all the other months
Last words I say to you
Respect yourself and others
In everything you say and do
At a point where the old road meets the hill
and runs down the other side
There's an old tin shed that's standing, still
and a grave where the old dog died
He surely had seen better days
when our paths chanced to cross
As I lit up a fire and laid out my swag
he got up and wandered across
I could see from the look in the old dog's eye
that his race was almost run
but he sat by my side and offered his paw
So I gave him a pat and a bun
I cooked up some meat and he chewed on a bone
then he rested his head on my swag
We sat and we watched as the stars all came out
and his tail did a slow steady wag
We fell fast asleep and I woke with the sun
to find the old dog passed away
So I gathered him up and I buried him deep
and sadly I went on my way
It was later that morning I stopped at a farm
to ask about work round about
and I happened to see a new litter of pups
one turned and came waddling out
He sat on the ground and he offered his paw
and I saw a strange glint in his eye
Had the old dog returned? Was he telling me now
that I shouldn't be sad that he'd died?
Well I picked him right up and his warm puppy tongue
quickly licked off the tear from my cheek
I couldn't think straight, I was stunned and choked up
and found my knees going all weak
So I bought him right there and I gathered him up
He settled right down in my swag
As I walked down the road I could feel the odd thump
as his tail did a slow steady wag.
From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"
January 29 Scripture Meditations Based on Numbers 1-5
Key Verse – Numbers 1:50 But thou shalt appoint the Levites over the tabernacle of testimony, and over all the vessels thereof, and over all things that belong to it: they shall bear the tabernacle, and all the vessels thereof; and they shall minister unto it, and shall encamp round about the tabernacle.
MY GOD, THANK YOU FOR THE PRIVILEGE TO MINISTER
Thank You for the privilege to minister, helping others, thru Your calling
According to Your purpose-sealing…
Despite my unworthiness in fulfilling
Still, You enable me to be willing.
Thank You for the privilege to minister, helping others, thru Your commanding
According to Your definite instruction-feeding…
Despite my incapacity in heeding
Still, You drive me by Your prodding.
Thank You for the privilege to minister, helping others, thru Your charging
According to Your precious Word always encouraging…
Despite my weakness in faith-plunging
Still, You push me toward deeds that are life-changing.
Thank You for the privilege to minister, helping others, thru Your preaching
According to Your immutable precepts with valuable teaching…
Despite my shyness in beseeching
Still, You come to me with Your mercies’ reaching.
Thank You for the privilege to minister, helping others, thru Your blessing
According to Your bountiful provisions indeed unceasing…
Despite my weariness in pressing
Still, You pull me to strive for good works’ increasing.
Thank You for the privilege to minister, helping others, thru Your exhorting
According to Your divine plan with heavenly profiting…
Despite my frustrations in goal-setting
Still, You let me stay in Your will of blissful worship-meeting.
January 29, 2022
If only angles could be calculated by degrees of truth,
Counted along perpendicularities measured by parallel reasons.
If only spheres were round,
Found amongst the globes hovering in the heavens we've named Space.
Circling nuclei like electrons to an atom, orbiting thoughtlessly around a point that never proved itself.
Heat and light suffice reason, it seems.
To be and hither thither, round about we go, whether poisoned entrails grow.
Math were to be the way to see,
Rather than moth to flame,
Until recently, it seems.
Counting pasts and futures has become futile, when the present takes both for granted.
If only we could count the circles round we've been,
If only we could swing in tune to frequent hymn,
If only we could see that out is what's within,
Then we'd learn of curve, sine and reason.
It would be a wondrous thing
If I chanced to see
Unicorns of ocean deep
Swimming nearby me.
Each one with a spiraled tusk
Jutting from its jaw,
Swimming round about me; oh,
I would be in awe!
Clicking, squealing, whistling,
Swimming in their pod.
If I tried to join their group,
Would that seem too odd?
I could try to click at them
With my little tongue.
If I whistled, would they think
Songs were being sung?
Swimming with some narwhals though -
It will never be.
For I’d freeze so deep beneath
That cold Arctic Sea!
Written 10/9/15 in the 7/5 Trochee form for the Narwhal Contest of Skat
The angel Gabriel appeared to Mary,
He said that she would bear a son,
And call Him Jesus, the Son of David,
The Saviour, man, and Holy One.
(Chorus)
The perfect gift came down from heaven,
The Son of God born on the earth;
The Prince of Peace, the King of Jacob,
Became a babe of humble birth.
The shepherds kneeling, the angels singing,
Give praises to the infant Lord.
The Father's glory shines round about them;
The love of God that night outpoured.
(Chorus)
His beaming star stood above the manger,
It led the wise men from the East;
They fell and worshipped, and then presented
Their gifts to Jesus, King and Priest.
(Chorus)
By Isaiah Zerbst on November 24, 2013
Speak little and hear much,
For words can get you in trouble.
Too many words confuses things,
And then your problems can double.
Some people talk to show friendliness,
And some to be entertaining;
And some to show how much they know,
But talk can tend to be straining;
For too much talk can get on your nerves,
For everyone needs peace and quiet,
And a steady drone like bees in a hive,
Isn't good as a steady diet;
But everyone likes a quiet man,
Who shows courtesy and listens well,
One who is pleased to hear what they say,
But that which he hears he won't tell;
For a wise man knows when to speak and when not,
And doesn't run off at the mouth.
He knows the less said is the best, as they say,
For words are oft turned round about;
So keep to yourself the things that you know,
Or your praises will not be sung.
You'll gain more friends and be more at peace,
By simply holding your tongue.
We had no hand in this rape of nature
Yet we will bear its full weight and measure
Can climate be sentenced to certain doom
Is there time to resolve its gruesome gloom
Don't dare ask us to deny climate change
We've dug a hole that we can't get out of
At the "climate mercy" from high above
Self-interest trumps the collective good
Tell the top players to do now what they should
Don't dare ask us to think or act short-term
Our little spades try digging us all out
As designer-suit dudes plow dirt round about
We dutifully sift through our own trash
So we make these moguls even more cash
Don't dare ask us to bow to huge profits
Those prominent peers, posers, pols and priests
They had their fair say and done their least
Fighting useless battles over oil sites
While we differ on clear-cut human rights
Don't dare ask us to reject world order
Elites hold the power and that is true
Puny results from what we folks can do
As much as we'd like to see it all stop
To fix this we must begin at the top
Don't dare ask us to back broken brokers
Seeing in stores all that shiny plastic
Vast plastic globs float in the Pacific
We drive plastic cars that are half the weight
With which green fuel is still under debate
Don't dare ask us to save our frail planet
Each ecosystem is interconnected
Rising like tides that are all effected
Now fires and storms rage behind a curtain
Weather is volatile and uncertain
Don't dare ask us to endanger species
Air, lands, waters hope for a better day
Some of earth's environs have lost their way
Without half our insects we must move on
The planet's trees are forever half gone
Don't dare ask us to fix this mega mess
Couplet 40 Lines 337 Words
'Round about eight o'clock each evening the massive iron gates are closed.
The moon's mellow glow shines upon spectral scenes that are now exposed!
Phantoms that by day lie peacefully in their graves now freely roam,
Reliving mortal dramas when the earthly stage was their home!
I've never witnessed such things but I've heard from reliable sources,
That nigh midnight a spectral hearse travels about drawn by ebon horses!
Six ghostly pallbearers march behind the hearse chanting a mournful dirge,
As they escort the macabre procession and at a gloomy crpyt converge!
A specter desperado is seen dodging 'mongst the moss-covered stones,
Chased by a sheriff, his moldy funereal shroud flapping about his bones!
"Crazy Bob" Womack who discovered gold up around Cripple Creek,
Sits on his stone guzzling booze and gazing wistfully t'ward Pikes Peak!
Pat Brady, Roy Rogers' old sidekick, races about in his jeep, "Nellybelle!"
Rebel soldiers scramble from their graves and loose a fearsome Rebel Yell!
A gorgeous young wraith clad in white wafts to and fro seeking her lover,
Adding to this eerie scene, perched in ancient oaks, owls hoot and hover!
Ghostly apparitions peer from windows of the haunted chapel on the grounds.
Grinning skeletons rise from musty tombs rattling about making their rounds!
Helen Hunt Jackson, author of "Romana" resides here in her special nook.
She leans against her stone observing all, perhaps researching another book!
When I think of my heavenly promised land,
Where someday I will make my eternal home,
With Jesus, who came, the world to redeem;
Oh how the best things of this world grow dim!
When I imagine God’s beaches of golden sand
Along the shiny shore of the smiley glassy sea;
I cannot wait there to go and on my place stand.
Oh what a joyful thought; what an eternal land!
Where down here on earth can I find anything,
To compare with the immortal flowers above;
Which never fade away by day-they feel alright-
As they sing glories to God; for all is light.
Who can show me in this ailing world anything,
Close to the water of life clear as crystal above.
Which never freeze; for there is not any winter—
But flows graciously; inviting me eternity to enter!
My land smells some sweet smell of rare roses,
Angels sing soft songs seasoned with angelic smiles
Every time I think of this land and its unfading roses,
I wonder how fairer my Jesus looks when He smiles.
Oh when I think of my ever sweet promised land
All valuables I have round about me simply fade away.
When I picture the everlasting beaches of golden sand
All the earthly white sand beaches simply fade away.
Oh when I think of my heavenly promised land,
Where someday I will make my eternal home;
I feel so lonely in this world, I am so home sick!
I long to go home to sing with angels every week,
Praising God for ever as I eat from the tree of life.
Shouting Alleluia as I drink the water of life.
For there will be no more crying no more dying;
But singing and shouting and praising Jesus our King.
I know it’s possible through the blood of the Lamb.
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/
A CHILD IS BORN
Once upon a time, long, long ago
In a far away land
A star shone bright throughout the night
Its light was truly grand
Men in fields were watching sheep
They marveled at this sight
The Glory of God shone round about
And filled them all with fright
Suddenly, the angels came
And said, be not afraid
For unto you a King is born
Go see where He is laid
Then wise men came from far away
With gifts so sweet and rare
To pay homage to this King of Kings
In a stable cold and bare
So come now let us celebrate
The birth of this same child
Who now rules o'er the universe
Though born so meek and mild
This King will reign eternally
His Kingdom has no end
Let this Christ Child live in you
And be your closest friend
Then when you leave this earthly home
For your appointed place
You'll have a mansion all your own
And meet Him face to face
Curtis Moorman
Christmas Poem 1995
If you hear the sound of rat-tat-a-tat
It's not a woodpecker or a chattering cat
Tis George F. Latulence an aristocrat
Playing ping pong with his gold crested bat.
A competitor and show-off he deems to be
Dresses each day in his noble finery
Pantaloons his normal fancy day wear
His ancestry, finery, regalia, style flair.
He never shares glory or plays with a partner
Winning trophies for himself, what he is after
Agile and swift, rarely points he would miss
The downside came, when you did get that whiff.
To gain advantage, a parp he would do
Clenching bum cheeks, in case he followed through
High class energy foods for his body to sustain
But his parping was every one else's nose bane.
George on first serve, parped, as he hit the ball hard
Swiftly attacking, George butt did bombard
In that spilt second threw off his opponent
Point gain to George, aided by his flatulent moment.
Silent and deadly they all came out fast
Odourous gas from George nuclear fueled ar$e
If one made a noise he'd give a loud grunt
That was his bum burping cover up stunt.
Knew there was trouble when audiences pulled faces
Some even fainted, brave stayed in their seat places
George didn't care, just wanted top podium status
His methods and thinking obnoxiously atrocious.
Audience faces were different shades of green
People were swaying, some even vomiting.
He called it his ping pong, parp-crafty-art farts
Next point to win, final round about to start.
The ball went to and fro like a speeding fast bullet
George, with match point, he was about to secure it
Hitting an ace, made a spark, that caused a boom blast
Left the audience with mix feelings of relief and aghast.
Breaking news of his death headlines did broadcast
Even able to download from what's called a podcast
George F. Latulence died from a blast from his ar$e,
He blew up one too many, too dense and not sparse.
May The Gas Be With You Farts Part 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor Chantelle Anne Cooke
Written 07.10.21
??Wisdom of Solomon 13:11 KJVAAE??
[11] Now a carpenter that felleth timber, after he hath sawn down a tree meet for the purpose, and taken off all the bark skilfully round about, and hath wrought it handsomely, and made a vessel thereof fit for the service of man's life;
??Ecclesiasticus 38:27 KJVAAE??
[27] So every carpenter and workmaster, that laboreth night and day: and they that cut and grave seals, and are diligent to make great variety, and give themselves to counterfeit imagery, and watch to finish a work:
??Isaiah 41:7 KJVAAE??
[7] So the carpenter encouraged the goldsmith, and he that smootheth with the hammer him that smote the anvil, saying, It is ready for the soldering: and he fastened it with nails, that it should not be moved.
??Isaiah 44:13 KJVAAE??
[13] The carpenter stretcheth out his rule; he marketh it out with a line; he fitteth it with planes, and he marketh it out with the compass, and maketh it after the figure of a man, according to the beauty of a man; that it may remain in the house.
??Matthew 13:55 KJVAAE??
[55] Is not this the carpenter's son? is not his mother called Mary? and his brethren, James, and Joses, and Simon, and Judas?
??Colossians 2:14-15 KJVAAE??
[14] blotting out the handwriting of ordinances that was against us, which was contrary to us, and took it out of the way, nailing it to his cross; [15] and having spoiled principalities and powers, he made a show of them openly, triumphing over them in it.