Best Sense Poems
In this wondrous world, we are bound
to the silent realms of our poetic soul
Where white doves flutter and sighing words whisper
as dreams are dreamt with a heart's fervor
of unyielding desire which brightly burns
through the words of poetry
that capture the world's glorious glimmers
which slowly drip upon the page as poems
seeking a night's landscape
of wandering wishes beneath glittering stars
from a memory in fanciful flight
on the wings of perfection
where a sonnet shimmers in stardust bestrewn
as the moon serenaded fades into song
forgetting to rise and light dusky skies
lost in the magic of this intimate dark
as lips of a poet tingle the skin of a lyric
and brush with a breath thoughts soft as a flute
fantasy flies like fireflies from a jar
to drift to the depths of velvet horizons
reveries no longer long to be free
as the muse charms a pulse from the page
It's there in my heart's timeless space
I hear the poems of your soul
3/16/21
Thank You...Dear Friend, Dear Poet
soul's speech is your flower garden - let it flourish with fragrant beauty
Now I’m thinking, while sitting on a chair,
There is something that I would like to share
I fear my mind is dense
Can’t make out common sense
How come they call it common if it’s rare?
--------------------------------------------------
Quote: “Common sense is very uncommon”
(Helen Gurley Brown)
"Common sense is not so common"
(Voltaire)
--------------------------------------------------
Contest: Dumb and Dumber Personal quotes
Sponsor: John Freeman
To hear me would sound like a symphony of octaves –
played all at once with concrete fingers
on diamond in the rough strings.
To see me…O’, to see me you would have to turn,
ever so slightly sideways, to ensure proper exposure –
one would not wish to either scar his or her retinas
with too much light; or murder their spirits with silky
raven on a moonless night, darkness. No, no. That
is far too much for the eyes to bear.
To touch me would be like dipping warm fingertips into
a pool of liquid mercury; like the sun’s rays beneath
the water, touching the ocean’s deepest silver depths.
The scent of me would bring your waiting nose to a
dichotomy of frenzy – one side wanton, and as eager
as a schoolboy with a playboy – but the other side!
The other nostril would shrivel under scrutiny; buckle under
the burning scent of disgust and unrefined madness, as if you
were smelling your own death, not the florid scent of Eden.
And to taste me…to taste me would leave the tongue
as twisted as a winter apple’s branches; as torn as a wool
tartan from the shoulder’s of a traitor; and as confused
as a year without Spring. To taste me would be like
tasting every dream you ever lusted, and every ending
that ever broke you – like sipping lemonade in the void.
But…if you are the one; the only one in the midst of all
this impenetrable chaos who can sense me, beyond
the average man’s malleable stone-walled borders –
than I bid you come. Test the likes of this diamond
against your rough-hewn backdrop – try me on for size;
see if you have the stones to not. Get. Cut.
*Inspired by Nathan Leccese's Diamond in the Rough, contest. :)
In this wondrous world, we are bound
to the silent realms of our poetic souls
where white doves flutter and sighing words whisper
as dreams are dreamt with a heart's fervor
of unyielding desire which brightly burns
through the words of poetry
that capture the world's glorious glimmers
which slowly drips upon the page as poems
seeking a night's landscape
of wandering wishes beneath glittering stars
from a memory in fanciful flight
on the wings of longing perfection
where a sonnet shimmers in stardust bestrewn
as the moon serenaded fades into the song
forgetting to rise and light dusky skies
lost in the magic of this intimate dark
as lips of a poet tingle the skin of a lyric
and brush with a breath thoughts soft as a flute
fantasy flies like fireflies from a jar
to drift to the depths of velvet horizons
reveries no longer long to be free
as the muse charms a pulse from the page
It's there in my heart's timeless space
I hear the poems of your soul
Frederic Parker and Susan Ashley
(a collaboration)
March 16, 2021
~ Poem Of The Week ~
March 21, 2021
*celebrated on Frederic Parker's page*
Special note: it is indeed an honor to share in the wonderful recognition of Poem Of The Week with my inspiring and gifted collaborator, Frederic Parker.
Frederic, thank you for initiating this beautiful piece and for inviting me to create poetry with you. I cherish our fruitful poetic fellowship. That our muses shared in charming a pulse from the page is truly a special gift given to me.
Poet’s note: Dear Frederic, it was both a thrill and an honor to be invited to collaborate with you on this beautiful poem. Your tender, breathtaking artistry touched my heart and enchanted my imagination. The expressive talent of your golden pen never fails to inspire me. Thank you, dear poet, dear friend, for a stirring creative experience.
Sprouting, stunning birth
Fragrant... sunkissed flowering
Awakening lush
28.02.2018
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
5-7-5 - www.howmanysyllables.com
A slight hint of consternation was in her voice,
“Why did you tell those people I’m deaf and dumb?”
“I never said you were deaf, my Dear.”
She laughed, but I kinda felt like a bum.
Hell. It was just a joke.
One evening, she asked, “Will you love me if I get chubby?”
I responded, “Of course I still love you.
It would take much more than pounds and cellulite
To make me fall out of love…it’s true.”
Hell. It was just a joke.
“Would you remarry if I die before you?” she asked.
I said, “No…probably not…I’ve been spoiled by you.”
“But you’ve been a great husband. I think you should.”
“Whatever happens, happens is the best I can do.”
“If you remarried, would you play golf with your new wife?
And would you let her use my clubs?” she demanded.
I calmly smiled and said, “Your clubs are safe.
You see, my Dear…she’s left handed.”
Hell. It was just a joke.
Then, she whined and whined about her butt.
I responded, “Want to knock some inches off that ass?
It may sound strange, but I heard it works….
Rinse all your panties in Slim Fast.”
Hell. It was just a joke.
The next day, I readied for work, took ‘undies’ from my drawer.
They were engulfed in a fog of white, why I didn’t know.
So, I asked, “Honey! Why did you put talcum powder on my shorts?”
She slyly smiled, “That’s not talcum powder. That’s Miracle Gro.”
Hell. It was just a joke....I guess.
So, what is my wife’s most endearing feature?
Her sense of humor.... there’s no doubt.
Always a smile where angst or anger might have been,
A smile I never want to be without.
He was debonair, full of flare
charm exuded here and there
but she was so unaware
and she let her heart to dare
poured out love and all her care
But he another love did share
There he stood, there he bled
he knew that she longed to wed
all this filled his heart with dread
for she loved the youth instead
This young rival he must shred
Take her to his heart and bed
Walked in rain then took a spill
Jilted, wilted soon fell ill
to live life she lost the will
Passion gone, there was no thrill
but her heart he longed to fill
His love was the magic pill
The she knew love has no age
his hand turned a brand new page
Now that in love she was sage
Rescued from falsehood's cage
Passion danced upon their stage
No one could their joy to gauge
Jade Celeste
This is the story of Marianne and Colonel Brandon from Sense and Sensibility. You should watch the version that has Kate Winslet play the part of Marianne. Emma Thompson is her sister. Marianne is in love with the young John Willoughbye, who is dashing and charming. She is passionately in love with him, but her heart is broken when he gets engaged to someone else. Colonel Brandon, played by Alan Rickman, is an older man who is passionately in love with her but doesn't express it to her in ways she expects. However, when she falls ill, he is the one by her side. He nurses her slowly back to health and wins her love. :) This story is written by Jane Austen. Oh how I love the classics. Sometimes it is the steady, deep, unassuming love that is truly lasting.
I've written a poem on this theme with a different twist: Scent and Sensuality. ;) I http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/scent_and_sensuality_474084
The kids at play appear distracted,
Remote control is used to aim
As they engage in stellar warfare
They’re concentrating on their game.
My wife and I talk in a whisper
There’s adult business to discuss
Not meant for ears of little children;
We raise no voices, make no fuss.
Out of the blue they interrupt us.
They have picked up all that we said!
Their sense of hearing is amazing;
We should use code or signs instead.
How come their ears are sharp and active
When they are even out of range,
Then when we want their full attention
They become deaf. Isn’t it strange!
----------------------------------------------
Contest: Funny Kids Poem Contest
Sponsor: Team PoetrySoup
Placed 2nd
When I was a young child I studied ants
I loved their formation on ground and plants.
Like tiny soldiers lined, disciplined well,
They worked hard all day, from what I could tell.
Their strength was awesome, things they could carry,
Never wasting time, all day they'd tarry.
One time as I watched two lines in a row
In opposite directions they did go.
Then as I watched them, like a friend of mine,
Two friends stopped to chat then returned in line.
Ant's personalities, unique to see....
How akin these small creatures are to me.
I love their work ethic in an ant farm....
A splended tool to teach kids not to harm.
They work together harmoniously
And will protect their nest defensively.
Please teach your children the value they give.
Not to destroy their nests, please let them live.
They work to keep other insects at bay
And help till the soil in their special way.
I know households do disdainfully reject,
Yet these small insects gain my full respect.
They have survived millions of years on earth.
There-in lies their beauty, proving their worth!
11-2-18
Insects Poetry Contest~First Place~ in a winning list of seven
Sponsored by: Angela Tune
Note: Ants are eusocial insects of the family Formicidae and, along with the related wasps and bees, belong to the order Hymenoptera.
Ants evolved from wasp-like ancestors in the Cretaceous period, about 140 million years ago, and diversified after the rise of flowering plants.
It has come to light according to a new study, that ants produce their own antibiotics to deal with diseases that can be used to treat humans as well.
Ants do a lot for us and the environment in general. A single
large colonel of ants will pick up and or kill 100,000 other insects a day for food. So they're the pest control themselves of the insect kingdom. Many species of ants have a mutual relationship with plants that the ants may benefit from in some way. Over 12,000 species of ants have been scientifically identified. Ants are known to be a good source of protein and ingested in several countries.
That Bench
He goes there every day; to that bench in the shade;
Where his shoes have formed small clearings in the gravel;
where his wool sport coat has rubbed smooth the paint.
He goes there every day, to that bench in the shade
where the squirrels eat straight from his hand
as little birds frantically snatch up seeds he's sprinkled about.
He goes there every day, to that bench in the shade
but not today…and not again.
08/30/15
Submission for Contest: The Sense of Touch
Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
In every sense I smell his love
When the pure-scented moonlight bathes my window
Reflecting its tresses inside and the night-breeze
Spills a bouquet exploding of wonderful colors
Of evocations to mind which stroke perfumed
Warm touch on my glowing skin courted
By lavender whispers of memory… hmm…there
In every sense I smell his love.
I feel empty inside,
robbed of its passion: my spirit has died.
It was a deftly theft;
no trace of trust is left,
I am feeling bereft:
and can't shake that feeling; God knows I've tried.
A shadow in the dark,
my soul has lost its spontaneous spark.
Poor invisible me,
I'm a tear in the sea
where no one hears my plea:
while my future looks increasingly stark.
My inner voice goes mute,
when the pain of loneliness grows acute,
and faith's put on trial.
I've not smiled in a while
and it has cramped my style,
fantasies become a poor substitute.
The victim of a lie,
my heart is a place where dreams go to die.
For hope cannot exist
where fantasies desist;
and nagging doubts resist
attempts to trust in love, or even try.
Viciously, infernally incredibly hot, is its dominance
Excitedly referred to as ‘Women come from Venus”,
Naturally, Roman Goddess of beauty and love, ingenious,
Unsure of falling in love with Venus, no water I fear,
Seduced by folklore, don’t become a foolish Pioneer!
Contest Info : "planet"
Sponsor: Matt Caliri
Dated 28th May 2021
A SONG THAT WILL ONLY MAKE SENSE
TO EAST COASTERS! (CANADA)
A heritage that we all share, our blood is maritime.
We thrill to see the Bluenose, her picture on a dime.
Emotion for an ocean, gray Atlantic ever by,
Newfoundland, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, PEI.
We’ve been to L’Anse Meadows, explored the Labrador.
Cruised the Ponds in Gros Morne Park, fished Caplin from the shore.
Raised a glass at Crow’s Nest, saw the sunrise Cape Spear beach.
Sang along with Great Big Sea, kissed the Cod and drank the Screech.
We’ve inner tubed the Nashwaak, fly fished the Miramichi.
Been to Historic Village in the heart of Acadie.
Climbed the Big Bald mountain, walked on Fundy’s floor.
Coasted up Magnetic Hill, scoffed at the Tidal Bore!
A heritage that we all share, our blood is maritime.
We thrill to see the Bluenose, her picture on a dime.
Emotion for an ocean, gray Atlantic ever by,
Newfoundland, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, PEI.
Sang “Farewell to Nova Scotia|”, drank Rita’s tea as well.
Danced all night at Ceilidhs, been to the Citadel.
Strolled the shore of Baddeck Bay, where the Silver Dart took flight.
Walked the wharf called Fisherman’s, the rocks at Peggy’s Light.
Sang “Bud the Spud!” with Stompin’ Tom, watched splinters fly away.
Ate lobster at church suppers, could hardly walk away.
Picked potatoes for the farmers, back in our childhood years.
Crossed Confederation Bridge, eight miles long me dears!
A heritage that we all share, our blood is maritime.
We thrill to see the Bluenose, her picture on a dime.
Emotion for an ocean, gray Atlantic ever by,
Newfoundland, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, PEI.
A heritage that we all share, our blood is maritime.
We thrill to see the Bluenose, her picture on a dime.
Emotion for an ocean, gray Atlantic ever by,
Newfoundland, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, PEI.
Ellis Pringle Craig, 2024.