Best Set About Poems
There was a time when I was young,
My cousin Glenn and I,
Did fall in love with one young man,
Whose face and form were fine.
He had a twinkle in his eye,
A movie star like smile,
And it was said we'd walk a ways,
To glimpse his fine profile.
He worked aft school a mile away,
From where we lived back then,
And we decided we'd walk that way,
And mayhap talk to him.
We dressed ourselves and combed our hair,
To look our very best,
To see which one that he might choose,
To be his special guest.
My cousin stole her mother's clothes,
A jumpsuit of bright yellow,
In hopes she'd catch his eye and then,
He'd be her steady fellow.
The one piece suit was very tight.
It looked like she had poured,
Her roundish form into a great,
Big, giant gourd.
She smiled and asked me if I thought,
The suit did show her figure.
She couldn't sit, could hardly walk,
"It could be somewhat bigger."
She didn't care for what I said,
And we set out to walk,
The mile to where "Adonis" worked,
And mayhap watch him gawk,
At two such beauties as we were,
As we set about a drill,
Upon the trampolines where we,
Would show athletic skill.
Glenn was first, she gave a jump,
Into the air so high,
And as she sailed aloft her suit did burst,
I watched the pieces fly.
Like a big yellow balloon it popped,
And flew in all directions.
She hit the ground and screamed and ran.
So much for grace and perfection.
I laughed until I wet my pants,
And so we both lost face.
She hid in the bathroom and tried to pin,
The pieces back in place.
With pins I got at the snack bar,
From Adonis, my face beet red;
For he could see I'd peed my pants.
We both wished we were dead.
It’s one thing to be senile
and lie in your own drool.
It’s another to be President
and be that droolin’ fool.
So ask yourself, America,
of all the President’s men…
who was runnin’ the country
signin’ with Joe’s autopen?
Note: To those who have eyes it was obvious that Sleepy Joe wasn’t just sleepy but in cognitive decline before he was even elected President by supposedly receiving 80 million plus votes. He wasn’t fit to run a lemonade stand but the media convinced you he was on top of his game lol. Joe wasn’t physically or mentally up to the job and so his Democratic masters and media overlords set about carrying out the great subterfuge that he was in charge. They stage managed every event and choreographed his every utterance until he inevitably went off script and his handlers (carers) had to shut him down.
So the next time some loony tune tells you that Elon Musk has too much power for an unelected member of Congress just remember the White House for four years under grifter Joe Biden was run by unelected bureaucrats. Yep, the country was ruled by President Autopen. Let that sink in.
Here it is Christmas again,
My,how time gets away.
It seems like last Christmas,
Was just yesterday.
All that rushing here and there,
Trying to get ahead,
Trying to plan the menu,
So everyone can be fed.
The tree needs decorating,
The mistletoe hung in place,
There's visions of being far away,
But that would be a disgrace.
So, I set about the difficult task,
Of shopping here and there,
With aim of finding the perfect gift,
Though my budget's in despair.
There's cards to mail,
To my list of friends,
In hopes they won't be late.
Gifts now wrapped,under the tree,
Ends torn, cause kids can't wait.
I wonder, as I sigh, if the Lord
Shakes his head when we celebrate,
This most glorious gift in all the world,
We seem to under-estimate.
It appears when Christmas comes to mind,
Santa now holds the rein,
We've pushed aside the true meaning,
Of why Jesus really came.
Peace, love, and good will to all,
Is worth more than we can say,
For they are worth more than all the gifts,
That are opened on Christmas Day.
Yes, Christmas again will soon be over,
In only a few more days,
There's comfort in knowing,
We've one whole year,
Before it again comes our way.
Though rushed and tired we're overcome,
By the hustle of the season,
Lest, we forget why we celebrate,
Jesus is the reason.
Eagle flying high, just a dot in the sky
I fly in to join you and circle with you
together we take delight in plummeting down
then climbing back up to float on thermals
The landscape below shows trees the size of matches
individual flowers too small to see just splashes
of many different hues blending into each other
the steady wind ruffles my feathers as I tease you
Playing and courting we bond once more
and set about setting our eyrie to rights
high up on the steep jagged cliff top
any danger spotted miles away from this vantage point
I take turns with you sitting on our eggs
then off to hunt I soar searching for my prey
there down there a fat young rabbit grazes
I swoop down and now dinner daintily I eat
Replete I retire to the tree tops
and spread my wings basking in the sun
life is good so very good
soon the cycle restarts with my chicks
written 01/23/2013
Over in the meadowland the birds are singing
Warm weather portends the returning of spring
The bees have set about their pollen bringing.
Hopeful, bright spring days with excitement tingling
Cause our voices to shout out and lustily sing,
Over in the meadowland the birds are singing
While with glee my life’s breath is mingling
So happy I feel like life is gaudy glitter and bling
The bees have set about their pollen bringing.
Spring to me reminds of Barnum and Ringling
The colorful memories of childhood bring
Over in the meadowland the birds are singing.
I can reminisce about the high school flinging
The loss of my first love that brought a sting,
The bees have set about their pollen bringing.
The season of spring brings to me self-healing
More than anything else, a welcoming thing,
The bees have set about their pollen bringing
Over in the meadowland the birds are singing.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
edited April 7, 2022
written January 21, 2022
for "Springtime Villanelle" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Sotto Poet
Inside my mailbox late last month; nine packs of seeds - a mystery!
I hadn't ordered anything, but curious was I to see
what might become of planting them. So grabbing trowel, hoe, and rake,
I set about to till some soil; a little garden plot to make.
To my delight, the plants grew fast. I'd saved the packs to see each name;
though Latin isn't my first tongue, I'd know each blossom as it came.
Each flower shape was like a quill, which I then took back to my room
and onto paper, words would spill from every seed's enchanted bloom.
The packet labeled "Clio Phlox" was my first taste of mystery:
the quill-shaped flower wrote and wrote a tome of Roman history!
"Euterpe Hyacinth" was next: this writing didn't take as long.
Within ten minutes, written down were lyrics of a lovely song.
Then "Terpsichore Ranunculus" - after it drew a five-line staff,
composed a lively dance tune for the song lyrics - it made me laugh!
Speaking of laughter, my next bloom; the "Thalia Agapanthus" wrote
a stand-up comic's funny script - a joke or two I'd love to quote.
"Melpomene Nasturtium" was the one I needed tissues for:
as tragic words came pouring out, my teardrops splashed upon the floor.
"Urania Hydrangea" wrote sweet poetry of sun and stars,
of comets, and alignment of the moon with Jupiter and Mars.
"Erato Rosa" wrote some rhymes of kisses under stars above,
some ballads of infatuation, some of unrequited love.
"Calliope Plumeria" wrote fast and long: one poem came -
a tragic tale of epic length, it put poor Beowulf to shame!
"Gardenia Polyhymnia" wrote Psalm-like hymns, I said "amen".
My eyes were reverently shut, but when I opened them again -
I realized it was a dream! Nine muses came in flower form.
I woke, and quickly wrote this down (believe me, this is not the norm!)
//Note: The Nine muses of ancient Greece were:
//Clio - History Euterpe - Lyric Poetry Terpsichore - Song/Dance
//Thalia - Comedy Melpomene - Tragedy Urania - Astronomy
//Erato - Love poetry Calliope - Epic poetry Polyhymnia - Sacred Hymns
//... the remaining Latin words are names of some of my favorite flowers
written 12 Aug 2020
A stone's cast ----
but what great arm has set about the motion?
was not the first mother reared? ----
her children on the smiles of angels?
her womb filled with devotional design;
to flourish to some end with hope in God's motivation?
..... back to the (garden), with this posy and its ink near end,
and its quill dipped still in mystique;
yet I did not come (here) by chance,
nor was my mother born from some heathen improbability,
there can come no answers in doubt;
for fear of the wolves the woods are too shadowed
and loiter most grimly,
always death on the wind....
I shall not doubt the design in the weave the Great Artist
hath woven, and what magic touch with the world's eye in mind;
only the dullard doubts the infinite graces in the reflecting pool,
and the skeptic accursed without revelation -----
his own child but water, flesh and bone
and the cold earth but waits for him,
in the bellies of fattened worms;
when death's breath whispers and curls and furls
as serpent wisp-mists, coiling to mortal truth ----
he shall cling to God and eternity!
Have I died a thousand deaths?
walked the cool of earth ere?
tasted of the sweet nectar of love,
and the bounties beyond death?
That we will to live, and climb to some end,
the jagged-precipice, and toil to experience
and seek the Final Mighty Mount ----
is our great testimony to eternity;
To leave our fingerprint upon the world,
and slip into paradise as a welcomed wind 'neath its door.....
`
There among the petals of my past as miniature wings buzz,
bouncing here and there, my mind follows their wayward path,
becoming lost within the patterns meandering, recalling those
moments when we imagined this oasis, out beyond the arbor
where our love bloomed as daffodils on a warm spring day,
when beauty was destined to the eye of the beholder as
it was to our little friend upon finding a perfect rose
Now as I peer past the fractured lattice, where weeds of all
shapes and sizes have gathered, my eyes become moist when
a pest bumbles towards my face and I swat it down.
As I watch it wriggle in the overgrown grass, yellow
and black bands desperately trying to reclaim its journey,
I see that day when winter set about your frail frame
and you wilted before my eyes
Picking up a stick I gently lift the insect from the grass
and watch it happily fly away, tiny wings on a chilly spring day,
glistening through the clouds that wrap this place in your absence
and I wonder if your wings are fluttering as I think about
you. When I notice a single daffodil blooming among the
bramble and thicket, a soft yellow reply fluttering in the breeze
and I gaze up to the heavens and smile
9/4/19
Written for: Where Bumbles Bounce Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Craig Cornish
I hang on the wall of an art gallery in Canada,
it is said I am the epitome of feminine beauty;
my skin is pale and porcelain perfect- my lips ruby,
my gown is low and in the softest mauve silk;
a cape of chiffon orange and rose pink floats in the breeze.
I am the daughter of a King and a Greek princess,
my story really begins when I was at the seashore;
Jupiter, the Greek god saw me and became quite enamored,
he set about a devious plan to seduce and ravish me;
taking the form of a white bull and mingling in my father's herd.
On a sunny bright day I was gathering pretty flowers,
I came upon the bull and made him a flower chain;
draping it around his horns and bravely I felt to ride him,
I climbed upon his back and he carried me far away;
into the shallow water and then the open sea- then I was lost.
I like to think of myself as that innocent girl playing,
with friends at the seashore or the girl picking flowers;
this oil painting of me is quite beautiful- I have heard it said,
can they see the deep sadness that dwells in my heart;
although I caress the bull and we had children, I dreamt of another life.
______________________
August 21, 2017
Personification/I Am, Europia
Copyright Protected, ID 932523
Oh! to be among trees, mindful of silent power
in mountains hallowed trails walked by Muir
snow still filling nature’s deep kept secret bower
breathe a bounty of sweet air clear and pure
the rush of streams in springs ever rapid plunge
music played to my footsteps beating drum
water dripping into the grounds wet sponge
snow melts as flowers start to thrive and thrum
he set about recording each feeling, plant and rock
tramped trails knowing there was hidden a clue
we roam the mountain as one of his unknown flock
interlace our souls in a weave that’s as old as it’s new
what words can be found dropped into this silence
when distraction is nothing more than a birds wing
no screens to scream about the daily violence
just lessons of earths sacred bounty worn like a ring
where your eyes meet what has lived serenity bound
falling trees that heard the soil cry with sympathy
decays gift of life as the circle comes to meet around
aligned in time to hear its own life of pure symmetry
caught in a fast web of our own handcrafted design
we can let go to journey upon a mountain path
what Muir saw as seasons to be so innately divine
we carry within our spirits in an inherited shared bath
So! On to the forests and into the depths of green
wear visions of blue sky caught in the white giants lure
adventures drift into the dreams that you’ve seen
on pathways not hallways we answer our cries cure
Several times I heard her knocking,
A noise I first found very shocking
Still it lingered,
‘Til I fingered
Her coral broach around my neck,
Thought I would be a total wreck
It gave me solace,
A renewed promise
When I set about making rhymes
I knew she was very near these times,
And seeking my loving attention
This I must not fail to mention.
written October 8, 2021
For weeks now the two young males had been watching,
waiting for their opportunity and now it was time.
They were now strong enough to take over the pride.
Signalling his intent to his brother Moto stood up
and started forward with Javier following behind.
As the reached the pride a battle royal ensued
The lionesses desperate to drive them off knowing
if they succeeded vast changes would occur.
Far in the distance Soto heard the roars and growls
as the take over ensued and rushed to protect them.
The fight was long and hard with some fatalities.
Soto received wounds that would take months to heal
as he was banished by the brothers, his life now as an outcast.
Luckily for him Zanidar joined him with her cubs of nearly a year old
She and they would keep him fed as he slowly healed.
Back at the pride the brothers set about their gruesome task
all the cubs were hunted down and killed without mercy.
Now the lionesses would soon be ready to mate again
and it would be their blood that the offspring would bear
perpetuating their line and increasing the size of the pride.
Life in the African Savannah was always cruel and hard
the brothers would face many challengers in their time.
Food always an issue once the migrating herds moved on.
Now a time of little the pride suffered and grew weaker.
The only saving grace was the buffalo not without their risks.
Valiant fighters who protected each other forming a ringed barrier
around the more vulnerable, ready to fight to the death.
With very young cubs the lionesses needed food to feed them
and desperation drove them on, finally they made a good kill
none would go hungry for a few days. In the distance the clouds
gathered rain falling far up country at last reaching them and
with the rain the vast herds once more returned and life teemed.
Now was a time of plenty and the pride recovered their health.
For seven years the brothers ruled supreme yet in the background
there were many waiting their own time. Two males in particular
Janto and Batso sons of Soto watched and waited eager to take over
until at last it was their time and turn to roust the pride males.
And so the never ending cycle started again until the next time.
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Twenty-Six
Soon all the rooms at trysting hotel were for years booked through
By pilgrims from Mindanao and Minangkabau to Timbuktu
Saudi princes bought the hotels at Carrefour de Pompadour
Kings of Malaysia with retinues planned long séjours
Sea Anne-Anne’s “broken news” chartered all the sailing club’s boats
The Mayor sacked the Accounts Chief for failing to raise the rates
Sea Be-As put out feelers to buy the Pompiers de Paris
All-Cheese-Seas-Roar made a secret pact with the mosque’s prelates
All-Lions-Fun-Press opened offices at the Préfecture’s terrace
Bee-Bee-Sea late as usual wanted a Royal Palace
So they got the Queen to confer Lordship on the Président
Beings-Port set about organizing annual matches face to fa ce
Between Robo-Cops and the Darling Dears clad in chadors
On one condition: they all fought it out in the lake outdoors
Just then His Holiness with his yea-sayers strode out for air
When boom-voiced Commandant pounced on them with Robo-Cop jaws:
“Pray! Esteemed Prophet’s Emissary! Lend me thy sovereign ear!
Habeas corpus ad subjiciendum this writ makes clear
Miscreant Tent Maker’s son Omar doth s’installe à demeure… »
« STOP ! » ordained the Imam, « I must forthwith lead the dohr prayer !”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE - the foggy night
As dark a night that's hidden Paris streets
from prying eyes, fell on the city cold,
there came I to the setting fog, that greets
the cobble stones layed in the days of old.
With naught to fear from Gendarmes in the night,
I wandered through the dark, just searching for
someone who's lost at life and love, and might
be ready for what this night has in store.
And near me, walking by the River Seine
face turned into her hands, to hide her tears,
a beauty bound to stop the hearts of men,
in days of youth or getting on in years;
I knew at once her love was drawing nigh
so set my path to where she met mine eye.
A welcome sigh from deep within her breast
breathed from her lips and begged my company,
so strolled we through the fog, and made a quest
of finding what was love, what could it be?
And reasoned she, that love was just a game
that men have made the rules and set to stone
and my requital was, our love's a flame
that burns as much as anything that's known.
So as the fog hid ev'ry thing from sight
we set about to find what love might show
then loved we through the cold Parisienne night
down by the Seine, where only lovers go;
and when I sank my teeth, I heard her sigh,
that love must be the only way to die.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
It was an old sailors birthday,
he went back to the docks.
He met a professional lady
they preceded then to talk.
He had been alone a long while
thought that his tide was nigh,
time to have some fun
before prices get to high!
They negotiated terms
on what he"d have to pay.
Then headed back to hers
where she would make his day.
They both got in her bed,
he set about his task.
After a couple of minutes
he felt he had to ask?
"Well, how do you think i"m doing,
am I giving you the hots?
Please tell me what you think,
give me your passing thoughts?
She replied.
"You are doing at least 3 knots,
"Knot really hard,
knot quite in,
and knot getting
your money back!