Best Sitting Pretty Poems
Dancing with the sunbeams deep sea reflections
so beautiful adoring on cloud nine sitting pretty
upon golden sands shifting salt of the ocean turns
Each wave a blessing in disguise
standing regal one moment in time
looking back captivating starlight was born
Mirrors mist over arched jewels colour radiance
fixing thoughts on an image beholding your word
no diamond ever cut comes close to you
I open the book of time once more and again,
where pages are engraved in my mind;
the worn old pages- all tattered and yellow,
oh, here is the house of my childhood;
and my memories come twirling . . .
The smell of old wood and the stained glass,
the french doors and the long curved staircase;
my little room overlooking the garden,
and the big claw foot bathtub- a lake to a child;
the kitchen old and cozy with wonderful smells,
mom humming as she cooks . . .
A little girl (me) playing quietly on the front porch,
with long hair in tangles and rosy cheeks;
and grandma rocking and rocking and knitting,
and I hear dad busy in his workshop;
my baby brother in his stroller sleeping,
oh, the happiness . . .
A child's table set for tea and dolls sitting pretty,
a real teapot and some china cups (a gift from grandma);
my kitty cat Snowball asleep on one chair . . .
I walk up the shady street of my memory,
up that big hill where I rode my bike;
to the end of our quiet dappled street,
and into a park lush green and full of songs;
oh yes, the water lilies float on the pond,
and white swans and ducks drift . . .
Further down the street and up a hill,
is an old church with big ornate doors;
I enter the gloom in my mind remembering,
pungent the smell of candles flickering;
and the memories flood back . . .
The worn withered pages of my childhood,
all the pages tattered and yellowed with time;
then slowly- I close tight this book of time,
until the next time . . .
_______________________
July 7, 2019
Poetry/Verse/Withered Pages of My Childhood
Copyright Protected, ID 19- 1164-783-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Childhood Memories
sponsor, Chantelle Anne Cooke
First Place
The Ones Sitting Pretty
Many poems are like butterflies to me.
Some are beautiful but elusive.
I can’t catch them! I much prefer
the ones sitting pretty on
the leaves inside my book.
Fluttering delight,
translucent ones
can make me
catch my
breath!
Written Oct. 24, 2016 for the contest of Alexis Y
(a rhyming fable in haiku syllable count)
In a little pond
a big frog and a small frog
both sit on a log.
That log is then seen
by a little boy at play
who takes it away.
Left without their log,
both frogs spy a lily pad;
the big frog is bad. . .
Though the pad is small -
onto it the big frog hops.
The small pad drops!
Into the small pond
disappears the little pad.
The big frog gets sad.
He just swims away.
Now the small frog seeks a pad.
He is hopping mad!
From one lily pad
to another goes that frog
who has lost his log.
Never giving up,
the little frog starts to think. . .
Which pad will not sink?
Small ones are no good.
They sink like the Titanic.
I need gigantic!
Having found one large,
now the frog itty bitty
is sitting pretty!
And the moral is “Better to be a small frog rather than a big frog in a little pond” Or “Don’t get sad, get hopping mad!”
For the children's Fable Contest of Carol Eastman
So much to wish for and so little time.
I really must get my life back in line.
So much I had hoped for that did no0t come about;
But I can't fix a thing if I sit down and pout.
There's still time to do it, don't sit here and mope.
Just get busy and plan where there's still life there's hope.
The fact that I'm old doesn't mean that I'm dead.
I've still lots of ideas going 'round in my head.
Some people will say that my life is over.
Much past fifty and you;re pushing up clover;
But I'm just getting started, must be a late bloomer,
'Cause I don't feel old and my vision is truer.
I'm wiser, more steady and I know what I want.
In youth you're still searching, you don't know what's what.
To raise up a family I gave up a lot.
I cleaned, cooked and sewed and my dreams I forgot.
The kids were my life and I gave all I had.
I never looked back or felt angry or sad.
Now my babies are grown, they have kids of their own.
Sometimes they will visit or call on the phone.
Now it's my turn and I plan to have fun.
I'll pamper myself, take my place in the sun.
A house in the country away from the city.
I'll garden, raise chickens, I'll be sitting pretty.
I'll breathe the fresh air scented with flowers,
And mark time by the days, not by minutes and hours.
our junior high dance
middle class white kids rock out
to Born to be Wild
girls sitting pretty
standing and doing nothing . . .
the wall flower guys
the music softens
I only Have Eyes for You
enhances my angst
the boy I adore
rooted with the wall flowers
has started to move
crossing the gym floor
the boy I like is asking
the new girl to dance
she looks like a snob
I hate this beautiful girl
immediately
somehow I end up
walking home with this new girl
serendipity
laughing and chatting
we have so much in common
fast friends we become
(A true story told with 5/7/5 line verses)
TULUM
a fortress on the cliffs,
smiles down
at the paradisaical
Riviera Maya.
iguanas, reside in ruins,
overlooking
the Caribbean sea,
sitting pretty
for photographs.
long gone from old world -
sacrifice and fear,
Mayan riches and power,
of Playa del Carmen.
iguanas rest, play
tourist peek-a-boo,
never give thought nor sorrow,
to the people of yesteryear.
we don’t fear their reptile existence,
their abundance,
nor daunting size,
perched upon impressive buildings -
an ancient city of life and death,
good and bad,
repainted by the critical sun.
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
i know i am cutie pie
I heard i was a cutie pie
Just sitting pretty i know i am a cutie
Don't break your kneck when i walk by i know i am a cutie pie
he just stopped and stared i know i am a cutie pie
He couldn't take his eyes off me i know i am a cutie pie
I got heels with diamonds struting what i got what you can't handle i know i am a
cutie pie
Just chilling in class looking at my self in the mirror i see you looking at me i know i
am a cutie pie you don't need to tell me i heard i was a cutie pie
boys looking at me up and down i know i am a cutie pie
CUTIE PIE
A road less traveled is only a journey the cowards fear
For the brave stand strong through the hard times when danger grows near
Fighting a battle that seems most certain one will lose…
However the weak submit.... limiting their potential and not knowing their destiny
While the strong create the opportunity to where they have to choose
A road less traveled is filled with our biggest worries
In which your troubles catch up with you and a vision that was once so clear,
Suddenly becomes blatantly blurry
We grow weary when there is pain
And become lazy when there is rain….
But yet, when the sun shines,
Why do we seem content?
with no urge to change things that remain the same…
When the clouds shadow your path, or the strong winds begin to throw you off track..
It is by your will to find the urge to detour away from your journey
or take the original way of fighting back
But enough of the lectures, enough of the rags to riches glory stories
Because when you continuously just talk about success but don’t act on it
your intentions become meaningless and efforts become more unworthy
A road less traveled is never chosen, yet placed in our lives…
As a test from the man above to see who has the faith and will to survive
The mistakes we make do not define who we are
Because it is your choice whether you will make this journey bare footed
or sitting pretty in the passenger side of “HIS” gasless car
If you are thinking either option shouldn’t be a choice…
Then I ask, “If you were forced …what would you choose?”
To stand tall and walk alone…or let the man above be by your side to guide you through
A road less traveled is one that is never taken by a volunteer…
But I rather not travel alone, if I have the option to be challenged facing an impossible situation knowing “HE” is near
Translating ......that no matter our circumstances, to the road that is less traveled, is one journey that we should never fear
Opening the book of time
Pages engraved forever in my mind
Worn old pages all tattered and yellow
The house of my childhood
Memories twirling . . .
The smell of old wood and stained glass
French doors and a curved staircase
My little room
Overlooking the garden
The big claw foot bathtub
A lake to a child
The kitchen old and cozy with wonderful smells
Mom smiling . . .
A girl playing quietly on the front porch
Long hair in tangles and rosy cheeks
Grannie rocking and rocking
Dad busy in the garden humming a tune
Baby boy in his stroller sleeping
The hush of happiness . . .
A child's table set for tea and dolls sitting pretty
Real teapot and cracked china cups
Kitty cat asleep in the sun . . .
I walk the shady street of memory
The big hill where I rode my bike
At the end of the street
A park lush and still green
Where water lilies float
And white swans drift . . .
Down the street
The old church with its big doors open
I enter the gloom of my mind
Sweet the smell of candles flickering
The memories flood back . . .
All the worn old pages
All tattered and yellowed with age
I open the book of time . . .
____________________________
August 2, 2013
Poetry/Free Verse/Pages of Time
Copyright Protected, ID 08-496-528-02
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
Yesterday in our Minds
Today in our Eyes
Tomorrow in our Hopes
Creation in Merry Go Round
GOD sitting pretty
On the LEAD HORSE!
KRISHNA BAALU
Sitting Pretty
when you're not looking
do you consider me
what i'm thinking
why i stay
away
did you know that i do
your
not mine
and i'm a nobody's girl
suffocated
by those who were looking at me looking back at them
willing then
took their kill
i stay away
even when you are looking
especially then
been bled out
i'm just a shadow of my former self
sitting pretty someplace else
aeh | 12/20/13
t was too late then!
When I loved you I ought to have loved you then and there!
But I dreamt a while, floated in cloud
Gathered a flower of lily or two, travelled through my own time
But;
It was too late then;
I reached the summit
Thanked God and Moon on that full Moon Day
Cursed the chillness around in the lake,
Far away in urban jungle, far away from the maddening lights
The floating fog in the fading dusk
Washed my car comfortably
Wiped my shivering fingers off
Tucked my t shirt inside the blue jeans
Left the leather belt dangling in a hurry
No man around, no breath around
But chirping birds in the distance clouds
But forgot to check my heart for its beats
My love was deep asleep by then
By then it was too late;
Here where I failed to connect
The body and soul-the life and death
If I was alive I would have dead by now
Since not, I am immortal now
I am floating around
I see me sleeping in the car seat sitting pretty
So serene, so calm so peaceful
I ought to have loved you then and there!
With courage and conviction!
KRISHNA BAALU/07-11-2010
NO BUSINESS LIKE SWAMP BUSINESS
There’s no business like Swamp faux business
There’s none do such a show
Everything about it is illusion
Everything about it is a lie
Where else could you get such righteous feeling
Than when you’re kneeling; no reason why
This swamp business is trompe business *
Just like a film studio
They can turn the Congress to a fortress though
They’re sitting pretty and in full flow
Like a new production of the Alamo
They go on with the show
There’s no business like Joe business
He knows how to pro quo
Keeps his family well fed in gravy
While he makes out like an average schmo
Long career in congress plagiarising
Politicising
What else to show?
There’s no business like vote business
He hides in basement low
While his thinking got more than a little bent
His words more prone to an accident
Next day in the White House he’s the President
He goes on with the show
* That’s ‘trompe’ (not Trump!) as in ‘trompe d’oeil
The Gentle Ride
A light breeze brushed and passed me by
As I rode along the timeless scene,
I marvelled at the pellucid sky,
A light breeze brushed and passed me by.
And overhead I saw a swallow fly,
Effortless, supreme; so very serene.
A light breeze brushed and passed me by,
As I rode along the timeless scene.
On Your Bike
Shifting the steed, hammering the knee
Rainbow warrior leading the quest,
Passing by Mrs Fay Randonee
Shifting the steed, hammering the knee.
Peloton 'sham-Wahs sitting pretty,
Waiting for the ultimate test.
Shifting the steed, hammering the knee
Rainbow warrior leading the quest.
Two Wheels Gone.
On the velocipede with various speed
Sat a dandy horse astride in tweed.
Mrs Penny Farthing, her derrier aflush
Her bone shaker making her all ablush.
Some say she's as daft as a brush,
Many would say she oft dillydallied
On the velocipede with various speed
Sat a dandy horse astride in tweed.