Best Smoothes Poems
Stretched far and wide, sun smoothes the beach, and finds a place to land
It spreads a sheet, then fastens lace to all our summer skies
No day sees a wave so high, without thoughts of you or dreams renewed
Sun slept on the water's surface, rippled like heat, melting the glass
My head against your chest, could hear your heart, soften, after our swim
and I watched white seagulls fly, away to where the sky, blended to grey
Pages remain in old albums, but I see them so differently
It's clear, now as if photos, reveal sharper views, of what we didn't know
Almost seems a better thing to face the unknown unprepared
Evening beckons my head to rest, ..old loves are lost with the sunset
Summer was ours awhile, for just a day, like the seagull.....flies away
Tonight, all I hear are waves, to break the silence of the night
______________________________________________________________
My life has been a winding road
of circumstance and clutter.
Yet my Savior takes my load
smoothes my soul like butter.
I dedicate my life to Him;
it's the least that I can do.
For He fills my cup to the rim
with mercy and rapture too.
He loves me even when I'm small
while His love washes me.
With Jesus I feel ten feet tall;
forgiven,clean and free.
I shall praise Him all day long.
I'm wrapped up in His love.
To Him I'll sing my victory song
and dwell with Him above.
for contest "Sing to Me"
Inspired by the song "Blessed Assurance"
Ripples In A Pond
A small stone
Tossed by a child in a still pond
The water splashes
Ripples move outward touching the shore
The rock falls to the bottom
It joins a million others just like it
The water smoothes to what it was
Did the child change the pond?
Did the stone make any difference?
Is everything just as it was before?
Even the smallest thing can make a change
That pond will never be exactly the same
Even if they cannot be seen there are changes
The water is a little bit deeper
There is a new piece of stone to join the others
Even the fish have less area to swim
Absolutely nothing is the same
If a single stone can change an entire ecosystem
What do you think a single idea could do
Once it makes its own ripples
Sucking the gentle light from the sun
fresh grasses
Spring is awaking sleepy universe.
Buds are smiling,
Sky is turquoise
How a fairy this morning is?
Pure waterfall in the middle of green garden
Willow slowly brushes hairs down.
Tulip is shaming on her hairless
It looks like a picture
Some painter made well-known.
When daybreak calls me into garden
When the nature strews all her gold,
When morning dews kiss flowers,
Believe me! I’m the richest one in the world.
Because now this land and sky is mine
I swim away on steamy white clouds.
Smoothes my hairs lovely wind,
Singing a song, in pleasant notes.
In minutes it gets off. Alas my dear
Soon sun shines and comes up to the sky
Having lost their chance of being here,
Sleeping on their beds millions of you guy.
The community cemetery adjoined
the rear fence-line of his property.
Broad, rolling green acres landscaped
with varieties of shrubbery and trees.
Monuments in lines, rows, and diagonal patterns.
Most of them simple, monolithic.
Carvings, etchings, and brief epitaphs
carved in granite or marble
The stones, like spring's green leafed
trees and fresh-cut grass, know the seasons.
They awake to the sun each dawn; grow
shadowed, docile, meditative at twilight.
Nature recycles around them by annum.
Precious stele' standing their post eternal,
while the invisible substance of air smoothes
each carving and etching ever so covertly.
Mornings he would sit, steaming coffee mug in hand,
reflecting on the tranquility of the sentinel stones.
He envisioned the markers being books
to be leafed through, revealing life
from the mundane to the ecstatic.
A few concave or convex letters and numbers
carved in stone could never convey a person's
full saga in time. The humanity of a life.
Those things their blood had seen, felt, or known.
The ranks of headstones still stand guard.
He sips hot black coffee and imagines reading
the story inside each book of stone;
opening each, as one gently peruses
the pages and content of a rare, precious book.
Books Etched in Stone
5-28-15
Free Verse
Corsets My Waist
In my corset I
Feel thin and lean
My waist is constricted
Without any pain
Down to a 22 from
A 26 inch waist
Inch by inch as I
am tightly laced
Around my body it
Is snug and warm
Squeezing firmly like
A silk stalking glove
It Defines the curves,
smoothes out lumps,
Especially if you have
Junk in your trunk
Reshaping my form
And reducing my waist
Creating an illusion of
the perfect barbie frame
I Walk proud and I
Stand tall this corset
I wear Is the cause
of it all
I glow with radiance
And sex appeal
causing not just men
but the girls to stare
So next time you see
A perfect ten stroll bye
you might find yourself
Staring because you are
mesmerized
if this happens don’t
hesitate to tell her she
looks good with a
Corseted waist
"THIS NEXT PART HAS BEEN ADDED ONLY FOR THE PURPOSE OF MY CORSET GIVEAWAY CONTEST ON MY FACEBOOK PAGE. IT IS ADDED ONLY FOR THE CONTESTANT TO USE FOR THE INTERACTIVE PART OF MY CONTEST"
CONSTESTANTS...YOU MUST TAKE THIS ENTIRE POEM (CUT AND PAST) TO CORSETFITZ TIMELIME AND POST IT BEFORE YOUR INTERACTIVE SECTION BEGAINS
CONTINUED:
Now here you are
with yours tightly laced,
as you stroll by..
you feel the eyes
focus on your waist....
what will they say about about you?
So we matured, mama, but, it feels that we are still ever-lasting and it seems,
That time smoothes, levels out our movements but it sharpens our faces and our whims
We’re no longer gun powder and honey, but stone paving as in Europe we’ve seen
Beautiful children, mama so you know, already have new beautiful children.
We like taking pictures of them in favorable light under shady linden
Life’s smarter than the living, that’s clear after one third of the way to the pilgrim.
All that scared me in childhood is now like a fat guy with ukulele absurd,
Even indicators of future decay are clear and law-governed, not blurred
It’s scary not to die young, mama, but, you see, it tourns out I’m not that rare bird.
I am now everything in one – Jackie Chan and Santa Claus,
My occupation is nothing, mama, but structuring chaos.
All I’m developing, mama, is the skill of holding a pause.
I am no zero mark anymore, no young ovary, no cheeky nestling
It’s “young ovaries” now that stare at me with jealousy as if I am king.
In simple people I give rise to hatred, to complicated jealousy clings.
What about happiness, mama? It is all result of seductives or toxins.
For me it is this feeling I get at night in a taxi quite often, it seems,
When crossing forty second and tenth street, direction from Kabatas to Taksim.
It’s rare that mortality and replaceability is felt to this extreme.
Sometimes I feel as a commander in exile, as weed among grass family found.
In a world where face is all that matters, all that interestes me is the inside out.
Drummers of existence are playing with sticks, waiting for a sign – for someone to shout.
Nope, love could not have saved me from this state – in fact it didn’t, it stalled.
I won tons of beauty here hence it’s natural that I’m fused, come on!
But I’ll sit on your lap, empty to glorify it century long.
THE EYE of I
What is life? What is love?
The eye of I took it in…
The material rolling sweeps highs and lows--valleys cuts, grooves, gullies and gorges eye engorge crevices of porphyry
heat flies from the ravines
places the eye cannot see but the soul can visit-- living matter,
infused with tissue thoughts generated externally electrified internally
the sweat that beaded on the brow drips and spatters, absorbs the entity under
What is the breathing open petal life… radiating respiring
One throttle to quell that respiration, bright lightening beauty gently fusing into glow?
Brightening as I faster
Turbine-whistle I your master
beating, spewing, thrusting, ignition transference… body grue and stifles?… Gone
She stiffens the radiance of the face pale, milky, alabaster, clammy pore-less beams the lips and cheeks rubescent now. Smoothes, and transition into deep hues of blues, violent violets, ebony black. Hardens, stiffens stone then softens? as alabaster
Deterioration, matter, entropy all so naturally
Squall has past--the quondam respiring takes long respite..
The eye of I took it in…The material rolling sweeps highs and lows, valleys, cuts, grooves, gully and gorge I engorge crevices of porphyry
heat flies from the ravines folded as petals from
places the eye cannot see but the soul can visit
of living matter, infused with tissue thoughts generated externally electrified internally
The sweat that beaded on the brow drips and spatters, absorbs the entity under lies the breathing open petal life… radiating, respiring?
The fingers trace and fall in place the Etowah infused with breath
The sweat sinks in, absorption energy transfers electricity thoughts
Cabachon crescendos!
All the while the living, beating, breathing, entity flutters, shutters, smiles.
A little sandpaper smoothes the edges
The final touch that makes the job complete
You think of your angel yet to be born
This crib represents your loving protection
The final touch that makes the job complete
Is the love that was poured out each moment
The crib represents your loving protection
You have been working and praying for days
Is the love that was poured out each moment
enough to keep your little baby safe?
You have been working and praying for days
Deep inside you trust God will answer
Enough to keep your little baby safe
Not to prevent her from experiencing pain
Deep inside you trust God will answer
A balanced life for your girl with no name
Not to prevent her from experiencing pain
Emotions good and bad will complete her
A balanced life for your girl with no name
You smile as you try to come up with one
Emotions good and bad will complete her
Your heart searches for a name that's strong
You smile as you try to come up with one
Sara floats gently across your mind
Your heart searches for a name that's strong
It needs to be pretty and inspire a poem
Sara floats gently across your mind
The very first gift she will ever receive
It needs to be pretty and inspire a poem
You think of your angel yet to be born
The very first gift she will ever receive
A little sandpaper helps smooth the edges
Nette's "Build Your Own Sand Contest"
I removed from the contest because I went over 20 lines.
Ailments? Purim Cures 'Em!
Down 'N the Dumps?
Simcha smoothes most lumps,
What's Simcha? Briefly, Shared Joy,
As more 'tis shared, less there is to annoy!
Trade a warm feeling, return a smile,
Rids everyone of at least some bile.
Together, we overcome trouble,
Synergy! Life expanded, unconfined by the bubble!
Purim practices include:
Mishloach Manos; Friendly giving gifts of food,
Booing Haman; Rejoicing in justice coming to a bad dude,
Related in reading aloud the Megillah, a group "Thrillah",
Purim Seuda; a common meal festively "Imbues Yah",
Matanos Leveyonim; gifts to the needy do truly cure,
Giving does more to the giver as to the poor!
Adar, name of the month, a "Roller Coaster" journey,
When Spring, time of green health inspires, "Arise from your gurney! "
Assuming Disguises; In Adar, nothing is what it seems,
7th Adar, Moses born & died, joy & grief in reams,
Even in Persia, Esther becomes Queen, a saving surprise,
Ailments? In Purim lies a cure! Mirth & birth reprise!
I, am a word snake
slithering in and around language
coiling my body though multi-syllables
curling my tongue around ornamental words
all the better to eat you with my dear.
My fangs hide in highly constructed sentences
waiting behind sophisticated grammar,
as my slick skin smoothes past your intellect
unyielding eyes never leave the target.
I can hear your compliance,
I can taste the spell you're under,
No reply because the point is never grasped
You are the target and words will consume you.
"B's" and "S's" will wrap around your body
"F's" and "C's" will tighten their grasp,
until a panicked air escapes your lips
realization flashes across you face
my words are consuming you.
Their acidy truths will slowly eat away your beliefs
while you lie in the dark place waiting to die.
I already told you,
I am a word snake.
A golden carpet smoothes our way
to death be not proud he wrote
for many are called to know
the radiance heralding at our feet.
Contented warriors tread with silent
battle cries as slippery veins cushion,
surround, wet, soak, and
entice dirty sneakers
once so white
to form their defense against no more.
When I was a child, I was a princess
Who lived in a beautiful castle,
Surrounded by woods and fields
This not true, of course, but that is
How I chose to remember it, to celebrate it,
That is how I chose to put it down
To describe my growing up
I would have to show you
The stork`s nest on the roof of our house
To describe my growing up
I would have to take you
To the field on a summer day
And I would say, Breathe deeply-
And you would breathe and remember
That scent for the rest of your life
The bold, rich aroma of fruit trees,
Wheat and corn, the scent of air,
A fragrance like baby animals,
A new milk and a spilled wine,
All perfumed with wild flowers
To describe my growing up
I would have to take you
To our garden on a summer day
There were carpets of flowers,
And vines climbing the white lattice
Of the arbor and a small shed
Where I used to hunt for hidden treasures
I was the princess of the summer
And sometimes I would wonder
Past the boundary of the garden
At the dusky end of day
We sang after dinner, silly songs
On the porch swing, the sky grew dark
And fireflies blinked on and off
When I speak of my childhood,
It seems part elegy, part nightmare
But I want to talk only about the elegy
I don`t want to go into deeper waters
Where all the bones and wreckage
Wait for my unwilling scrutiny
Time can be generous
For it allows us to forget our nightmares
Time can be kind
For it allows us to forgive the people
Who had hurt us
When I think about my childhood,
My soul gazes like a lamb
On the beauty of tenderness
And I want to forget everything
That was evil and bad-
I want to see the world
Through a dazzling prism
Of my imagination
I have preserved
The multiform appearances
Of my life as a little girl,
The portraits and still life
Visible through the blooming
Window of time
Time can be charitable
Because it smoothes away the roughness,
Erases the crooked lines
And our old memories
Are wrapped in glory
Walk carefully upon this muddy road,
Lest quagmires snag,firmly grab hold.
No outlet is nearing end,
Lifes course running short,
Precious hearts to mend.
Trace steps closely ,avoid tiny cracks,
Ground feet firmly,lock on moral tracks.
Clear fallen brush, pave this rock filled pathway.
Followers share common visions commit to stay.
Voyages traveled desperately
No money to spend
No outlet will be destiny,
If character slips and absolutes are un tend.
Detours tempt ,promise to ease unrest,
Distractions coax to alternate roads,
Spirits set to test.
No outlets trick and confuse mapped routes
Final destination must be clear,without doubts.
Heed and abide boundaries of integrity,don`t stray,
Aiding,serving strangers whom enter each new day.
There is an outlet that can be found,
Journeys filled of peace and love so sound.
Unconditionally give every special gift
Encouragement smoothes bumps
Spiteful souls gracefully uplift.
Money does not bring true happiness,
This does not exist. Money releases and smoothes
The daily burdens and responsibilities;
It is a relief that diminishes the worries.
Being healthy is the ultimate state of happiness;
Being wealthy is the hollow state of happiness.
The concerns of securities show-up on the screen,
Attack the consciousness, and destroy the spleen.
The fear of death makes it impossible to enjoy life fully.
Money is a well made-up chameleon, a toxic honey.
Money vanishes deceitfully and consistently like hot air balloon.
Money is full of surprises; it is indeed a well disguised buffoon.
Relax, do not live beyond the means; be simple and natural.
Be relevant, normal, more spiritual and less emotional.
Hebert Logerie
October 2013