Best Straddled Poems
Collaborative creation of Merged pens
w/the talented Poetress Brenda Chiri
Mesmerized by the allure
of a satin velvet kissable embrace
Rose lips wet whispering
chocolate fondue candlelight dreams
Silhouetted moans ... embroidery glow
of a pastel iris earth bed,
straddled by a silvery smile crescent moon
Night eyes looking down,
daydreaming of anticipated love arriving
A spent dawn isn’t coming too soon
Time stands still in the middle of a creamy midnight
Heart throated moans ... waves of ecstasy
Tidal pleasure ebb and flows,
daydreaming of you merging into me
I see your night eyes aroused ... sensual awakening
Laying with silver moon beams streaming thru the window
Waking me to watch,
as it dances over your beautiful ebony body
You call them night eyes ... looking down I see it now
Synchronicity reveals itself
coming in recurring patterns of sequences around me
During these times,
the universe mysteriously
make us
the center of its agenda
Allowing us to move together as one in this night of our souls
Writing us into this cosmic wonder, as it continues to unfold for us
Ecstasy is ours
in those ebb and flow of waves,
as cries pass full lips
Dreaming of mine lips
stiflng those cries as we look into night eyes dreaming....
A true story....
Well I lived in Sioux City for a little while
Another job site, hubby and I have covered some miles
While there, my mother in law came to visit
She drove Elvira, the biggest Buick ever made
No doubt about it!
I drove mom around to see the highlights
If you've been there, you know there's nothing but corn in sight
Suddenly the cars in front of us started to slow
Wondering which way around this pillow they needed to go
Well some went left and some went right
Some straddled over it and seemed alright
Mom said baby, it will be OK
Just drive right over it
Elvira won't notice anything in her way
I lined up perfectly and over we went
Thought I'd made it until visions were sent
Into the rear view mirror of down floating everywhere
And it wasn't pleasant!
I could see people on the sidewalks laughing, I pretended not to care
As millions of feathers floated through the air
Really embarrassed I drove on about one hundred feet
Then Elvira stopped dead right there in the street
Somehow the drive train had caught the cotton cover
Ripping it to shreds, wrapping it round and round so tight
Until it killed the engine dead
Now I know God works in mysterious ways
But He proved it for sure this very day
In a parking lot next to where Elvira had died
Was a complete race car driver's pit crew - no lie!
An 18 wheeler with trailer in tow
Guys dressed in uniforms, patches aglow
With traffic backing up behind us
They came over to see what was all the fuss
I said spitting feathers out of my mouth
I really don't know, I'm from down south
They opened their trailer and out came the jacks
Air hoses and tools, they got down on their backs
From under the car I heard laughter and jokes
They'd seen cars stopped by everything but a pillow!
Well I thanked them and shook each and every hand
They wouldn't accept money, said the entertainment was grand
I often wonder who they were and if they remember Elvira and the pillow in Iowa land....
©Donna Jones
the smell of Carmel corn
fills the air – I think of you Dad
your hand in mine, four steps to your one
the carousel music scores happiness
bells of laughter ting-a-ling-ing
Cotton candy, pink as bazooka bubble gum,
melts to sugary paste on teeth and tongue
you are there Dad, hanky in hand
spit bathing my four year old cheeks
moon-faced, eyes crinkled
lifted skyward as the horses stop
I pick the girlie one but sit straddled
you pinch my knees and pull down my skirt
muscle man strong -- your hands strap me in
they rest after on the small of my back as I rise
then I come [the brass pole all gummy
from my hands]
last week we walked the country fair
my hand now as big as yours
aged like two apple dolls, we meander
you buy me cotton candy
spit on your thumb and wipe
it from my cheek
A light under a bucket, yes..I've hidden there
been the squeaky wheel that got the oil
acted uncaring, had my ups and had my downs
lifted folks on my shoulders
acted the sage, acted the clown
hope to fill a stage before I'm over...
from between closed lids
iris's roll as day breaks pane
lashes move aside
Questioned the right, questioned the wrong
been a sanctuary to many..
straddled Goliath like the colossus of Rhodes
there's an owl-handled knife near my bed.
seeing halfway round
trust in your ability to turn
who are you
Fall into me now, soft and warm,
come into my light for you know, I've some of yin
I've some of yang and light peeps out you know.
You new born chicks who strobe in the light
remember, the dark can not hide you..
Your soul your chi, the light of God will
aid and let ALL find you.
*Free Verse and senryu
Reflection - The Fragrance of Grace
Mail order catalogs seem to have the ability to procreate in my mailbox. Just when I think I have rendered them infertile they give birth to multiple sets of quintuplets right under my nose as if by magic fertilization! And, of course, I have to examine these newborn opportunities to raid my bank account just to make sure I haven’t missed some article of clothing or thing I can’t possibly live without for the survival of sanity and my eternal happiness. They are like new spring leaves!
spring sprouts in new leaves
boughs sport jackets of light green ~
chartreuse convention
A new arrival from a New England country store pictured a garden of stately purple iris that immediately grabbed my hand and took me on a ride back into my grandmother’s iris garden with delicate, yet eloquent, perfume wafting from silky petaled garden royalty.
Each page was an adventurous journey through my childhood reminiscing about miracle wrinkle erasing creams, magic bunion healers and kitchen gadgets long declared useless by technology. But, one page made me stop, drop and drool - perfumes. No nascent scents but old friends looking at me from glossy pages bringing to mind the women who gave my life definition – the Royal Secret of my grandmother; Bellodgia and Gardenia of my favorite aunts; Tigress of my tigress mother and Blue Grass, a Kentucky meadow perfume of my teens.
These remarkable women straddled fleeing decades, crushing depressions, cataclysmic world wars often suffering the unthinkable loss of infants, children, husbands, siblings and miscarriages. Yet, through their signature scents, they taught me about thanksgiving in tragedy, faith in grieving and the irrepressible iron will to live in the fragrance of grace.
harlequin bouquets
fragrance of flower’s essence ~
sunlight washed gardens
4-21-21
Contest: Moments of Reflections
Sponsor: Malabika Ray Choudhury
Although the kiss was brief
The sensation seem to linger,
His eyes still closed when he felt a pain
As she ran the razor sharp nail of her finger
His eyes popped open as he looked at his chest
She hushed him and stroked his hair while whispering “rest”
He found that he was laying on the floor
Surrounded by snow, his chest was bloody and gore
“What you doing?” he begged
“Hush I said.”
“All will be revealed in time,”
“Rest you’re now mine.”
He panicked and tried desperately to move
But could not, as if his body had been removed
She sat next to him as her tail caressed his face
The scent of a woman was pleasurable, her tail like a silky lace
She spoke “ Do you remember long time ago,”
“The beginning of your people’s sorrow?”
“Yes,” he replied
The reality of his situation dawned on him as he deeply sighed
“The sacrifice should have been from the chief’s fruits not a bearer,”
“Yes,” he replied, “A male child not female that’s what brought our terror.”
“What Happened to Little Irit?” she asked
He hesitated for a while, “She was taken by Coyote,” he said at last
“Probably eaten, how should I know.”
She whispered “That was not so.”
“I am Irit the sacrifice, not little anymore,” “They now call me Irma.”
Child of Coyote, Goddess of Devolma”
“Although you killed my father, his spirit lives in me”
She straddled him, sat on his belly leaned forward and said “Look in to my eyes and
see the fate I have for thee”
Her eyes were pools of fire
As he saw his fate, the terror made him scream out and perspire
Her fingernails slowly pushed under his chest deep inside
Slowly tearing the skin open wide
He screamed but his body did not move
He passed out, she stopped and waited until he was fully alert before continuing the
skin removal
“Medicine man where is the one that should have been given in my place?”
“Show haste and I might spare the rest of you and your face.”
The pain was to much to bare and thought he would die at that moment in time
But her words echoed in his pain “YOU ARE MINE”
“His in hiding in the great towns,” he screamed
The exposed muscles to the air was like no other pain but she had hot water on the
fire which steamed
“Hush, this is only the beginning for you medicine man she whispered….
To be continued….
Rejected. Again.
Tonight I think I felt utterly defeated.
My hands around my towel to the shower I retreated.
I cleaned the house. Put the kids to bed early.
So I could try my best to be flirty...
He shows me no interest. I wear black lace.
I expect him to kiss me.. hands on my waist...
My fiance sighs... Me on my knees now I'm bare.
No passion in kissing or fist in my hair.
He looked down at me and said sternly "no."
But i tried again. I just couldn't let it go.
I kissed up his neck and I straddled his hips.
Heartache felt like a sinking ship..
"Didnt you hear me say no"
"Get off"
I feel dirty.
What should I expect? Hes in his mid 30s
Like I'm trying to force him..I hear whispers.
I scrub my skin raw in the shower... till it blisters.
I'm 23 maybe I'm too eager to please him.
I hear his excuses yet he calls them his reasons.
I'm available to him. At his beck and call.
When I want him.... he let's me fall.
We have 2 kids and my body has changed.
Maybe I just dont feel the same.
Maybe I dont look my best.
Why do I feel like a monster with my hands on his chest?
We're supposed to get married legitimately
How do I cope with no intimacy?
We have sex twice a month if I'm honest
I'm feeling disgusting. Worthless. Haunted.
I lay naked beside him and tears sting my eyes.
I choke out another "i love you. goodnight."
"Marching Band"
Dapper dilettantes take over one hundred yards
Showing their feathers like a cockatoo on pointy shakos
Displaying their talents on grass they are anything but green
Ready to give resplendent resonance through beasts of golden brass
Popping percussive drumming getting drilled into them by a sergeant
Time and time again by so many rehearsals they know formations by heart
The time for sweat and tears is over, they are here to perform
Atten hut!
Impressing the crowd with baton twirling
Majorettes turn into marionettes as the sergeant pulls their strings
Compact formation now, the crowd will wait for hot dogs
Watching a half time special while they stand alert in place
About face!
Witnessing scintillating choreography with a one, two turn
The symbols get their chance to be rim shot participators
And the Grand Marshall leads the baton twirlers aside
For the color guard and their blinding high definition radiance
No one is out of phase and the scene is picture perfect
Then they dive into the scatter drill
Show their true talents with life, love and liberty to move where they want
Individual inspiration takes over each one to the ensemble
This is the real reason they are here, for happiness
They make way for the gymnasts while maintaining play
Who express their own interest in the spectacle of somatic arts
Triangles and fantastic figures on three people straddled high
Build in the crowd a new love for geometry
They have to give way though in good measure
To guns of glory and so many shots sent high in the air
Puffs of smoke are burst sky high, evaporating a salutary good bye
Thanks for watching
The archers’ line was straddled,
By many a shapely calf.
The Marshall called the nocking,
And winked at the pretty lass.
The Maiden drew the bowstring back,
To her ruddy cheek,
As she fired her fledgling flights;
They heard the fair Maid "Eek!"
Chorus
"Sing Hey Ho, best beware!
Hey Ho have a care,
If ye've any pretty parts,
Ye'll keep them out of there!"
The bowman smiled and nodded,
As the Maiden struck a pose.
"Try again M'Darlin' Dear,
"But watch out for y'er nose!"
The Maiden rubbed her forearm,
And looked back with a glare.
Nocked another arrow shaft,
And hit the bull's-eye square.
Gentles all they tipped their hats.
The Marshall cleared the field.
The Maiden went to fetch her flights.
The men trod close at heel.
Returning with a manly stride,
Yet again, she took her stance.
The bowmen's eyes all glimmered,
With mischief far in advance.
Chorus
Pulling back her bow string,
To her crimson cheek so close,
She let another arrow fly free.
The string hit her in the nose!
Tears welled in the Maiden's eyes.
All the gentlemen rushed the Dear.
Wiping the pretty lassies face,
Of every single tear.
They brushed the few stray auburn locks
From before her green-brown eyes
Handed her the fine longbow,
And heard her sorrowful sighs,
"Do try again M'Dear Mistress,
But for your form we fear,
So, be very, very, careful Maid!
Keep those nipples out of there!"
Chorus
'Twas 'pon the final flurry,
As she drew string back to cheek;
"Thwack" went the taunting bowstring,
And again the Maiden "Eekked!"
Her cheeks they blanched a deathly white,
'Pon her brow there came a frown;
Still, when the Marshall called count;
She gamely shot the round.
"Sing Hey Ho, don't be scared,
Hey Ho just take a care,
'Tis simply a friendly warning
Not to put ye're pretty parts there!"
There's something I feel that I still haven't said,
Quotes that haven't straddled my lips.
When poetry wheels don't turn in my head,
Words can cast a solar eclipse.
©2012 Honestly JT
SLAM HAD A SLIMSIM
Slam had a slimsim padded with glimtim
Went to Siberistan with plonkplinkplim
He straddled paddled raddled
Haddled maddled and addled
Went back home with a question "atha kim?"
atha kim? = now, what? (Sanskrit)
© RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY
16 October, 2014 16:05:00 IST
You puckered up your lips
You went and cut your Beatle fringe
You squeezed in your bikini
And you trimmed your ginger minge
Your shadow on the beach eclipsed
The bathers on the sa-a-a-a-nd
Oh Tru-u-u-udy! You're out to bag a man
.
She lazes on the beach
Down by the Purple Dolphin Bar
She dribbles down her chin
While ogling hotties from afar
And even though you're thrice the size
You started out to be-e-e-e-
Tru-u-u-udy! You'd have two of him for tea
.
She spies a clueless victim
As his glasses hit the ground
She gaffs him with a tender look
And the sturdy rope she'd found
Though it's not gold nor money
That will cure this Turtle Dove
Oh Tru-u-u-udy! It's just buckets full o' love
.
She straddled him, his legs so thin
Then she began to pout
For it took half the fire brigade
To pull her victim out
Then he began to run as soon
As his feet touched the ground
Now Tru-u-u-udy, he's nowhere to be found
They say it’s rude to stare
But staring is caring
So forgive me if I’m staring
I’d have you know it’s for a good cause
I’m looking at people
Those people
With the backpacks on their backs
I'm talking about all of us
The slim and starved, the fat and well fed
Followers of this and that fad
Some slow, others fast
But either way, you know, people
Various shapes and sizes. Arriving, departing,
Standing still, pacing about
Milling around
Adoring fans, raving critics
Fact checkers on everyone’s heels
Telling stories, spinning yarn
Embroidering anecdotes
Or trying hard
To understand what’s taking place
Getting somewhere and nowhere
Giving in, giving up, getting in, getting out
Giving way, giving, giving away
Getting in line, grinning, getting away
All of them carrying something on their backs
Gold, frankincense, myrrh; gossip, weed or hot air
Convicts aboard the Con-Air,
Fresh Princes of Bel-Air
Faces plain and simple
Puzzled looks and open books
Sweet faces with dimples
Struggling, strangled, straddled, blank looks
Cuddling, frazzled, wise fools
Dreaming about this and that
Beaming, streaming live, screaming
Looking around
Visions of the sweet by and by
Dreams of happy ever after
Pimps, prophets, prostitutes and priests
Criminals, cops, politicians, finks
Jesters making funnies, people laughing out loud
Secretly lamenting
But filled with hope for the future
Ridiculous gestures to make a point
Perhaps two, about choices, about making a point
Free but among the captives by the big river
With all of them that wept over what they had lost
And all this, of course, is just an educated guess
I am a Savonarola chair
carved from discarded
remnants of cedar and birch that
littered our backyard -
waiting to be burned
or broken by a trespasser’s hands,
or tended to by the warm touch
of a gardener’s natural instinct;
an individual
who values growth
and prosperity.
I am an object
forged from splinters and sweat.
My four legs become six when your
spoiled bones and blackened hearts
grow weary.
Stilted fractures wax like leprosy
within your fumbled thoughts -
seeking respite as you recount
negligent actions upon broken fingers.
Father was a saw
and cut out his tongue.
Mother was an awl
boring through his visibility.
Ignorance sanded his face.
Blind eyes rendered him mute and
useless, like a comb without teeth
or a song-less linnet bird.
I am a piece of furniture.
A curio cabinet
curiously displaying your mistrust.
An end table advertising no family portraits.
An ottoman whose cushions knead
the detestation clinging like muck upon
the backsides of chafed ankles.
I am:
Father's severed chainsaw.
Mother's twisted liquor cap.
Sister's crumpled gum wrapper.
Brother's fleshtone punching bag.
I am a chair.
I serve a purpose - but not for you.
A chair can be slip-covered, polished,
straddled and veneered.
A child cannot.
I am most content when six legs
morph back into four.
Exuberant,
I then know my
private existence can breathe -
and the hardened antecedents
who took advantage
of my open arms and inviting lap
have grievingly walked away.
A CHILD’S EASEL
We bought it used at an art store
And cleaned it with soap and water.
Then stood it on the living room floor:
A child’s easel for our daughter.
You would draw on it with a marker,
Or write messages we could read;
The letters were always starker
If there was an important need.
It straddled the dog’s kennel cage
Throughout seven years of growing,
Your knowledge we could always gauge
By the drawings you were showing.
We never wiped it’s white board clean
Of the creative things you drew,
All those years till you were thirteen;
That’s what a parent’s pride will do.
But now that you’re growing older
The easel stands alone and bare.
You’ve given it the cold shoulder
And quit drawing things to share.
Soon we’ll give it to someone new
Because now it’s mainly ignored,
So someone can write notes just like you,
And draw pictures on its board.