Best Suggests Poems
(PoetrySoup Format)
Predictable, practical pose
as a simple sentence suggests,
accepting how the story goes,
while syllables shape silhouettes.
~ Simple scribbles serenade me ~
Paragraphs, hold poise and power
while illuminating passion,
and thoughts anticipate the hour,
forms flow in a feathered fashion.
~ Sonnets and sweet simplicity ~
Playful, parallel poetry
cause positions to part and pause,
dimensions divide, dive deeply,
and lines love to linger, because.
~ Synonyms sing a symphony ~
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* As thoughts twirl, they paint a picture *
Please the senses with Poetry
( 8 syllable count within each line )
in the uncoloured tint of another everyday
amongst the spit polished waxed apples
tightly packed in burlap bags
they walked like minded
in their own burly wrap
oblivious to the irony
to their similarity
of the markets round red fruit
unaware of the tragedy
the horror of events yet to come
it will rain metal shrapnel
as human minds grasp
with the purpose of their existence
as in their ignorance
they understand their worth as human bombs
with a belief the heavens will open the gates
with a fanfare and a promised blessing
for their divine act of unquestioned belief
the clay shaped bricks
the black iron metal stairs
the drum sound of engines
then the lull
not after
but before
before
the pulse of the storm
the rain of death
yet this moment captured
this photograph
with man and child in hand
smells sweet
you wonder
bemused
why?
the world travels
aimlessly
singularly
no one
nothing in the universe
suggests
exposes
even a hint
even a glimpse
not a clue
that would lead
reveal
an answer.
life in its contradiction
like the proverbial apple
offers both
the miracle
the curse.
09/23/2014
My turds float like choc’late marshamallows
Just lurking about in the shallows
I guess that my butt
Is truly kaput
So doctor suggests bitter aloes
I questioned such treatment regime
Doc said it may keep my butt clean
Aloe on my finger
Won’t cause me to linger
And floaters will look like whipped cream
Doc chuckled and said “Listen here
Your floaters are nothing to fear”
Poop floats cos you’ve gas
Which is passed through your ass
No treatment’s required my dear.
DISCLAIMER - THIS IS NO REFLECTION ON THE STATE OF MY BOWELS JUST NEEDED A LITTLE LIGHTHEARTED RELIEF AFTER A VERY CHALLENGING WEEK
A field of wheat cloaked in dewy silence
the orchestra tunes up with avian arias
bullfrog basses and a choir of cawing crows,
xanthic sunflowers turning their heads to better see,
the daylight trajectory commencing with lazuline layering,
a breeze glissandoes on harps of oak leaves
tomorrow is now today,
and I am grateful.
An officer of the law taps on my door
my breath and heartbeat screech to a sudden stop
preparing for the next-of-kin speech, or
where-were-you-on-the-night-of-the-23rd interrogation,
instead she informs me my car is ten inches in the red
and with a smile suggests I move it before I get a citation
pulse resumes as oxygen reunites with lungs,
and I am grateful.
A mask sitting by the front door; my ticket to commerce
the media replaying riot scenes, lockdown measures,
sporting event cancellations, worship restrictions,
death tolls, closed restaurants, and drive-by graduations.
Yet I am virus-free, housed, gainfully employed,
surrounded by family and electronically socialized,
I have my necessities: I am well-fed, well-loved,
and I am grateful.
written 30 Aug 2020
I tell you I like, that Wayland a bunch
He'd be the guy, to be there in a crunch
Not afraid of humor, he paves the way
With clerihew words, he loves to play
Let's talk of Eileen, the Queen of passion
Her verses of pleasure, will not be rationed
She causes men to rise, women to weep
Many a farmer, have stopped counting sheep
Then there is Shadow, who is a bright light
Her name suggests darkness, but that isn't right
With a pen and paper, she loves to play
Out of the Shadow, poems brighten our day
There is the woman Donna, she is filled with charm
For her animals, she'd give her left arm
Still here in the soup, she adds her own spice
She's a little bit hot and a whole lot of nice
When it comes to Eagles Montery's the last word
She's not in a flock she's a solitary bird
With her strong wings creating a breeze
Verses dance on the wind with the greatest of ease
I can't forget about Richard, now there's a man
He teases Eileen, just because he can
Yet within the humor, his clever exists
His poetic talents, impossible to miss.
My friend Vicky T, has brought me to tears
She possesses insight well beyond her years
A voice from the wilderness, please take heed
Wisdom resides in her poems that we read
When it comes to nature, our Nette is the girl
She makes mountains quiver and pretty leaves twirl
To angelic worlds she causes us to travel
Brooks are helpless she makes them all babble
Our Andrea she is well beyond great
Her words are profound they carry such weight
Regardless of form, many contests she wins
She's top of the heap, before she begins
Becca's a doll, with a sensitive pen
She writes of the now and also the then
Her words magical, a muse guides her pen
Capturing my mind again and again
This place amazing, a Mystical Rose
A unique handle my creative friend chose
Perfect for her that woman has style
A perfect seven at the top of the pile
My buddy Drake he has really mad skills
With words like honey the airways he fills
If you are lucky he'll let you co-host
To him I raise a glass to happily toast
Others must wait I'm running out of Rymes
I will write of them some other time
Until then I must wish you all goodbye
Have a sip of my soup, give it a try.
Inspired to try my first Clerihew by
Wayland Bunch. Hopefully I have got it right.
A single red, heart-shaped balloon isn’t enough
So I splurge and buy fourteen adorned by cupid
I tie them to the chair of my beloved “Hot Stuff”
To think mere balloons might please him would be stupid
So I search and search for the grandest tea roses
His favorite warm colors are all blended in each
His desk they decorate in striking poses
Hope these will do the trick and his passion beseech
But then I remember his strong chocolate craving
Godiva treats I purchase and spare no expense
Set beside roses, surely he’ll be raving
He’ll be home in an hour; I can’t bear the suspense
When the door opens, I am wearing a teddy
The Valentine card he takes with a gloomy look
When he sees his desk, he wails, “Enough already!”
And he doesn’t even try my straps to unhook
How puzzled I feel when he says, “We have to talk”
No, he hadn’t forgotten this lovers’ holiday
Into his small closet he suggests we should walk
He seems so depressed; I’d expected a hooray
Piled high in the closet are all occasion gifts
Gaudy Christmas sweaters and tons of chocolate hearts
He can’t find his clothes and between us grows a rift
To sort through this maze, he would need a detailed chart
“Take all this stuff with you and please just leave my home
In fact, I’ll pay your expenses to relocate
And be sure to take that hideous garden gnome
Make it snappy, will you? I have a date at eight!”
*For Joyce’s “Emotional Response” contest
Knowledge gained liberates or mutilates.
Ramifications of reality’s realm reached
make your insides want to abandon the body ship.
Rocking back and forth as you hurl dry acidic pain
expelled by the force of shell shocked lucidity:
You’re not good enough to be loved.
Breathing in is treason.
Your heart demands release of life’s lease.
On the kitchen floor
crumpled dreams drag to prostrate form.
Alone…..
Every reason to stay is obliterated.
Ascorbic failures scream.
Heart blood transforms to salty rivulets.
Self-loathing usurps the throne of belief.
"Appeasement sacrifice,” it sagely suggests…
"Your life!"
Relevant Reasoning...
For someone for whom love is cell oxygen
grey matter food
supreme soul sustenance,
life without full bodied Love is death.
Might as well...
Cowardice cackles and goads….
The cut isn’t deep enough.
Red streaked line mockery of mental hell feels
abhorrence breathing between the sobs
that one hears …
No one hears
Troubled mind has drained desirability’s delight.
Not strong enough to live not strong enough to die,
you are spent…
negligence purged.
Silence begs to benumb,
yet a reminder remains.
The thorn of truth finds a home.
Embedded in my side,
it won’t be denied.
Removal immuned
it is unseen by naked eye-
exposed to the naked heart.
With every movement of love making
matrimonial mattress yet exudes
the faint scent of virginal dreams...
Pain permeates
It digs in deep.
Nothing will change.
YOU cannot change.
You are unlovable.
You're troubled and troubling brain
takes beauty down to notch of insane.
Give it all away.
Lavish and ravish.
Obsessively bid for love
while you auction respect away,
but herein is the cursed truth:
You are not good enough to be loved.
You never were.
You never will be.
For Charlotte's Heart and Soul Contest
September 2, 2014
April first drives up in a new Lamborghini,
Everyone knows it is one of her foolish tricks
She will be driving a beat-up pickup farm truck
In thirty days, when time comes to start the planting.
April, she flounces between winter and summer,
Calling herself spring but she is, frankly, confused.
By the tenth, she is tossing around snow flurries
She grins crazily; our warm coats are put away.
Next day or so her temperatures are soaring,
The snow has melted, and we are donning our shorts.
What the old folks always call "Blackberry Winter"
Strikes with vengeance, temperatures in the thirties,
April says maybe that heavy sweater will do.
She laughs by tax-filing day with strong gusty wind
Though ornamental trees are beginning to bud,
There's talk of late frost, April does not seem to care.
Another few days, and she lets the top down so
Warm breezes are embracing the faint scent of lime.
When April suggests a warm spring is here to stay
A blast of Arctic air nips buds with frosty dew
In a warm day or two, sure enough, April comes
Driving her pickup truck full of mulch and manure,
April plants the sturdy vegetables like kale.
Despite late frost, the tulips will soon burst open
Gentler rains, and April may settle down for good.
SIXTH PLACE WINNER
Written April 11, 2021
for "April Poetry Contest"
sponsored by Regina McIntosh
CAFE TERRACE AT NIGHT (Van Gogh)
Orbital focus of assured kindness and hospitality
From the waitress in long white apron
Where time stands still for a moment,
Where the golden interior glow of the shelter
Gravitates under the canvas roof and
Permits a little topaz flavor to anoint the cobbled street,
Its dark forbidding geometry of the night,
Its silhouetted shapes of blackened houses
Whose dead windows suggest only a half life,
Whose clock tower suggests the running sands of time,
While dizzying stars, circular orbs of cold white,
Stare unblinking at the colors uncertain
In a neighbourhood of crumbling age,
On the pavement of uncertain difficult cobbles.
The café is not crowded but it is the sun
For the people orbiting its warmth.
I believe that long ago, the universe’s most artistic landscaper
mixed woodlands with tropics, rock formations with mountains,
volcanic craters with lush valleys, and cascading waterfalls with
pristine still waters before blending all with an ocean and
topping it off with sunshine. Man named this place, Hawaii.
The absolute awe that defines Hawaii, is bound to awaken
any slumbering faith and rejuvenate any emotion grown numb
to the brilliance of life. While visiting the Islands of Hawaii, I
absorbed a joy and wonder from the plants that delightfully
startled my own routine senses. I have been blessed in my life
to personally view beautiful and eye-catching plant life in many
regions of the world. In Hawaii, the plants adorning and tending
the islands are the most dramatic, glorious and enchanting that
my vision has ever drunk. There is an otherness to Hawaiian flora
that suggests plants are empowered with the ability to uplift,
stimulate and captivate even the most withdrawn human vision.
entrancing colors
paint a wonderland terrain ~
landscaped free of charge
bodacious flora
thrives in hawaii's landscape ~
no mute legs walk there
This morning I went for a country stroll
Saw greenery of summer at its best
But off road walking had taken its toll
So the next stop was an Inn for a rest .
Ploughman's I ordered with a pint of beer
I took a seat and watched folk come and go
The sounds of banter and talk I could hear
Background music playing easy and slow.
I finished lunch and left by the main door
A shame to leave such merriment behind
And tempted I was to just have one more
But the home journey I still had to find.
I looked at my map then got on my way
Making the most of this warm summer day.
Written 20th July 2019.
(A ploughman's lunch is an English cold meal of bread, cheese, onions and meat, usually accompanied by butter and pickles. As its name suggests, it is most commonly eaten at lunchtime, is particularly associated with pubs, and often accompanied with beer.)
(The Cotswolds is an area in south central and south west England comprising the Cotswold Hills, a range of rolling hills that rise from the meadows of the upper Thames to an escarpment, known as the Cotswold Edge, above the Severn Valley and Evesham Vale. The area is defined by the bedrock of Jurassic limestone that creates a type of grassland habitat rare in the UK and that is quarried for the golden-coloured Cotswold stone. It contains unique features derived from the use of this mineral; the predominantly rural landscape contains stone-built villages, historical towns and stately homes and gardens.
Source - Wikpedia.com
Today it’s Pancake Day and there’s to be a pancake race
Entrants are on the starting line with a smile upon their face
Old Ted ‘s ready with his frying pan, he is a fat old josser
but when it comes to pancakes, Ted’s an expert tosser
The gun goes BANG and off they go, Ted’s busy tossing away
busty Bertha's in the lead, if she wins there’ll be hell to pay!
Ted’s won the race the last five years, he tosses night and day
the trophy’s been on his top shelf, he hopes that’s where it’ll stay
Bertha stumbles, her pancake drops and she begins to cry
Ted sneakily stamps on her pancake; he’s such a crafty guy
The finishing line is in sight, there’s about fifty yards to go
Ted frantically tosses his pancake; his wrist goes fast not slow
Bill makes a sterling effort and comes at Ted from behind
they toss their pans in unison; Bill's got winning on his in mind
Ted lunges at the white tape, but the result’s declared a draw
Bill suggests they have a ‘toss off’ - there’s not been a draw before
Both men take a breather, awaiting a fresh pancake to toss
if either of them drops their pancake it will be a great loss
Both men stand on the finish line and flip and toss like mad
neither of them will concede, whoever loses will be quite sad
A crowd gathers, all eager to know who’ll be crowned the winner
suddenly a seagull swoops and grabs Ted’s pancake for its dinner
Ted starts to shout and stamps his feet when it’s announced Bill's won
he takes it all too seriously, but Bill declared the toss off was such fun!
Poem edited - originally posted in 2017
02/16/21
Withered Are Memories Made On False Ground
Majesty of her charms , pale in light now
Love's glow has died, ashes only remain
She was sad , my heart took a fleeing bow
Her cries left only darkened bitter stain
No long goodbye words, we both knew not how
She was mad, I felt no need to explain
What is the past but dead dreams on black ice
Time returns us not to make our amends
Wishful thinking, going back would be nice
Yet new pains could rise, and forward it sends
With no overs, nothing said would suffice
Best journey on, racing around the bends
In hindsight , glory heavily infests
False goodness and sweet touches abound
However, truth lies in dark empty nests
Where heartache and misery were first found
Seek not ye fools gold as wisdom suggests
Withered are memories made on false ground
Robert J. Lindley, 5-02-2016
Salt is the seasoning, the spice of life
The reason for giving out
Flavors to heal hurt
Herbs to relieve grief
Suggestions that fill minds
With hope, faith and love
Salt is the zest of giving
The tang that touches
Upon the heart’s feelings
The additive that suggests
We all need God’s healing
With the adoring light of living
Salt is the flavoring, the hint of
Hope that rises inside one
Who knows that love is there
Alive on the inside of the soul
Where the Holy Spirit lives
And guides us toward much more
Salt is the sense of truth
That beckons to our minds
Heavenly suggestions of joy
Inspiring the spirit to delight
In the wisdom of sending out
Laughter, smiles and gentleness
Salt is the aroma of tears and sunshine
The grasp of feeling inside one
Who knows that faith is alive
Providing a sense of assurance
Insight into the scriptural blessings
That thrive with pure inspiration
Salt is the touch of color pouring down
From the edge of the rainbow
From beginning to end, shades
Of pastel gentleness relieving souls
Of the sorrow, worry and fear
Sending love through that stunning arc
Salt is the essence of God’s breath
Sighing with the whisper of a caress
Gentle appreciation sent down to us
Who know that He lives and sends us
Quiet joy, hope, faith, serenity and more
To fill us up with unconditional love
Matthew 5:13 King James Version
13 Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it be salted? it is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men.
Salt Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
February 25, 2021
"Environmental suits all checked and rechecked. The chamber is sealed."
"PROCEED!".
"We're losing barometric pressure!"
"COMPENSATE!"
"Energy output is constant."
"The rift is stabilizing sir. Air pressure is equivalent to about 15,000 feet altitude."
"Spectrum analysis suggests a red star. That can't be right!"
"Still holding constant."
"EXTEND THE INTER-DIMENSIONAL LENS!"
"Lens breaching the rift."
"Looks about 3000 Kelvin. Oh my God!"
"WHAT?!?!"
"Something humanoid is looking back at us."
"THIS IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE TIME TO BE JOKING!"
"I'm serious sir. I'm switching to a broader view plane."
"No joke, Sir. I saw it too!"
"HOW COULD ANYTHING SURVIVE AT THAT TEMPERATURE?!"
"I did too, and it looked human."
"I've got more of them."
"The depth of field is very shallow, those behind it are blurry."
"What the Hell have we found here?"
"EXACTLY. DISENGAGE KEYHOLE NOW! NOW! NOW!"
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