Best Suntanned Poems
I see the wrinkles in your suntanned brow,
You carried burdens then; you see them now.
You’ve heard the cries your people who in pain,
Have shed their tears two hundred years like rain.
Your sad brown eyes, reflecting now the sky
I see the wings of eagles flying by
Beside you stands an Appaloosa mare
Her spirit one with you now over there.
You hear the drums, they bid you to come near,
Your spirit drawn the beats they ring so clear.
Song like prayers are chanted through the night,
Calling you come, and help them end their plight.
You’ve heard sad cries and now stand at their side,
You join the prayers with both arms open wide,
United spirits sing until the dawn,
When in the fire’s flames a golden fawn.
Remembering a smile crosses your face,
When tribes were one with Mother Nature’s grace.
The lakes and streams flowing with waters clear,
Flow sadly now, the planet lives in fear.
The weightless feathers that adorn your head
Your tribes grey future weighed you down instead.
Now breathing deep you smell the winds of change
While here on earth your people rearrange.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
10.21.2014
Giorgio A.V. Contest
Iambic Pentameter
1st place
Categories:
suntanned, angst, culture, native american,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
~
She stood amidst the tropic breeze
the girl with blue Aruba eyes
Between the fruiting mango trees
neath pastel sunset shimmered skies
Meandering this summer’s eve
we stroll the shoreline hand in hand
Where lemongrass and grottos weave
and footprints wander in the sand
Alone this twilight paradise
as moonbeams glow on suntanned skin
Melodic turquoise waves entice
a seaside romance to begin
When here on dampened shore we kiss
my heart it beats in whispered sighs
Her beauty is my island bliss
the girl with blue Aruba eyes
~
Since it is winter, I thought I’d take a poetic trip to the tropics
Care to join me
Categories:
suntanned, good night,
Form:
Rhyme
hanging in the air
humidity’s heaviness . . .
the river’s slow crawl
On the Mississippi lies the beautiful little city where I once lived. How many times I trudged up inclined streets; or leaning forward, red-faced and panting, pressed up slopes with all my might, feet on pedals of my purple Sting-ray bike, urging myself not to dismount prior to reaching glorious level ground! The damp beneath my clothing in those days was a given. Simply stopped to rest. . . sipping pop underneath a tree, I would often feel rivulets of sweat that trickled down beneath my underarms, a surfeit which caused circle stains to appear beneath the arms of short-sleeved shirts or on Sundays, beneath the flowered dresses that I wore to church. However, despite the heat’s discomfort, it was summer, after all!
counting down the days
until the school bell’s last ring -
a fling with summer
Released from stifling classrooms for vacation, I eagerly embraced the sun. . .and how I played! Kickball with the neighbors, visits to the city pool with my sisters and friends, bike rides to parks or into town, where I spent my allowance on records and treats, and hours racing eagerly through the pages of Nancy Drew books in front of a cooling fan - all these things consumed me.
It was in the month of August, and more than a decade of muggy summers later that I found myself transplanted in a desert. As if thrust into a giant pre-set oven with a noose about my neck, I learned firsthand the meaning of “slow roast.” Here, in the new and different place where I've now lived most of my adult life, the heat can leave one with a burn like acid watered down, a deep sensation lingering in skin long after sun has left the sky. Perspiration may just evaporate before it has a chance to wend its way along the body’s contours. Discomfort notwithstanding, there’s no pain. Acclimated to these summers now, I find that it is easier for me to breathe in August heat than it was the first time I’d ever encountered it. Released from stifling work, I go outside into the oven, pen in suntanned hand!
sunshine reflections
so many summers have passed
writing till twilight
Categories:
suntanned, life,
Form:
Haibun
I SHUDDER TO THINK
I shudder to think about the way
Some vegetables are abused every day -
With physical and psychological slights
In gross violation of their vegetable rights.
Handicapped vegetables have no chance to fight back
Like eyeless potatoes - poor blind mites,
And baby carrots , aaw! Or peas-in-a-pod,
Eaten before they’re even born and take a breath.
Imagine those frantic runnerbeans
Desperately trying to escape.
No surprise that peas are strained.
My over-tired mum used to say, “Oh, I’m shredded.”
So I understand how tired shredded-cabbage must feel.
What about the potatoes who diced with death and lost?
Jerusalem Artichokes - “chokes” is horrible!
Why not “Jerusalem Passes Aways” ?
And ”Squash” ! - Please speak more politely:
What a way to go - we should say “Press Lightly”.
No wonder some clean-living veg are angry :
Parsnip - an angry snip from parson or clergy;
Swede resembling a tall blond person, Stockholm based;
With horrid ethnic humour ( bad taste)
Like sauerkraut (also bad taste)
(So-called humour about a surly German).
Look at insults basd on vegetables for a human -
“The IQ of a cabbage.” What ethnicity insults !
I’m sorry for tomatoes - all this veg talk results
In them being called a vegetable dish
It’s like calling Scots people English.
Sheer vegetable racism is the worst. Mixed potato and carrot salad?
Not in apartheid South Africa – their salad had to be pallid.
Oh yes some veg are spoiled like children :
Coddled cauliflower warmed in milk ; then
Brazed egg-plants (please call snobby ones aubergines)
Suntanned slowly at their leisure;
And butter (not margarine) beans cooked with pleasure.
It’s too horrible entirely, the abuse is complete
I’ll stop being vegetarian, and start eating meat.
Categories:
suntanned, funny
Form:
Couplet
That was the summer...
Of watermelon fields, and hot, humid days
Of suntanned traces, and mosquito-bit faces
When the purpose of knees
Was to be skinned
Of running down a country road
Bare feet on hot asphalt
Criss-crossing across an open field
Helping ourselves
To thick pink crimson chunks
That melted cool on sun-parched tongues
Dribbling from chins
Leaving the best part
The black bullet seeds
To be spit out in rapid fire
Against the wind
Against the dusty ground
Against each other
And when the ammunition was spent
A pillowed head, among the vines
To dream on clouds that whispered by
In the blue afternoon sky
That watermelon summer
___________________________________________________________
For Skat's Contest: Summer
Categories:
suntanned, sea, seasons,
Form:
Free verse
The Cyber Nymph
Loch David Crane
August 18, 1997
Lie back--expose your belly ring
up unto the sky. . .
I just hope when I get down close
it won't put out my eye!
That summer I was 48
and she pert 25;
I left Prozac in the cupboard
and Reality went Live.
I shoulda taken time to stop
and used the vorpal rubber
But 48 he couldn't wait
to find another lover.
So while the Sun was merciless
to sand and skin and sea
"If she swells I'm sure she'll tell,
returning then to me."
I must admit I got her drunk--
I used her just for sex:
Blue and blond with freckles,
suntanned buns and pecs.
But she revealed computer skills
That took away my breath.
Her dancing cyber fingers sang;
I soon saw who was best.
Ol' 48 could bare compute
"Not very fast" she said;
"I've practiced years not to be fast"
gasped I, collapsed in bed.
Then the Sun warmed up the honey--
it dripped twice more in a row.
Ulysses' "rosy-fingered dawn"
beheld her frown, dress, and go.
That freshly-flossed feeling
reverberates my spine
A smile wells up from deep inside
and stays there all the time.
At play I watched this cyber nymph
on Netscape and E-mail;
Her eyes flashed, fingers flying,
shaking golden ponytail.
"You're kinda slow," she grumbled,
terrifying 48;
"But I like that in a man," she grinned,
making me feel great.
My old 12 color monitor
was not enough for her;
More movies, GIFs, and videos
flew by me in a blur.
But 48 he had a trick:
while she stared at the screen
I spoke in her ear, nibbled her neck,
and adored her like a Queen.
I kissed and bit and licked and squirmed
'til wrists and spine went quiet--
The way a mouse's legs go still
when python's on his diet.
And then the honey dripped once more,
the Sun was past its rise.
I felt its rosy hug and knew
that love was in my eyes.
I asked her for her address,
she wrote with @ in code;
I said "I'm too old fashioned"
and asked for her telephone.
So when you dream, sweet 25,
tall cyber nymph of mine,
remember please old 48
who isn't past his prime.
And as the honey of the Sun
drips down into the sea
I'll recall my Cyber Nymph
and she will undelete me.
Categories:
suntanned, funny, funny love, internet,
Form:
Ballad
a patch of, alluring sea
the wonder of this buoyancy
the gentle waves, the searing sun
with all of nature, I am one
my aches and pains just drift away
on healing breeze that's come to play
nomadic sands in search of home
caress my body as they roam
the salted sea competes to find
a way my agile form to bind
yet I must rise and bid farewell
to his Mediterranean spell
I smile and towel dry my hair
and give the Sea King rousing stare
this wave, his swell of promise sweet
that on the morrow we will meet
and with a sigh I say goodbye
for island dreams are waiting by
then lullabied by gracious moon
I dream of Sea, of suntanned noon
I'll shed my garments, dip in bare
more liquid pleasures, sun kissed flares
Eileen Manassian
I haven't been around much as I was busy ending the summer session at the university, and now I'm enjoying my holiday in lovely Cyprus. I'll write and comment as I find opportunity. This came to me while I was swimming with my family before yesterday. :) They had to remember bits of it so I could jot it down when I got out of the water and onto the beach!
Categories:
suntanned, holiday, sea,
Form:
Couplet
NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS (from a dutiful husband for his loyal wife)
I’ll promise in the year ahead
To never, ever fart in bed,
Nor say how she should get thinner
At our anniversary dinner
To she who’ll wash my underpants
I’ll whisper words of sweet romance,
Like ‘dear, I smell your fragrant odour’,
NOT ‘how about a quick legover?’
I’ll promise I’ll learn how to cook
From that old Nigella book,
‘Monkfish Bake with Fried Pancetta’
Though egg and chips would taste much better
I’ll book us both a holiday
Somewhere hot for lazy days,
We’ll get suntanned and drink sambuccas,
(Hope no-one sees my huge verrucas)
High as kites on karaoke
We’ll sing a duet, something folky
‘I Got You Babe’? No, ‘cos on balance
Singing’s not among her talents
We’ll watch the sunset hand in hand,
Strolling on the golden sand,
Taking in the sun-kissed view
When suddenly from out the blue
I’ll take a gold ring from my pocket
Go down on one sore knee socket,
And ask her to renew our vows
On holiday, if time allows
You see, I wouldn’t change a thing….
Apart from ask her not to sing!
Categories:
suntanned, humorous, love, marriage,
Form:
Rhyme
~*~*~*~*~
A little girl with dark brown braids.
White blouse, gold-colored wool skirt
and patent leather Mary Janes.
An only child with a wired haired fox
terrier that lived with Grandpa,
Mother and Father.
Her Mother, sweet, who saw to it
that she had ballet lessons, went
to a private school and Mother read
her poetry for hours.
A book collection she did have and
loved to read even before she really
could.
Playing with friends, riding her bike,
loved sparklers on warm, July Fourth
nights.
Saw men proud to wear a uniform,
who never came back from the war.
She did not understand when someone
stole her Teddy Bear during one of
many blackouts during the war.
Whoever would do such a thing?
No TV, no technology, just cut-outs,
crayons and she was taught to salute
the flag, because she lived in the land
of the free.
Children were safe, could go on the
train downtown.
But she cherished it the most when
hiding like a cub, under her Mother's
warm coat. The snow sticking to train
windows, peeking in.
Swimming at small lakes in summer how
she loved that the most. So suntanned,
she, the color of warm toast.
The girl knew song lyrics, she never forgot.
They live in her mind and heart and cannot
be turned off.
Years passed, the autumns and summers.
Family now almost all gone, yet somehow,
she remains young.
Always desirous of being herself, you won't
find the braided girl wanting to belong to
any crowd.
The music, the dance, her life, somehow
made her become a poetess.
Surely, not the best!
Being genuine is the gold standard for
all she writes. It must past this test!
She does not write to impress with great
finesse. Just to keep it simple as can be.
Thus~you will experience her poetry!
September 12, 2020
8pm PST
Categories:
suntanned, america, childhood, confidence, family,
Form:
Free verse
His heart was cold, cold as stone as
he sat staring straight ahead. He
had white lines from squinting painted
on the sides of his suntanned temples.
Even the wide brimmed hat he wore
couldn’t protect his face from the sun
which seemed to burn like a ball of
fire coming from hell. He hated his
Sergeant for dragging them through this
barren dessert searching for an outlaw
named Jake McCloud and he was certain
Jakes bones would already be bleached
from the sun when and if they ever
found him. Five men had already died and
now they sat waiting for Sergeant Bennett's
next command with stomachs aching and
lips cracked from thirst. He knew death
was following them rapidly so having
enough he grabbed the Sergeant’s gun and
sword and made Him get off his horse. Don’t
be a fool the Sergeant had pleaded with him,
we are almost there. He ignored him saying
you’ve been telling us this for days and he
rode off alone. He lasted two days out there
alone when his horse fell over from exhaustion,
then he walked for hours staggering like a
drunk. Finally worn and broken, thirsty and
starving, he took out the little medal stool
he had and sat down slouched and beaten.
The Indians tell tales of how the man with
the stone heart sat that day a broken man
and as he sat there his whole wretched
body turned to stone. To this day, you can
see him slouched in his chair in a place
called East Jesus.
His Sergeant and comrades? They were
rescued by the Calvary just hours after
he had left them.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
12.20.2014
Contest: East Jesus
Categories:
suntanned, betrayal, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
AA TO DF, THE COMPLETE LIST
AA automobile association – UK’s best
AB Alberta - Canadian province in the west
AC electric currect alternating
AD anno domini - yearsafter Christ’s coming
AE famous poet real name George William Russell
AF air force as in RAF - and USAF as well
Ba barium – a chemical element
BB Brigitte Bardot - attracted every gent
BC years before Christ the Lord
BD as in CHMN. of the BD. = board
Be beryllium an element much in use
BF bloody fool - in UK , polite abuse
Ca California – beaches, suntanned crowds
Cb cumulonimbus clouds
CC cubic centimeters (as in 500cc motorbike)
CD compact disc. Or cadmium if you like
CE civil engineer (professional designation)
cf means “compare” (Latin abbreviation)
Da = Russian for “yes”
Db decibels - measure of sound, I guess
DC is where Obama works his activity
DD doctor of divinity
De = French for “of” or “from”
DF direction finder - for a plane with a bomb
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written for Debbie Guzzi's Contest "A.C, D.C.. A.D., B.C."
Categories:
suntanned, funny,
Form:
Couplet
Those days when the hours fluttered by
Like the wings of a bright butterfly.
Suntanned skin and bare feet--
And the breeze was as sweet
As the fragrance of blueberry pie.
Categories:
suntanned, childhood, life, nostalgia, time,
Form:
Limerick
Through the louvered window
The moonlight slips in furtively
Barring her flawless suntanned skin
Musky fragrance pervades the air
Stirring the mind with anticipation
Mellow sensual intoxication.
--------------------------------
Contest: Night time Musings
Sponsor: FJ Thomas
Categories:
suntanned, sensual,
Form:
Verse
He stood at the Crossway begging for alms.
His demeanor looked like he was singing the psalms.
With folded hands, gazing at the sky he mutters.
The spewed words that tormented his grey matter.
Half naked, he sometimes sways, in a trance.
Rehesrsing the jive of spiritual dance
His Emotions enraged in screams
Recalling his Shattered dreams.
Images that creep in his mind in daylight.
Were even more vivid in the darkness of night.
His withered body looked like sculptured by bones.
As though some one had wrung out his blood
Suntanned skin, Like dark dry leaves kissed by the summer heat.
Which shatter when crushed under my feet.
The scares on his face reflect the pain.
Wrinkles and crow’s feet are his passions etched in vain.
Stars appeared like teardrops; on the cheeks of the sky.
Gently the breeze caresses; his frail body as he sighed.
He longed for sleep that eluded him for years.
Perhaps he never tried hard enough, lest he awakens his fears.
Suddenly he heard music playing in his head.
He just smiled, and lay down, and he was dead.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
Aah....!!!! It was not me??...but the man in the street.!!
Categories:
suntanned, inspirational,
Form:
Free verse
At last, a darkness filled the skies
Small tufts of dust, like clouds would rise
as the earth was kissed by welcomed rain
The rain at last, had tiptoed in
with scents forgotten, back again
We almost missed the laughter, but for leaves
That murmured quick surprise along the eaves
Late summer's breath, so sweet, so ripe
had filled the air to quench the blight
While puffs of earth, upon the ground
would mimic dandelions white and round
Explosions danced, near suntanned feet
The scent of dust, the scent of sweet,
bouncing here and bouncing there
tossing rain-scent in the air
Summer clouds, still take me there
Brief summer storms would gently brew
and catch me in the barn to wait
until the show would come and go
I'd take the chance or hesitate
And then we'd race straight through the gate
while laughing gaily, for a plate
of cookies, warm and straight
from Grandma's oven....freshly baked
The scent of raindrops, from the loft
The scent of cookies, warm and soft
Returning summers, never lost
where scent of rain, as August peaks,
sprouts dandelions around my feet
______________________
Categories:
suntanned, childhood,
Form:
Rhyme