Best Thicken Poems
December 25th- The Christmas Wedding
Head-to-head,
Surrounded by seasonal silver bells
Scarlet passionate pink poinsettias sit
Foliage scenery
Entwined by Christmas and Wedding bliss
Frosty winter weather warmed up by:
Rings of “I Do!”
The eyes of Eve hide underneath a white veil
Beautiful-
A bride walking down the misty mistletoe isle
Wondering why the majestic mustang moon sank without trace?
The aroma of pine trees idle into the death-defying fog
Fine firm decorated ribbons snug unopened gifts
Desperately-
Mistletoes wait above the tenable tint threshold
Kissing and Cheering
New Christmas Vows
In her hands, a beautiful bouquet
-Bridal flowers for the maids
Forsaken by dark dusky dullness wedding cloud
Flustering fragrance thicken the chestnut cold air
Ornaments endured dreary tears
Despising the drapes of fog
That covers the newlywed winter show
Harmony withdrew from that winter wonderland
A white gown, not meant to be
Christmas crushed by her greed
The unkind erratic earth exchanged her own silent vows
In a horrifying hoary haze
A heavy foggy breeze dropped in like debris,
Blowing her tiara dreams away
On this very exact Christmas Day
:-)
11-22-13
This bridge has arched the lake's narrows
for a century, flanked on either side
by Autumn trees shedding their faded leaves,
blowing with the first snowflakes
across worn gray stones of my spirit.
Six months ago you felt the first pain.
Now you lie in white sterility
of hospice care, continually exorcizing
the feeding tube, a final tether
binding you to earth,
where the morphine pump wheezes
every fifteen minutes
and missionaries advise prayer
to the strength-less living.
Your a**hole oncologist told me your suffering
was none of my business.
I told him to take his prognosis,
as suffocating as the pine cleaner
lingering like miasma
over hallway linoleum,
and get the f**k out.
From the corner of my eye
I spot a wild rose sprouting on the bank
at the base of a haggard maple,
an anomaly in bleak October,
glaring crimson as my resentment,
angry as the dream when I said,
I'll be your will when yours is gone.
Knowing full well it won't survive the winter,
I give fate the finger
from my dismal perch,
just as I gave you two dozen such blooms this Mother's Day.
I'll see you in Spring,
rises the phoenix from my Summer ashes.
The flurries thicken around me
like a gathering of angels.
With eyes stinging
I toss plucked petals of pennies
into the Judas lake
while wishing as hard as I can.
12/31/18
STARS & STRIPES
I know the Treasures held by the snow
I know pleasures unknown
And the measure of the shadows below.
They said Look what you've become.
Red, I replied I know. I've grown numb.
More dead than when I was young.
Who can control when I explode?
I know the warmth of the Hot Springs in Old Mexico.
And the endless cold in the Mountains of Colorado.
Who placed the stars above the summit of Chimborazo
Who will decode my name like Nero?
Who can harden the heart of Pharaoh?
Do you know the Pain of your Pueblo?
Their cries are as the Rain, I can hear their echo.
Our blue skies are high with black crows.
Our white clouds turn gray and say "No."
Just like the red ants to the green geckos
And Woe to the men, women and children,
the beasts and the buffalo.
All you have to show is everything hidden.
I've endured below zero temperatures. The Cold whispered wisdom.
Saying "Christ is risen and will come again. As it is written."
20 years later I am forgiven.
20 years ago, I forgive them.
I am raised from perdition.
Being a Christian is not a Religion.
It is a division from evil decisions
And submission unto Christ, my physician.
My Life is given to Him.
I have my stripes.
I know torture and malnutrition.
Complex Post Traumatic Stress and mental conditions.
I've been Locked up with the imprisoned.
I know, the plot will thicken
I know our sins are as crimson.
Seek the face of the Lord.
Who is the Word of God?
I Know, so now I ask you to Listen.
One stifling hot day an empty sky tries to eke - out - tears, but can – not
all of a sudden
gray clouds gather and thicken . . .
a downpour explodes
As if for gladness heaven weeps.
One lone frog through a puddle leaps.
Small creatures take it all in stride;
beneath large bushes many hide.
An October sky is like no other one....
A cool brisk wind and a clear bright sun....
The whispering breeze of wood burning....
Travels under my nose, and has my senses turning....
Little leaves of color fall so softly, exposing
this maple tree for all to see....
The days are short and the evenings come soon....
An October sky that enhances the moon....
A walk in the park as our feet shuffle through
the fallen leaves....
The children play on this Autumn day, with hints
of green from Summer it seems....
The clouds thicken nicely to make a ceiling for
this night....
For under an October sky, to me every things right...
For "Fall" contest
The mist swirls through the deep vale
shifting slowly and giving glimpses
of the lush vegetation and flowers.
Slowly it dissipates in dawn's sunlight.
Teasing as it lazily drifts
showing for a brief second
a colourful bank rife with flowers.
Then blankets it from sight.
As the day warms up
it appears to thicken
then yield oh so slowly.
Wisps of mist now fading.
Before our eyes lies
startling beauty.
Nature's riches displayed
a wealth of orange and yellow.
Pinks, purples and blues vie
each more beautiful
and lavish green trees
gently shade the saplings.
The Treasure of Nature's Canvas
is now stretched out before us
while the birds happily sing
as they rush to build their nests.
Insects buzz with joy as they collect
the pollen and nectar from flowers.
In this new spring day
life itself is reaffirmed.
REINCARNATION THINKING?
Life is like a coloring book
with few or many pages
filled with complex
outlined images.
We are given a box of crayons
and are asked to color in the
background and spaces of the images
Sub-titles are allowed.
When the coloring book is finished
we are given a new one to complete.
C.A.K. 12-6-2012
REINCARNATION THINKING 2 -SOUL SEARCHING
Was I once before or never
Don’t know how or even whether
I was a firefly, a bird of prey
a centipede, a fish fillet?
A baseball fan to keep the score
a mockingbird, a carnivore?
A blossom in the midst of spring
a sign of what the day might bring.
A germ grown in a Petri dish
a chicken bone an unmade wish
All things and species could I be,
even remnants of a tree.
Of all of these, I leave this post,
I am for now what I am most.
CAK 7-23-2012
MORE QUESTIONS ON RE-INCARNATION
As 'core' beliefs thicken so,
does it leave us room to grow?
As aging souls say we must,
complete the cycle which was thrust
upon our bucolic living place
turned upside down in whorling space
searching for a redemptive life.
But for you, dearest one, do you not remember
before you arrived, you took this bucking horse of soul,
tamed it, labeled it and proclaimed it.
To become what you needed in order
that your ride be contained and controlled.
It's name is 'balance' and it keeps you level in the saddle
so you don't fall off.
10-3-2012
REINCARNATION THINKING 3 -
If, we are on a soul journey,
then what must that soul become?
A better soul? A wiser soul?
A sad soul? A learned soul?
Until one reaches the end of time,
There are so many lives to live out
to fully experience all aspects of this world.
Animals, plants - more souls searching?
One can speculate, but from my perspective
none of it makes sense.
CAK 4-03-2012
REINCARNATION ENDING
Was the Phoenix reincarnated?
Or was its embers reignited?
Perhaps before a lowly worm or soldier bee
or brown turned leaf upon a tree?
A seahorse, a shark, which fish shall I be?
In fisherman's net to be eaten by me?
And when the cycle is complete
and x equals x on our balance sheet.
Can we then rest in a celestial lair
with memories gone and unaware
of trials by all things forgotten?
If choose I must or chosen by me,
I'll remain in the stars and just wait to see.
6-2-2012
To Make a Hen Go Fast
Quicken
Chicken
To Make a Hen Fat
Thicken
Chicken
To Make a Hen Disgusted
Sicken
Chicken
Using a Hen for Football
Kickin'
Chicken
Chicken with Lollipop
Licken'
Chicken
April 29, 2022
For A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
In order to know and love God as He is, we must have God dwelling in us in a new way, not only in His creative power but in His mercy. Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation.
Nothing I could do
would ever be enough
to make the dead-wood
live. Though the wind
and rain sever bright leaves,
tender blossoms from
the cherry tree, and the
birds themselves fly
from my anger,
I know
I could never
make it right,
though with tears I flood,
nourish with a
broken heart’s blood
I am powerless.
Yet still these bruised stems,
thicken and split
to bud, spill green life,
fill the earth
with mercy
and love.
Written July 05, 2025
*************
I am anchored when I am a garnet,
The mineral topaz when I shine.
A midnight fantasy of moonstone,
This precious gem's spirit is mine.
Emerald ideas are proliferating,
Within the gardens of my brain.
As opalescent moods still fluctuate,
With indeterminate strain.
I illuminate, akin to a glass prism,
When elation continues to rise.
A Sapphire flame symbolizes justice,
Increasingly irritates my eyes.
When shadows start to thicken,
I don the obsidian stones' grace.
And allow the illumination of jasper,
Restore equilibrium in my living space.
Each diamond carries a whisper,
A truth that I have been able to flow—
This even caused fractures in the facets.
Still catching the dawn glow.
I evolved from stardust,
With spiral galaxies to approve.
Should you perceive that sparkle—
You are stardust, companion, and groove.
It started with a single word- then came another five…
When I got to my second line, I nearly began to cry.
Chapter two developed in an unsuspected way, and the characters began to grow a little more each day.
The plot began to thicken by the middle of chapter three, and ‘he said- she said- who did what?’ was now a mystery.
By the end of chapter four, somebody will likely die and someone else will fall in love by the middle of chapter five.
Chapter six begins with the sound of wedding bells, and they’ll probably have a baby if chapter seven goes well.
Chapter eight needs more excitement to keep the story strong.
Maybe between nine and ten someone new will come along.
A wondering eye in chapter eleven ignites a love affair and chapter twelve will begin with a marriage in despair.
Thirteen and fourteen will hold together the threads of a broken heart, but in chapter fifteen they will finally decide they cannot be apart.
Sixteen will rekindle passion. Seventeen a vengeful hate.
And in the beginning of chapter eighteen someone will finally meet their fate.
Chapter nineteen will be the greatest finale ever heard.
And chapter twenty will end the journey that started with a single word.
We look back at the blue-lit sphere of Earth,
knowing it's doomed; we can never return.
The rust-red orb of Mars is our new home.
Its ancient clouds, and vast blue seas,
long gone — held as ancient memories.
We'll touch down soon,
on the wind-scarred plains of Mars,
red, orange, ochre, yellow, and brown,
to make new lives there.
Our blues turn red; our tears are shed.
We're on the way to Mars!
Shooting for the Stars!
To terraform good old Mars in Earth's image,
with air to breathe, clean water to drink
wide new green plains to sustain our lives,
We'll turn red to blue,
yellow to green,
and all the shades in between.
On Mars, the valleys reek of rivers long gone.
The barren eroded peaks and valleys,
lie smothered deep in red dust.
Water is only a memory,
of a once-rich wet world,
in the faint scars where rivers ran,
in the dry lake beds emptied by drought
in the moist air and clouds lost to space
in the withered plants lost, long dead.
Still, as we lift off from Earth,
we're all chasing a second chance,
as Earth's fate was ruined by nuclear fallout.
We can thicken the thin, fragile air on Mars once more.
Grow plants for food and oxygen.
Restore the greenhouse balance and to boost the temperature.
So the lakes will refill; rivers will flow;
clouds will return to bring rain;
and life can live again on Mars.
Our blues turn red; our tears are shed.
We're on the way to Mars!
Shooting for the Stars!
To terraform Mars in Earth's image,
with air to breathe, clean water to drink,
vast new green plains to sustain us.
We'll turn red to blue,
yellow to green,
and all the shades in between.
New cities will rise in faint, pale blue skies,
rivers will babble again through red stones.
Forests will grow in new fertile watered grounds—
People will grow proud to call themselves Martians,
hoping to one day return to Earth once again,
when the poison of radiation fades.
Our blues turn red; our tears are shed.
We're off - Goodbye, Goodbye!
We're on our way to Mars!
We're on our way to Mars!
The Barefoot Days of Summer
By Elton Camp
When I was a child in rural Alabama during the 1940s, going barefoot during the summer months was still a general practice, especially for boys. It was feasible because few roads were paved and sidewalks in the country were virtually nonexistent. The sun on hard, dark surfaces created burn hazards that prevented city kids from going without shoes outside the confines of their own yards.
My father’s childhood had been spent in the more distant rural areas of Marshall County. He and his siblings went shoeless partly by choice and partly because it was the inexpensive thing to do. Shoes for their large family would represent a significant cost. Memory being the fickle thing that it is, he looked back on “going barefoot” as a privilege and source of delight. It was a childhood rite that he wanted me to enjoy.
“You can start going barefoot now,” he announced in June of each year. His tone showed that he considered he was doing something wonderful for me, so I didn’t want to disappoint him by revealing my true feelings. Going shoeless hurts—a lot. Sharp rocks and stubs of plants seemed to be everywhere. After about a month, the soles thicken enough that walking becomes less painful, but it’s mainly a matter of degree. Without a doubt, the sandy, grass-free yards of his youth contained fewer perils.
In the forties, our yard had what passed for grass, but it actually was a mixture of grass, clover, and general weeds. When the clover bloomed, it created a hazard that no amount of tough skin could prevent—bee stings. The pain was intense and lasted a couple of days. The only treatment my parents knew was to moisten the head of a kitchen match to make a paste to apply to the sting. Despite their assurance that the folk treatment would help, I felt no better beyond the fact that something was being done. In later years, I took a perverse comfort when I learned that the sting tears out the internal organs of the bee so that it dies shortly. The mere fact that I was crushing the insect with my foot gave it no right to retaliate.
Apart from the beach, I haven’t seen a barefoot child over a year old in a long time. Viewpoints and circumstances change and that childhood ritual has vanished. Good riddance to it.
Do You ever just get tired of Being You?
Up there on The Highest of pedestals as You rule...
Is It You feeling selfish or alone as an unhinged fool?
I care of Your most inner thoughts and about You often...
May My remarks make Your Strength become more soften.
Do You ever get tired of Being You?
Even with All Your Money or possibly Self for filled greed...
I can't help You understand for I only have Me to need.
I hope I can Be of Your Beckoned Service when You actually want to See.
For as I share this marking wound of Your deepest fear I hide inside Me.
Do You ever just get tired of Being You?
The Children captured in Their different varieties of worlds holding pain...
Wondering if Their Next Meal or life matters that may or will ever Be obtained.
I'm just trying to hit Our common grounds to Our Survival...
We are just mismatched in A Huge Puzzle yet unsolved as We form rivals.
Do You ever just get tired of Being You?
As The Richest of People plummet into cesspool of remorse over My thoughts...
There Doors locked for discussion as Wars are created from the shadows taught.
Do You ever just get tire of being You?
The Length of A swore is vast,thicken with Evil Doers,and blood drenches are filled.
The firmness In My Words silenced;I have spoken from My small mind as willed.
All left for concern of Me;is silent,disheartening,as Your sunsets go on for now... All is red and done;Seemly to reflect empty words dusted underneath A sad Brow.
Trinity Garden Bloods 4ever
Poem by Cmack Estevez
I grew with friends from Elementary
I grew with bloods in Middle School that I knew in 2nd grade.
But I never screw up in the poverty North Eastside streets of Screwtown.
Jasper Aaron Banks was my homeboy for life from sixth to eight grade he kept me away from the gang stuff.
He knew I had potential in something unique and special so he wanted me to focus on my writing while he gang bangs.
He told me there’s more in life than being all hard and banging.
He was my nigga till the end
We share
We care
We ride
We didn’t hide
We had everything in common when it came to rap and movies.
Jasper was like a friendly Casper that influence me to the positivity road.
But what struck me was that he ended up being paralyzed by a group of disgraceful wannabe Crabs that dress like crap with bullets bleeding out on his lower back Lord it should’ve been me not him.
His life was ruined when he ended up in a wheelchair.
He was only 13 like my age .
He was so young and so was I
A victim by the hands of a wannabe
They might’ve wet my homeboy up but they couldn’t shut him up forever with them bullets
My homeboy still lives.
I love this guy like a brother and always eternally.
He’s wasn’t no water to me he was thicken blood to me in my sickening system.
He was my family.
But all I know is that I made it as a poet and this is dedicated to all the bloods that I respect growing up with in Houston for 12 years and to the other bloods stay up and keep your head up.
Jasper is my ride and die till the end
Titus Devante Scott is my side nigga
Jamarkus Dwayne Henry my ride and die till the end
And everybody that I grew with in Trinity Gardens in Houston down to that 77016 I’m still loyal and bout it.
Trinity Garden Bloods 4ever till the casket drops.