Best Twitters Poems
You tried to win her over
with dark chocolate and daisies
Passion on beds of clover
always works with the ladies
So why her indiscretions
She revealed it with a sigh
You didn't ask the right questions
the rule book doesn't apply
See beneath all that glitters
her cool choreographed style
It's not hidden in twitters
try looking beyond her smile
Her love you cannot purchase
She can sense if you are fake
Do not play on the surface
dive down deep into her lake
Once she's truly discovered
surely passions will run deep
The depths of her uncovered
whispered secrets you must keep
She'll give you what you wish for
there is magic in her soul
If you just reveal your core
together you will be whole
Don't ever try to change her
that person she'll never be
If you try, she'll leave for sure
for that girl needs to be free!
Contest: "Men your advice to another man on females"
Sponsor: Brenda Chiri
Written December 18, 2018
Rice fields look the same except
for this one; this one who knew me
before i was born… and lying on her
fertile belly, she tosses the mist
of evening’s bamboo for raindrops to
moisten the flesh of gentle cattle.
Through serenades from elders
gathering in a bonfire of twitters
and jousts,a carousel of birds wheels
in a rhapsody, then takes flight along
scented air whisking tiny lanterns
near the plain,while rivers blue twirl
on rustic clay. How beautiful can she be!
I must have twirled with her on a cradle
of blushing petals swirling oh so feathery!
Waking up for some reason, dusted grains
on my eyes ignite this one
spectacle tryst with my rice field
where I have become different...
my head throbbing in sweet surrender,
perhaps, claiming the very floor
of my navel through her ripened harvest.
...................
Judged and Finalized 6/18/2016
I Got Zero, Nothing, Nada -1
Contest of Broken Wings
Resubmitted 7/1/2016
The nursing home called me early in the morning to come
as snow clouds sailed across the sky
and my heart swelled with a sea of tears
to see you lay still like a statue
my beloved grandma turned to stone
and I, a puddle of weeping and lost in my grief
grandma, I am not being strong and wondering
would you still love me ?
. . . or tell me to stand up straight
I loved you so much and your sweet serenity
all those beautiful scars of your life
your delight in a cup of tea
and a good cookie
your gift of storytelling that you passed to me
I want to share everything at your funeral, but wonder if I do
would you still love me ?
. . . if I shared our private conversations
that we whispered in hushed voices since my childhood
and how when I was hurting you were my shelter
you were my placid lake where I felt safe
my tranquility- the reason my words flow like a rippling stream
well, I spoke in the church of you and me
my words stilled the crowd to tears, but I still wondered
would you still love me ?
. . . love me for sharing our relationship
our great respect, bond and deep love
I was quiet as they lowered your coffin into the ground
the cemetery was full of bird twitters
but seemed soundless and peaceful
I will not say goodbye grandma for one day
my time will cease and when that day comes, I wonder
would you still love me ?
___________________________
December 5, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/Would You Still Love Me - Grandma
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1092-174-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Would You Still Love Me ?
sponsor, Edward Ibeh
Second Place
Donald Duck Chancellor of this fowl kingdom
wearing an upside down smile's raging hypocrite backwards
this deranged Duck twitters to and fro as his unhinged subjects
unwittingly applaud him onto a victory march that never appears equal
except in his alternate universe of oneness
Calamity Jane perchance is on the horizon
while war looms close by this feather prides himself
on his big show asking for a mirror to check his orange glow
he jokes and preens fading in and out so it would seem logical
tearing down all good morals he alienates with his constant magic escapades
Sleight of hand reflections move
with this fake news it gets exposed
the big top rotates under an eclipsed lie
fire breathing condemning all those against his way
entering the arena for the next late show
Now Big Bird has been caught fibbing
just when they thought everyone was safe
getting off the band wagon or so to speak
Just signing the pact with her feathered friend
letting on they are getting on so well for the world to see buddies
Almost joined at the hip like in their loyalty reigning over truth
in this ungodly circus of the vainest sort
Where the funfair clowns abound
under fabrications an orangutan watches on
beating his chest in an ape like manner and solid hands
he has no way to express words
puffing and panting swaggers
living under thee umbrella protected from the truth’s influence
Alvin and his chipmunks sing the national anthem
while the confederate flag waves goodbye over democracy
begins the three little pigs stages as they enter the building
their houses from clay flamed with truth
ransomed for vanities sake no good ending can come
Earthquakes separate the earth
floods come with grave disaster
hurricanes winds rise from the greatest source
even this cannot deter or distract this awful Duck
one mission under a selfish chant of
quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack
which only translates to me
only me, me only me, me only me!
a co written piece by Donna Loughman and Liam Mcdaid
Donald Duck Chancellor of this fowl kingdom
wearing an upside down smile's raging hypocrite backwards
this deranged Duck twitters to and fro as his unhinged subjects
unwittingly applaud him onto a victory march that never appears equal
except in his alternate universe of oneness
Calamity Jane perchance is on the horizon
while war looms close by this feathers pride himself
on his big show asking for a mirror to check his orange glow
he jokes and preens fading in and out so it would seem logical
tearing down all good morals he alienates with his constant magic escapades
Sleight of hand reflections move
with this fake news it gets exposed
the big top rotates under an eclipsed lie
fire breathing condemning all those against his way
entering the arena for the next late show
Now Big Bird has been caught fibbing
just when they thought everyone was safe
getting off the band wagon or so to speak
Just signing the pact with her feathered friend
letting on they are getting on so well for the world to see buddies
Almost joined at the hip like in their loyalty reigning over truth
in this ungodly circus of the vainest sort
Where the funfair clowns abound
under fabrications an orangutan watches on
beating his chest in an ape like manner and solid hands
he has no way to express words
puffing and panting swaggers
living under thee umbrella protected from the truth’s influence
Alvin and his chipmunks sing the national anthem
while the confederate flag waves goodbye over democracy
begins the three little pigs stages as they enter the building
their houses from clay flamed with truth
ransomed for vanities sake no good ending can come
Earthquakes separate the earth
floods come with grave disaster
hurricanes winds rise from the greatest source
even this cannot deter or distract this awful Duck
one mission under a selfish chant of
quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack
which only translates to me
only me, me only me, me only me!
a co written piece by Donna Loughman and Liam McDaid
Evergreen pines
Evergreen firs,
Yellow moon size star rays shining through,
Nighttime in the forest.
Red cardinals mutter, mourning doves coo
On branches in sleep
Roosting in their wait for the morrow
To forage.
Rustling mice on decaying leaves,
A roaming cat strangely at peace with the night,
Lets the critters sleep.
So curious is he.
Big footprints sound and scrape loud whispers,
The critters get restless and noisy,
Tell each other there’s a brand new day; a human on the way,
And chattering twitters turn into joyous prattle.
Then the crescent sun of the dawn
With its holy glory on the world awakes
Rise up. little children, it’s Christmas morn.
Rise up, little children, Jesus was born.
And Santa has come to celebrate.
I am just a tiny baby bird of three
high up in a bird house nest
right now I am just a fluff of feathers
and a big mouth
but one day I will fly and glide with my wings
I am sure of this because my parents can
and early each morning my parents leave the nest
to swoop and drift on wind currents
down and then high up, then down and down
calling to each other with tweets and twitters
and they are soon joined by other birds
in circles they fly around and around
I watch from the opening of our nest
flapping my baby wings
but mother says I am too little yet
soon baby, soon ... you will fly away
oh mother I want to glide and drift now
it must be wonderful riding the currents
and in my bird nest I dream that I am flying high
tweeting and twittering loudly
one day, one day I will show them that I am a bird
right now, all I can do is make a baby demanding tweets
oh joy, mother has brought us breakfast
so I open my beak wide ... me first, me first
__________________________
March 31, 2022
Poetry/Personification/just a baby bird
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1444-667-31
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere contest, A Brian Strand Premiere Choice
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 03/31/2022
Submitted into the Standard contest, Your Second Chance- 2nd Submission
sponsor, Sotto, Judged 10/16/2022
First Place
How I love the Wuthering heights rugged landscape
Of the wild savage moor
As I stand upon a rocky outcrops
High on a windswept Tor.
Under the blue sky canopy before me
Lies sweeping lush green and tawny vales and rolling hills
Land so wild and unforgiving
As the cold wind begins to bite and chill
Carpets of lilac heather providing shelter
For grouse rabbit and mouse
Somewhere in the distance
I catch the site of an old dilapidated stone farm house
Battered and in decay by the harsh temperamental weather
Every day.
Silver ribboned streams gushing and rushing ever flowing
Sparkling in the sun as lazy trout swim and pout
Trying to kiss the sky.
Little white woolly dots majestically graze on idle days
As the ravens take pieces of wool for nesting away
Suddenly the sky turns black and the icy rain begins to pound
And somewhere in the far distance I hear a deep rumbling sound
Cracks of light flash in the sky and the thunder now close by
Gives out a mighty roar
I feel the power shake the ground where I stand
And it shakes me to the core
A mixture of fear and acceleration sweeps over me
As I watch far from safety in awe.
Suddenly as it started the thunder stops and the sky begins to clear
A rainbow crescent appears and the lark twitters once moor
As the started wild ponies and heads of deer reappear
The overpowering smell of damp earth
I'm soaking wet my cheeks red and aglow
I'm lost in the wild untameable timeless beauty
That I have come to love and know
In my isolation I find peace of mind so serine
I am not just a visitor
But at one with nature and part of the scene.
Peter Dome.Copyright.2015. June.
In the hush of dawn the first bird trills a song,
and in a pause is answered by a chorus;
a symphony of chirps, twitters and chatters-
their songs so soothing
high in a forest tree
a little songster listens
and answers with phrases
with chatters, twitters, warbles
the little bird hops along a branch
hidden in a green canopy of leaves
singing a song that drifts and dips echoing _
_____________________
April 15, 2020
Poetry/Verse/song bird
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1244-072-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
For the contest, Strand No 730 Contest
sponsor, Brian Strand
Honorable Mention
A tranquil silence hovers
over the arroyo canyons
after the winter rain.
Dewdrops sparkle
like liquid fireflies
delicately shimmering
in the morning light.
I walk through drenched paths
enveloped by cool, musty smells
and revel in the stark serenity.
Tufts of verdant green grass
peak up around moss speckled
mosaic rocks and branches.
Traversing through leafless trees
I see hints of wildflowers
shyly showing off their bright colors.
I hear cheery twitters
of finches and sparrows
and soothing sounds
of a gurgling creek
trickling over slippery river rocks.
Thin, colorless clouds
streak across the distant gray blue sky
a few dead trees stand
in contrast to the muted background
of winter’s faded pallet.
Oh, to marvel in nature’s glory
a daily treasure, often overlooked
yet a joy to those who discover it anew.
Written on 2/1/2019
I so love an amber hazy forest
and strolling the winding paths bathed in bright colors
I love the fallen leaves of crimson and rust
the bird twitters and peeps- oh, such sweet callers
flying is a fire bird who is quite a scarlet charmer
oh, the forest is full of wonder and sights
and the the smell of dark umber earth delights
deep in shadows I find a saffron crocus
a yellow that only grows in autumn
and not far ginger grows in the cool shade
I think this was once a garden quite winsome
now I find, trailing vines with pumpkins
so tired, I close my eyes and breathe in the sun
leaning on a tree with bark the color of cinnamon
__________________________________________________
September 11, 2017- Edit and Repost February 21, 2021
Poetry/Free Verse/The Forest
Copyright Protected ID 09-1331-191-11
All Rights Reserved, 2017, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, All Yours (Feb 23)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 02/23/2021
First Place
.
Babel: “A bottomless pit of violence, a Tower of Babel where all are speakers and no hearers.” Alexander Smith
The preachers preach what they've been taught.
Reporters say what they’ve been told.
The politicians lie and lie.
I watch a tragedy unfold.
On social media I see
some folks who like to blog or play
while bullies bully; haters hate.
“Talk to the hand” they seem to say.
Mean twitters, memes and certain posts
use scalding words - an endless thread
scrolls down as if into a pit
where fire by sparks of hate is fed.
Opinions can be strong, but why
can’t some folks hear the other side -
with peace agree to disagree?
Yet fight they do and then collide.
Insanity is not just lurking.
Madness spits right in our faces
as many blab and jabber on,
heedless of the social graces.
Ears get clogged up; loose tongues flap.
See Babel’s Tower now so high!
We’ve come too far to still believe
that towers climb to touch the sky.
The fire raging underneath it,
spurred on by hate, crawls up each wall.
Violence will overtake us;
Then Babel’s Tower we’ll see fall.
With Spring come the backyard birds to my birdfeeder,
the cardinals, blue jays, drifting, swooping;
to join robins,
and chickadees !
I knew Spring is here when the snowdrops from snow peek,
and the birds are singing loud and joyful;
their sweet tweets, twitters, and chatters mingling,
oh, love finches and swallows in the morning sun !
At dawn sings the sad nightingale,
and from sea to sea the loons call;
a hummer came,
to just flutter !
___________________________
February 16, 2021
Poetry/Verse/Spring is Singing
Copyright Protected, ID 02-1329-975-16
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard Contest, All Yours (Feb 17)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 02/17/2021
First Place
My colleagues who were birders
Could identify the sound
And name the breed of every bird
Whose chirping was around.
It didn't matter if they saw
One feather on its back,
The tweets and twitters said enough
For all the codes to crack.
I do not care which utterance
Emits from any beak.
I listen to the chorus
And enjoy the way they speak...
Especially when counterpointed
With a gentle rain.
When Nature's noises serenade,
There's such a sweet refrain.