Best Underscore Poems
A winter wish is like a kiss upon a virgin cheek
it softly woos with words like jewels that brightly shine and speak
and all around its song resounds in notes of pure delight
its message rings and slowly brings a weary heart to flight.
What are these words, such blessed words, that underscore the season?
From long lost times, an ancient sign, that went beyond all reason?
A Light came down, bowed to the ground, a quiet hush, a swoon
as lowly shepherds heard the news, angels sang their sacred tunes.
A Child was born, of humble means, into a lowly manger
was sent forth from the heart of God, to save mankind from danger.
Oh, Savior mine, for all humankind, Christ freed us from our sins
the truest Love, given from above, new life is found in Him.
And so, my friend, my winter wish is truly, simply this
that you would know the love of God and live in everlasting bliss.
Written on 12/11/2021
Kind of Blue…
Slinking into a still hue of blues
Haunting trumpets dart in and out
Like taxi horns in freeloading traffic
And cling like silk onto full figured rifs
When winsome modal notes wear sleek cobalt
Where soulbeats throb from smoky bars
Blue moods of so what
Sway like humid lovers on rainy nights
To the clink of ice in shot glasses
And afterhours shades of whisky, sweat and old scotch -
Smooth as muted cool
Luxurious tracks of indigo distilled intimacy
Stretch without strict resolutions
Improv exhales unashamed sketches
Of empty barstools and empty arms
As modes of blue undress into serendipity
When newborn sounds wrap limbs around
Old scores of stale melodic staves
Steady bass lines underscore mellow beats
Unperturbed ruminating pulse,
Slow percussive murmurs
Like rhythmic subways of all blues slow walking
With mystic measures of ebb and neap attraction -
A perpetual kiss slides slow into a kind of blue.
If I ruled the world I'd paint it mostly blue,
Spiders would build the finest webs - I'd decree the morning dew,
Auroras would shimmer above the poles, their colors ringing true,
Those would follow my first thought, "Good grief! What will I do?"
Puppies would be off to run and romp, kittens added to the chases,
Mountains, deserts and oceans - set down in law as special places,
The red kite's ride, the jaguar's stride, moon and trees within their races,
The sable's fur, the cheetah's purr, we'd acknowledge such given graces,
And I'd praise the honored beauty in elderly people's faces.
Wind would dance across the sand, long waves would come ashore,
Unfair rebukes and tactical nukes - do we need this stuff anymore?
Graceful herds would move around the Serengeti plain,
I'd reach across the ocean, try to lessen my good friend's pain.
I'd find the key to hardened hearts,
To quell our many tribal wars,
Diplomatic smarts and peaceful arts,
Those things I'd underscore.
No more homeless, evermore - from that they would be free,
(I'd live with the skepticism that we could ever all agree.)
I'd want to know all the poets, every poet that can be,
To never miss the poetry, it's in every soul, you see.
24 February 2017
I made a firm commitment long ago
to read great novels frequently, not just
when I had time to kill or took a class
in college, for then reading was a must.
I love suspense involving clients, laws,
and litigators. I have come to see
the ones that hold, for me, the most
are found in the library, Section G.
I've a confession. I first read a book
by this great writer twenty years ago
when an associate whom I esteemed
convinced me his is work that all should know.
I learned of what inspired him early on:
his decade as a lawyer, Harper Lee,
and hearing a young girl speak of her rape.
His passion for the truth would be the key.
When I read Grisham's novels, I'm enthralled
with every plot and subplot, those details
that loop and wind, connecting when the time
is right. Each ending's smooth. He never fails.
His characters could walk right off the page--
the saints and devils, all those in-between.
The themes are realistic, relevant;
the settings, sometimes places I have seen.
His novels often make me laugh out loud.
That's right--these books on graft and other crimes!
The funny parts just underscore the theme.
His sense of humor shines so many times.
Best sellers have long been his claim to fame,
but he has other interests as well.
He campaigns to set free the innocent
who languish in the jails and prison cells.
This Christian former Legislator's love
extends to baseball, home, and family.
Our state is proud to claim him as our own;
and his success, we're truly glad to see.
I included some of his novel titles.
March 9, 2019, entered in Kai Michael Neumann's Book Worm Contest
This is two parter. The first dealing with the abuse of the mother. The second part is about her child, growing up in care
The Girl, Part 1
A foetus from a mother’s womb
Prematurely born too soon
Due to punches, slaps and kicks
Delivered fast with fury, quick
By a man, in drunken rage
Who thumped a stomach, broke ribcage
Of mother who could not defend
Against the rage which knew no end.
Unbridled ire he launched against
A woman who had had the sense,
And also child beat out from her
By angry, savage, saboteur
N.L.G
The Girl. Part 2
She never stood a chance, the girl
A chance she never stood
At seven months, born premature
Kicked out of womb with foot;
By father laced in alcohol
Belligerent and vile,
Who spared no rod nor pulled his punch
On women he defiled
She never stood a chance, the girl
A chance she never stood
In Children’s homes and foster care
she lived through her childhood
Attachments never formed for her
No bonds or pledges made
By people charged to care for her
Just sorrow and dismay
She never stood a chance, the girl
A chance she never stood
No opportunities for her
They thought she’d do no good
Passed from pillar then to post,
And then passed back again
She never stood a chance the girl
For her no sweet refrains
She never stood a chance, the girl
A chance she never stood
Poverty for her assured
It ran through lines in blood
No song with lifting melodies
Would underscore her life
Just beats reigned down from angry fists
And chorus sung with strife
She never stood a chance the, girl
A chance she never stood
Disordered personality
Consultants diagnosed
Anxiety, depression
Heightened lows and lofty highs
Mental health became her norm
Well, should we wonder why?
N.L.G
Morning's gray offers its wonder
Red ribbons from dawn underscore
Sun's first light splits night asunder
Moon's high tide rushes to shore
Horizon's line measured from sight
Beneath glow from a rising mass
Turns black to gray from burning night
An image is etched on sea's glass
11/11/18 contest 8x8
The last embers of daylight gleam across a round sky
to leave a red ribbon on the horizon...to underscore
The flourishing evening invites us in
as we slide our feet through the sea's soft sand
where waves lap the shore
like a honey bear's tongue on the first days of Spring
rising from a deep Winter's slumber
Bending palms persuade us to sit
beneath their green canopy
Where our eyes drop their disguise of innocence
to reveal a cherished moment of romance
worn as a necklace on the silhouette of love
that shines bright beneath the glorious glow of sunset
burning an image into the hollows of my hallowed mind
where liquid thoughts pour out in harmony
onto the tidal currents of love's ebb and flow
Tranquility rushes into pliable veins
an elixir tugging on the fervor beating in my chest
where warm alluring hands nurture the marrow essence of love
holding me a silent captive
waiting for the memories we will make
with each kiss shared...that arouses our quivering fervent souls
in a coronation of hearts
wrapped in garments of golden luster
as we dissolve in an evening's glow of red grandeur
filled with sensual imaginations
floating on the brume of candlelit dusk
and soft music
beckoning us towards a romantic night
of breathless sighs and empty wine glasses
7/8/19
The shrouds of clouds slim whim accost the sun —
The phat and fat, ruddy red and horizon muddy one.
Underscore of wavy grass, a sea of bees, life’s core.
A hiss of bliss, a slap, a tap of tippy-toe on crazy shore.
The forest rests on the pregnant breast of the fireball.
The teasing test of wheezing labor on a neighbor’s shawl.
The quake of vermillion beads, the wake of creation’s seeds.
No weeds in rebirth, the girth of bittersweet tease, broken water bleeds.
Crusty-Winter’s crossed. Trim sails from rusty nails and splinter’s cross.
Behold the boast from coast to coast, warm the cold, the lost.
10/4/2018
Battle XI/Sponsor - Juli-Michelle
deeper and deeper still
still my heart
that cannot fathom
that cannot reach
Your depths
i cannot breathe
eye-level of the seas
higher and higher still
still my heart
that cannot fathom
that cannot reach
Your heights
i cannot touch
the sun on tippy toes
still my heart
keep my soul
deeper and deeper
higher and higher
where breaths are not needed
where the heart stops beating
where the Spirit is living
with ponderous wonderment
of the inkling You gift -
my open hands feel the weight
of Your mighty and gentle palms
You underscore them in embrace -
i dance in the transcendent space
My husband ventured out today,
His virus on the wane.
He only took the briefest walk
But didn’t much complain.
For he was thrilled (and so was I)
To see him well enough
To leave his snug cocoon and have
The strength to strut his stuff.
He won’t be running marathons
And this I underscore
Because, in truth, he wasn’t running
Marathons before.
The ocean sparkles
in the morning light.
We sip hot coffee;
you cough, turn your head.
Eyes say more than words.
Ties connecting us
dissipate in sunshine.
Waves which wash ashore,
this white-flecked water,
underscore your silence.
Last night, in humid darkness,
velvet-feeling black, we joined --
made pacts that daylight violates.
I will not understand your shame.
You will not see my heart-hurt face,
nor will you long remember
my already half-forgotten name.
On a headstone in the ground,
a life's summation can be found:
born and died and little more
marks the end with an underscore.
Before I die I'd like to say
all that happened along the way.
There's a story to be sure.
Let's begin life's overture.
My life began in celebration;
The War was over across our nation.
A baby boomer I became;
My generation was given that name.
Born on the East coast raised on the West.
Who's to to say, "Father didn't know best"?
Dad's family was left behind
but mother didn't seem to mind.
Childhood was rough and raw.
Money scarce but, from what I saw,
friends and neighbors were in the same boat.
Families worked hard to stay afloat.
We made do with what we had.
In handmade clothes we were clad.
Our imaginations entertained us
while nature's bounty helped sustain us.
Raking, mowing and bottle collecting
provided things we weren't expecting:
to see a movie or buy a mitt.
If you wanted something, you worked for it!
So, I more than survived childhood;
I learned to be all I could.
Two years of college was cause for delay
before I declared Independence Day.
I left my parents; moved far away
excited to do it all my way.
To try my wings without a net,
leaving the nest without regret.
Any job well done is its own reward.
I found many occupations to be explored:
mail carrier, bookkeeper, manager, clerk,
soldier, census taker, service rep, soda jerk.
Made many friends along life's path;
A few have met with life's aftermath.
Sometimes I wonder why I'm still here
but, of death, I have no fear.
Of loves, I've had a few
but the greatest love I ever knew,
is the love of a mother for her son;
With him, my family was begun.
I leave my grandchildren to carry on
the adventure of life when I am gone.
I hope they thrive when they are grown
in a world much different from my own.
The legacy I leave behind,
I wish to be my words and rhymes.
So, on my gravestone may it say:
"Through her poetry, she came this way".
August 31, 2015
For my family
Bowling is what I do during Spring time
And swim hundred feet touching the sea floor
Flexing like a gymnast, swing overtime
Holding my breath, a bowler underscore
Bowls of clear blue waters I play for more
Bowling pins like needles for life I strike
Bowling and swimming, sports for life I like
Don't swim too deep without an oxygen tank...
Life is precious to keep as waters know no rank!
(Prosebite)
Fight injustice
To fight injustice isn't wrong,
defeat the will of the evil strong,
support the weaker underdog,
live let live, all equal, frogs,
don't be a greedy nong!
A thinking person knows the score,
time and death does underscore,
pointless, the gathering of wealth,
corruption, taking it by stealth,
pollutes your spirit, ...for?
Not your mental health!
Conscience knows the open door,
leading to the petty self,
the one that you sometimes abhor,
try being someone else?
perfection aint too sure,
but in the spirit helps....
Don Johnson
nong no brainer
The Ballad of Stinking Mick
Now Mick hung close to a Butt verbose,
And the cheese it ran like treacle,
Some said it was on the bloody nose,
That he lived, was thought unbelievable,
For he was a hairy Wombat Louse,
Hitchhiking on a vehicle,
He tried sucking up to a Mouse,
got dislodged by a Gay Boll Weevil,
There came a blast, hot and sticky cast,
Aroma, most unpleasant,
With bowel movement, he was passed,
Hot an steamy, flavoured, masked?
Mick thought it effervescent,
He’d spring and slide upon the tide,
His gumboots trickled full, (Kiwi slippers)
On a passing Rat he snagged a ride,
High speed, for a Wombat Louse,
I aint being snide, no bloody Bull,
On a Tom-Tit sure he’d been before,
The Wren had flown him high,
Caught by a Cat, he did attack,
with some ten thousands more,
Puddy left with an open jaw,
Thought and pondered bloody sure,
Perplexed with thoughts of why?
The food was flapping high,
The itch stuck in his craw?
Poor puddy bloody paw,
Was reduced to sigh
Should I this underscore,
apply?
This part I will deny,
No lice no bloody moer….( new aussie slang)
Don Johnson