Best Unworried Poems
One spring day meandering in a meadow,
I saw a butterfly whose beauty matched that
of May's azure sky.
With blue silken wings like that of a fairy,
she flitted here and there -
aimlessly as butterflies seem wont to do.
Oh, to be that butterfly,
alighting on any pretty flower whose scent delighted me -
unhurried and unworried.
I would be that butterfly breezing through the meadow
meandering . . . meandering . . .
to where – I did not know,
but soon I found myself beside a brook.
My heart became the song of blue bells
which danced with the wind beside the brooklet.
And as my little friend fluttered on,
I careened behind her with arms outstretched,
laughing as the long grasses through which I leaped
tickled the calves and shins of my legs.
Soon I was approaching a grove of tall green trees -
meandering . . . meandering.
I kept my eyes on the bright blue wings ahead of me.
Freely I flowed like the wind that swept through my hair
as it fluttered the leaves of the tall green trees
until suddenly – the butterfly
was vanished from my view!
I knew not to where I’d wandered,
but in my heart I had no fear.
All things come to an end eventually,
but also all paths eventually lead
to somewhere.
Turning myself back toward the direction
from which I’d come
and with my arms spread wide,
I let the butterfly in me
take me eastward -
meandering . . meandering.
Poetry was her best lover
like no other
he loved her
without restraint
She could be herself
and explore
discovering
secret pleasures and fantasies
Naked above the covers
he let her lie exposed
as he slowly caressed her imagination
making her flow
with the sweet essence of her soul
in waves of creative delirium
Flying free~~~
he let her be
unfettered
unashamed
unworried of how to please
or how to tease
just simply to be
a woman in a prelude
to ecstasy
Poetry was her best lover
her escape from reality
in clandestine intimacy
he ravished her mind
again and again
for all he wanted
was for her
to experience
to taste
every pleasure
he had to offer
Her insatiable appetite
he fed
with firm truths
that burst forth with wisdom
He fed her desire
to reach supremacy
He never betrayed
or delayed
in pleasing her
in giving her just what she wanted
in different ways and forms
his creativity endless
Poetry was her best lover
the only time in her day
when she had her way
and could be free
to be the woman she was meant to be:
Sensual and sultry, sexy and savory
not having to hide
behind the guise
the veil of culture
or religion
or misconstrued sexism
or alibis
being demure
“sterile”
when she was fertile
laden with passion
waiting to be filled
with word seeds of ingenuity
Poetry was her best lover
he adored her as she was
and he gave and gave
at times
leading her in submission to his will
taming her
training her
to live in the confines
of his rules...
For perfection to be reached
she had to follow his lead
to the pinnacle of pleasure
where all was in rhythmic union and rhyme
in the sublime
she was oblivious to time
Ah....sweet release~~~
In the after glow
he wouldn't let her go
but held her safe and secure
basking in the satisfaction
of a fruitful union
serene in the knowledge
that beauty has been conceived
waiting for delivery
Yes, Poetry was her best lover
and she came looking for him
begging him to take her
again and again and again
to transport her to heaven from hell
to compel her to see
what life was meant to be
Poetry was her best lover
and she had no need of another
to help her discover
her own entity….
None other
than her best lover
Poetry....
Eileen Manassian
I stare at dusk-tinged mountains to the east,
anticipating joyously the rise
of an old friend not pressured in the least
to meet my frantic schedule, I surmise.
I cannot rush the moon, although I reckon
that if I could, I would request she hurried.
Though "miles to go before I sleep" do beckon,
the Empress of the night sky moves unworried.
Some obligations elsewhere do await
my undivided interest to be theirs.
But if I linger for her, I'll be late
provoking shaking heads and unkind stares.
My heart of hearts desires to be unbound
from shackles of these deadlines and constraints;
to bathe in yellow radiance full and round
and gaze in peace at this still life she paints.
Debating thus, she crowns over yon mountains;
entranced under her beauty, I stand hushed.
Her rays are elegant, florescent fountains -
I'm thankful that the moon cannot be rushed.
Written May 2016
Poetry was her best lover
Like no other
He loved her
Without restraint
She could be herself
And explore
And discover
Secret pleasures and fantasies
Naked above the covers
He let her lie
Exposed
As he slowly caressed her imagination
Making her flow
With the sweet essence of her soul
In waves of delirium
Flying free
He let her be
Unfettered
Unashamed
Unworried of how to please
Or how to tease
Just simply to be
A woman in a prelude
To ecstacy
Poetry was her best lover
Her escape from reality
In clandestine intimacy
He ravished her mind
Again and again
For all he wanted
Was for her to come
To experience
To taste
Every pleasure
He had to offer
Her insatiable appetite
He fed
With firm truths
That burst forth with wisdom
He fed her desire
To reach supremacy
He never betrayed
Or delayed
In pleasing her
In giving her just what she wanted
In different ways and forms
His creativity endless
Poetry was her best lover
The only time in her day
When she had her way
And could be free
To be the woman she was mean to be
Sensual and sultry, sexy and savory
Not having to hide
Behind the guise
The veil of culture
Or religion
Or misconstrued sexism
Or alibis
Being demure
And “sterile”
When she was fertile
Laden with passion
Poetry was her best lover
He adored her
For whom she was
And he gave and gave
At times
Leading her in submission to his will
Taming her
Training her
To live in the confines
Of his rules
For perfection to be reached
She had to follow his lead
To the pinnacle of pleasure
Where all was in rhythmic union and rhyme
The sublime
Tasted and lived and then to descend
To warm after glow
Basking in the satisfaction
Of a fruitful union
For beauty has been conceived
Waiting for delivery
Yes, Poetry was her best lover
And she
Came looking for him
Begging him
To take her
Again and again and again
To transport her to heaven from hell
Tasting eternity
Poetry was her best lover
And she
Had no need of another
To help her discover
Her own entity….
None other
But her best lover
Poetry....
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Poetry was her best lover
like no other
he loved her
without restraint
She could be herself
and explore,
discovering
secret pleasures and fantasies
Naked above the covers
he let her lie
exposed
as he slowly caressed her imagination
making her flow
with the sweet essence of her soul
In waves of delirium
flying free
he let her be
unfettered
unashamed
unworried of how to please
or how to tease
just simply to be
a woman in a prelude
to ecstacy
Poetry was her best lover
her escape from reality
in clandestine intimacy
he ravished her mind
again and again
for all he wanted
was for her to come
to experience
to taste
every pleasure
he had to offer
Her insatiable appetite
he fed
with firm truths
that burst forth wisdom
He fed her desire
to reach supremacy
He never betrayed
or delayed
in pleasing her
in giving her just what she wanted
in different ways and forms
his creativity, endless
Poetry was her best lover
the only time in her day
when she had her way
and could be free
to be the woman she was mean to be
sensual and sultry, sexy and savory
not having to hide
behind the guise
the veil of culture
or religion
or misconstrued sexism
or alibis
being demure
and “sterile”
when she was fertile
laden with passion
Poetry was her best lover
he adored her
for who she was
and he gave and gave
at times
leading her in submission to his will
taming her
training her
to live in the confines
of his rules
For perfection to be reached
she had to follow his lead
to the pinnacle of pleasure
where all was in rhythmic union and rhyme
the sublime
tasted and lived
then to descend
to warm after glow
basking in the satisfaction
of a fruitful union
for beauty has been conceived
waiting for delivery
a poem child
Yes, Poetry was her best lover
and she
came looking for him
begging him
to take her
again and again and again
to transport her to heaven from hell
to wet her lips with the taste
of eternity...
Poetry was her best lover
and she
had no need of another
to help her discover
her own entity….
None other
But her best lover
Poetry....
Eileen Manassian
This is a repost of a poem I wrote some time ago. I felt the urge to repost it. I'm passionate about poetry.
The musician I never became
Singing the song I wish I wrote
I count the strands of my life
Here I am in a tag of war
Feelings of attraction
Versus stronger feelings of repulsion
Something happened and I responded
Because I no longer play victim of bullying
Or so I think
And they responded
And I was left feeling like the bully
I had planned not to apologise
Why am always the one apologising?
Well if I stop jumping into conclusions
Then I wouldn't be left feeling this bad
Well if I harden my shells a little
Then I may stop taking things so sensitively and personally
That hasn't worked for me
Changing my character I mean
Changing the sensitive gold in me
That is the ninety percent make of me
A 'nemesis' walked passed me
Like someone that doesn't like me and vice versa
And through I her, I was reminded of a great friend
I will never forget how she made me feel
The laughter we shared
The jokes we exchanged, most of them from her
And I a willing receiver
I always loved when she worked
And I thought, if she was here right now, it would all be jokes and laughter
Relaxed and happy
Unstressed
Unworried
Some people just fill in those empty holes
Of what we are not
And complete our lives
Bagels have holes in, my garden has moles in
Some teeth have gold in and some text has bold in
Teeth, moles and text is a song no one sings
But holes must be some of my favourite things
Donuts have holes in, the ocean has shoals in
I’ve got a door that is letting the cold in
Seas, fish and doors to my life no joy brings
But holes must be some of my favourite things
Swiss cheese has holes in, a toy box has dolls in
It seems my TikTok has got many trolls in
Tik Tok, trolls and dolls do not give me wings
But holes must be some of my favourite things
When I get dirt
On a new shirt
Or when I’ve been had
I think about holes and the joy each one brings
And then I know I’m……. not mad
My hand was unhurried, I typed this unworried
Had I been fearful, I might well have scurried
But I shall accept any flak that it brings
When I say that holes are my favourite things
I secretly hope that I’ve driven you nutty
You only read this cos it might be smutty
Yet sometimes a writer has tongue-in-cheek goals
But I truly love to suck mints that have holes
I call them Polos; you call them Lifesavers
Mints that have holes in and candies; five flavours
When I feel nervous or fear what life brings
Those holes must be one of my favourite things
When I get dirt
On a new shirt
Or when I’ve been had
I think about holes and the joy each one brings
And then I know I’m……..
…………..
Not mad!
Take me to that land
That land flowing
“with milk and honey”
That rich fertile land
Where everything flourishes
Where everything is sweet
Good to eat
Where nothing decays
Where goodness remains
Preserved
Through all the age
Take me to your land
For you flow with honey
“the nectar of the sun”
Your taste lingers on my lips
My mouth burns with your sweetness
I find healing as I take you in
And am nourished
Satisfied
Unworried
For I know
Honey never spoils
It remains
It’s essence unchangeable
Sweet
It will keep
Forever
Like ancients of old
I spread honey on my wounds
To remove life’s sting
Honey to help me sleep
When nightmares creep
And steal away my joy
Honey….
Pure, sweet....honey
A land of “milk and honey”
An abundance of milk
To satiate
No dryness but streams
Found on demand
An ever ready fountain
Flowing…..
Making life grow in me
Take me to that land
Where all is nourishing and sweet
That land where you are
My soul, my life,
Feed me these delicate treats
For I am famished
Longing to eat….
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Rustling in the bush
The night time world awakens
Dark eyes in moonlight
The red fox is curious
Unworried, he trots away
If happiness can't smile upon me,
let the judge on the bench be me;
it'll spare me gray hair...
a bachelor
unworried by jealous eyes spying on me!
Take away bloody fools, Gracious God!
Relieve us of our sins’ heavy load!
Take away the blood-thirsty wolves
That are borne in the shapes of humans,
Conspiring against the Adam-born
To destroy the world peace, like Satans.
Take away fools, the fire-belching dragons
N’ bring forth, instead, those that be wise,
Who can turn today’s hell-like world
Into a happy, peaceful paradise,
Where there all be happy n’ unworried,
N’ having with each other good ties,
Where there are no suicide attacks
And no warplane flies,
Where there no Eve-daughter is ravished
And no oppressed cries,
N’ where for hateful sounds of blasts,
There are sweet songs of love,
N’ where there all are free and equal:
Crow, crane, kite and dove.
There she is…
Hopping lightly from branches of
Each tree she rests on.
She is taking the day flippantly
Unworried, gently flipping thru’ the ruffling day
No matter what happens, even when things go
Beyond expectation of sweet bitterness
In dawn sorrow before dusk happiness
Rocketing up to the sky, and finally
Down again to the earth, gently, lightly.
(2013)
dogs and I sit on their porch
sniffing lilacs in the country air
relaxed, unhurried, unworried
BOOM!
fireworks or a gun?
everything changes
On a winter day,
in a sunny spot;
I found a snow flower beautiful and gay,
an unexpected display in a sunny woodland knot.
It was so sweet,
a vivid purple delightful treat;
unworried about growing in a cold icy retreat.
It poked it's delicate head through the snow,
unmindful of winds whispering hello;
it really was a lovely show.
The depth of color was quite a display,
better than any flower store bought;
leaving snow flower was bittersweet,
but I knew all winter it would grow.
______________________________
October 29, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/Winter Wildflower
Copyright Protected, ID 10-1081-204-29
All Rights Reserved, 2018, Constance La France
If man were to travel to the ends of all time,
Where would his journey take him - and what would he find?
How distant the future no man can know;
He may have many - or no more, tomorrows.
Given a thousand more years Earth may be a cinder;
Humans could exist in a cold, perpetual winter.
Man could live in a virtual utopia;
Or perish from pride and selfish myopia.
Nature can decide that which man can't foresee;
Maybe tomorrow, his land could fall into the sea.
A storm can cause havoc and wreak sorrow in our lives;
Only God knows, who lives and survives.
A birthday is distant to a young child;
As we grow older, we're not so beguiled.
Waiting for a loved one, to come home from the war;
Awareness of a fear you just can't ignore.,
Perception of time, determines our reality;
Our life as we live it, determines what our life will be.
A moment in time can a legacy set;
A miscalculation, our greatest regret.
Man's on a very tenuous path,
Fighting, unworried, of the aftermath.
Developing arsenals of weapons that kill;
Failure to heed the lessons that history instills.
Distance is a perception, that's only in our minds;
We could live forever, if only we could find -
A means to exist one on one with the world,
Holding our banners high, a new perspective unfurled.