Best Well Chosen Poems
A Kiss In The Dark
You light up in the darkness
With the Heaven woven stars
In velvet tones of stillness
I calmly watch; night is ours.
Chill wind swirled rhythmic chanting,
Cocoon those well-chosen words,
Pleasing closeness, enchanting
A taste of natural bloom.
Closed eyes met a world of dreams
amorous scene into dance
A kiss in the limpid dark.
Warm silence serenaded.
Giant poet gem, Tagore’s story-poem: NISKRITI,
Is a piazza perched paved and perfectly paced beauty;
Scale model of a castle of vast poetic kingdom,
That has spread into an empire of Indian wisdom!
Manjulika is a dew-drop in the mighty ocean,
Of the land of Bay of Bengal where feminine gender;
Fulfills wants of men as mother, wife, daughter and labors,
Less fulfilled of subtle cravings, in her heart she harbors!
Nucleus firm; Malabika has solemnly sung it,
Narration, like roots, stems, leafs, flowers, fruits of plants well-knit!
Images complex extract emotions, expose like day light,
Questions of destiny hang, like stars in dense dark sky, bright!
Figures of speech, like hand-picked coffee-seeds, well chosen,
And like gems and pearls in an ornament, fairly woven;
With stones of words and verses flat, oval, blunt, round, pear, square,
The edifice erected here is stern, solemn and somber!
05 December 2021
Inspired By A Translation Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Malabika Ray Choudhury
You lift me from mundane reality,
with wondrous flights to lands of poetry,
where there, my simple visions come to be
expressed with chosen words of imagery.
Implanted in the heart and soul of me,
your brilliant gems become the words I see.
My clouded concepts there to you transferred
to be refined through vetting of each word;
to shape so artfully my thoughts conferred
that mirror passions of my heart incurred...
reanimated with your words preferred.
No turning back once our sojourn begins;
surrendering...the only choice that wins.
The hunter and the hunted, we like twins,
bind close together through the thick and thins
as words and thoughts unite in final goal...
all fragments melded to create a whole
and we together merge in heart and soul.
You soon present your gift of polished thought;
each word alive, well-chosen, sorely sought...
so bittersweet...my muse...poetic art.
My poem shines in your finality;
a diamond, honed from visions undeterred.
Through mazes, it encountered many spins
composing imagery through word control,
until your tranquil spirit knew you caught
that inner feeling deep within my heart.
The young woman sat astride the young buffalo
Her dress was a flimsy, homemade from the cured skin of a deer.
Two cured boots, quite wide, hiding each a dagger,
Whilst on her back, crisscrossed were two swords.
One large and heavy, the other lithe, small with a green gem.
They came to a murky river, the small buffalo
Treading the depth of the bottom full of weeds.
Suddenly it stopped. Two dark hulks of a man
Were beating a poor and small old man.
It was clear they meant to kill, such was their force.
A dagger appeared from her boot and flew
It was embedded in his chest, right where his heart lay.
The other man tried to escape, but out came the small sword.
A flash hit him between his eyes, blinding him completely.
Then he fell, trembled in his death throes and lay still.
Birds flew away from the scene, and all was quiet.
The buffalo crossed the river and approached the man.
There was no fear in his eyes as he handed back her dagger.
She picked him up, not much of a weight really.
Slowly, they wended their way towards his shack.
A few well-chosen leaves cured his wounds.
And made him rest on his bed made of clothes.
Later, fearlessly, she fed him to regain his rest.
She cleaned her swords and prepared to leave.
The old man hobbled towards her bracelet in his hand.
“Take this. When it turns red, you’ll know.
Danger is not far away. Be prepared.”
The dream of a fancy home
Blameless for spoiled appetite
Wanted a peaceful
and developed home
- with elegance ... (of course)
Refreshing change
Something youthful
as the age would like to keep
A place that shadows
and sunshine blends quickly
Application for exemption,
almost without decay
Enjoy nature and all its green selection
- gratitude for the palate
The abundant flowering
With findings that are rare,
a simple - but perfect home
Well chosen
21-04-2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Does strife constrain me from thoughts of your mind?
Does it impede my mind's-eye image of you?
Even with my circumscribed point of view
I know this,—that you're of most gracious kind.
A poet and a mentor, you remind
me of a lost faith in what's pure and true,
ideals once held by me and by the few
that all the innocents have left behind.
So, Anja, I laud you as a brother
with these well-chosen lines from this sonnet;
please esteem them (as you would your mother)
as if your very joy depends on it.
A lodestar and guide, you have earned my love
like the Bard whose muse came down from above.
Who are those truly funny poets,
The ones that really tickle me
With anecdotes or jokes that
Are funny as can be?
Who are those truly funny poets
Who, every once in a while,
Put a rhyme to funny thoughts
That really make me smile?
Who are those truly funny poets
Who can change my mood from kinda sad
With just a few well chosen words
To make me kinda glad.
Who are those truly funny poets?
Those folks deserve kudos;
Each smile’s a moment of happiness,
And everybody knows…..
If you make others happy,
You’re special.
Looking for adventure and escape,
a young girl's thinking of skipping school.
And a case of spring-fever finds her
skirting the edge of town, acting cool.
Sharp as a whip, she heads for a curve
in the tracks where the train must slow down.
And with her spot well-chosen, she waits
behind some bushes outside of town.
Suddenly, she hears the train coming,
with its high-pitched squeal of steel on steel.
And her heart begins beating wildly,
each clinking clank fueling her zeal.
With its wheels screeching and sparks flying,
a humongous engine lumbers by.
And she looks for an open boxcar,
aware, with one wrong step, she could die.
Racing alongside gives her a thrill,
for the train is still moving quite fast.
And matching its speed, she pumps her legs,
with bravado not felt in the past.
Fighting fatigue, she pushes onward,
not letting her pain get in the way.
And chugging along, picking up speed,
a train full of dreams whisks her away.
(Quatrain)
7/29/2015
I am ready, big day today, my first meal,
And what I smell to my taste does appeal,
You have both been so busy preparing,
Love the deal that the three of us sharing.
Oh, it looks exciting, 3 bowls I see,
Never underestimate me,
Which one shall we try mummy
The orange one looks so yummy,
I’m in my chair, and wearing my bib,
Daddy you have my best pose, hip hip
Hurray, do I hold the spoon,
Or is it still a little too soon.
Hey dad not the aeroplane trick,
That was your era – hic, hic, hic,
I have hiccups, please take the video later,
Dirtied my bib, thanks mom, that’s better.
First taste, first dish, mm, tastes good I’m glad,
Could I have another, oh that tipped a tad,
Looked away, sorry guys, now a third,
Slowly please, I nearly chocked.
I keep cleaning my mouth with my bib,
No more thank you, see my lips,
They are closed tight, and my eyes.
Say don’t proceed past go,
No more, I also have rights you know.
Thank you from the depths of my heart,
You are both the greatest mom and dad,
Can we go hiking tomorrow, love been
Strapped on dads back and mom
Takings shots of every scene.
I think I would like to remain anonymous,
And so my stories will stay unique, never with
Anyone else’s synonymous.
This way no hearts will ever be broken or stolen,
The stork till I know better, had you well chosen.
Dedicated to my 5 month old grand-daughter.
As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew
anointed with a gentle rain amidst sun showers she appears as if on cue
Lifting her wings she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue
flight of fancy fanning fast, fabulous marvel, she is beauty true on true
She flitted from flower to flower, and I thought she'd landed in my hair
Perhaps the sweet-scented spray attracted her, this lady butterfly, so fair
Then, she flew to suckle the white jasmine blooms, on delicate wings
I was mesmerized and felt my heart beats as if they were flutterings
Quite still I stood as she hovered before gently landing upon my finger
Each flap of her beautiful velvety wings made me wish she would linger
Upon the morning's breeze she was carried until resting on a marigold
I chased away a bumblebee who got near to her. I thought, "How bold!"
I watched the Monarch lay her eggs, each tinier than a mustard seed
upon her well-chosen birthing place, a tender green leaf of milkweed
She hovered for a while longer, as if she pondered about her decision
to leave her precious offspring, but she'd given them new life's provision
Food to eat when into little caterpillars they'd develop when hatched
She'd done all she could to assure her eggs had been firmly attached
It was very intoxicating for me and of the experience I had to write
about watching a butterfly do flyovers in my yard before taking flight
I admit having watched her as if she were dancing around me today
kept me on the lookout for predators that might steal her eggs away
My words of soul I humbly offer you-
these sorted gems within my loving heart.
With powers of emotion deep and true,
I hope to wake the feelings on your part
that leaves your mind at peace and free to be-
or stir a somber conflict to be solved.
May all my messages through poetry
help soothe and comfort you with hope evolved.
My poems, tender gifts of my deep thoughts-
that flow tween heart to mind shows clearly through.
Each word expressed, well chosen, dearly sought,
is planned to bring a piece of me to you.
Like rounded polished gems lined up to see-
each word I offer you- heartfelt and free.
Be still my lovely
As my mind paints your image
Through well chosen words
I shall describe your beauty
Through words only flattering
Twinkly bunch with loaded school bags
Ambition injustice and itching their backs,
Cunning those faces in front of the gate
Heedful pupils well-chosen apparently late.
A fistful primary breeziness
Shared with smiles, tears and silliness,
Together they brawled, together they fiddled
At times they often complained to be differentiated.
Kiddo little minds and parents appeared unjustified
They cried, they blamed and they lazed,
Loaded by books and rat raced tutelage
They pass by a very dignified teen-age.
Out from the custody of cynosure
Together they stepped towards Lyceum liberty,
Few were classed and few remained united
The formers became edified and rests were unidentified.
A masked – small compliments and the evening aloha
The river side sunset appeared to be ambiguous –
A fiesta time boogie and the overnight cockeyed
At times such occasions made them to blab out their twinkly time.
Grown up as buddies and with time they rationalized
Affairs, status and outlook made them more gratified,
Traits made them parted and one cried in solitary
The formers humiliated the frailer and the frailer remained solely.
Lost in their computations, explores and technological justifications
Few carried out degree uprightly and few were abased shamefully,
Bucketed with knowledge, numbers, meetings and self-worth
They neglected those twinkly smiles who were grown up with assorted life.
Few became responsible and few got hold of ménage
Few were invited and rests seemed out of the sight.
Hearsays few get together known to be friendly trinity
Yet there also they lived with different hierarchy.
Left away life they sacrificed the age of assorted life
One who lived with it can now front the barbarous life.
They lost themselves to their twinkly buddies’ mobilization
Upcoming in their lives they will surly come by friendly exoneration.
Dated: 18/01/2010
And so, life's race faithfully run, you each passed the baton to us with
one soft, final breath. Your lives were established in the steadfast,
consistent use of time and energy. Faithful years of joyous love and
labor where you shined as the constant sun warming our lives; your
hands knit the sturdy fabric of our lives, clothing us against the cold;
each of your well chosen words assured us we could walk forward. And
those lives, trustworthy as a gathering dawn, constant as the phases of
our mysterious moon, abiding as the passing seasons deftly layered
one upon another, have built hearth-fires for the empty,
arduous junctures in our own lives. We have been held safe and
secure for having known you. We remain--the blood of your blood,
strength of your strength, love of your love;
filled daily with gratitude for your having sustained us as we
grew, for supporting us during the journey, and for living
the way of prayer and grace in your aging and departing.
May we, the blood that remains, form durable vibrant
threads in the tapestry of family, granting bountiful
legacies of love as you and the eternal God entreat us.
For Mom and Dad
Free Verse in Tercets
With nimble-fingers braids the midnighter mare killing a long horn steer single-handed with bladed care Chief Victorio's well chosen was called his right hand a single woman yet revered fought strong as man Of enemies and friends as cunning she wore the boast as a Brave the woman warrior rode braver than most not frozen by fear of the battle braving regaining lost ammo with her arms outstretched a chant a seer as with Geronimo Circling with power where the enemy was and how many told Lozen was a shield for her people as the woman warrior rode