Best Well Matched Poems
I’d kissed at least one boy by age fourteen.
Disappointment was the taste it left.
Although it was short, it was far from sweet.
In contrast, my second kiss was lengthy.
Its honey lingered in my mouth all night.
Oh, Alabama summer of my 14th year!
The month was either August or July.
Visiting my best friend Sheila’s state, I met
her 19-year-old cousin Glenn
(a preacher’s son was he!)
Wearing a skort (I still remember it-
(a half skirt, half shorts outfit with patterns red and blue).
I got into the back seat of a car with Sheila’s cousin.
She sat in the front with the driver, her boyfriend Jack.
Glenn liked to tease and make me laugh.
I was a cherry red/raspberry blue popsicle
melting in the sweltering humidity,
but melting too with the thrill
of sitting next to handsome, winsome Glenn.
Jack drove us all around and up and down
so many rolling hills.
My stomach too was rolling with excitement
(Glenn’s arm had found its way around my shoulders).
Before sunset arrived we stopped to park.
I don’t remember where. I didn’t care.
Feelings I had never felt before
were now exploding! I only can recall
those soft, smooth, sweet, long kisses
into the night
and a song on the car radio, its lyrics crooning
“Marry me Bill . . . I love you so, I always will. . .”
YES YES YES my young heart swooned!
So innocent was I in my tight blue top
with the well-matched blue/red skort,
reveling in my youth's greatest joy
in that back seat as my friend Sheila
was in her own world making out with Jack.
Glenn must have been at least on his
hundredth or perhaps five-hundreth time around the block,
and there was I with him -
naive and dreamy-eyed
on that perfectly romantic summer evening.
July 21, 2021
For A Lovely Memory Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
When Summer starts her transitory reign,
King Sun, her beau, has steadily ascended,
brightening a sky that, for a time,
shall be his lovely mistress’ domain.
He reaches out his welcoming warm rays
across the span of Summer’s first official day,
lengthening them just as far as he is allowed
so he may well receive his paramour,
enveloping her in the fullest of his golden grand embraces.
But when night descends, Sun’s power wanes.
His wife, a goddess, the fair and steadfast Luna,
arrives to spell her king,
along with her attendants, a host of radiant stars.
Meanwhile, Mistress Summer softly slumbers,
faintly breathing out the warmth that Sun has wrapped her in.
So even in the dark’s coolness, she prevails.
In the dewy dawn, when she awakes,
Summer sees the beauty of her lover’s light and eagerly,
she spurs her King Sun on.
No two were ever so well-matched as these,
for both heat up the days with their consuming ardor
till the time of the equinox
when Summer is exiled for nine months,
to have her rebirth in the following year.
And year after year, for what could be eternity,
Sun bides his time, for he has many lovers. . .
But as lovers go,
it’s Summer who’s most expert at inciting the passion in his soul.
by andrea dietrich/ Motif is nature. Also romance
For the Impress Me Contest III of Giorgio V.
APPASSIONATO
He made overtures to her,
With the time-honoured chat-up line,
“We could make sweet music together;
I want to make you mine.”
She conducted herself quite cautiously;
Remained composed and calm.
A duet might be pleasant;
And he certainly had charm.
But she didn’t want to rush things,
The tempo should be slow.
He wished to proceed allegro,
She favoured adagio.
She played second oboe,
While he was a double bass.
They came from different cultures,
A thing she found hard to embrace.
And so she resisted his overtures,
They really weren’t well-matched.
She had an affaire with a flautist instead;
A thing with no strings attached.
2nd July 2019
Music Theme Contest
Sponsor - Geraldine Taylor
He sleeps soundly
not a sigh, murmur or stir,
while restless in my dreams
I toss and turn unheard
to find him in his comfort zone
still and unawares
that I am here.
When morning comes
he doesn't wake
as I rise to shower and dress
making coffee, toast, and eggs,
the aroma wafting thru the house
and still, he sleeps
undisturbed in our bed.
I sip a cup
quietly with only a glint
of rising sunlight
as birds softly begin to sing
awakening to the new day
the clouds begin to form
and here comes the tip tap of the rain.
I put in the wash
laundry from the workweek passed
and Saturday begins alone again
while he sleeps,
slowly, he rises, slips down to the kitchen where
his arms wrap around to hug and kiss me,
aren't we a well-matched pair?.
When I was walking in the zoo,
I saw a strange and wondrous sight.
You would have found in funny too,
Unlikely creatures in a fight.
I saw a strange and wondrous sight,
A hippo fighting with a cat.
Hyenas really laughed at that.
You would have found it funny too.
The pair were really not well matched.
Of course the cat was soon dispatched.
Unlikely creatures in a fight.
But cats have nine lives as you know
And so he still has eight to go
"The Forest, The Lot and The Carpetbagger"
In the middle
of it all, in
The Forest,
I was asked
by a soothsayer
to choose
a number
1, 2 or 3.
I said
in all sincerity,
“that’s a bad number, 3.
someone always feels
left out discarded; now
if you get down to it,
about playing cards,
well 1,
is rather obscure,
concealed,
not easily expressed,
or understood,
no fun, just 1,
waiting for the deal
to be delivered,
to be done,
you could wait forever,
as just number 1, where's
the fun in the dance
as the unknown, unseen
stoic 1."
So I chose 2,
me and my shadow
2, I’d bring the
other with me
like a pair of
socks, well matched
walking off the page
walking off
win-win
with the shining
light, the payload,
the winnings,
the lot, at end of day
like a carpetbagger,
when fortune
tempts fate
walking its
very very fine line,
Risk asks for the payoff
and in exchange,
for trust and faith,
the long night
and dreary day
over all are saved;
opportunity knocks,
the door opens
it is now
unlocked,
I walk through,
poetically speaking,
I manifest the lot.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"An Event Destined to Happen in Your Lifetime"/White Feather Tarot
I sat outside at end of day and watched the night close in.
A year had come; a year had gone, since death came for my friend.
The sadness so well known by now crept softly to the fore.
The tears spilled from my eyelids like so many times before.
A small white dog sat by my chair: remainder of a well matched pair.
This little dog I loved so well could not replace the one who fell.
My thoughts were of the absent one, my Boggs, who’d left my side.
I wondered had he been near me and knew the times I cried?
I asked him for a tiny sign that I might hear or see,
That he was in the midst of us, young Casey dog and me.
But then I felt so foolish: commenced to think out loud.
“Oh sure, you’re going to see him in that single, passing cloud.”
And even as I spoke the words my eyes were drawn that way.
The sky had darkened deeply with the closing of the day.
A cloud hung there before me, white and large and clear.
The side view of a canine head, its eyes and mouth dark smears.
Its pointed ears were wispy, it’s nose that of a dog.
It hung there in the twilight sky: the image of old Boggs.
I then felt thoughts within my mind: thoughts heard, as if were spoke.
And still the cloud remained the same, did not change shape like smoke.
“You see I’m fine, I’m here with you, at times you think of me.
My new life is a happy one. My spirit now is free.
Stop knowing such great sadness and stop feeling so bereft.
Give Casey all the love you have, for the time that he has left.”
These thoughts would end the chapter of the sharpest of my grief.
My love could now be Casey’s and I felt a strange relief.
I wondered at the message though, of Casey’s time now left?
The answer came before year three, at the time of Casey’s death.
I sit outside at end of day and watch the night close in.
The years have come; the years have gone, since Boggs came for his friend . .
This redneck is fixin' to go dancin'
You reckon we get gussied up and go?
I'll be a high flutin' and a prancin'
Is the honky-tonk puttin' on a show?
Shall I wear my fanciest clod hoppers?
Shall I phone all your fiddle playin' kin?
I am gonna be such a show stopper.
We shall enter the dance contest and win.
I've got a hankerin' for hot romance,
And some granny-slappin' hillbilly sex.
Bear ten younguns, live in 'ternity pants
Did you just skedaddle, my newest ex?
Dern it, Darlin', thought we were so well matched.
I counted my chickens before they hatched!
Written 3/2/2017
Entered in Mid December Premiere
Hosted by Brian Strand
cute love, destiny, devotion, i love you, imagery, lust, word play
OH OUR CUPID! ©
Oh try to blight the course of this errand
It will only award an ‘undying’ sickness
Turning the disheartened into ‘love-sick’ fools
The deed is done and becomes a lost issue
Overtaking the love-struck minds rational
By Cupid’s spell-sent ‘riddled’ love arrows
The love (potion) ‘tip’ of Cupid’s arrow heads
Have been heavily laced with an ‘adoration-fix'
That finds these hearts by his direct hits!
Lack of focus and appetite is it’s after affects
Along with irrational behavior and lost time segments
That imprisons them both into well-matched couple hood
Their love shouts a nucleus lust force at the onset
Intoned to nurture these two beating hearts
Into only one true-heart beat
That sends out a poetic justice
Rich with romanticism and love play courting
While 'our' Cupid sits back and anticipates
These sweethearts’ current initiation
That his magic musical merry-go-round ride will bring!
It offers them a spice for life with every go around
Many ups and downs and starts with finishes and restarts again
For is it not that he sent his cupid’s arrow throw
Always sent with an unswerving true aim
He gets a strike that never falters
His arrows are forever pure and true
Drawn to enchant all time with a wicked love knotted spell
Their hearts will be now entwined for eternity
By Cupid’s ‘scent’ “LOVE POTION--NUMBER NINE!”
This fleshly body of yours you torture me with
Swinging my head in oscillation of your catwalk
Those lips sticking in the atmosphere with lipstick
Just soon they will be decay decomposing under the grave
Those darling daring eyes will be hotchpots for worms
And termites will terminate those titillating ****
Your well matched teeth will devilishly smile to eternity
That belly will burst open under devouring heat of vault
Let go when those tendons still be tender
Otherwise this diamond neck chain will soon be a rolling rope
These roses stitched into wreath of no hope
Those earrings turned into screws screwing your casket
And this golden spoon in my hand will be a cruel shovel
That fervent face powder like this chocolate will be dust
And to ashes all this lust
THE UGLIES
He stood slouched and dirty and hopeless
She was desperately cigaretteless
They were breedless but together
Uglified in a natural way altogether
Uglicity personified
Their mothers would be horrified
No homes, no money, just beggarhood
Together outside Mc Connel’s fast food
(They were prominent users of the toilet)
Scrounging cash for chicken nugget -
Real chicken - beaks and feet -
And stayed for the free cosy heat
Sipping my latte and nibbling a waffle
Eyeballing his coat maybe won in a raffle
They did everything together horribly
The pair were well-matched - ugly .
I watched how they lowered the tone,
Then I left in disgust - alone.
Ode to Fanny
Her start in life was rather poor
with wastrel parents, ones to abhor
She avoided living in the gutter
Earning enough for her bread and butter
Her break in life came rather later
Before, bigamy and babies to underrate her
Her kids grew up in the care of another
She never took to being a mother
Her culinary skills proved rather good
She could write and critique on all kinds of food
Destined to star in sixties telly
She graced her shows in glitzy finery
Her zany persona was rather dippy
Her dress was ball gown and misplaced lippy
Shunning apron and hat that looked so drab
‘Cos cooking and baking should always look fab
The man she had met was rather fine
Ex army major, life was divine
They fronted shows as man and wife
Fanny and Johny, well matched and no strife
Her fame continued for rather a while
Overridden by others in different style
And gaffes too many, they booted her out
No telly shows, no gowns to flout
Her recipes of the past still rather great
She put pizza and prawn cocktail on our plate
She and Johny, always a couple
Poor but content to remain conjugal
Ooh rather!
Interpreting Poetry (mine)
Similar to scrutinizing
an abstract painting,
this author begetting
obscure words dumbfounding
readers, he eludes
(no shade tree fore rest)
clear cut discerning,
yet oft times his words
garner reviews raving
esoteric word choice,
how mind boggling
to this logophile despite
more than one reading
brow (sir) furrowed -
cognitive region scrunching,
no matter intent concentration
utter futility attempting
bedeviled comprehension, whether
literary master (me? ha...
not yet), among pantheon partying,
but nonetheless birthing
present day profoundly thought provoking,
undoubtedly tirelessly expending
mental energy eventually exhausting
effort in futility understanding,
asper mine stymied
linkedin attention getting
(then just as quickly losing)
registering resignation defeat alluding
to challenge physical prowess daunting
engagement well matched savvy sparring
partner, or possibly life
and death battling
against unwittingly aggressive brutal questing
archenemy, sans toward all living
species wretched nemesis ultimately deciding
mortality tacitly accepted proffering
transient longevity refusing
to compromise, haggle, negotiate,
et cetera casting
deadened demise of victor or villain
all thru civilization starring
as unopposable tour
de force quietly biding
end date, versus indiscriminately snatching
hero, heroine, coward,
et cetera requiring
impossible ransom while donning
mask of Melpomene
(Tragedy), or trumpeting
Thalia (Comedy), no exit stage door left
only joie de vivre
until last second ticking
unbeknownst unexpected, and uninviting
deathly hallows ringtone alarming
anonymous (oh Henry)
words worth struggling
to hash meaningfulness, viz
finite existence germinating
since birth, yet
terminal realization pressing
with greater frequency when aging,
and deafeningly ear splitting
amplitude bite the bullet clamoring
to tread welcome matt acquiescing
unavoidable phase of dying
devoid of any bargain, but requiring
unconditionally punishingly suffering
silent non binding
resolution, no exemption decrying
unfair contractual obligation, nor unionizing
worth a fig yore of
speech as cosmic arbiter
blithely doth shear - pruning,
without rhyme nor reason meeting
identical fate toward everyone
even posthumous destiny yours truly awaiting.
I had an offer to play a game of scrabble online
There was no chatting in the room to give me a sign
about whom my worthy opponent could possibly be
but we were well matched by the score, I could see
Assumed it was a guy from the name he was using
My Mistake was his screen ID, and I found it amusing
I'd been Southern Lady for years. No need for a change
Then, he made a word that made me feel a bit strange
My forehead and brows furrowed as he played 'heart.'
It was a triple word score to which I added 'break.'
On his very next turn, I frowned when he wrote, 'lady.'
I was suspicious. Something about him was a bit shady.
Caution warned me to be careful, but I stayed and played.
With twenty-two points on his turn he wrote, 'persuade.'
Could it be that his words were hidden messages for me?
I was being silly until he added honey to the word, 'bee.'
It's what he called me during the years we were married
The thought that it was him left me anxious and harried.
My heartbeat was racing, and my apprehension was riven
until on the board he wrote, 'sorry' and I added 'forgiven'
The air is furtive for fighter's stance
Pacing around the mat, casting bully's glance
Opponents clutch shoulder to shoulder
Flying initial surge of violent lust-
But the well matched counter aggression
Soon it is wrestle and advance
Forward hip momentum to surgical degree
Suddenly an arm is caught and gripped
At an impossible angle, nerves are stripped
It's submit or injury, the fight reaching its peak
In a moment of instinct, a hidden valve comes loose
Wounded animal unleashed refusing to submit
The hold is broken through a blast of urgency