Best Whichever Poems
She dances to her music gracefully,
her choreography, at whim, profound.
With graceful twirls and spins, so dreamily,
her rhythm flows to music without sound.
She dances to the music only she
can hear- although I feel its lovely flow
and cadence shape her form; exquisitely
she falls and rises with an artful show.
No music here, but just a silent song
created by the currents that she feels;
with turns and twists, she aptly glides along,
directed by, whichever one appeals.
She dances to her music wondrously;
my muse- the soul mate of my poetry.
INSPIRED BY “SCENTED LEAVES” CONTEST SPONSPORED BY KIM RODRIGUES
Aromatic avenues with the scent of your perfume
Lingering on each leaf you grace with your presence
Those delicate feet treading the petalled pathways of his heart
Enticing a new spring in the Autumn of his life
Autumn
A cold bleak reminder of the rains that are still yet to fall
And yet, he sees the smile that your soul wears just for him
And the seeds are sown in the depths of his heart
A heart that he thought no longer beat
A heart that he no longer wanted to beat
Because a beating heart can bleed
Faster
Harder
Making him weak
He is a man
He cannot afford to be weak
He must be strong
He must prepare for torrential downpours
He must retain his shelter
His armour
He must not wear a smile for you
“He will not!” he tells himself.
Yet somehow those scented leaves make him forget himself
And it’s Spring again
And he dons a secret smile
You intoxicate his senses and he wants to indulge in you more
He needs you. Craves you.
He loves it
He hates it
He no longer knows what to feel
Trapped
His tortured pragmatic mind
Wrestling with a drunken heart
Wanting to be loved
Afraid of what will become of him
If love walks away
So, he aspires to become love
That way he gets to be the one to walk away
He will love you a little
And discard of you a lot
He will maintain control
Control of himself
Control of his fears
At least
That is what he thinks
YOU
With the look of adventure in your crystal blue eyes
And your aromatic fragrance of freedom
Wafting, as you inhabit all who inhale your inner beauty
It’s a scent that lingers
You are that scent
The smell of what could have been
He will forever wear it
Carry it in his heart
Or his mind –
Whichever wins at the end of each dreary day
Now Autumn is not just a reminder of death
Of life
It is a reminder of death
Of love
Still those aromatic avenues are filled with the scent of your perfume
Lingering on each leaf you once graced with your presence
Those indelicate feet trampling the putrid pathways of his hardened heart
Enticing a new harsher winter in the awful Autumn of his lonely life
Midnight Aurora
November 12th 2019
How do you change a lie into the truth?
Alchemy, dear children ...
this is how it's done, using unverifiable proof
First, you take a sick, dirty lie,
and doctor it up as truth
Whitewash and scrub it clean,
then jet power it with unsubstantiated verbal steam
That should make the lie thoroughly sanitized
Then play a continuous sound byte loop,
uncorroborated and fact-free
Present the fake news with a five-star salute,
then say secrecy is the true path to liberty
This rings eerily like New Age alchemy,
bell-tolling Faustian chemistry
If that ain't a manufactured alternate reality,
then somebody is lying to us obviously
How do you do this, change a lie into the truth?
Alchemy, dear children ...
this is how it's done, using fabricated proof
Next, you take a package,
and deliver it to the people,
with a Trojan horse message inside
But the people don't know it's harmful,
because they labeled it with a lie
See, that's the beauty of deception,
they don't call a lie a lie
Instead they choose another word,
as they place the pirate patch over their eye
Misleading, false claims
Plausible deniability
mis-remembering
Choose whichever words you will,
a lie is a lie is a lie still
Changing a word won't make a falsehood real
Taste the propaganda spoiled sauerkraut;
as alternative facts are trotted out,
and disinformation is bandied about
Know that immoral alchemy is being performed
by high wizards of the dark arts
Frankenstein experiments in need of more body parts
Don't be bewitched by lying craft,
don't get (con)fused by this manipulative graft
into a cancerous body politic
Changing a lie into the truth
is the ultimate alchemist trick
Old Zack Adams sits a slouch’n so sloppy drunk on a bar-room stool,
Wear’n his cheap-threaded cowboy suit and a stained satin shirt.
All the while a peek’n and a leer’n at women like an old poor fool,
But think’n man tonight—Oh Boy, I’m really gonna hit the pay dirt!
Old Zack in this small Texas town is reputed to be quite a lecherous hoot,
As he raucously and recklessly rolls old worn quarters into the slot
Of the old bar-room Wurlitzer while snicker’n and smil’n to boot,
And plays his tearful and twangy jerk-water music while smil’n a lot!
Old Zack is this town’s “Jukebox Gigolo,” a real lover boy—Oh Boy!
He wears his patched cowboy hat and his scuffed silver-studded boots,
Meant to impress young girls and bar-fly floozies who have the Joy!
Of being with this bewildering, withered, weathered man and his boots.
Old Zack has a fad’n recollection of events and a silver mane of hair,
With a cigarette in his hand and cuss’n like a nasty little stable boy,
He downs whiskey shots and tequila seconds like no tomorrow on a dare,
While chas’n whiskey glass ice cubes and the tequila worm—being so coy.
Old Zack while a swigg’n down his whiskey mucho fast and direct,
He has now that blind courage to fight or to love—whichever is first,
While the old Wurlitzer resonates a rueful hick song for a teary effect,
But Old Zack can’t move now for this song has him sobb’n the very worst.
Old Zack with his nicotine-whiskey breath and his pockmarked face,
Personifies the image of an ideal loser of a man—with problems all,
While fight’n, scream’n, and punch’n others to gain some precious space,
He’s a showcas’n his reservoir of manly prowess—with problems all.
Old Zack was young once and not so wild, withered, weathered like now,
And he thought he was a really smart dude—all right moves and all,
But was really a man act’n far above his funny fake smart brow,
And now a cry’n on his bar-room stool and act’n like a fool before a fall.
Old Zack Adams—alcoholic as he truly is and sly and slick as a Texas fox,
Is not really so good with his women friends nowadays—for his real talent
Is in roll’n those old worn quarters pieces one-by-one into the old Jukebox,
Sing’n—“I’m the Jukebox Gigolo”—“a Drunk and a Delight,” that’s real talent!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (October 7, 2014)
(Rhymed Quatrain)
WE BECAME FRIENDS BY ONE CLICK
I am from east you are from... west? North? South?
to whichever place you're from, hear my happy shout! :D
Remember the first moment I said hi and hello
you did not repel instead you appeal like magneto...
You... I never seen. I never heard
but you hug my heart with your words.
You are as yellow as the rising sun
but sometimes sad you make my tears run
with the heart-to-heart stories we share.
Maybe because we are thousand miles apart
defensive barriers and built-in walls we tear
bubbling free is our blossoming fresh start.
There is a clue when you are feeling blue
this when you drew views lacking hues.
Of humour, you may not hear my thunder laugh
nor behold my grin that is whole or half
but so sweet you are always there- a care bear!
Nights and days passed, we want to more than chat
like a meteor, we did try this voice-call...
Spark! I heard your voice, my oh my, I rejoiced!
Your presence a present whenever no one is there
for when I push the button "send", time you spare
to reply, you care... "Thank you" is all I say.
More, you even said: "You'll add me to your pray'r"
Internet signals like unstable ECG antagonizing our talk,
I thank our Dear God our bond as strong as a rock,
months rolled, we discovered we could duet to write
verses singing rhymes, flying high our own kite...
To the whole wide moving world, I want them to know
if persons are honest and sincere they will surely grow
as finding true people-- there are risks. Dig in but do it slow
'cause real persons are as precious as gems that glow
_______________________________________________________
MY CYBER FAMILY - Poetry Contest
Sponsor Mystic Rose
~~~3rd place~~~
POEM OF THE DAY: JULY 04, 2015
OLIVE ELOISA GUILLERMO
11:42 pm, July 02, 2015
Across the road from new truck sales
Lay a yard filld with trucks that died
These vehicles' voice offer tales
Once on them a trucker relied
They thought that he would be companion
Their eternal guide protect them
He took one to the Grand Canyon
He was truck's total brain stem
Made the decisions for each day
This truck didn't object just follow
Whichever way trucker would stray
Even if where lay Capistrano Swallow
Then one day the truck's tires went flat
Soon in this graveyard this truck lies
Trucker lost his favorite hat
Old trucker no longer truck guides
Christmas Eve Mystery
The sun had set, and it was Christmas Eve.
Dear Santa finished up and packed the sleigh;
made sure his Reindeer were geared up to go
before they'd have some time outside to play.
Now it was time to go to North Pole Park,
for there they'd snack on greens below the snow,
and run and prance to loosen up their legs
for galloping through space 'neath moonlit glow.
There, Santa rested on his favored bench;
'tween nodding, saw them romping everywhere.
However, Rudolph proudly stood on guard
beside him watching with protective care.
But soon enough, except for one, they'd fled;
whichever way they looked, none to be found!
Rudolph and Santa surely seemed upset...
yelled out each name in hopes they'd come around.
Before long, darkness fell upon the park.
Did Santa's deer come back to join the team?
Yes...every precious gift arrived on time.
'Twas only Santa's 'forty winks' bad dream!
December 10, 2018
For the Contest, "The Park Bench At Christmas",
sponsored by Sara Kendrick, based on Picture #3
The Lumberjack's Hard Days Of Toil
Salty sweat, from deep axe strokes to lean hands
heavy cotton shirt soaked, mark of the man.
Lumberjack, strong, cut of a different breed
hard at toil, to fulfill his family's need.
With each hard day's task, his heart grew stronger
morn to night, his time away seemed longer.
Wife and children, rarely got to see dear dad
yet all knew his sweet love and were truly glad.
As his axe bit into hardest of trees
mother sat at home shelling garden peas.
Each one doing family duties and chores
living sweet melodies of musical scores.
Work done, rushed he, to family to rejoice
duty performed with honor and by free choice.
R.J. Lindley
Sept. 16th , 1996
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 11 11 0 10 10 11 11 0 10 10 11 11 0 11 11
Total # Syllables: 148
Total # Words: 112
Note: My father started out as a lumberjack, back in the day when so much was done by strong hands and not ease of machines! To be a lumberjack back then meant that you were a strong man and willing to work hard.
Both are strong and positive attributes.
My Dad, later after several years decided to use his brains more and his arms less.. I remember he saying often, "Son use whichever you think best, strength or brains but regardless the free choice made -do so honestly, fairly and with honor!
This poem, is dedicated to that man, the guy that saw honor in hard labor and
in using intelligence to garner a brighter and better future.
I have cut trees, carried and sawed logs, and split wood as a boy on the farm.
TRUST ME, IT IS HARD BACK BREAKING WORK.. but it also yields positive dividends and builds good character in a man.
Sins of the Fools
Whichever God their dice shall chose
judgment rendered all the same
guilty of crimes against humanity
its a sin and not a game
No one is chosen
all life is precious
against warlords, uneducated and the cruel
man developed the vaccine
saved the child, the family, even the fool
from fairy tails and zealot jesters
There are those telling lies
spreading hate and falsehoods
for this, many had to weep and cry
countless relatives had to die
Regimes and third world places
one would think fall prey
to the snake oil salesman of the day
sadly its the good ol' USA
full of morons following foxy Carl's play
Even the wily coyote
would know carrots are not black
Fox news though plays for the sap
get vaxxed, and stop eating sugar
if conspiracy is your diet
I ask you to reconsider.
My wife and I went for a cruise in the Caribbean Sea,
I decided that I would talk like a pirate ‘till she got sick of me.
I told her that I was going to steal a look at her treasured chest,
Or get my hands on her booty whichever I liked the best.
And if she’d shiver me timber I told her that I would swash her buckle,
She didn’t think too much of my offer but it made me start to chuckle.
I twisted one hand into a gnarled hook and even fashioned for her a peg,
I kept it up until, “Please stop this pirate business,” she began to beg.
But it seems I had an enemy trying to thwart me on the cruise,
A buffet line or my beautiful wife, which one would I choose?
And then they fired their big guns at me from the dessert buffet table,
The carbs took the wind from my sails until my libido wasn’t able.
When you sail the sea with a fork in hand your love life will be fleein’,
Try your best not to surrender yourself to the pie plates of the Caribbean.
As we stroll through life at a slow snail pace,
Or Lickety split... whichever the case,
Remember to look, sift through your life,
God didn't make junk, not husband nor wife!
The children may stray, get out of line,
Look like pure trash but grow to be fine.
So judge not fast, whatever you do,
Sometimes the problem is little old you.
************
Contest: Enlightenment, Hope, and Harmony
4/21/13
YES, IT’S A DOG’S LIFE
Out at last and oh boy am I gonna enjoy some fun -
Leg-up, ahhhhhhhhhh, the poodle next door will envy that one.
He‘ll be calling for me pretty soon, to cross the road (as if I can’t do it
alone and get a in a bit of car-chasing to boot) with him, the dimwit.
So, gotta get to the corner and sniff who’s been and how long ago was that.
But whoa! What’s that scent I feel on the breeze? A cat?
Excellent ! - a chase with one of those furry mouse-snatchers -
Just to show ‘em who owns this street…Ok…ready you dog watchers?….
Excuse me for a mo….woof, woof, snarl, woof, woof:
Just a bit of theatrical dog-voice there. Mmm . . . I love cat-on-the-hoof.
Oh yeah, I figured, now he’s gonna put on the leash
As a statement that “he owns this stretch of street” - it’s his niche.
Ok, it’s on now, but he’s gonna have to pay: his muscles will tire
Cos I am pulling the wrong way all the time, and pressure gets higher
On the leash, I’m a-gonna want to be ahead of him whichever way he goes:
Were talking arm-out-of-socket after half an hour, I suppose.
Another corner, stop for a good sniff, make him wait with patience deep:
On his “tight leash” he’s gonna have to stand near the crap heap.
Ok, quick leg-up, no liquid but just gotta do it for show
Demo of who-owns-what-corner around here, you know.
Now it’s the neighbour’s poodle, “Oh hi, how are you?
Let me sniff your rear-end a good bit, mmmmm.. . . .ooooo!”
Then I’ll lick his hand he’ll have to wash that hand when we’re home.
Just showing him who owns the butt-sniffing rights around here where I roam.
Ok, so it’s the newspaper shop ritual, gotta show a little obedience here.
Why can’t he buy it at a shop that’s near?
How’d you like a roll of paper in your mouth for fifteen minutes?
And no drools on it or else he’ll have a seizure or fits.
And with the roll in my mouth as I pass all the guys laugh. . .
I tell you, man, it’s a dog’s life.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written 13 June 2012
Entered in Tanya Harrington's Contest Dog Gone Tales
Our lives produce such struggles
to which we must rise!
And often we find places
that from which we would run and hide.
But just remember that Your choice
will bring the happiness you seek...
Just Be the Brave one you wish
The one you still want to be.
For I am here to catch you,
to help and see you through,
within your dreams or trials of life;
whether on mountain or cliff
whichever weso choose to climb.
Remember this as you feel you are sinking.
or slipping from the walls you've been clinging.
The climb may tire the muscles
as we reach for the top,
and make us weaker in our strength
while we try to here hang on.
But if we just let go,
and trust the our heart to know what's right
we will never be led to far away;
Though even trodding in the night.
And do not fear the way back down!
For how many birds fly,
when still nested on the Ground.
And if, by chance,
your wings you fail to find...
From your fall I'll catch you,
and lead you on through time.
For how many learn to open there wings
whilst the mud stayed fixated about their feet.
The Winds of the sky need your wings to catch,
to fly you to the heavens
where the angels await you to meet,
and lead you to that better place.
A place we can not even dream.
So with the lightest breeze
they will teach us how to soar...
and lift us from our agony and woe.
Thus ending the anguish
as your wings fill there up.
to fly with them forever more.
The Ground is not safe nor is the air,
but what life would we live
if we never did dare.
Where angels fear
and devils are faint...
If Love durst not
then forever must then wait.
I remember the story
of two who fell in love...
His name became his enemy,
and He o'er her family
She did make that choice.
I would be that Romeo,
say you my Juliet...
And with you in my arms
I would die once more again.
With you I would cast off the sins,
an choose to hold you in the end.
When together,two become one,
Star crossed lovers
can find the peace of each others arms.
when as one we will fly,
Into that bitterless sky.
Intense emotions surged when justice sought
if I defended wrongful witness brought.
Then I was saved through Daniel; nearly caught.
Accused of sins absurd, derogatory words
from people’s tongues not curbed, but gossip which they heard.
Cupidity the driving force behind
the false accusers’ spiteful state of mind.
So rarely friends could then be found in kind.
The tides will ebb and flow as inner doubts still grow;
for balm of ocean’s throw thus right so many lows.
If seen at daily tasks, I’m never fraught.
I won’t let memories my love to curdle.
Some kindness helped recover peaceful find,
depend’n whichever way the wind should blow.
This murky water you must tread
The many days you have come to dread
Will only last for a time
Hold firm to your faith and hope in God
Tomorrow brings a new day
The sun will arise the wind will blow
Whichever way it will
Stand strong in faith and have no fear
He has been to your future my dear
To my PS Family members going through a rough time! God bless you and give you peace!