Best Whitening Poems
October: I'm eighteen, shortcutting home
through an autumn-burnished churchyard -
copper-lustred leaves, moss-skinned stone -
a jaunty swing of skater skirt and arm,
college folder square-sturdy in my hand.
In the moment. In the last pale pulse of sun.
Hey, can you tell me...?
I halt. I turn...
Cold earth. Colder blade dimpling my skin.
My coral cameo earrings scatter,
daisy-dotting the green.
My back is spiked by needles of yews.
Sun skews, sky side-slides
until his face is the firmament.
I'm staring into the tumid blank-bloat of blue;
the ground hardening beneath me,
the death-spike trees stiffening.
Heavy Special Brew breaths.
Grubby, moist fingers
like grubs crawling over my breasts,
and, weirdly, I'm smelling pepper -
horror-spice of pungent lust,
its acrid nose-thrust -
and woodsmoke is drifting from somewhere...
lung-flame, tongue-flames
of searing words - his words -
blazing like the umber tumbling leaves.
Please...Please...I'll...
Fear-forced bargaining, but I'm beyond care.
And I'm aware
of the church steeple rising,
its phallus penetrating sky.
The tilting church could topple
as tears crystal-crush in my eyes.
Fear-faint, already half gone
in a soundless scream, my muted mouth
mouths silent goodbyes
to Sarah, to Mum.
Time slows to a crawl.
I try to call. Nobody comes
but the man who has me ground-pinned.
Bleachy stink of semen
whitening my ripped skater skirt,
but some things don't fade
and there is no clean in this, just dirt,
wet leaf-mulch, shame.
Ineradicable hurt.
Sacred soil is soiled, sullied.
Stunned, I stumble
shoeless, knickerless,
into the trees and heave
into the mud, into the leaves
strings of spittle-sick,
my thoughts strung out,
reality spun out.
From stinking, pulped leaves I retrieve
crushed coral earrings,
ground-grimy knickers,
my white court shoes
that whitely scream the 90s,
the scattered tatters of essays -
white, like fallen feathers, sunk in the sludge,
muddied, the red-inked words bloodied.
I gather them together.
Gather myself.
I go
forward into my future, stained from pain
and tainted touch, the smears of fear, self-disgust.
And oozing slime-soft into my ears
the mire of incongruous apology: I'm sorry
don't tell anyone - I won't.
I don't.
In our Asian-cum-Eastern land
No one prefers or admires
the dark-skinned or tanned
Gosh, as if the fair-skinned alone
belonged to the so-called fairer sex
And here, 'black is beauty' a phrase unheard
All falling for the light skinned almost in reflex!
Bachelors on the hunt for a non-fictional Asian 'Snow-white'
Even an ugly heart will do if the skin is white, pale and light
For them lighter skin tis brighter and better at beauty
even if superficial and skin-deep
The dark-skinned maidens thereby left single to weep
But while the ebony dark- pigmented
go on applying whitening and lightening creams
The white Westerners frequented
the sunlit beaches for dark tans from sun beams!
So in westerners females wish to look browned and tanned
Thus the opposite is preferred
so to that end they may sun bathe for hours on beach sand
Ah and though from the point of view of my motherland
I am luckier that God chose
to model me from a peachy whiter lighter clay,
I still feel this tug-of-war between complexions
needn't really join the fray.
For when you and I glance at Naomi Campbell
we know beauty can be white, brown and black as well
Like love, beauty knows no colour, creed or race
As proved by this gorgeous black supermodel.
Besides, we all have come across
both dark-skinned angelic saints
and fair-skinned folks with sinner's taints
Ah, Black Beauty, or Fair and lovely
Beauty has never known any bounds
For God He distributed beauty rather equally
No argument can last on these grounds
Oh, a soulmate's inner beauty ought to be earnestly sought
Too bad lustful passions fall for those merely outwardly hot!
Written: November 06, 2023
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A swarm of herring gulls amassed
Nexus Nautilus nabbed by zealous winds,
whitening the black soil
we hold spears in our hands.
blood-stained thorns on the side
sullen squawks a skirmishing sporophyte,
dubious, grayish rumors must be buried
drave in a drizzle, drape to deities.
Installation of sentry fences
Sisyphean stones
anchor down using seal and string
flaws in the swings used by blacksmiths
Unborn burning bullion bludgeon
Savage sunless swords embryonic
Edgeless, with no reflections.
Each peak over the Edenic Steppes is sprayed,
using torn paper candles as bait
climbing scaffolds with lumber rungs
pounding of leather-heavy boots
darkened, grimacing features
Flocks failing feathers or flight.
Our hold slips on windswept
Windswept updrafts carry us away
as offspring of the royal family.
Lady liberty, hold your flame light high,
Beware the path thy cross, in the wild undiscovered
Wilderness of the U.S.A.
For it is here a fierce native predator,
Stalks the rocky ranges bad lands,
Behold the American mountain lion.
Known as the cougar.
Nature's solitary soldier, walks with
Silences stealth and predatory cunning.
Beneath the thickets underbrush,
The beast does savor, upon his preys weakness,
And relishes the hunt of engagement.
Secretive creature, an apex hunter,
Wearily observing, his natural habitats
Surroundings, this king
Survives by tooth and claw alone.
Once hunted to the brink of extinction,
At the hands of mankind, and greed's bounty.
Nobility's instinctual majesty, has reclaimed
His mighty throne, on the cliff tops high.
The cougar, represents a come backs promise,
We as American's shall leave none of our
Own behind, has recovered and announces
His arrival with a mighty roar.
In the heights forbidden realm, the big horn sheep,
Smacks his antlers against his reveling foe,
It's soundings echo is heard for miles,
Abreast the whitening fallen snow,
But the great feline lord, has now returned,
To his ancestral territory, a shadow flash,
Of golden brown, a royal phantom to
The art of war, clashing with basic instincts
Desire to survive.
Behold the pride stands tall, upon the
Red bands of freedom, nay liberation’s
Symbol soars above the lion's den,
Beneath the night's sky shines with
Old glory's stars hanging in beauty's favor,
We honor him, this the great American lion,
The Cougar.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
A Tribute to Banjo Pattersons, Road To Old Mans Town
by Robert (Bob) Moore
I read a poem when I was young, by Banjo Patterson
called “The Road To Old Mans Town” about a life near done
I did not understand back then, the meaning was obscure
but as the years go passing by, I understand it more
He spoke of youth, and freedom, of time that had no end
of doing what we wanted, the future ours to spend
time to waste if that’s our want, not count hours as they fly
days that stretch into the distance, don’t yet go rushing by
But as the days grow shorter, and we begin to see
our life is not forever, and what will be will be
and we are sadly looking back, and slowly drifting down
the lonely road we all must tread, to Banjo’s Old Mans Town
He also makes a hope, that we are not alone,
that someone walks beside us, a love whom we have known
that God may not allow us, this dusty road go down
With faltering steps and whitening head,
on the road to Old Man's Town!
Engulfed by all my
thoughts of you,
My mind remained
in constant bliss,
But very soon it
thought it through,
And realized who
my heart had missed
You are the epitome
of loveliness,
You personify all of
beauty's sweet,
And not to mention
your tenderness,
And all the divinity
your body keeps
You paint me full
with passion red,
And other colors
brightly new,
Like golden grace and
whitening wed,
But never colored
sadden blue
So hold my heart
and you will be,
Amazed at all its
beauty through,
But I am sure that
you will see,
The heart you hold
is really you
Sunrise, sunset paints sky in
kaleidoscope of colors every day
At a flower garden, different flowers
of varied colors and hues sway
Green leaves each one unique
varied hues of green shine in sun's ray
Every moment, a colourful life
brings much happiness our way
We love black pepper, olives, berries
We love watching jet black sky,
Black colored accessories we love
Our white hair black we dye
On skin whitening cream we apply
black skin we decry
We love everything black except skin
can anybody tell why?
21.08.2021
For
Chantelle Anne Cooke, Colour black
Exciting... inviting...
Skywriting...
Anticipation's wing
Horizon's swing
Eyes peeled on the Heavens
Murky darkness imperceptibly
whitening...
Lighter, lighter
Brighter, brighter
Streaks of brilliance appear
Deepest red, fiery orange
Delicate pink sherbet
Expectation's peaking
Too vivid to curb it...
When at blinding speed, of a sudden
Here comes Life. ~ Here comes the Sun
Her blizzard-like air
Whitening up the universe
Painted pure bleakness
Making me feel helpless
Begging for an escape plan.
The day,
for me, it's a wonderful
garden of multicolored flowers...
A flock of singing birds
singing the most charming melodies...
It's a sunny shower of joy,
whitening the souls and igniting
life...
I love the days...!
Oh brightest twinkling star
Stationary as you are...
Watching seasons change
As they slowly rearrange
From winter's snowy birth
Whitening most of earth,
To see sweet flowers sing
With the breath of spring,
Into heat of summer's sun
Where cooling rivers run,
Until the bright hued trees
Lose their lovely leaves.
You watch it all from afar...
My beautiful twinkling star.
© Connie Marcum Wong
*Note: I wrote this for my 3 and a half year old granddaughter, Carissa, who enjoys poetry. I want to encourage that! I will explain to her that stars only seem to be stationary.
The mountains of brown covered with green carpet of trees,
When they nod their heads I feel cool winds and breeze,
Every time I ask them to come down, they say no,
All at the same time but how I don’t know,
The mountain peaks serve as seats,
And the passing dark clouds have their meet,
They share their worries for being black,
And shed their tears for a whitening pack,
The cries are loud with copious showers,
They look like beads on the peonies flowers,
Every drop tastes so good,
And the starving arid lands take them as food ,
The land is now fertile and the sapling grows,
As a beautiful pimple young girl face shows ,
From the tender crop to lush green women,
The beauty of which is admired by all breezy men,
Every time the male winds touch,
The greeny women puts her head down to blush,
She dresses herself with scarlet flowers,
And perfumes herself with fragrance talc,
She carries the nectar in her smiles,
For which the drone bees come from miles,
The buzzing honey bees play their bands,
And the pollens dance on the flower bed stand,
The glittering brook sings the song,
And the party goes till the sun is gone,
Now comes the Night lady,
With great beauty and white bindi,
She adorns herself with Lilly and jasmine,
And looks the most beautiful yasmine,
She bends down to see her reflection,
The convex meanders reflects with perfection,
She sings the song of silence,
And waits for her convergence,
This is a beautiful lullaby of summer,
And the nature goes for a peaceful slumber.
So many irksome dilemmas in life can be cured by simple solutions.
All are not necessarily fixed by the latest technological revolutions.
To remedy the many vicissitudes that rain down upon myself,
I grab that handy box of lowly baking soda reposing upon the shelf!
This simple, innocent looking stuff is good for many uses,
Including easing the pain of little kneesies that easily bruises.
'Tis useful for sweetening reeking walking shoes and garbage cans,
For shining silver and rejuvenating blackened pots and pans!
Even my inscrutable cat begins to purr a mile "purr" minute,
When I freshen his litter box by sprinkling baking soda in it.
If my auto picks up that scourge of the road, the dreaded tar,
Baking soda is just the thing for tidying up the car!
Why should I pay a plumber to unplug the clogged-up drain,
When a dollop of baking soda will the same results obtain?
It can be used as a toothpaste for making choppers look smarter,
Whitening them and controlling that nefarious tartar!
I've found that after my all too frequent sprees of gluttony,
That only a dose of baking soda relieves my gastric agony.
Its use for indigestion docs would discourage or even squelch.
Fiddle Faddle! I find instant relief in one humongous belch!
*****;;; *****
l.
tears rip at the seams of memories’ betrayed trust
like liquid fists gushing through desolate waterfalls
gargling bloodied sobs upon lungs lumped with crust,
wet, wet on crumbled sagas of tortured, brick walls
this is the pang of swallows falling dark… the pain,
of a painful tear ravished by sins doubly committed
by spiked wrists slit by eyes’ deceit on pelted rain,
cracks of tinctured vapors stain these suds not quite acquitted
ll.
still, there are tears robed in delight of embroidered nights
and perching there, radiance’s rafters spin overlapping joy,
swarming the soul with giant suds whitening all whites
as giggles lift cottoned pillows only love’s fullness can buoy
i think of rekindled homes knighted by flutes’ ripeness
where children paddle days virginal without attic of fears
a maze of hoisted jaunts open zipped stars’ need for madness,
in times marinated gingerly sweet by life’s lush beat... such are tears,
they cleanse all. they crawl out of soul’s dual spears.
all rights reserved
©
********************
(( for HGarvey Daniel Esquire's " Personify a Tear ))
by nette onclaud
Going Towards the Unknown
Zabra, a Spanish vessel sailing around Africa to
Yemen by the Red Sea. A sense of
xenophilia was felt among the mainland Yemen people on our arrival. They are
worlds apart in lifestyle from ours, they live in mud homes. Our charter
voyage takes us back home to the fond memories of living there. We have easy sailing
under the right conditions if the tides and wind permit. We’ll stop at
Tanzania and pick up supplies and head back to our homeland, the
Spanish sun of Spain.
Retreating down the companionway to my stateroom and a tranquil
quiet night. Sweet is the night air as the Zabra, rocks and lulls our tired bodies to sleep.
Passing of so many days and nights,
our thoughts are when will this voyage ever end.
Not until we sight shore will our
mind’s forget the terror of being forever
lost at sea.
Knowledge of skillful sailing assures us of a safe voyage.
Just pull the sails up and fill them with wind.
I gaze upon the sea and smell and feel the tease of a cool, crisp breeze against my face.
High tide and we’re off with a full moon navigating by the stars
guiding us into the horizon all the way home
filling us with pride.
Early morning radiant sunrise, shows us a
dealbation heaven opening to the cloud full sky.
Catching the wind in our sails,
beckons me on to embrace
a life of sailing journeys.
10/15/2015
Contest Name: first ever Z Y X contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
zabra : a sailing vessel resembling a small frigate and used chiefly by the Spanish in the 16th and 17th centuries
Xenophily or xenophilia means an affection for unknown/foreign objects or people. xenophilia love of foreigners
dealbation --bleaching; whitening.