Book by book,
I see the hook,
How about we have a look,
Don't make me choke,
I am with a bottle of Coke,
I hear a creek,
I am not a Greek,
The shrubs are on a bleak,
Glistened by the sleek,
I soften my cheek,
Keep me in check,
For the high-tech,
I smell a stench,
Without a blench,
I learned in French,
I did not sench,
Into a trench,
I'm blanch,
I went on blank,
I did not want to stay submerged,
I on a search,
For a lurch,
That I could not wait for my lunch,
I sat on a hunch,
I go for a punch,
Wait, it is the launch,
I would not move an inch,
That starts with an itch,
I did not put a salt on my stitch,
To worsen the condition of a hitch,
I run away with a glitch,
I am out of reach,
For more research,
Of what I found and searched.
I who am…insipid, vapid bland, inadequate life
My life halfhearted I am uninspired
I am Spiritless in a place of safety refuge
I am for certain, I need,
a deed to land in life and death
How chosen are we
When the blood flows out
Still and solid I am No longer talking
Dead to live be I living
My new home is in the skies
Where I’m alive no longer dead you’re not but I am
No need for heat my God keeps me (safe and warm)
His ever presents how can I be sure ?
When all the time you changed my mind
I asked for more and more
How can I be sure safe, quiet, cozy comfortable in sanctuary?
Secluded withdrawn isolated and safe haven
refuge my sanctuary safe keeping covering me
Preserve yet my cushion life inoculate unworldly securities
Yet still I’m pathetic etiolated blanch reclusive unprivileged
So am I decrease in importance lost significance I’m blench keep safe
11/26/19
Pale shelter Poetry Contest Free verse poetry form only.
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
jump bad, jump back wince
hid I around the corner
surprised recoiled quake
shiver, tremble, shake
boo! to you ha made you jump
bla! made you cower
cringe, squirm, quiver, blench
you jump made you hesitate
withdrawn shudder shrink
made you stop and think
shy away, drawback withdraw
boo! Ha! made you flinch
through shock, fear, or disgust
shot sharp needle in the arm
you what makes me “flinch”
5/28/19
For What Makes You Flinch Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
I seem to have forgotten how happy
I greeted time, although it lasted briefly;
youth is that phase of life when every thought
is free and delightful allowing imagination to take flight!
I've been transformed into someone dazed
by thoughts of unsympathetic awareness
and without emotion, I blench
driven by feelings of emptiness;
stepping back in time while sitting on a bench
covered by shadows, where once sunlight flickered
through leaves, makes me relive an emotional journey
that is heartbreaking and yet it can't set aflame any memory!
I tell you that love happened first,
In order
In that order— which is to be opened,
Flayed the heart that at first flinched
When the soul would blench at the sound of your voice
That once was love, turned destroyer,
You ask me if it was the chicken or the egg?
I can’t say, I know my heart quivering beating jelly pulpy thing
Would bet on the egg.
I know that heart then liquefies and pours itself out in a massive
torrential hemorrhage
Painting the pathway crimson
Congeals reconstitutes and reassembles into bricks,
That creates a wall that I place neatly back in my chest.
I bought a box of truth from a peddler down the street,
even though he told me its veracity might sting.
I handed him a stack of bills and asked for a receipt.
The box was wrapped in violet silk and tied with silver string.
I gripped the lid with shaking hands and paused with bated breath,
even though he told me its veracity might sting.
The truth inside the box was even uglier than death.
It slapped me with repugnance and assaulted with its stench.
I gripped the lid with shaking hands and paused with bated breath.
I closed the box in panicked shock and struggled not to blench.
Receipt in hand, I hurried to return the wretched truth.
It slapped me with repugnance and assaulted with its stench.
I found that lousy peddler selling boxes from his booth.
He studied me with sympathy and eyed my violet crate.
Receipt in hand, I hurried to return the wretched truth.
With fingers clenched in fury and a heart awash with hate,
I bought a box of lies from that peddler down the street.
He studied me with sympathy and eyed my yellow crate.
I handed him a stack of bills and asked for no receipt.
Even if earthquake pound, and the ground tremble,
And people scramble, tumble and rumble, I will not grumble, but ramble,
Clinging softly, carefully, lovely, a sprig, sprawling a virgin rose,
Like guest, to west, with zest, to show my best and give my princess her smitten
dose.
Ding dong dong, her door will romantically ring,
Ping pong, softly my heart will beep, like ray, my face will embrace gay, bubbling like ling,
Tiptoe, a snazzy smock with long dimly than char inborn hair
Will passionately push the door open, with her heavenly made fragrance grooving and hovering in the air.
Holy bow, head will pay due, to the queen of the whole planet, my billion century carved hind,
Whose glittery eyes, evoke a sparkling dream to a blur mind,
Manner of confrontation resurrects a hibernated heart,
Stainless, bleach less, bleak less, blench less, ripe like yellow peel's skin that's full of life, like art.
For, if my life got dried by earth chaos of any kind,
She is a droplet, that will revivified my dead rind.
Sweet mother loves sitting on a bench,
the spray painted seat she only knew!
By the sea, she oft let her spirits clench
to the lore of love where I once grew.
She watches seagulls dive for a quench,
as waves predispose to catch her view;
sweet mother loves sitting on a bench,
the spray painted seat she only knew!
O, look how she put the sun to blench,
giving her the sea in note less mew,
which let a startling night, to unscrew
stars to dance, anew, that in elench
sweet mother loves sitting on a bench,
the spray painted seat she only knew!
- inspired by Brian Strand's A Rondel Poetry Contest
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