Box In Poems

Betrayal

I stood on the gravel pathway, 
feeling the wind gently kiss my face, 
and the sweet scent of cherry blossoms,
mingling with the air.
My hands went up to my mouth,  
covering my gasp, 
as I saw him kneel down on one knee, 
a velvet box in his hands.
A gentle smile adorned his face,
as he looked up, 
gazing with a loving look that I knew all too well.
Tears ran down my face.
I couldn’t believe what was happening.
My breath stopped, 
my heart beating rapidly.
Today, the person I had loved for seven years,
was finally proposing- 
to another woman in front of me.

To Karin: The 'Touch Me'

It looked just like a coaster—
a membrane of soft plastic,
yellow, green and cobalt blue,
the colors swirling at your touch,
like it could feel something too.
I did not know ‘til later,
that it also reflected you.

I thought it just a trinket,
a trick of vinyl and hue,
given not with coy delight,
but offered straight and true.
It changed when touched 
               (just like a heart)
and maybe so did you.

Like heat that leaves no mark,
you slipped across my skin—
a shimmer, then a fading,
too fleeting to box in.
You moved like light through water,
and left me changed again,
before the stillness flowed.

I no longer chase the shimmer,
or try to name its shade.
Some things are meant to vanish,
but not before they stain.
You left no mark I can point to—
only the ache that still remains
when I remember you.

bottom

red box in the window,
inside a black widow
playing this fiddle tune,
heartbreak to be consumed.

she is not some honey,
she is not for money,
she’s just kinda hungry,
for your body and mind.

in the nighttime moonlight,
when the orb blinks outloud,
this is where you’ll find her_
that lovemaking neon sound.

Nana mon amour

You used to say 
that pizza always sucks
once you’ve had your last slice
you’d grab the best sneer to mimic
all those moments we couldn’t box in
would have your forehead slipping into eternity
by stroking the surface of boiling water
would complain about pain
like it it could go away with high frequency 
and would dress my happiness 
like the first day of school
would remove my patience 
strip it back like sun-dried skin
extract the life out of mouldy glimpses
pour it back into sudden itches

making a vintage Valentines Day Box

I collect the ingredients to make a fine valentines box
lacy white paper doilies, silver gummy stars, vintage valentines
a crisp new Sketchers Box in pristine shape
Elmer’s glue, a stapler, markers and glitter
Let’s make your valentines box, I say to my granddaughter
She is nine; she shows me that she has a virtual box
Her classmates send her electronic valentines
“it’s the way we do it now, grandma”.
I am horrified.
I really want to make a vintage valentines day box.
She agrees, and we make it together.
She is kind, and pretends she will use it someday.
To satisfy her grandma.

IT s THE LITTLE THINGS LIKE TIM TAMS

it’s the little things like tim tams.
having gotten my attention, the box
hops into my shopping cart, but not
before I cartwheel and squeal, certain
that one of the poets has nurtured
my senses with an Australian accent.

i’m handing them out, like pamphlets,
according to the number in the family.
of course, they’re crunchy and cold.
my husband, straight away, placed
the box in the fridge. U.S.A. all the way.

my neighbor came over for coffee.
before she left, i handed her three treats.
she gasped, herself a published author,
she had just gleamed in a current read
of munchable tim tams…indeed! of course.

to treat my bible study group friends,
i will have to grab another, unopened box,
hand them out for free. the delightful share
the Word and Aussie-awesome treats,
alongside hot water and teabags. cartwheeling…

Killing the Scream

He ran over a cat,
the car killed it -

sees it,
unmoving
through his rear-view mirror.

He wants to apologies,
but to whom?

Finding an empty box in his mind,
he screams “sorry” into that,
yet knowing for certain,
that when night prowls,

a car locked in a dark garage,
will still hear that scream,
as he dreams.

Standing

In a box,
  Four square walls,
  A lid to hold me in.

  Bursting the seams,
  Spilling out,
  Wandering all about!
 
  Finding my way,
  Only I can say,
  What powerful things come to stay.

  Sending out streams,
  Of music, thoughts,
  And dreams.

  No more box in my ocean,
  Outside the box I'll always be,
  Only way I can stay free!

Living In the Shadows

 

                        the shadows are my home
            cruel streets is where I wander
a cardboard box in an alley my bed
as gloomy shapes pass me without a care
                        a poor runaway kid

once, I had a home and a family
once, I had a sweet mother who loved me
       memories come
                          my dad is a bad drunk
             he beat my mom until she died

I ran into the night as he chased me
            he gave up trying to caught me
      that's when I changed
                        and became a shadow
            hiding my face during the day

I survive by begging for some money
in the dim evening a child pathetic
                         tugs at peoples heart strings
sometimes, a kind baker gives the poor bread
I am always ready to run away

      it is raining 
          I cup my hands to drink
                        and wash my dirty face
in a store window I see knotted hair
            my fate is bleak and I am tired, tired, tired

so, I gather all my little girl courage 
      and walk out of the shadows
              and touch a policeman's hand . . .

Who Am I

I watch you from afar
Read the words that flow from your brain

It's hard to watch a flame burn
Not being able to get too close
Not being able to reach out
I'm behind this glass on a small box in my hand... well  more of a flat rectangle. 

Life is strange 
You are somebody I used to know
But don't know anymore
And you don't know me
I don't know me

Tear

There is a tear in an old wedding dress
Hidden away in a box in the attack,
Covered in cobwebs,
And collecting dust.
The dress is carefully lifted from it tissue paper tomb
To be admired by the grandchildren
Who trace it’s silken edges with their fingers
They hold it up to their chest 
And imagine what it would be like
To wear it.
The grandmother eyes the tear with distaste
She gently brushes off the cobwebs
And vows to repair the hole.
Somehow she will never get around to it.
The grandchildren are easily distracted,
They are more interested in the moose antlers
Hung on the wall,
And the large half covered painting of a naked woman.
Soon they run back down stairs,
The novelty of the attic beginning to wear off.
The grandmother watches them leave,
A weary smile on her face
She kneels in the dust of the attic,
As she pulls the faded dress to her chest.
Tears fall on the dress in the attic.



4/13/2023
Writing Challenge "T" words
Constance La France

What the Heart May See

there is a journey of true excitement as one looks deep into those eyes that glisten of gold , will there be love ,can there be love ,only the ardent heart will truly know

an island of paradise is found ,for one  to explore , as one looks deep into those eyes that glisten with gold , you are the beacon , you are the light , only twin souls will find each other there 

kindness and  warmth grabs you like a whirl wind these are the treasures that fill the box in the heart , as one looks into those eyes that glisten with gold , happiness shows up , and passion is ever eternal 

bewildered with the grace of sensual poise an intoxicating feeling of destiny to be had is seen , as one looks deep into those eyes that glisten with gold , to be complete , to be real , all is right , for as long as time goes on

tears of sensitive adoration , a honest smile shows the glow , it washes away any despair as those tears roll down one cheek , as one looks deep into those eyes that glisten with gold , who are you , who are you , who are you ???

The Gift

Today I woke up, mom made me breakfast
But there's a box in the living room
A sweet and colorful box.
Unfortunately my behavior hasn't been the best lately
"Hey honey, I got you a present"
It was for me! What are the odds?
So I ran as fast as I could.
Like a fish towards floating food
It's the perfect toy!
So beautiful, bright and friendly.
But somehow, something isn't right.
I can't turn it on
Is it dead or broken?
then, in the blink of an eye... Happiness turns to agony.
anger and sadness knock on the door
And all this because I noticed...
Is it dead or is it broken?

Things You'D Teach Your Child

Like seagulls our children fly around 
            resourceful, inquisitive, and intelligent. 
With positive role models they look up to, 
    they will emulate and fully learn and understand.
                       Quote; by poet

Never let your children fall,
but encourage them to succeed. 
Encourage and teach them coping skills, 
self-care, and gratitude. 

Teaching them about religion has influence 
how they behave and what they value.
Children need to communicate and interact with each other.
They need to be taught to be respectful 
and be accountable for their actions; 
never to bully, but show empathy and help. 

Teaching your children to work for things in life,
to appreciate fully, and be happy with what they have. 
Let them face challenges and have values. 
They might fall, but they learn by their mistakes. 
To be creative and think outside the box in life.

Lastly have time for them and love them with your whole heart.
Let them know you will always be there for them. 
They are your world you've molded and created with God's help.

2/12/2023
The 12 Things You'd Teach Your Child Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri

Realize Cat Would Early Rise

we did realize
Patrick early he would raise
much to our surprise
(who hard four short thighs)
(has family ties)
(which we would surmise)
(wore a neat disguise)
(hit box after many tries)
(would chase away flies)
(for food often cries)
(both wet eyes always dries)

cat was quite a match
did drink water down the hatch
one had loved to latch


cat was always weird
learned that when his partner neared
he had disappeared

put cat box in din
which had become full again
our patience worn thin

our favorite pet
who would fool around and fret
away with murder let

My Horn Haiku format is 5-7-5.
Each number represents a vowel.
Haiku does not normally rhyme

not normally rhyme
but mine does all of the time
being so sublime

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