Softly, Sensually,
She walks into the room.
Sheer poetry in motion,
With a hint of lust and doom.
Boyishly, Breathlessly,
He takes her by the hand.
Smitten by such beauty,
A soft touch to her command.
Wondrously, Wantonly,
They dance across the floor.
Contented cheek to cheek,
And expecting nothing more.
Jointly, Joyously,
No time to be remiss.
So close now eye to eye,
The first and sweetest kiss.
Labeled as special, he’s handsome son to behold
Exuding pleasant confidence, boyishly bold
Oh, heartwarming countenance as smile does unfold
Cheering with his thumb-up sign; “I’m now twelve years old.”
His sign-language milestones, though sometimes uncontrolled
Keep us grateful to God Who grants with hundred fold
Like his brand new wheelchair dazzling in yellow gold
Making him zoom around our loving home’s threshold.
Seeing his triumph against growth pains manifold
We praise the Lord for His care and grace that uphold
Healing him midst seizure bouts we have been foretold
Strengthening our faith, guarding us from being cold.
*Psalm 107:8 Oh that men would praise the LORD for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men!
June 3, 2021
3rd place, "We see what we want to see" Rhyme Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Daniel Turner; judged on 6/9/2021.
Jealous Jake jumps joyously
When others quiet boyishly
Get shot down
And quickly frown
Put down by girls coyishly.
July and a baseball shatters boarded glass
Finding its way into the lap of the lass
Tommy too young and boyishly brave
Enters the old house to discover her grave
There sit the bones of the little girl
Rocking gently after the baseball whirl
He looked upon her skeleton face
Her tatter clothes barely on place
And on the tiny wrist a bracelet plain
Just five blue letters that spelled her name
Without a thought Tommy spoke out loud
"Alice" he said innocently with a broken smile
The letters on the bracelet seem to lift in a cloud
Rising into the mist while the cracks howl
Alice was free and her letters of blue
Sparkle into the light than into the sun flew
Tommy wet his pants and forgot his quest
He fled for his life but he freed Alice.
Anna Redmond put her own death in the Irish Independent as a mischief - or maybe ‘a cry
for help’. She married into Mr. Webster’s hotel and worked there slave-like. Her beautiful
young face, her red hair streaming, cheekily curling, her laughter eyes sad - her husband,
boyishly drinking all the profits. They said she suffered from her nerves! They said no
wonder Tommy drank the way he did! They always referred to her as she – she was a bit
wild, she didn’t fit in, he could have done better for himself – no wonder he hit her. Her red
hair dulled in a mental hospital. Anna Redmond, full of promise, beautiful and lively had her
youthful exuberance quelled by life’s circumstances.