After working diligently around
the clock, producing toys, and other gifts;
fun was the only thought on their bushed minds.
Shall dare taunt, tiptoe towards frozen pond.
Bound, they ran, fun was all they could think of.
Head narcissist reindeer strife to be first
hilariously, slipped and slide breaking
the ice, into icy cold frozen pond.
World's largest overnight delivery
service, Santa counts on Dancer this time.
Cute, cuddly, whiny tot, shivering, with
broken leg; Roudolph milk's the attention.
We caught glimpses of life at night
Frames of frozen activity impressed on screen
Walking on the shore, a fox splendid in form, tail led by body
A deer underway, seeking, a night time explorer
There at the bird table, drawn to the feast a rat takes seeds
Then a squirrel, red fur, tufted ears poised, tail bushed
Joined by a bird, all in silence, there is no sound
Just images of a life as we sleep, lost in our slumber
The world continues, turns, alive in a miniature play
It is wonderful that as we leave the day behind and rest
We hand on the night to another collection of lives, it brings a continuity
Until once more, this baton is given back to us as we wake
Able to catch a glimpse of what passed by in the darkness of the world around us
Watching a night on film
Bushed
scrambles
straddles the
belled flower strands
for a treacherous hold camera pose
2019 September 21
#3
howmanysyllables
1,2,3,4,10
Warm welcome you for a trip in the clouds
Because our friendship is very dear and special
My mind is the home of the wanderers
No need of fear or tired to go on
The best relationship means right upon you
Between us what happened isn't matter
I promise my lovemore tomorrow than today
One who makes me feel as high as the clouds
As a lonely wanderer hurts when you are not there
The calm and security showered fromthere
And fly with wings through the path of breeze
A meadow of happiness lying so far
Bushed trees and lakes adorningthe path
May be an another milestone to my life
At what time when we were walking through this way
Nothing too much to think the magic of mind.
We kept on running
till we finally get bushed.
There’s no turning back
We’ll about to tell the truth.
For three years
circling around the same path,
we decided to cease.
More than anything else
I was frightened to hide
behind those fake shadows
prowling hunters and pretend.
Hide and seek is over
This is not a game anymore
Now the secret is unfold
It must be a rebirth of
relationships, love and
understanding.
All at once, I am free.
At liberty to express
and be whoever I want.
Bushes and More Bushes
Moses was in the wilderness with a broom in his hand.
When asked what he was doing he said he was beating
around bush trying to put out the flame in burning bush.
This was considered to have represented the first political
movement ever to occur. Politicians have been beating
around the bush ever since about hot items.
Constituents were saying that the politicians should get
hot and get something done for a change.
Remember when my son first heard about the Ten
Commandments. He called them ten commanders who
were on President's staff. A mind of a child is amazing.
After the priest had given a long sermon, he said he
was bushed from having given it. Instead of in the
sheves, they started singing bringing back the bush.
Last time they were seen was when they were with
the Bush's drinking a Busch Bavarian Beer. And I
thought that BBB was the Better Business Bureau.
Jim Horn
in the mist of proposal rivers of recovered water.
the master of them all existing Aquarians appeared,
all went mixed.
the muscles of this bolded river dilated,
fear raged on the small hearted creatures,
trafficking of disposals added heterogeneously,
power of the enemies increased with regards to their smiles,
dreams seemed to ride off the coats,
waters flowed with no limited acceleration,
wonders became the topic of the mind,
nerves expanded and pain slides went on,
voices boxes failed to hold that heavy load and all went out.
all eyes where on the victim but none desired to assist.
it was all in these river with breath of the daily life,
a small river created together with its twin sister.
why would they recognize it because it is bushed with loneliness,
all it has its a dark shadow seen by no one,
even its body turned to be visible to the blinded.
how easy can it be for the good sighted to spot for they are too busy in the counters of their own self-makeup
oh thou river hold on
its a fact that every start has a stop point
No big deal
Lot of time bushed in the washroom,
His mind was stuck in colonic loops,
Painfully shy was the young groom,
What big deal when everyone poops !
Written July 28th, 2015
For contest by Roy Jerden
In this wonky day and time,
this favored temperate clime
dares suggest wisdom's course
espouse prevalent societal force.*
Family tree boundaries,
stretched by current modes
like an old elastic band,
accept new branches
hung precariously
on the old sturdy trunk.
Old Limbs are newly bushed
with leaves bearing prefixes
with measuring sounds;
third, adopted, step, half -
or followed by modifiers;
in-law, live-in, significant other.
Partners and lovers
get tied on with slippery ribbons,
names entered in a ledger,
but not with permanent ink.
Disjointed families, add-ons,
and second family births
leave our children wondering
to whom they belong.
*Adulterated quote from “A Traitor to Memory”
by Susan Elizabeth George, Published in 2001,
Bantam Books, a Div. of Random House, Inc.
Top of Page 87
THE LOST LOVE
Mendunsa was his second home
A man of dreams and ambitious
They called him John Peter
I called him JP
Sweet, satisfying companion
The best surgeon
With healing touch
Theater was his second room
Theaters impediment could not bushed his proficiencies
B2 rob me, shuttered my dreams, hope
Snatched my pillar
Left the foundation cracked
Observers quoted
“It takes 10 minutes to cover 60km”
Silence floating the city
Whisperings, crying, mourning
We lost the surgeon
The healing touch
The hand for needy
Hope for hopeless
Home for homeless
No substitution for the kind
They called him John Peter
I called him JP
Sweet, satisfying companion
'til our path cross again
Sharp piercing pains
rendered me breathless
I double over,
crouching low like a panther.
Fire, searing fiery fire
leaped at my sides,
licking my backside.
I groan and writhe,
growl and curse!
only the ticking clock
dares to surpass my loud moans.
Sweat trickles down my backside,
flowing down, forming rivulets as
they meet and scamper downwards.
Another tormenting wrench!
This time a wounded lion’s roar echoes.
And so it went on—
Doctors and nurses
mumbled words meaningless
in the face of my helplessness!
I was gripped in the throes of labour pains;
my body betraying me
as it struggled to give life to another.
Seconds, minutes, hours ticked away.
and finally at the eleventh hour,
my energy spent,
my body bushed,
she burst through--
piercing the birthroom with a keening protest!
I lay down my head,
too exhausted to even offer her
a proper welcome
but a weary smile.
Antics dealer
I dealt in antiques as well as antics
Once chased a sterling ‘bronze’, very unique
It stood its ground and just blushed
Till, by and by, I felt bushed
And chastised, quit things risqué and of risk.
03 jun 12
Wanton words or bits of paper
Flotsam and jetsam or progenitors
Damp squibs or ticking time bombs
Collect..and recollect
Their golden worth, silverfish and all
Revived or transmigrated
To touch earth’s core and zodiac zones
To recreate vibes syncing with a smart sun
On pretty turf bearing its sweet burden
Of coy blooms or breeze bushed
On mornings lying about in yards like spilt milk
Words that wouldn’t miss the woods for the tree
Moving along paths, straight or wavy
Slicing through sheer life
Leaving left and right little islands
Of sunshine or sombre nights,
Bristling,though, with rain on fresh page
The epic stage for an unfinished call
Once left reticulated with a dumb aridity.
For Carol Brown's 'Pieces of paper..A poet's heart'
By: S.Jagathsimhan nair, 14 sept 11
No.1 in the above contest
O Dear Lord! I`m real bushed
to bear my shabby cross.
It is so hard an` I`m collapsed,
legs sinking under loss.
I close my eyes and have a scene:
a flock of men on a road.
By viewless power it is set,
in its strict limit hold.
And one by one they move along
the way in single file,
marking a day with a white stone,
bearing crosses the while.
As well I drag mine on the ground
with might and main forlorn.
To me their crosses are just found
not to be very long.
Being very tired, drop my log
and saw a little part,
for me to carry, furthermore,
for it just to be short.
I keep on going, soon I see
a point of destination.
There`s an abyss in front of me,
I cannot reach the nation.
Those people, without any buzz,
to join the parts together,
put heavy crosses over abyss,
of two evils the lesser.
I stand alone. It is my fault.
My easy cross fell down.
I cannot pass, alas,... that part...
a lump felt in my throat.
I open eyes and have a scene:
here lies my shabby cross.
By viewless power it is set,
I have to take it, Gosh!
(from a Christian parable)
Called many a name
Sexual gem she is
Pussy galore
Man's bliss
Pouted lips
She's shaved
She's bushed
She blushes
She's juiced
Sent from Heaven
With Heavenly scent's
Touched
Kissed
Blessed
Sensed
Groomed, well cut
Shorn or long
Curly
Straight
Shapes adorn
Welcomed by many
Man, Woman and Toy
In their own way
She oozes her joy
Dampened and pulsing
Flesh pinked walls
Pierced, tattooed
She enthralls
Aroused through touch
Warmed and moist
This She Creation
Voiced.
Man's want
Men dream
To be taken in
Release their stream
In many positions
Her posture sweet
All loving partners she will greet
Passions shared, loving spree
This delightful flower
Between the V
.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love.php
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