With the wakened desire eerie, to be something,
It overgrows soon to be and have all-- everything;
The inner drive mounts a crazy tipsy horse clever,
Closes not on the unjust chase nor the goal ever
But for sure gets into too complex a confusion
That cannot find the fruition,lost in the delusion
A look back: and there is a huge, vast ruffled lot
Delinking time,space and the intent with each trot
Gone away are those that breathed full and wild,
Strong and firm against mind's all prompts mild,
With the darting strides sprinted with the gallop:
Somewhere in the dark corner of hope,all call up
Fostered,it grows fast ,certain only to disorder,
Distort the well cherished mettle yond the border;
The self overgrows toa monster,senseless of all:
The good and the noble,distant kith or kin, or pal;
One might loudly recall those tall conquests futile
And the great falls to the nadir in a bit short while
For Mother’s and Father’s day this year Deborah and I received
two home-made cards…with a deep meaning we both understand:
A flower card for Deborah…and PopPop corn one for me
imprinted with Violet, our great-granddaughter’s tiny hands.
Any parent, grandparent or great-grandparent knows…
a truth we can’t deny…
how although some moments and days move ever-so-slowly
the years seem to fly by.
So these home-made cards from Violet…
will serve as a memory generator
and remind us of a moment paused in time
from their treasured place on our refrigerator.
Memories that we’ll call up…
Memories that will then linger…
of a time when her hands were small enough
to fit around our finger.
So no matter how much her hands grow
wherever she ends up across this beautiful land…
we will always have a keepsake
of the time she had tiny hands.
For once I want to be touched by you
Before you execute me on the panel of rejection
And your friends stand and laugh at my woe
For once I want to be touched by you
Before you call up the one you love
To meet you by your favorite spot for dinner
I want to be loved when the time is not great
And you become my only escape from this place
Before we play, let's preamble with the entree,
Enjoy the soft shoe shuffle, before the souffle.
Dancing tipsy, on tippy-toes, to belay and delay the mainstay.
It's a wily whisper of words, a teaser to savor in foreplay.
To amble and gamble, to begin with the starters on show,
Unscrambles the egg, but won’t scramble the glow.
For it's only a tongue-tip foretaste, a wink to what's next.
A fling ding unfettered, a sinew stretch, before things get complex.
It's like players who tune their strings, before starting to play.
It's like scene-setters setting the stage for ballet.
It's a warm-up, a rehearsal, a try-out, to get things right.
Before the curtains call up, ready to go on opening night.
THE GEM IN BLACK
Give me black, I'll write on your heart
To the smile, cherished; found in her
Sleep no more, come up
Let me hold thy hand up
While you smile, gazing up
In thee, no trouble slays
If I'm ever trapped, cuddle!
Lost in thee, to say no more
Walk of the hour of timeline
To gem so rare in black
Tilting the wave of ocean's flow
Willingly, I agreed to your wave-line
As East winds bring a call up whistle
Calm me, in thy calmness
Dress me, in thy decency
Mould me, in thy confidence
Till black is written, on golden stand.
By Sir Taitophil; adapted for Pharm Christie.
Let's see... how do I feel today
Pretty much the same as yesterday except one day older
Guess that's the least anyone can expect
Wonder if an enormous amount of money just plopped in my lap
Would that make any kind of a significant difference
Sure would like to give that a shot
Perhaps I'll buy a ticket for the next ten million dollar lotto
To know how it feels when they call up and say
“You are our grand prize winner!
After the government grabs it's share
We will be sending you a cheque for $136.50!
As part of the rules of the contest
You'll be required to make a televised statement
Excitably explaining how this win has changed your life!”
WOWSERS! I'm underwhelmed
Been wearing these same old holey beat up jeans
For nigh onto ten years now
You won't believe how much this means to me...
Don't know how I'll ever begin to thank you!
I apologise if this sounds a bit cynical
But where did the other $9,999,863.50 go
This reply came back...
“Sorry this question does not compute!”
(I'm exaggerating a wee bit, of course!)
This poem is dedicated to anyone who has a garden…
and trees!
*
The God of the Sun said, “This ought to be fun,
just watch that girl sat on the sand.
When I make the sun shine the sight will be fine,
she’ll rub sun cream in with her hand.”
And indeed, down below, when a hot sun did glow
the Sun God had got it quite right.
He said, as she creamed from her head to her toe,
“Is that not a sensual sight?”
The God of the Rain said, “That old trick again;
she’s lovely but you shouldn’t gloat,
for she’s creamed in vain; cos when I make it rain,
she’ll give her right arm for a coat!”
The Rain God preached loud and ordered some cloud.
Torrential rain battered the beach.
Thus whiteness prevailed in the sun bathing crowd,
as though all that sun cream was bleach.
The God of the Wind scowled through lips that were thinned,
“I guess you both think that you’re funny.
But I’ll make you laugh if I call up a draught,
for that will beat rainy or sunny.
“Your sun is the summer; your rain is the spring,
but autumn is when my wind breathes,
and I’ll prove that wind is the funniest thing…
You see that guy sweeping up leaves?…………..
My Command to Poetry Soup:
Over Forty Thousand The Group:
Keep your records of my poems
Between ‘Motiveless’ and ‘With-Whims’;
In your cherishing software lodge,
Destroyers surface you just dodge…
Let them – yes – in secret files stay,
The Heavens and Earth to pass away.
Each had occurred in sharp flashes
And out of weightless mind dashes!
Verse-retrieving mind poorly shines,
Trust me, I’d call up but few lines;
So Angering and Demonic
Weakness Fighting The Harmonic
Thus, if lose I do a copy
You and I, rashly, The Sloppy;
The same: my Uploaded Short Stories,
Now forty-three, Number hurries!
No longer command: Make The Promise
Not A Halved Single shall I miss.
One sunny afternoon amid a snowstorm
appeared a lovely rainbow.
A canary on a limb chirped a sweet tune,
but he had no voice and was tone-deaf.
The small blind hound below witnessed
the whole show.
If you doubt the story, call up the deaf
mouse that’s studying to be a chef.
09/07/2021
Contest:Nonsense Rhyme
Sponsor: Charles Messina
a knock on the door
do not answer that I yell
they will get me next.
my husband’s macho.
But since it is two a.m.
he listens to me.
We need your phone
Two strangers yell through the door.
We called the police.
Before the officer arrives
the strangers call up their girlfriends
Sit on our lawn furniture, make themselves comfortable.
We figure out they are inebriated
And thought they were on a country road
When it was just the lane to our driveway.
The officer who arrives looks eighteen.
I send my husband out to make sure he is safe.
Something still feels weird.
Ominous and squishy thing in bureau drawer
I know because I head his silly roar,
Which angered me, shaken to my core.
You’ll go check it, if me you do adore…
What am I supposed to do? Ignore?
Your checking was rather pathetically poor.
I only gave you one tiny bitty chore.
Why must you right now go to the store?
Maybe I will run down to the seashore.
I stick out my tongue at the closing door.
I’m right back where I started before.
The interloper makes a tiny roar.
Next I call up my new armoire’,
Love you I say. He says “Love you more!”
Hey, what else do you need from the store?
I have multiples, you see, at least four.
Our husband’s life will never be a bore.
I’m not making this up, it’s not an urban lore.
That bureau drawer is starting to ascend and soar.
Good bye, I say to that ominous roar.
Eventually, many centuries have passed
In the hopeless desire to uncover
This hidden pain.
And, in the shower of unpredictable love
The barren land of my restless soul
Will nourish again.
Maybe today or tomorrow, the blank pages
Of the unwritten book will shine
With pearl-like words.
Along with, the doors of unlocked cages,
Locked with a secret code will reopen
For imprisoned birds.
The day is about to come, which is expected in the unexpected world
Perhaps like a fraud.
So, call up all your subdued kith and kins,
To kill that blood soaking trauma
With your sword.
snow day has now dawned
time for my boots hats and gloves
inner child smiles wide
energy revived
gift of an entire day
mouth cracks from grinning
shrieking at tv
doing kitchen cartwheels
call up all my friends
texts on high alert
wild emojis everywhere
pinging and dinging
running to the hill
screaming with crazy laughter
slipping and sliding
all my friends are here
even those who call in sick
other school days
go home with pink cheeks
shivering inside mittens
dragging sled behind
hoping tomorrow
will be a chain of snow days
happy exhausted
Tinkerbelle invited muse Trixie to join her at the Martini Lounge tonight
They both had too much to drink, ended up sassy, and quite tight.
Some randy elves tried to pick them up, but they said no thank you.
They were just coherent enough to send them off, into the winter blue.
I knew my muse was gone, but had no idea she knew Tinkerbelle.
Where are you Trixie? I was asking her. No poems tonight. Oh, well.
She’d be back in the morning; she was plain gone from my head.
When she came in with a hangover, I woke straight up I bed.
Where have you been? I asked her. She giggled like a dancing top.
I asked her to quit, but she couldn’t or simply wouldn’t stop.
I threatened to lock her up, and she hiccupped happy silly thoughts.
She knows who is in charge, I guess. She fell face down on her cots.
I wanted to call up Tinkerbelle and give her a piece of my mind.
Then I remembered that muses and faeries need to be with their kind.
It is only New Years Eve, so who am I to take her away from a friend?
Within the hour Trixie was ready to write a poem with a happy trend.
------------------------ Fly
Whistle to the wind
call up a breeze to fly kites
send a dream skyward
GINSU - KNIFE EASTPORT , MAINE USA
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