glass-like smooth of even's yawn
just I, myself, with one cob swan
trace cursive paths upon the lake
for we’re both OF the earth, not on
so sets the sun to blow a kiss -
in hushed glissades of feral bliss
cleaving surface - gentle wakes
o surely heaven’s much like this
swan and I, we share these eves
in feathered white tuxedo sleeves
he follows while I row the skiff -
my chaperon as daylight leaves
I think perhaps he's lonely, too
a-searching for a soul-mate who
shares his love of blushing skies
and parting mirrored lakes anew
the water's darkened interludes
reflect both images and moods
hopes we held of love this morn
are put to bed as day concludes
ere we meet when dusk is drawn
I’ll say a prayer that he'll be gone
that one of us shall find true love ...
for we’re both OF the earth, not on.
She's probably still tied to her mum's apron,
But she definitely needed no chaperon,
So to Dubai she went for a competition,
With many of her mates from the same institution.
She suddenly became a sensation,
When behind a hotel door of a foreign nation,
She romped,
Not with one but with many they bumped.
The story was whitewashed as a hype,
All over the internet was the tape,
Not of a ravished fellow,
But of shame with a joyful bellow.
She rode like a horse while others were there to cheer,
She stroked up and down as if on an armchair,
Bad parentage casually strolled each inch of the room,
Moral decadence boomed in the gloom refusing to sweep with a broom.
Then after, the mother came on air soaked in tears to blame all except self,
She dressed like for a funeral flanked by her own set,
Her pictures looked solemn but her wears had the hearts of a yippee,
She was just the carricature of the way her girl clothed herself as a groupie.
Whilst the mother blamed the school,
The school in turn called the mother the fool,
Meanwhile, the society badmouthed them both,
But if at all there is a blame it is to everyone in this boat.
Tucked in the past
Revealed in time
The unseen deck
Shuffling between phases
Waded by fate
Chaperon with audacious dexterity
Whipping the blackness
With strings of grief
Shredding the light
shlep along or scrounge
sashay or percolate
warm a chair
no one's going anywhere fast
warm a chair
trifle, wither
goof off or hang out
warm a chair
no one's going anywhere alas
warm a chair
come along and chaperon
in shadows or under sun
warm a chair
no one is going anywhere passed
warm a chair
stroll or tarry
wait, why hurry?
warm a chair
no one's going anywhere undercast
warm a chair
stay and dawdle
lounge and loaf
warm a chair
no one's going anywhere an outcast
warm a chair
guide and follow
play along
warm a chair
no one's going anywhere at long last
warm a chair
I’ve never seen a baby pigeon
And I’d be impressed
If anyone could show me one,
All cozy in its nest.
Their homes are likely hidden
In locations out of sight,
Perhaps unreachable to all
Who cannot manage flight.
The same applies to squirrels.
When we see them, they’re full-grown
And scampering from tree to tree
Without a chaperon.
When visiting a farm or zoo
Or pet store we might see
A creature in its youngest days,
But it occurs to me…
That in the city, we do not
Have access, like we should,
To the fauna we’re familiar with
In youth or babyhood.
To those who measure the depths of their power,
In the fathomless pools of tears of the oppressed;
To the human hyenas that gorge themselves full,
While the sons and the daughters of the incarcerated,
Battle with the sharp arrows of hunger and dearth;
To those who appropriate to themselves,
Mother Earth’s allotments to the destitute;
To the dragon-mouthed whose fiery flames of hatred,
Sear the reputation of the guiltless;
To the puckish tongues that uproot family trees,
Wresting the blossoming babes from Pa’s loving arms;
To you all, Satan’s scamps; I say and say again:
The wrathful wind doth gather the celestial armies;
And the saintly swords of the beleaguered,
Will chirpily chaperon your souls past the netherworld.
Glennie went excitedly dating Ted
Leaving her chaperon she went ahead
Wearing nice shoes kept for years
But torn out like rotten gears
So, she’d her first date and dance barefooted
Nov. 6, 2022 9.50am
Lesson: Never wear again a pair of shoes kept/unused for 1-3 years.
Written poem inspired by a related true experience of mine just recently. (Oct. 13,2022)
howmanysyllables.com
10/10/7/7/10
31 words
44 syllables
192 characters
A Funny Limerick - Make me Laugh
Contest Judged: 11/11/2022 1:17:00 PM
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin |
Place 4 (up to 4 multi-w)
The shippers,
The third wheel,
The chaperon,
Intermediary,
The center of all the waggeries,
that "singles are bitter",
because they aren't inlove,
or haven't fallen in love",
Have you ever tried,
to sneak on their mind?,
If they really don't care about love,
Or are they praying for someone to come,
And bring them some love,
Some of them are in pain,
For feelings that are not repaid,
Some are just waiting,
believing ,"God has better plans"
But most of them are real lovers,
that holds strong in fate,
With faith,
They hold in their heart a great love,
A love nobody dares to feel,
In a heart that no one dares to know,
a love That would surely last,
more than this life time,
large feathery snowflakes gently fall...
a panoramic overlay conceals blurred landmarks...
young lovers walk holding hands
explore untrod virginal snowy paths
beneath a faint watchful moonlight chaperon...
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted on October 14, 2017 for contest MINIMALIST sponsored by NETTE ONCLAUD - RANKED 4TH
I'm not the kind of man that common consideration would consider
I consider what to follow and consider myself a leader
I have tickled few fancies and caught eyes just as few
Of vast worlds I have slightly known, but I could be that small world they never knew
I am developed and not just conditioned
I have changed and not just transitioned
Christ in my heart guides and transcends
Leading me away from swaying trends
Therefore I am a man among men
Though I could be a man like other men
Christ alone is my chaperon
In every road I take on
I would love to claim to be the best but I'm just me
The best and only me you'll ever see
I therefore am content and I don't contend
For I comprehend that my cause awaits me to attend
First Sunday After Elections
By Franklin Price
11/13/2016
First Sunday after elections
A chill is in the air
Both weather wise and otherwise
I think that statement would be fair
The man who was elected
To be the leader of this land
Has much to learn of politics
Much he doesn't understand
God help him in his journey
For this country needs you so
To guide his thoughts and plans for us
Show him the way to go
And God while you are at it
Help the Senate and the House
Cooperate more fully
As a husband with a spouse
Lord knows there will be arguments
Negotiations must be done
Help the Senate and the House
And the elected one
Help the ones who did not vote for him
Give this elected man a chance
While being a close chaperon
Of the dancers at the dance
Help the people stand behind him
After all we put him there
To fix the problems that we have
We put him in the highest chair
God we voted to elect him
Please help him be the one
To have this country great again
When his elected term is done
Farewell to God's Servant
Inspired by Father Mike Duggan, a Catholic Priest from Sacred Heart Church in Strathmore, Alberta.
Although we are as strangers I pray for your success,
In teaching every nation that God's Way is best....
I pray good health will chaperon wherever the Spirit will lead.
May you become noted as God's Choice and fruitful seed.
May necessity to chasten fade with the stirring of each new day...
May you know love and laughter and may your songs be light and gay.
May you seldom raise a finger to scoff or criticize
May you always view the sinner with compassionate Christ-like eyes.
May the name: Michael Duggan place a smile on every face,
And a caressing tarry within each heart that your absence will not erase.
For me burning daylight invites me to the black
It's not that I don't like daylight, for I'll never lack
If I'm ever to prowl whether it's amidst the dark, light
It's being the cleverest, within either I'm out of sight
Have you ever walked behind someone oh so quiet
Can you simply imagine, their strolling quiet riot
To even stand beside, in an Otis lift, we're alone
We in burning daylight, whom does whom belong
Sitting in a restaurant, all alone with no chaperon
Whether it's burning daylight, who does who own
For me burning daylight invites me to the black
To venture into the black, then I'll soon relax
Living Canvases
by Odin Roark
It hangs with the galleries
Where unlimited art museums
Await your approach
Your stopping
Your willingness
So often
It patiently bides its time
Knowing frequently
You’re concerned more
With who’s watching you
Watching the painting
Watching your illumination
Move its way
A painting’s nourishment
Comes in many forms
A child’s giggle
A lean into the details
The finding of the viewing bench
The sit
The sigh
The appreciation of magic
Your eyes provide the means
Your imagination the transport
Your subtle nod
The reward
A painting knows well
The containment of joy
Always aware
Always with gratitude
The chaperon of light
Senses how grateful
Your envisioning a brush stroke’s feel
A layered color’s purpose
An artist’s commitment to discovery
How delicate and fine such moments
When paintings and illumination
Make love
Gracious folds as satin, silky dunes waft
Undulating curves; frothy waves tossed
Seamless grooves filter subconscious dreams
Pallid contours emit hypnotizing streams
From her chiseled, sculpted mold congruent beams stretch
In well-rounded center, a sharp, cerebral image doth sketch
From smooth surface glides an effervescent glow
In the glistening radiance a sultry wind doth bellow
From high cheek bones swaggers a dignified tone
Beneath, ingratiating shadows mystique doth chaperon
Cheeks blushed with rosy hue bedewed garlands strew
Cupped in ivory fount from which bubbling streams flow
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