BLEACHED AND BEAUTIFUL
She let the sand
Slip through her hand
She was an hourglass
A witness, to the past
She let the future
Unknown
Fall back to the sea
She lived an eternity by these waters
The salt christened wind
That came everyday
To play in her hair
The waves knew her by name
A companion, chaperone, accomplice
They would only surrender
An obscure reflection
Ambulated and alive
She scribed, queries with a shell
She held, to sand, she laid
And signed them
With a single aim
To watch the surf
Worry them away
She would press into the dunes
Unafraid
The waves would keep her safe
An aria of seduction
Orchestrated by the moon
And she would dream
The sea loved to watch her
Her sorcery and symmetry
Her shadows, a soliloquy
Of a tempest, kept at bay
And she would dream
Of falling sand
Bleached and beautiful
Stolen by the breeze
And she would dream
My GPS has started giving me sass,
calling me dear and telling me cars to pass
and after the turn I just made, muttering mercy, alas~
clearly it’s aged into full personality.
It sighs when I drive under the speed limit,
reminds me my blinker’s been on for a minute,
and once declared, “We’ll get there… eventually…
if we’re committed.”
It refuses shortcuts, claiming they’re too risky,
suggests scenic routes where the air feels frisky,
and warns me sternly when traffic gets too brisk-y.
Indeed, my GPS has become my personal chaperone.
When I finally reach my destination,
it softens its tone with warm appreciation:
“Well done, dear heart. A triumphant navigation.”
And I swear it pats me on the dashboard.
Can we ever be surrounded by too many angels
I know when they’re around me
They always seem to ground me
All those who knew and loved me
Who now have since departed
And left me brokenhearted
I feel them all above me
Never oh never
Could I have too many angels
Never, oh never
Could there be too many angels
Could we ever feel the presence of too many angels
I know when they are with me
And when they contradict me
They guide my every footfall
To shelter me from harm
My chaperone, my guard
To help me through it all
Never oh never
Could I have too many angels
Never, oh never
Could there be too many angels
All those who knew and loved me
Who now have since departed
And left me brokenhearted
I feel them all above me
I know they’ll ALWAYS love me!
Merry Christmas to everyone
and to all of the PoetrySoup Angels!
I had heard about the new cult in town, the gray rabbit express
It was stated that the followers did not show much happiness
They dressed in gray outfits, dresses usually, and rabbit ears
What is your main concern? I asked the sheriff. What are your fears?
I wonder if these girls were abducted, you need to interview them.
at the gate I was turned around by guard dog named Flem.
knew what his name was because he had a sign on his collar, in blue.
I ran from this compound, feeling threatened, ‘tis true.
The girls did not attend public school, but they sometimes came to town.
never alone; their chaperone was close and always gave a frown.
I tried to speak to them a few times, but they ignored me and my voice.
I gave up finally, said the most aggressive interviewer in town, Mrs. Joyce.
I saw four of them on the street one day, walking in a solemn line.
I said good day and asked how they were, none of them said “fine”.
They ignored me as if I had not spoken at all, brainwashed maybe.
Soon joined by another cult chaperone, her lapel said McGee.
Quiet and beautiful is the day,
where reflection adjoins -
with bustling children,-
adorned,- with bright,- happy colors and a sense of thankfulness, glory.
It is a stark reality, that must be approached
with Family, Community and the support
of self invited Black Birds and
"just in the neighborhood"- Blue Jays,
comic relief streaking squirrels,
Cats and Dogs on their best behavior,
rolling eyes at each other, like Brother and Sister,
"you can leave it to us, don't be a doubting Thomas,
we have this handled,
save for a containment twitch of tourettes or an acquisitioned snack."
It is a big day for them to chaperone and oversee,
this takes calories.
I witnessed a few quiet moments and reflective genuflective blinks from each in this gallery of motleys,
they know.
How proud the children are that you confided in them.
And your heart is captured here and until your dying day.
He Is, Risen
a signage in the park exclaims
pause awhile here for Jesus
two young men chaperone
our aroused curiosity
what do you want for your family
is the question to us they posed
there is no one here, we answer
hoping that they will understand
In the frozen grip of winter's chaperone,
Cinderella gets walzted in like a dirty faced hussy.
As light and darkness stand side by side
in a battle for her supremacy.
Godmother has the ground vermin rousted up
from their hidden abodes.
Busy fashioning her apparels and pearly things.
But kissing in their modes.
Dreams that have lied dormant promise the moon,
meets with sunbeams fresh advances, with golden threads of dress-up in swoon.
New pickup lines and peer reviews
to peak at her pinnacle lines.
Fresh new light clings to the hem of misty morn,
sown at her delicate feat, like diadems.
Promised in consecrated dew-drops newly born.
The fowl caress the air in synchronized swim,
in salvos of savoir faire,
bannering rehearsal,
the reversal of Death's Nadir.
Much work to do in presenting.
Gonna have a good show.
Godmother tends to her proper dress.
Tries to tone down her exude of amoress.
Winter looks tacitly, concerned-
from the cold distance,
but is lit up by the way Spring looks back
in her gratitudes,
when she turns,
bows and curtseys at her complicit,
Majesty.
A narrow creek.
Night falls, I know the way,
even so
your hand guide's mine.
Your shoes can swim,
your arms can fly,
but you are not here
or anywhere,
just a presence,
a chaperone,
ushering me
upon an instinctual way.
I think you might be
the all-seeing spirit of an owl,
or some other nocturnal watcher.
Not a ghost,
not feathers or flesh,
just a shadow of heaven
by a narrow creek
where the dark travels.
Fair maiden was guarded by chaperone
Yet her vision was filled by a gallant
He too wondered how they could be alone
Then he remembered the jousting pageant.
Their encounter would be quite illicit
If his liege lord knew feelings were engaged
Her favours he would take quite explicit
Their feelings acknowledged and wholly assuaged.
Wonderful day sky ethereal blue
Strong-brave knight carried her silken favour
Both knew their precious love was pure and true
Thundering horses fearless to danger.
Their love life doomed maiden in dire distress
Her knight unhorsed, dead, they'll be no caress.
Pixabay Image by: GDJ
Elephant trunk palms column, canopy claps hands
Undergrowth glad heart shape leaves spiral
Navigator vines map branches, brace boa banyan
Utile duenna diary with my duties conspiring
Chaperone rope binds silent beside my grand plan
Helpmaster holsters my faltering stride, hips squared
Essential weapon for war against mediocrity
Netted fruit bag binds ideas, ripe inspiration shared
Collaboration binges exchanges evocatively
Oversees growth, buffers fumbles, humiliation spared
Unbias advisor straddles drama, miniscule mosquitos
Raised beyond current, stilts lift clear of silt
Above ravaging river, twig leg log cabin cosy kudos
Guileless sunrise server castrates lumpy guilt
Enmeshed mirror wishes bud symmetrical smiling rose
Mentor each moment monitor prods my furtive dreams
Enlivens rainblur haze, unravels twisted maze
Narrows channel between now and zany zone supreme
Twines possible to present, pours zesty praise
Strengthened, gender invalid, my meridian self esteem
9th June
Carbonised Agenda
planetarium experience
the second graders have no idea what to expect
it is dark and comfy
The narrator is behind us
Several turn to try and see her
She is behind a black booth
The sky gets dark
Stars come out
We hear about constellations
She ties in mythology
After a while my eyes begin to close
I have been awake since four this morning
I did not realize how tired I am
Second graders excited “oohs” and “aahs” keep me awake
I am grateful
What kind of chaperone would I be if they heard me snoring?
And I know they would have stepped over me in a pink minute
She sits on the train looking out at the rain
Another crap day full of pain
The appointment is booked and she’s running late
She wants to throw up and make it all go away
She knows the route like the back of her hand
Each graffitied brick, grey and bland
An important item with the facing issues
She checks her bag for the small pack of tissues
It seems so unfair making this trip all alone
She would love a friend or chaperone
The greeting as ever is warm and well meant
But she’s going to hell which is heaven sent
They link her up to the dreadful machine
And the process soon starts which will make her clean
Never once has she uttered why me with intent
It’s written in the stars she knows that it’s meant
Mercifully held in the hands of time
She waits for her fate from the great divine
It's halloween I'm babysitting, little horrors crawl from their cradles
I'm not a happy chaperone, these kids are becoming quiet unstable
Frankenstein's unscrewed some bolt, his head's hanging by a cable
Dracula drank five Bloody Marys, now he's talking complete babel
Wolf-boy's climbing walls, I nailed his paws rendering him incapable
Wicked witch's making potions, with soiled diapers and sugar maple
The crazed Mummy's eating bandaids, he looks even more disabled
Evil twins are slashing each other's faces, I'm running out of staples
Skinny skeleton kid's choking to death, stuffing his face with bagels
The exorcist cannot stay still, keeps spinning her head on the table
Johnny's home! chopping doors, I'm outta here my heart's not able
Halloween Monorhyme Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
10/30/2021
why yellow flowers
Are so afraid of the wind...?
And the ripe fruits
so afraid of slingshots... ?
why flowers don't
fear nudity so much and
why are they handsome
when naked ?
where is your azimuth,
here, there or the sky...?
why is the sun stays this
so solo... ?
The moon is a chaperone,
or is it without company...!?
Does short rain
fear storm...?
There is something most dangerous
than no flight plane?
why loneliness doesn't
search company for
not being so alone...?
why do dreams reach
its final when we wake up...?
As the spring zephyr smoothly sails,
with the wings spread wide skyward
flies low in grace the little nightingale,
the migrant charming songbird.
The lively bird of the bright daylight,
tweeters with morning sunburst zest,
keeps the rhythm of avian delight
within the fold of silvery satin breast.
When all the thrushes are silent,
it sings to chaperone the first sunray,
tracing the trail of the dawn’s advent,
while in the wind the tune drifts away.
Little nightingale on the glistened tree,
in the voice of pristine nature it sings,
flies on the ripples of its own melody,
as the nascent sun shines on its wings.
The silky bird on a bough perched high
outside my window as night melts away,
sings the dawn’s glory floating softly by,
ushering in for me a jubilant new day.
May 20, 2021
Title chosen : A Nightingale Sings Of Dawn's Glory
Contest : This Or That Vol 3
Sponsor : Edward Ibeh
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