Up early to begin preparations.
This meal is special.
Everything lavishly, decoratively prepared.
A feast for the eyes as well as the palate.
We take great care to show proper respect for the wonderful bounty which is a God given providence and this meal is a celebration of His providence for us.
Without all these good things we would surely die;
So today is set aside to celebrate His Goodness, His Thoughtfulness, His Providence.
We gather our family and friends together.
We will laugh too much.
We will play too much.
We will eat too much.
It will be so good.
There will be green beans, glazed carrots, corn and biscuits.
Home made biscuits made with fresh buttermilk that melt in your mouth.
Candied yams and mashed potatoes with gravy, lots of gravy,
Pies, cakes and puddings.
When the meal is over and everything is cleaned and put away we will rest.
The turkey isn't the only thing that got stuffed.
For I awake within a dichotomous dream,
I ask what is real that the eye may gleam…
Realities regulate as the heads at the helm,
As dimensions deliberate a deceitful realm…
I walk through forests of faceless feeble time,
Nurturing nightmares of a calamitous climb…
Confronting creatures, succulents of the soul,
Upon Quantum quicksands of a nightly stroll…
I then Nova with the numinous sacred suns,
Ethereal explosions causing sacerdotal strums…
Decoratively dancing divine where Angel's trend,
Reaching the edge where some decline & descend…
All this within a differential devisable dream,
And idol illusions resonate and reign supreme…
For what is a dream without its raging reality?
Reality without dreams a sacrificial silent sea.
Feb.17.2019
I Dreamed a Dream
Sponsored by: Silent One
Placed 1'st...Thank You
Flights of the Butterfly
Looking at the butterflies dancing decoratively divine
Their wings tickle & flutter the acoustical ambient air
Enthralled by their ethereal beauty as they intertwine
My eyes drawn to infinity in a pensive peaceful prayer
Butterflies within the morning seductive seclusive sun
Melodies of motion that move the silent secular heart
Blissful flights at depleting dawn have magically begun
Shamanist symphonies surrounding served ala carte
Exhibits of eternal etchings amidst a life aching archaic
They too can achieve upon flights of dimensional dance
Wondering works of ancestral art of a masters mosaic
For I sit amongst the daffodils and watch as they prance
My heart fulfilled with love as they float gracefully away
For the rewarding genial gestures thus exist as they play.
Oct.19.2018
ZEN Poetry
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
N/A for contest
Waned and weary with only toil and trouble
my limbs could only travel this journey tired. .
In my head to in my mind
-which coincidentally were not the same thing-
thoughts seemed to expire from the zealous fear found in your gaping wide darkness of speech.
My serenely spiritual soul's mythical secret shadow sparkled as a jewel:
Boundlessly black but brazenly beauteous by day, but by night,
my mind mentioned masses of decoratively hung ghastly gossip,
secretively shushed into silence
never
ever
to be a quick quiet find for any of us.
A Christmas from the past lives, alive, well and clear each year
so real and tangible it brings to the eye a joyous tear.
The day with Gramma, Dad, Mom, sisters and brothers
and later came aunts, uncles, cousins and some others.
The table set was expanded with that inserted piece
in preparation for the great goose or turkey feast.
Footsteps through the kitchen, pressed against the parties
caused a shout out to scatter if they were ready to eat hearty.
Just my sisters and brothers, me with my annoying cousins,
got to sit at the small dining set near the oven.
That smell of turkey, sweet potatoes and all the fixings
drew our noses from our empty dishes to the mixings.
As each dish was decoratively displayed before us
our tastebuds watered in gluttony as prayer was said in chorus.
Shared until the faces and the bodies had long disappeared
the memory of Christmasses together is in my heart forever here.
HEAD CRYSTAL
peering into a splintered mirror
smash-dragging cherished beliefs
another two-headed throwback
to stonewalls gravel potholes
demotion
tired philosophies cloying and
halting journeys novel paths
navigation negotiating with
head not red swollen hearts
distortion
these ticklish little depressions
cannot be medicated alone so
I unwrap them one by one all
decoratively with candy cane
devotion
a shattered chalice
crystal head
explosion
© Kim van Breda—4 July 2015
I love my poem,
it gives my girlfriend
goose-pimples and leaves poker-dots on her laughter
I love my poem,
it gives my inspiration sexy pimples and leaves me with a gooseneck,
because my girlfriend never gets tired of embarrassing me with kisses, after she’s done going through my poems,
this pierces through my soft-pitched hugs
When she’s excellently sad
I don’t worry to flash various colours of flowers
to make her happy
because my poem,
has the astute to make her happy again like the smiling raindrops
When I adopt her sadness,
I always get soaked in tattered emotions
But
she decoratively knows how to bow away my intense sadness
She simply recites the funniest verse of my poem
this brings me back to a butterfly state
She’s in love with my poem
really,
she melts in my poem
She keeps saying that my poem is the ruler of her happiness
and that I should never dare to stop writhing
Even If I have no more ink to feed my paper or inspiration, to water my thoughts,
I should just keep writing in colourful tones.
For my poem keeps her love for me,
shining and raising in colourful tones
The lord sends us thanksgiving each year,
Holy memories of parents and children reunited,
A beautiful autumn walk, leaves blushing colors,
New reasons for worshipping God,
Kind and thoughtful days at church,
Songs of worship and thanksgiving,
God sends us many excellent blessings
Islands of traditions, blessing humanity,
Very devout time of year,
Ideas to transcend conformity,
Now the tables are set decoratively,
Goodness and thankfulness to the Lord.
Author: Gwen Meyer-Erlach Schutz
Tufted white-tops
on pale beige staggered-stalks,
the coneflowers crowns
dressed the perennial bed;
leaning precariously against
the conical mushroomesque birdbath.
Snow, soft and wet wrapped the grape arbor like ermine;
making trellises reminiscent of Kanji on a blank page.
Fragile, frozen, flowers hung decoratively,
from frail clematis twined about cedar posts.
Brittle brown maple leaves, left behind by autumn;
drag branches draped,
as in bridal lace to the frosted tarp;
defying winter to do what fall could not.
Conifers cried under the weighty white down.
Their limbs straining not to crack, surrender,
snapping to attention as the day warms.
The snow plops pleasantly to the ground.
Winter waits patiently as the garden dreams.