she whispers to the bluebird
early every afternoon
whispers in its ear and
it listens as if it understands
she dreams of peace
and they talk for hours
probably devising machinations
to make this world a better place
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Hans Staten explorer in 1557 was at large!! And into the Amazon he did
Barge..He was sion taken as a prize..To be cooked and eaten
Later..No lies.) It took all his ingenuity, and our God the only Creator.)
To be the survivor.' And an escaper, of such really vile capers.'
He had to sing a merry song..? That they taught him while he
Waited long (it went now! here comes your meal.) Or close enough
Narrated i feel' in reading you'll be quite enlightened.!! And learn of other religions.' Of pagan deity and how that affected some people
A bit frightening..? And religions? anyway..) Its a cultural feast.' to
Put away.' in this you may; choose (how you will banquet?) On the sacrifice of Jesus.? Or you could go by these green gods; rule sets?
You choose.' And they are now again
Reviving? As the davosites have reset, or re-started? devising.? Just have a read about dear Hans; before you. And real sanity are parted Oh lands!.. Reminice of
Those oak leaves? on ss lapels..And repeat after watching
At least' 10 million peoples hell? That some experiments didn't really go
That well.'
The computer era, indeed, has marred you and the pen,
A romantic feeling, when I think of you, fills my mind;
Will those Calligraphic times, the writers loved, come again?
Wherein, a feeling of hand-to-heart touch, the poets could find...!
Feathers in red, green, blue, black, white, brown, yellow, and maroon,
Or like the rainbow multicolored single quill well used;
Your existence before devising of pen was a boon,
In you was the enchantment of vivid bird species fused...!
A satisfying dip... lo, your magnetic-pulled words flow,
Like a fountain, forming floras and faunas of annals;
As you curve and wind like the music outgrows your tempo,
Words and thoughts fill, spill, and thrill like irrigation channels...!
You have turned a decorative piece owing timely change,
Your gifts, yet, to humanity have been beyond all range...!!!
The bizarre scene when Earth has been pressured
And on Richter Scales this can be measured:
When the immovable readily quake,
Not a single hard rock failing to shake…
A punishment too familiar to Japan
At a period hitting her like a pan.
Often her feared National Tragedy
She’d kept devising a ‘Stop Strategy!
How preventable it was ‘Quite Doubtful!
Whenever it struck whisky a mouthful…
The matched with Virulent Epidemic,
Cruelest act of God to Academic:
Wars orchestrated by commando…
Habitations could look like Dog’s Breakfast,
High Death Tolls asking for Religious Fast:
No longer wise raising brick houses,
Better rooms as light as today’s blouses…
Not a thing she could contain with Judos;
The day Judo does, by all means Kudos…
Man’s survived quakes of an angry Ma Earth,
Giant tsunamis and floods every age,
Red hot eruptions from under her girth,
And tilts of Poles that cause ice age in rage,
Every doom's day prophecy and death-wish,
Surviving long years caught in jaws of death,
Still, born again, though somewhat in anguish,
And paying dear for his undying faith—
Man mortal in immortal Petri dish,
A deathless soul devising fresher breath
That with each passing beat approaches death,
It’s ye O Death, life gets fresh lease of kiss,
Ye that the soul can a new garment don,
Devine boon that life carries on and on,
It’s ye again that man gets wise, once gone.
________________________________________
Sonnets | 07.11.2011, revised April 2023|
Poet’s note: Yea, man is not, but life is immortal. Death is a device to ensure this. It is death that man gets wise, sings this sonnet allowing itself one more line.
I am a man not at all eternal,
but eternally deep as my soul is rising.
I am devising my demise;
I am breaking my disguises with my own bleeding fists.
I am having fits of madness, and my madness is joy.
Oh, what joy there is in madness.
Truly, when you see the sadness for what it is:
God flipping coins over your head
and it is a coin with only heads,
while you keep making the wrong call-I tell you no tales,
these spells are for your ills, my friend.
Take my hand and swallow that bitter medicine,
for together we go into madness.
I'll light the way, for I tread here every day.
I have made my home in hell
and found joy at the top of my head.
It’s the Rain…
It’s the rain,
I think,
That causes a brain
To slow down
Long enough
On summer afternoons
To think with rose-colored glasses
To ponder dripping eaves
Dodging raindrops
To paint inspirations’ whisper
On misty winter windowpanes
Then sip rejuvenation
In thick stoneware mugs
Through autumn afternoons
Of early darkness
Devising sweet chocolate designs,
Plotting flight
An algorithm’s dance
Routes to reach mountaintops
Clothed with spring’s soft breath
In newborn eyes
Then
Reach for galaxies without names
Yes,
It’s the rain.
I think.
11-11-22
Contest: Inspiring Rainy Days
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
The time between the seasons
Takes a joyful leap of hope at brighter tones
An opening curtain for every transition
With excitement for every new vision
It erases lethargy and boredom
While it rolls at God’s natures and wisdom
Dressing up my life in different colors
As I enter each and every opening door
Dressed up in white, yellow, green or blue
I joyfully walk forward on paths whatever its hue
With great preparations, I always make a go
To embrace each life’s season as I pass through
The time between the seasons
Takes a joyful leap of hope in brighter tones
An opening curtain for every transition
With excitement for every new vision
For a time between my life's seasons needs devising
To face lovingly many big surprises it brings
Time between seasons make me always look forward
Great gifts and challenges in life from our Almighty God
The time between the seasons
Takes a joyful leap of hope in brighter tones
An opening curtain for every transition
With excitement for every new vision
July 24,2022 10.28am
Armchair politicians always provoke a laugh
Spouting what they would do if they could,
I’m supposing they’d never make a bad gaffe
The world would go as they think it should.
They have the answer to every bad situation
Many years of practicing amateur diplomacy,
Interestingly, they have little valid information
Yet, are sure they could make better history.
I tend to leave affairs in the hands of experts
Who have the real scoop and lots of advising,
Day by day handling things, not in little spurts
Not on questionable rumors plans devising.
This isn’t to say I believe they’re never wrong
But admitting they know far better than me,
I hum tunes, but they know lyrics to the song
So, as best as I can, I avoid criticizing, you see.
written April 6, 2022
I am a side chick
I have existed from time immemorial
In ancient times I was a prostitute
In biblical times a concubine
Otherwise known as a mistress
The other woman
She that never came home
A woman tucked away somewhere
In all centuries
I have lived on the sidelines
Docile, submissive and unsung
Pandering to sexual needs
Of wayward husbands
Though I live in obscurity
I am a legend of all times
No husbands can resist me
Some risk it all for me
I am the sword of Damocles
Hanging over every marriage
I am a shadow that follows
Men under my spell
As they keep running to me for more
From cold matrimonial beds
While I keep devising new strategies
To be their everlasting nemesis
As a dynamic legend
To remain relevant in my trade
I seek out stars and the wealthy
And transform to a baby Mama
With a permanent cheque book
And a swollen bank account
Condemn me as much as you will
Despise me as much as you can
Criticize me as irresponsible
I remain indestructible
And a global citizen
Until men and women
Live in perfect relationship
But that remains a mirage
Until then the legend lives on!
Spinners twirling,
Silver swirling,
Conjured magic dinner plate.
Her eyes devising,
Hypnotizing,
Glittered, gleaming, polished slate.
She knits a dress
With silky tress,
She puts her prowess in the stitch,
And gives her guest
A lovely rest.
Her kisses halt the latent twitch.
She lays her head,
upon the thread,
and watching sky and sea and moon,
inquires whence about her prince,
and if he'll come to find her soon.
For when his gaze
upon her lays,
and legs creep onto bed and tomb,
Therewith his wife
craft pearls of life,
as he gives his to fill her womb.
Her children grow,
and briskly go,
on strings of air and brazen pride.
they sing goodbye,
and off they fly!
To calling wind, they all abide.
Her great delight
Is pale moonlight,
It makes her shining quilt unseen,
And brings a score
right to her door;
The lofty, royal silver queen.
*Image of Childhood Memories by WordPress.
On the Good Ship Bubble-Pop
Bubbles, see-throughs, delicate floats,
of voyaged sailless boats,
her captain gauge the air around,
blue cast where none e'er drown,
farther distance -- misspoke, rising,
shapeless bows devising,
now turned admiral, sees her fleet,
eyes rounded sterns complete,
some sway starboard, others go port,
she ventures drafts to sort,
she waits till all had left her view,
ere scuttling added crew,
lifts her makeshift pier container,
blows whistle, no-brainer,
toneless wizardry expresses,
anew fleet progresses,
dreams to be, part of the magic,
fit in spheres? a tough trick!
2021 September 23
*1st Place*
rhyme me rhyme me a poem
~~Eve Roper: Judged 2021 October 05
*RZ checked
Picture #2
The Rising of the Ocean
The North Atlantic Ocean's rising
Glaciers are melting as are ice caps
Global warming wants some refining.
Sadly Earth is craving devising
Planets climate is reaching climax
The North Atlantic Ocean's rising.
Humankind must do their revising
For now is the time to up the act
Global warming wants some refining.
Ensuing days are traumatising
For future generations that's fact
The North Atlantic Ocean's rising.
To breathe we so need tree investing
Too many have been felled in the past
Global warming wants some refining.
Our world badly wants redesigning
Changes brought on must be made to last
The North Atlantic Ocean's rising
Global warming wants some refining.
22nd April 2021
( Poem Form - Villanelle )
…………
Somewhere lost the children are
One left looking for a car
Another one ran far away
Looking for a decent stay
the little ones have a plan their devising
While chasing after a sun that's rising
A moment or two
And a glimpse from you
Then their wardens go berserk
Wondering why they will not work
Within a memory the children shall find
A different world that's still entwined
What right have they I wonder still
To trudge along that lonely hill
Searching somewhere beyond sight,
For miens and visages propelling into quotidian lives,
With smiles,blues and not so much to cry,
Swept away every scratch of soul,
This wave not seen, not felt, not known.
Sanatorium thronged disquiet,
Medics and Paramedics taxing
Efforts reclaiming lives,
Risking theirs in face of time
Pining on hope to seize it fine.
Sun dawns again with no reminder of light,
But to know somewhere someone would never rise,
In this gloomy game of toll rise.
This Banshee built invisible walls
In these ghost towns no one in and barely out,
But far reaching to the cruise stranded out
Haunting world all around.
Eyes of dilemma filled with fright
If it would be I or the sight of slaying mankind,
Diminutive demon crept in will go away with time,
Not about duration but loss left behind,
With things unfolding beyond sight.
Laughing at every mile
In the face of civilization,
Pandemic touching horizon,
Questioning era of human immortalization
Reminding so little is known and so much to learn,
Devising tactics not only for wars alone
Nevertheless for dormant rampant foes,
Though shaped like a crown but not the crown of our lives.
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