my fingers are vital for almost everything I do
including combing my hair, and picking up my dog’s poo
I use them to sweep, vacuum, and sort the mail
to live without them would be worse than a day in jail
Fingers bake cookies, for they hold the spoon
They also steady telescopes, so I can see the moon
Fingers are handy for wiping extra paint on my shirt
They put on make-up expertly, ask my pal Mert.
My fingers like to type up poems, stories and such.
I like these tiny appendages very very very much.
Tonight when I go to bed I am going to thank God for them
Unless I forget, because when I am tired I can get rather dim.
Luminous, an indefatigable undefinable infinite telenergy
Omnipotent, all encompassing whispering exquisite ephemeralities expertly
Venerably universal, relentlessly boundless consummates
Eternal enduring cosmic creation ~ equates, elates, liberates
____________________________
Waddle with me in a downpour of rain
Singing in a symphonious refrain
Jumping in puddles, splashing everyone
Simply because we will have lots of fun.
We'll fluff up our feathers, inhale fresh air
Twist and shake until we have no breath there
Because we are smarties, we have it cracked
And expertly do a ducky class act.
One two and then quack, one two and then splash
Allow alluring eyelashes to flash
Look to the left and then look to the right
Dancing and prancing from morning to night.
Then we can dream elating ducky dreams
In the wondrous world of fantasy themes
Arriving there, surely one can't do wrong
Waddling to the tune of a ducky song.
So few will ever see
A clown’s sorrowful tears
His hopes, his dreams, his fears
Hidden so expertly
Can it ever be known
A clown’s most cherished thoughts
His soul, tangled in knots
To us is never shown
He lives but to perform
He seeks that center stage
The actor’s gilded cage
He covets as the norm
It’s heavenly to him
To make the people smile
And laugh for but a while
For life is awfully grim
May God bless every clown
Who brings a bit of mirth
Who lights this darkened Earth
In ways small but profound
Huzzah! Now let us cheer
The jesters now and past
Who place their feelings last
Who hide from us their tears
For special children to enjoy freedom flight
They need featherless angels with wings of love
Propelling them as they persevere to soar above
Expertly assisting their developmental height.
Optimizing daily promise of radiant hope
Neglected children cling to featherless angels’ care
Whose tender mercy warms hearts as laughter they share
In exercising faith and patience along peace-slope.
Beholding children’s milestones of delightful bliss
Featherless angels strengthened with grace
Praise God for strength* upon prayer brace
Midst their orphanage ministry from compassion’s abyss.
Maneuvering wheel chairs with careful zest
Featherless angels exude triumphant glow
In protecting children against hazards’ blow
Securing them joyously around kindness’ best.
*Philippians 4:13 - I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.
November 1, 2023
3rd place, "Featherless Angels" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Ink Empress; judged on 11/6/2023
Requiem for Henry and Sylvia
The papers arrived today. I gaze out the window of our posh villa and witness yet another spectacular Tuscan sunset. To my delight, a red-billed leiothrix is flitting about the umbrella tree, as if searching for its lost mate. I rise, slip on my Bottega Venetas and pour myself another cup of Danesi Italian coffee.
Memories flood my brain without my consent. There were happy times spent at the beach, endlessly searching for the prettiest or most unique seashells. Were they really good times? Maybe. It's all a blur now.
The large envelope lay on the expertly crafted Bocote table her artisan father made for us as a wedding gift. Rusty, our faithful corgi, rests at my feet. But he's not asleep. He's glaring at me with eyes of disdain, as if it was my fault she left.
I ask Alexa to play Handel's Messiah, then slowly open the drawer to finish the task at hand. There is just one problem. Where did I put that damn Montblanc Royal pen?
musing on what was
under a Tuscan sunset
coffee tastes bitter
fat
each cell
expertly
hangs on like a
brown leaf in springtime
clinging for dear
life, then falls
in a storm
gone?
She
poses
exposes
exquisitely
evocatively
engagingly
expertly
Nature
nude
"When we feel our lives falling to pieces.
it's best to gather them, place in sunlight...by poet
Pieces of our lives, like jigsaw puzzles,
fitting in places, rejected in some.
If unkind, through those I quickly hustle,
expertly avoiding those with no sun,
selecting those with a long distance run.
Searching for joyfulness I want to keep;
yet, when I look farther, go very deep,
sad pieces fit, catching me unaware
Those only surface when I am asleep,
fitting nicely, their sadness I must bear.
Some are whimsical, at those I can smile,
such lovely colors make happiness spring.
Unique shapes of a life I hope worthwhile.
Shapes of my children, I lovingly bring
Pieces that fit so well, I want to sing.
Now my life puzzle is nearing complete
Many pieces I would love to repeat
Life, like the puzzle, adds pieces with time
A few may be sad, and some bittersweet
Filling each space is a distance we climb.
March 27, 2023
for "Word Challenge-P Words" contest
by Constance La France
howmansyllables.com=10
People will tell their views
Confusion, they produce
To guide, they may refuse
To worry, instead induce
Advising, they ever choose
The don't helpfully muse
Tension, they finely infuse
They will expertly accuse
Our peace, they reduce
By denying our dues
So, have no blues
I have given some clues
Though God rescues
Our wisdom if is loose
We surely then lose
If truth we don't abuse
Our peace accrues.
Such beautiful clarity is within my life line
No longer asphyxiated by darkness I'm fine
Experiences come frequently with bold exceptionality
I find myself expertly escorted into a new spirituality
Giving and receiving affection on the most simplest of terms
Finding flowing Infinity with perfectly banked turns
Finding deep tranquility in the here and now
Giving my ideal love to all that let me show them how
This has never been a journey without darkening
But in all those that have crossed my path what I've learned has been starkening
With all the words spoken that I've sealed with a kiss
All the verses to paper that my pen does never miss
If your reading this then I humbly invited you
To see the reflection in what I write too
Feel it's meaning as if it was meant for your eyes only
For I possess enough love for the entire world to never again be lonely
Potpourri of exquisite, quotidian poesis
Ostentatiously dazzle the eyes and mind,
Expressed using vivid imagery and metaphors.
Thousands of skilled poets publish work
Read and commented on, a deluge of poems
Yielding copious ripe fruits of admiration.
Sublime, scintillating tapestry
Of deeply felt emotions expertly weaved.
Unlimited, challenging contests sponsored for
Poets to participate in for a chance at glory.
Submitted for...
Poetry Soup Beyond Its Name Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Beata Agustin
Date written: 09/03/2022
Expertly I sit down,
the recliner jumps to my command.
The friends of George Washington are here
they come bearing paw paw and cloud berries.
I am a native morning in Appalachia,
there, where all is fair,
peace tailspins out
as two plastic flamingos mate
in a squeaky rubber pool.
I tune in to watch another mind.
King Kong is bouncing up and down
using my brain for a trampoline.
Yesterday's wine bottle is empty again
I pour myself out;
sip those sweet red puddles of existence.
The founding fathers are protesting
the inflationary cost of saltpeter,
the flying fusty powder of their wigs
makes King Kong sneeze.
George Washington is taking
a well-earned nap.
The recliner rears up
ready to get going somewhere -
anywhere will do.
What's found at the crack of an egg
wonderin if I have somethin', anything
left to say..
bright yolk or young generations hope..
open your mind, try if you can
whether breakfast or prayer for man.
Y'know I go to visit the lonely in their lonesome lands..
sit a spell, hold their hands.
Visit with Bukowski, well of course I would.
A lit cigarette held in shears..
expertly placed beween the spring and the pivot point,
tryin' to learn the meaning of the word poet.
We're all stuck like swirling smoke
between the spring and the dull edge,
hoping for shear ecstasy in cut rapture
like passing of the last carnation (flower for Mariupol).
Searching for myself in spoken word
just may've found it..
In verse of Cohen's Hallelujah, brought to
life in an age of Buckley, an age of genius
and beauty.., tho'
perhaps a little short-lived..
proof there's so much more we can give.
mother’s hairpins wait
patiently
in worn, loose clumps
for her to pick through and use
over and over, night after night
it seems to be the same
she, by the bathroom counter
day after day
twirling her fine, grey hair
around thin, frail fingers
and so expertly done, too
without a thought
her dim eyes stare
into a dim mirror that reflects
her lined, aging face
once young and beautiful
she creates curls
as she stands
alone
2/23/2022
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