Frequented Poems | Examples

Wren goes in cat door in garage

cat flap in garage is frequented by a wren
as if she owns the place, she hops right in
this is day two, that I have seen this sight.
If a cat is inside there, she is not so bright.

Grief

I remember the grief in Samuel
when Saul failed,
like the grief in Nile
when blood crept into it —
just like it creeps into the bones of
this earth.

The rage in grief is distant but distinct,
escorted by bits of frozen nuts
and wizened grains of desert sand,
white assembly of killing spectres in
a background of black eclipse with
lunar talons
and swords of claws
and jars of cold tears.

Oh, how Samuel grieved for Saul!

The mourning is immense . . .

Sempervirence fossilised
along abbeys forayed with hot silt
and Dane guns of lewd hunters

Pulsations and acrid fever,
with the disease of camels, are frequented by
a recrudescence of the mastodon,
In liaison with his extended kinsmen the dinosaurs.

We are livid with mourning,
for the soul of a toothless one
gone from us
this grey day of elegy
and season of potent grief.

Fetters exist, and persist, swinging in
our faces like treasures of hell
where we hear that bug-ridden mats
are spread for us;

there, chants of elegy
hoot,
and black furnaces boil
and smelt
the repast we are to devour.

gun slinger

The  Gunman

In Montreal, in a bar frequented by shadowy 
people who used French phrases, making money
fraud and mayhem, I bought a revolver that still 
had five bullets in its chamber
The next morning, our ship was bound for Japan. 
I worried about the gun, perhaps used in a heist 
where someone got killed, and there was
 The Kennedys are still in our memory 
Chief, they said, you look absent-minded, what's
 Wrong, nothing is wrong. I have a slight cold.
Near the Sea of Japan, I threw the weapon overboard
because I knew if I had a gun when I was growing up 
I would, in my anger, have used a gun
I threw the revolver overboard, and an hour later, the 
cartridges I didn't want they to meet up 
The next day, I was my old self, free of guilt

Afterthought

To you I'm just an afterthought
Endearing name that you forgot
A half remembered romance plot
A once frequented sacred spot

To you I'm just an alibi
Some one to cover up the lie,
for when you're with your ride or die
The hush of do not question why

To you I'm just a sideline thing
Someone to keep there in the wing
Who'll nurse the wound, remove the sting 
To treat you like a hero king

To you I'm just a pastime game
You play when bored and feeling lame
A mundane chore to keep you tame
To cool your passion's burning flame

To me you're not even a thought
My mind is here; my heart is not
Your love has been erased, forgot
To me you are a dead end plot. 

This truth to you is yet unknown
You're blind to signs that I have shown
One day you'll wake up all alone
Regretful thoughts all that you own

Eileen Manassian

Force, farce, frequented, foundationally,

Outrage and then revenge..Ensure such' and repetitions
Will never end.' A formula humans know.' 
Yet with much drive, and vigour, still scatter and sow..!

Balsams- POTD

In tastefully lined up pots in a row,	
Multi colored balsams in clusters grow.
A visual treat to adoring eyes,
But never a haunt frequented by bees.

Balsams do not need much care, yet may fade,
If not allowed a little shade.
Flimsy they are of delicate stems,
With light green leaves of serrated hems.

Growing in my neatly laid up yard,
They invariably make me glad.
Gleaming in the first rays of summer sun,
By their simple beauty, my heart they have won.

Unlike the charming red, red rose
Hardly any poet, on them, odes compose
They have no scent,  yet as a colorful throng,
In my courtyard, proudly they belong

When the flowers wither, pods appear
In time for self- dissemination, prepare
When fully ripe, the pods explode
And seeds fly as birdies from their nest to explore!

Thus, Nature’s ways are so amazing
Even in plants there's an inherent training
For seeds to leave the comfort of their pods
And find their own space fighting all odds!

Canary in a Coal Mine

She wandered like a gypsy to Wyoming,
Where she settled in and sojourned for a spell.
She found herself a billet at the Hog Ranch,
And son, there weren’t no high-tone clientele.
It was just a soiled dove’s privy crib
Where Martha Jane set up her chicken coop.
She was a cowhand’s heartthrob,
All buckskin and sutler whiskey.
She could drive a team of oxen.
She could drive a man to sin.
Times she frequented Old Bedlam,
Drillin’ with them soldier boys;
Some were galvanized Yankees,
Some were mere tenderfoot lads.
When she wasn’t barkin’ at a knot,
She’d be somewhere raisin’ sand.
She considered each calamity
That buggered her contentment
As just another maverick to brand.

My Lovely Blossoms

In well set pots in a row
Sweet flowers in clusters grow

A sight, pleasing to behold
As their petals they unfold

A treat to adoring eyes
A haunt frequented by bees

Flashing colors in the sun,
My heart and soul they have won.

Flowers always make me glad
What charm, to nature, they add

Butterflies fly like flowers
They dance in the day light hours

They too greatly cheer my eyes
They're flowers' lovely allies

They Looked So Harmless

Three little old ladies came to Chester’s door
He did not know it but he had met them all before.
One had lived with him and took care of his children four.
Another he had been engaged too, but jilted with the girl next door.

The girl next door was the last one to arrive, she was holding out tea.
It is rather delicious, she told him, our secret womanly apricot recipe.
The police had no clues that day in the death of Chester.
The three hags went home grinning and said, “now we go after Fester.”

Fester was Chester’s twin, and he had been evil to them too.
They frequented his Michigan doorstep at a quarter past two.
Come in! He said. I have been expecting some gorgeous gals like you.
They watched him as he tasted their offering and turned a brilliant blue.

A Ground-Nest Tea

several mourning doves
frequented the feeders
for small seeds

gently they ruffled feathers
around neck and head
as they slowly fed

full after twenty minutes
they went to ground
to clean each other

each took turns picking
seeds from the others
upper body feathers

and when a beak be seed full
the seed-picker then fed
them back to the other

this custom being
times natural
on-nest-tea


stan sand

Crisda Rodrigues

Crisda Rodriguez
My fleet of cars included high end wheels
Now I drive them not.
Helped by someone to wheel me around
Driving is now forgot.
Wardrobe full of designer wears
Valuables in my vault,
Now, I'm wrapped in a piece of cloth
Nurses attend my call.
Money, plenty stored in banks; earned
Through few working years,
With laughter, work, fun and toil
No tissue for my tears.
House is a mansion adorned with art
Crystals from round the globe,
Left behind for this single room
With a bed and hospital robe.
Salon, I frequented; makeover my hair
Prided its delicate touch,
Time has changed, my head's now bald
Not a style I loved so much.
From five star to five star, I'd move my days
To dine or celebrate,
Now, I'm moved from bed to lab
Back again to isolate.
Private jets with ease I flew 
From place of work to home,
Then a holiday on a cruise enjoy
But now I frequent the dome.
Nothing matters: no not wealth, delight,
Good times, pomp and fame,

Barney Hilda and Clyde

Meet the happy couple
That's Hilda all in white
Barney's there beside her
Loves her with all his might

They're an interracial couple
No problem nowadays
Frowned on not too long ago
But today it's a-okay 

Met at the local horse saloon
Frequented by the equine crowd
She was a pretty show horse
He was boisterous and loud

Pretty soon, she tamed him
Settled him down just fine
Any filly would be proud to say
That stud over there is mine

Soon, a couple of months go by
Hilda's expecting a son
The happy couple race around
High hoof-ing everyone

Had a colt, called him Clyde
So proud of their little guy
Running through peaceful pastures
Then off to the clouds they fly

You can see this happy couple at night
When you view the evening sky
The three stars south of Orion
Are Barney, Hilda and Clyde

She Floated Through My Soul

For two hundred years the girl with the candelabra frequented the house
Visiting inhabitants in their dreams, or when they were awake.
Lost in this house years ago, prior to her death, unsure why.
616 West Bramblewood Court, was it the address?

Many held seances over the years, to pull her out, to ask her questions.
She answered a few of them with her name, nothing else, no last name.
There was speculation, but no one came anywhere close to the truth.
For the truth had eluded her. She could not share what she did not know.

An empath moved into the house in 2021 and she met the girl.
Spoke to her while she worked, included her in every conversation.
Told the girl how she could go into the light and find her lost relatives.
When the girl left, she gave the empath a hug goodbye.

Upon leaving, she floated through my soul, the empath said.
I knew that she could not tell me what she did not know.
I feel she had Alzheimer or a form of dementia.
Totally correct, she had helped the girl return to her people.

Magical Fey Mushroom House

magical fey conjured up a new mushroom house in a tiny cloud
frequented by caterpillars and ants, but bees are not allowed
some of the honeybees and wasps are forming an angry mean crowd.
hear buzzing? They are storming the street, and boy are they loud.
Loud and proud joined by hornets, humans are cowed.

bitsy tiny faerie wearing her hair in a knotted braided bun.
heard what was happening and flew over to have a bit of fun.
her glistening wings were Vitamin D'd up by the sun.
bee brewery is open, and the vats are ready for honey,
come on in, and bring your combs, and we’ll pay you money.


bumblebees paid up quickly, they had plenty of loot.
stingy wasps and hornets flew off, each in a lively pursuit.
knee-playing fiddler grasshoppers and ants ran out the back door.
Once again, the faerie got rich, her name was Mrs. Livermore.

My Purple Balsams

In neatly lined up pots in a row	
Flaming red and purple balsams in clusters grow
A visual treat to adoring eyes
A haunt frequented by the bees

Do not need much care, but may fade
If not allowed a little shade
Flimsy they are of delicate stems
With light green leaves of serrated hems

Planted in my skilfully laid up yard
They invariably make me glad
Gleaming in the first rays of the sun
By their simple beauty, my heart they won

When the flowers wither, pods appear
In time, for self dissemination, they prepare
When fully ripe, the pods explode
And seeds fly as birdies from their nest to explore!

Thus Nature’s ways are so amazing
Even in plants is an inherent training,
For seeds to leave the comfort of their pods
And find their own space fighting all odds!

___________________________________

June.2.2022

~Placed First~

Purple Flower Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Nayda Ivette Negron Flores

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