On its axis, dizzy, ‘round and ‘round goes
gaping, globular uproar;
within its mane gums gleam.
vessel captivates
warm waxing finesse waning
more color less stress
glowing going with flowing
lugubrious globular!
vibrant pink guava
incandescent liquid groove~
pahoehoe lava
The smallest of seeds falls and amalgamates with the earth.
Amidst dust to dust, mist, manure, and moisture gain rebirth.
Leaf evolution, stem elongation, and florescence
With sun-lit yellow blooms, it reaches its adolescence.
Like a vulture, it spreads its wings of bold bushy branches.
Towards giving rest to birds of all kinds, it advances.
From a wheatish tone, the colour of seeds slowly turns brown.
Into globular black painite granule finds its renown.
All these were hidden within these as a seed when it fell.
As a seed yielding shrub, it has many tales to tell.
Adding taste to the food and serving as herbs to good health
Is not a mustard seed a gem of herbaceous wealth?
Divine kingdom, though humble in stature, is marvellous.
To seek this, yet, you asked them, shouldn't each one be righteous?
Glandular glib gladiator in Glady’s gladiolas?
glazing glassblowers gleaning gabbiness?
glistening, glittery, glitzy glop glimpsing gladiator?
globular glowworm gloriously gleaming in Glady’s gladiolas.
The rise, like an inhale
breathe slowly, breathe longingly
The fattening of the dough
the tummy expectant, the tummy expanding
Cocooned in its nest
its stretchiness, its pleasant scents
Like an infant in a swaddle
the soothing towel, slightly moist
The rise, like an inhale
breathe slowly, breathe longingly
The ascent complete
lungs exhaustively expanded, waiting to exhale
The arousing response
bright light, hands stimulate dough
The pushback of palms
elasticity released, globular rest
The rise, like an inhale
breathe slowly, breathe longingly
After shaping the dough
blanket over sleeping creation, one final rest
Our daily bread
of prayer produced, from suffering loosed
The “fourth man” in the oven graced
inner softness, cortical strength
Amid globular, floating serrated leaves
Dwells a dreamy lily in milk white frock
She is the new occupant of my small pond
Fructified by swimming fish and croaking frog
Like a nymph over the water’s still surface
She smiles and sways in unusual grace,
With the regal flourish of a beaming bride!
A sight, that’ll lit a smile on many a face!
In the circular pond dappled with green algae
As the early beams of sunlight come to cajole
She stands proud, lifting her fair face to the sun
Awakening ripples of joy in my sullen soul!
Placed First
Strand (1066) Poetry Contest
Mother said of all the mid-summer flowers she loved best,
The common garden dahlia was clearly her favorite.
Every Spring she carefully hand-placed the sturdy tubers,
Tenderly caring for each one, watched it bravely shoot up,
Growing, until large luscious red, orange, and purple blooms
Burst forth like the golden globular sun they resembled.
Some have noticed strolling through a garden of dahlias
Is very much like sorting through large boxes of buttons, *
All sizes, shapes, and colors waiting to be selected.
Mother saved the bulbs of her favorites from year to year
Carefully wintered them over in the damp root cellar,
Watching for earliest signs of tender green shoots sprouting.
Mother told us after she became seriously ill,
To make sure a quilt of dahlias lay over her grave.
When she left us at the end of that torturous July
For her bier we had a blanket assembled from her beds
Of the species of daisies, zinnias, chrysanthemums
And, as she requested, several pure-white dahlias.
*idea from "dahlias" on Internet
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Written March 11, 2021
For "Flower-Flowers (Imagery) Contest
by Constance La France
Each line contains 14 syllables
Oh hi me hence to the laundromat
Bearing many a malodorous sock
As ofttimes a shepherd will boldly go
To the babbling brook where the clear waters flow
With a line of the wooliest beasties in tow
(Or sometimes merely formed up in a row)
Which comprise his caprinaerious flock
A football jersey, meant for sport
Relegated now to work
A dozen holed and yellowed shorts
Which in a dank corner lurk
Some threadbare jeans and faded tees
A brace of sweatpants lacking knees
And a woolen sweater, rife with fleas
I find I must transport
As manly heart anticipates the finding of a laundromat queen
Perhaps a Vida Guerra clone
Or Jennifer Lawrence all alone
Or Charlotte McKinney, sans cell phone*
But it doesn't seem to be my day, none such are here, I ween.
When it comes to laundromatic love it seems I am quite out of luck,
For the only lass who toils within
Sports globular frame and trebular chin
And more body hair than Rin Tin Tin
Much like Rosanne Barr with a silly grin, had her face impacted a truck.
*So she can't call for help.
Tomato King
(self proclaimed)
Written: by Miracle man
2-5-2020
Temps changed quickly from seventies to thirties,
from sunny to snow in just twenty-four hours.
Trees are still naked, holding no singing birdies,
but beds will soon burst with wild violet flowers.
Now is the time for planning tomato planting,
planting time comes beyond average frost date.
While huge Goliath tomatoes do sound enchanting,
I may chance planting early, sometimes I can’t wait.
I get my first ripe tomato before the end of June,
this comes about when transplanting was chancy.
Generally, I plant tomatoes during a waxing moon,
and like my tomatoes big, red, globular, and fancy.
I plant, apply Epson salts, mulch, water, and fertilize,
stake, cage, and cover to protect from strong wind.
Then a fleeting time later I start picking my prize,
those who enjoy them think they’re a Godsend.
Due to high potassium and heart problems I can’t eat’em but I can sure grow’em.
(Except when I cheat a little).
Tom
Gassy globular leap
splendor in chromatic tone
golden brown hues race,
leaping waters of delight.
Beneath prolific waves
A humpback whale
birthing.
A newborn rocked
in mother earth as womb,
discoveries come as sands shift;
The timeless sea has secrets,
she shares with only her offspring.
1-18-2020
STRAND any form any theme Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
Freedom rises in patriotic hues,
Lowered to half mast in mourning.
Abecedarians first salute of red, white and blues.
Greeting of new school day on slate-gray morning.
Pole sealed in globular cement — a foundation
Of a world of promise waving in the winds of fate.
Learning with loud claps of chalk dust in ovation.
Every student shaped by curved line or straight.
8/7/2018
Acrostic and Quatrain poetry contest
Sponsor: Savannah Brown
Errant steals,
like globular e-mocking,
stark Jabs in test,
wave's of sustainment globally casting flesh aside,
wantoness stops as
tubular horns row them all away...
Nickled as jells in the jangles,
wobbie in a talk in a mangle-
flippin' at it's angle',
crunch crockie crangle,
the bottle on a walk,
like a Laker in a stock.
BLACK CLOUD
Mourvédre* cluster overhead
weight of Everest
capped on nerves
suppresses colors
squeezes eyeballs
behind dark sunglasses
lightening drills through temples
attempts to prop up
one’s globular head
with isometric fingers
grape stains on cheeks
relieve pitch of crystal
shattering the oppression
kaleidoscopic relief
10/15/2017
*Mourvédre - (mohr-ved-ra) - dark red grapes
Rain Dance
The rooftops appear slick
reflective mirrors of the rain
droplets large and globular
flow down the rafters to the ground.
Splashes of water tap
brushing leaves and branches
releasing dry leftovers that still cling
long passed the chill slaps of winter.
Glistening in pale yellowed light
the trees canopy the scene
waving in soft gentle breezes
that waltz on the air.
There is a drumming in the wind,
a subtle rhapsody of sounds
setting a patterned flow
to some hidden syncopated beat.
Stiff and silent wallflowers
stand staunch, stationary and mute
like stranded stickles and bladed greens
unmoved by the melodies.
More wily and free
others dance unrestrained,
frail loose stemmed beauties
drenched in rhythm to rise and flow in the rain.
Wind spinners spin unrelenting, rotating fast and slow
wet with saturating drops
loitering on the leaves and wind
anxious to be part of May’s rain dance
In the corner dark and glum,
Extant off-casts lie plonked there,
To fill in the space
Knick-knacks, old wedding presents,
ornaments and filler-inners
Round and globular, bits and pieces,
Hide the harsh mangles and tangles
When walls at right angles collide
Vases on pedestals, lamps on tables with draws,
Triangular book shelve
Tiny, tall thin cupboards
All lurking and softening the dead, dank naughty corners
With curvaceous adornments and left-over stuff.
If rooms were round there would be no corners to fill
But, would you miss your corners
Like graves with headstones miss their mourners?
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