Four senior guys above seventy
were accustomed to morning walk
in the close by park, forming a group.
They gossiped daily sitting on a bench.
One day, the number became three.
Next year another was absent : Then third one.
The lone one survived for few months.
Now the bench is vacant to mourn.
Her laughter was not a quest to be reacted to, but a theme to be braided into the menagerie of his life, a sunlight he pursued and a river he helmed, guiding him through all vibrancy to the quiet shore of his love for her.
.
He was a designer of the heart, her laughter the compass pointing north, the clandestine tongue that piloted his soul’s journey.
Each tinkle was an enigma gossiped on the wind, a fiction written in the stars, and his life’s great work was to trace its constellations, to discover every angle and shade, to encounter the response that was not a single word, but the entire poem of their conveyed presence.
It was harmonic in a language only his heart understood, a puzzle of pure pleasure whose pieces he gathered with every passing year.
He was not aspiring for a conclusive solution, but for the infinite possibilities within each new echo, the promise of a forever built on the foundation of a sound that made his world complete.
Her laughter was the sunrise of his days, the constellations of his nights, and the quiet peace that held him through it all.
Oops! Jill! Lookout, Jack!
I'm not a girl,
I never played with barbie dolls,
went head over heels for boys.
I never went to houses for sleepovers,
started rumors, gossiped.
No, none of that.
I never bullied people,
got into fights,
cared about my hair.
I'm not a girl at all.
I'm not a boy,
even though I play in mud,
wrestle with my friends.
I never played Fortnite for fun,
say idiotic things to the girls,
cuss at my teachers.
No, none of that.
I never wore the same clothes twice,
cared about what cologne I used,
played with bugs.
I'm not a boy at all.
I'm non-Bianary,
I play in mud,
watch anime,
low blow my friends,
dated girls,
wrote in a diary.
Yes, I have done all of this.
I wear lip gloss,
never lipstick,
didn't care about pimples.
I'm my own kind.
They/Them.
My great-aunt, Ada, said to me;
you’re like your father used to be;
I never knew quite what she meant
or cared, I had a life unspent.
Her sister, Mary, gave me books
which I devoured like cakes she cooks;
both were born Victorian girls
their high church collars, necks of pearls
whose tut-tuts shaped my father’s core;
gossiped my mother was a whore;
in which, sadly, there was some truth
notably after red vermouth
or Babycham and brandy wine;
the show of stocking tops a sign.
My grandma Hanna was the third
of sisters, with some values shared
before year ninety sixty nine,
who knew the truth, and broke the line;
encouraged me to go to sea;
not shelter in the morbid lee.
I decided to leave small battles for small fighters:
I stopped fighting those who gossiped about me
I have stopped fighting with my relatives
I stopped fighting for love and attention
I've stopped fighting for my rights in rallies
I stopped fighting to please everyone
I left this fight to those who have nothing to fight for anymore
I began to fight for my vision, my dreams, my ideas and my destiny
The day I gave up on small battles is the day
I became contented and much happier.
A heart misplaced, a love unreturned,
Priority given, where none was earned.
I saw your worth, a light in the gray,
While my own value, faded away.
Thoughts of you lingered, a constant refrain,
But echoes of silence, answered in vain.
Convenience ruled, a fleeting embrace,
My everyday longing, left without trace.
No response met my yearning to know,
My hopes and desires, nowhere to go.
Flaws and secrets, a story untold,
Replaced by whispers, a story of old.
Gossiped and mocked, my spirit subdued,
For less I settled, misunderstood.
But now I rise, with newfound grace,
Knowing my worth, in this sacred space
Where tides once gossiped for many an hour
about what lovers share; like grapes gone sour,
the strong opinions o’ friends will minds devour.
A reputation guarded against smut
and smiles that’s ever radiant abut
the cultivated, fertile soil and glut.
A gentle breeze that ruffles the recall
of memories that bleed freely, then stall
at the precipice of confession – they fall.
Now fervour spent and mutinous thoughts gel
in favour of peace; not a too hard sell
before the final call by clamorous bell.
As welcome waves engulf the thoughts and sweep
recall away, nostalgia recedes to weep.
Spirit can only be where body be
as cleaved together they be
‘til body’s breath does cease
and breath of soul release.
Yet, among some
‘tis mused and gossiped:
Though there be limits
of rigid body space
so imposed by Nature’s laws
Perhaps perhaps maybe
and yet perhaps a soul may-can-drift
above beyond the skin the blood of earth
to fly free free fly
dip and soar into that space
that above where eagles fly
And see where no edges be...
That all where all be one in a space timeless
that where place of all becoming
all held together
in the one command of
Let there be light.
Cucking-stools
A ballad, dating from about 1615, called "The Cucking of a Scold", illustrates the punishment inflicted to women whose behavior made them be identified as "a Scold"
Then was the Scold herself,
In a wheelbarrow brought,
Stripped naked to the smock,
As in that case she ought:
Neats tongues about her neck
Were hung in open show;
And thus unto the cucking stool
This famous scold did go
Dunking or Cucking Stools were used for women who “gossiped”
last used in 1809
Stool of Repentance has a long HISTORY!
Will it make a comeback? Bite your tongues
The foxes came to call
On a late winter visit
The males name was Clive
The females name was Bridget
They arrived as you and I
Were sitting down to sup
You kindly called them
To the door and asked them what was up
They had the news that no one knows
A tasty bit indeed
We gossiped long into the night
All from that tiny seed
And sent them off with foxy bags
Filled with bobs and bits
The little bird that to them
Carried the word
Alas got none of it
The sparrows praised the morning sun,
He hugged the forest in his warm- outreached arms
The sun cascaded and grazed his fingers through every crisp leaf,
Over every sleepy tenant- illuminating their curiosity for each other
And the breeze laughed- happy to be alive
She laughed as she ruffed every tree,
All now fully dressed
She cackled down from the clouds and into every burrow
The family of trees just stood by watching the neighborhood awaken
Cousins rubbing elbows- Fathers shading their sproutlings
Creaking in quiet protest to the construction worker woodpeckers
Just happy at the turn of the weather
And the early blooming lilies gossiped to themselves
About the underdressed daisies
And the breeze disturbing their groomed leaves
And how the sun was too hot so early
The sky watching them all rejoicing,
For she wasn't alone anymore,
Left with bleeding ears from the squirrels complaints of the cold
Landlord to to all she welcomed them back to her care
In bloom was it all, and all was in bloom
March 1, 2023
In bloom poetry contest
Joseph May
Great Aunt Ada
not thought of her for years
she made me laugh
till I cried real tears
fascinated by her talk
never wanting her to go
her every sentence finished
with like and that you know
hidden under the table
her delicious visiting days
mentally counting
each use of her phrase
as she gossiped away
about him and her and so and so
just general village chat
like and that you know
hands over mouth
trying not to laugh aloud
as she chatted away
about the village crowd
such a nice old lady
with a conversational flow
and to emphasise each point
her like and that you know
I don't know why
she came back to mind
I reminisce a lot
these days I find
a horrible child
I hope she didn't know
how I writhed with joy
like and that you know
We laughed uncontrollably together.
We comforted each other in need.
We always made fun of each other.
We always had each other's backs.
We fought for delicious food.
We gossiped about people together.
We dreamed together, accompanied by dreamy clouds.
We walked holding each other's hands even when we were surrounded by negativity.
We just knew we were soulmates in the form of best friends.
We made playlists together.
We fought, but made up eventually.
We made memories that I'll continue to cherish until the day I die.
We complained about each other's stupidity.
But we had tears in our eyes at the thought of us separating.
I can say with certainty that you are the best thing that ever happened to me.
I'd like to thank you, my friend, for making me feel loved and accepting me the way I am.
Your friends would have viciously gossiped and jeered,
your parents have shouted: "No way, how bizarre!
What does he live on, to be sick he appeared?
Hands off, this odd fish is as old as we are."
I wanted the best for you, therefore I feared
declaring my love would have gone much too far.
Dispel nagging doubts now, so please let me know:
Your answer would certainly have been a no?
September 09, 2022
OTTAVA RIMA Poetry Contest
sponsored by L. Milton Hankins
8 lines, 11 syllables per line
rhyming pattern: abababcc
Ah! How I wish?
With a great thought
In my heart, moving me emotionally
How I wish I'm living in a world of fantasy
Where things are nor considered reality
Where things are just lives of a fairytale
How I wish I'm living a world of romance
Where my deepest thoughts are shared with my lover
Where I can cling to my lover and hold unto thy bosom
Without being questioned
Or physically hurt
Or gossiped about
How I wish I can wave round the atmosphere in search
Of a sensation beyond bound
That's so climatic
With a limit no bound
Free to flee over the sky
Beyond wonder ever known
For I wish
And I wish
I lived in a world of less regard
Less regard for who is looking at you
Less regard for who is gossiping about you
It will just be in a world with me and my lover
Sub Categories
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