Long Avidly Poems
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He’s a fellow souper,
And one of our friends.
Who avidly writes his heart,
Of the times we’re living in.
Half of his life he worked,
Out on the oil field.
And enjoys country living,
Beside the pastures and fields.
For under the Texas sky,
His poetic heart writes in verse.
While alone on the farm,
He and the page converse.
There’s loved ones he lost,
Who he has been missing.
If you can’t find him on the farm,
He’s down by the river fishing.
His name is Ronald Bingham,
Living on prairies abroad.
Married for 38 years,
And a happy child of God.
He is extremely blessed,
With four children of his own.
And also has four grandchildren,
And he calls Texas home.
__________________________
Dedicated to Ronald Bingham
a fellow souper and friend.
I am avidly binge watching building shows at a marathon pace.
Somehow feeling it is keeping me in touch with the whole human race.
The prices are outrageous, out of my league or comfort zone.
I am horrified at the lot prices, astronomically expensive alone.
Some of these rich of the wealthy pay more for the glazing than whole houses I have owned.
They seem to start with unique ideas that sound completely new.
However, by the time they are finished they are all the same hue.
Why I have spent countless hours watching this building show,
Is anyone’s guess, but I think I secretly know.
It keeps me from mundane, housework that always feels undone.
It keeps me from mopping and cleaning, that are simply no fun.
It saves me from doing boring tasks here and there,
It keeps me from wasting time on stuff for which I simply don’t care.
So if the phone rings, or someone is at the door, and I do not answer, during my binge.
Know that I’m enjoying a new surroundings, and guilt I do not feel even a twinge.
From high up
The rushing water leaps
A daring dive into the unknown.
Unrestrained
It tumbles down, eyes closed
Savouring the adrenalin rush
Of bold youth;
It flows in breathless flight
Crystalline streaks of exuberance.
Deafening
The roar of fulfilment
As waters meet and avidly merge.
--------------------------------------------------
Paul Callus ~ 29th October, 2014
Form: Parallelogram de Crystalline.
[It consists of 4 stanzas of 3 lines each.
The syllable count for each stanza is 3, 6, 9.]
Contest: Some Form Of Crystalline
Sponsor: nette onclaud
Placed: 4th
Whispers
How can I ever forget the evening we first met
Under the twilight of placid sun about to set
When your sweet whispers ably set me afire
As I embraced in earnest your loving desire.
You held me close intently as if for ever
In language of sweet love eminently clever
Inviting the peeking moon to join our affair
As a distant star blushingly glared with flair.
Lyrics of our romance resonated in my ear
As rhythm of our hearts echoed with cheer
Revealing tenderly a tale of heavenly bliss
Singing sweet nothings with a passionate kiss.
Your urges grew steadily more meaningful
Each time your verses called me beautiful
Intimating fondly that I occupied your mind
Towering to heights only true love can find.
We told each other wishes always come true
For love we own is granted to a select few,
As happiness willingly resides in our hearts
Bonded with admiration that never departs.
As your eager vibes pronounce our love anew
Every word of passion draws me closer to you
Conveying me to fervent places I never knew
Craving for your touch as our feelings renew.
Discourse of love resonates with adoring smile
As we revel in romantic talk avidly fragile
And echo of our minds reverberates with a sigh
Enamored in angelic love that will never die.
November 17, 2017
Whisper Sweet Nothings
Sponsor: Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
First Place
Now and again I like to peek back through the mists of yore,
To muse about things that now can only be recalled as lore.
Things that are as American as apple pie and barbeque,
Traditional things of which my grandkids have no clue!
I recall the Fuller Brush Man who made his monthly call,
With suitcases full of gadgets that could do any job at all.
The Watkins Man offered spices and Carter's Little Liver Pills,
And Lydia Pinkham's miraculous brews to cure the ladies' ills!
Encyclopedia salesmen made their spiel, took the money and fled,
Implying sans his tomes your kid would become a dunderhead!
You bought more Cloverine Salve than you could ever use,
Since your kid was trying to earn a bike, it was hard to refuse!
I avidly read every word of a newsy little paper called "Grit."
It certainly expanded my country boy horizons quite a bit!
Butcher's Funeral Home distributed fans for most every occasion,
Especially to churches regardless of their religious affiliation.
You could find anything at Kresge's Five and Ten Cent Store.
They returned your change in a tube from the second floor.
Glitzy malls, computers and off-shore acquisitions,
Have almost left us bereft of some great American traditions!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
It is really a veritable question of our time,
In fact - of all times,
on this once beautiful
molten rock with sea and sand,
We so avidly call our home
Paradoxical fearlessness
albeit so sublime, created by the dark force’s evil hidden hand,
That might only remain a vision,
Inherited to us in trust,
Yet neglected from addiction to,
Their indoctrinated pathetic lust,
In fact, we do not either really care,
To whatever shape it takes
All material realms
- are prisons,
That irregardless demand already
A Spiritual entrapment
Laid to rest..
And also laid to bare,
All arbitrary enforced concepts cast aside, for a while,
Particularly ones of Group,
All Manufactured by "elite" an ignorance to reconcile,
A dastardly incensed minority,
Destruction a recipe for their rank..and file,
of a toxic and insidious soup,
Plotting planning from within
A dank rotten and riddled carcass entity,
Lies in angst ridden, wicked And flailing stench to blame
Behind veiled prison its minions hide,
Use of an external matrix game
A feigned nucleus for outside,
Of Humanity, therefore every man, woman and child,
Natural Truth and Natural Law are not and could not ever be to blame,
Nature, an almost silent piety, ever giving kind and mild,
The Natural beauty of our World its name,
Has suffered through constant anxiety,
To one day be released
from possession,
a marcarb emblematic walled Trophy obsession,
In cretinous treasonous bastard's Hall..
of heinous undeniable and awkward shame,
Indefinitely, behind this
obvious veil
Originally most inhabitants here,
were seemingly, invariably though quite sane
It therefore really does beg
the question, once more, to relearn once again..Man's role,
To premise this if you can,
Never questioning to falter or to fail,
God's Providence recaptures All,
Our mind's genuine faculties
and Soul
On Earth can Sanity ever Prevail..?
Kurt Hubbard-Beale
16th February 2022
ThePoetTree on Telegram
His young heart departed from
that adored town adorned by the September's frost,
wisked away by an uncaring father
whose extramarital affair
marred the family's harmony;
and his pretty mother drying away
his tears so innocent and warm,
to console him with a touch that had no haste!
That unspoken wish lingered avidly
through the saddened and turbulent years,
resisting to give in to languidness...
imagining, at night, each star gleaming
over his friend: the moon which went wandering
to find that little boy, who loved to listen to the tales
of warriors and heroes that defiantly
wouldn't fall out of the History books!
He went on living, but couldn't forget at all
what he left behind: a precious friend
even worthier than a treasure of gold;
and why had he to fulfill fate's prophecy in due time...
by sacrificing everything he wasn't willing to,
and opposing his will could have helped him turn the tide?
And as he grew older in foreign soil,
it all became clearer to him that truth had lost its virtue!
How could life deny him its fairness,
and make him choose at an age of fancifulness?
To have outgrown time had its disadvantage,
depriving him of a wonderful youth
not lived in spontaneousness
and to have the chance to dream by night,
and, by morning, wake up in a brighter light...
to pursue another dream into the sunset!
I crown the missus "champ impractical joker"
Unbeknownst the wife appeared unusually upbeat,
she did pretend and succeed
to give yours truly a special treat
aforementioned item alluded to purchased
at Liberty Ministry thrift store
3841 Ridge Pike
(some miles further east
same road identified as Main Street)
Collegeville, Pennsylvania 19426
I can show you proof courtesy
printed information on pocketed receipt.
Most times one garden variety generic bloke
(christened Matthew Scott Harris),
would with pursed lips think
and or mouth the words okey doke
what in the name of Judas Priest
by George, he a run of the mill
on the floss ordinary heavy mettle folk
doth thee spouse got up her (figurative) sleeve
thespian wannabe she never quite...
her constitute stardom quite a joke.
She practices April's fool day
(hoping nobody notices
as she looks askance)
every time she gets a chance
gleefully clapping her hands
while performing an impromptu (risque) dance,
when she pulls off
hat tricks of her trade
taking Europe in general and France
in particular by storm
madding crowds clamoring to prance
with said unsung hero.
The words mentioned above intended for you
dear anonymous reader to woo
allowing, enabling, and providing how I view
livingsocial linkedin with good n plenti true
without a shadow of doubt poetic license taken,
these words zealously, randomly, haphazardly
scattered across screen willy nilly I spew
trying to coerce coalescence of continuity
yet additionally trying to weave events
earlier today December 22nd, I review,
whereby yours truly while waiting in a queue
assorted merchandise fifty percent off
the spouse did avidly pursue
unbeknownst she would play a prank and outdo
pulling a doozy gag at my expense, he took netview
of utter tomfoolery, and readily admits Matthew
Scott Harris I nearly ate "faux chocolate soap"
finding wife in stitches, he too
did chuckle, cuz he knew
supposed treat smelled extremely fragrant
cocoa confection fortunately, I did not chew
but promptly spit out after sneezing atchew!
With a sizzle, and a woof and a squish and a zoom,
I jumped in my spaceship and I flew to the moon.
The moon was sticky, not smelly, and no cheese around.
I was irritated by how earthy was what we found.
We jumped back into the spaceship, and I pressed the red light.
We decided to go to Mars next; it was plainly in sight.
The gas indicator light said, you are all out, sorry my friend.
So here I was, stuck on the moon’s earthy west end.
Try the spare fuel tank, my crew said, pointing out the right button.
I tried to remember which one it was, and I found tasty mutton.
My first mate leaned over and pressed a panel that was green.
And fuel began filling my gas tank, clearly seen on the screen.
We all laughed and we joked as we sailed on to Mars,
And we pleasured each other with stories as we sailed through the stars,
And I made a note to myself, but avidly failed to mention
That the next time I took the commander’s course, I will pay more attention.
ever faithfully on time for our midnight rendezvous
you'll find me at my window looking out at the sky
avidly gazing up while stars blink in their morse code
under the year-round whimsy spell of moonlight's magic
and to my muse the nightly escapade begins
somehow connecting as she grabs and whirls
the tail of passing comets to take me for a spin
phantasmagorical images and feelings swirling
through the expanse of my inner universe
at the speed of light till i'm ready to explode
with an impassioned desire to put art to paper
and so forever immortalize this lust for life that burns within
as every poet's mission to share with whoever will listen
Read on air by invitation ~ May 15, 2022 'POETS HARBOUR'
AP: 1st place 2020
Submitted on May 19, 2022 for contest YOUR PASSION sponsored by REGINA McINTOSH - RANKED 6TH