Long Bracket Poems
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I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...
Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed,
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
I'd say,
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised.
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate? If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us.
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow.
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you.
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep
It was an Autumn evening
With its cold always predicted
I rushed out of a taxi with a haste to meet the one who stole my heart
She kept reentering my mind!
I have never been so much attached to her image in my mind
She was glowing off lately, her signs of happiness were all over the place
Written all over her face and that is what I witnessed
Maybe happiness was a four-letter word, I reckoned!
Walking towards her place seemed longer that autumn evening
There was a moment I wanted to jog
A great idea employed my mind that I did not want to sweat
When I am with her, I cherish every minute that comes with it
I arrived at last
I was prompted to send her a text notifying her of my arrival
Within a minute I saw her bracket, sexy legs making their way towards me
It was only a while when I heard her sweet voice
Again, it seemed longer to reach her house and by this time I was care free
She was right next to me and that was the only thing making logic
I gathered my thoughts as I walked into her room to put the traditional bag I was gifted
I walked towards her in the kitchen as she concluded with her call
The warmth and chills I felt all at the same time mesmerized all my state of mind
I felt her scent and her warmth
I knew at that moment I could define everything in a line
She was freedom, longevity, tranquility and made me smile deeply
She had me discovering this scientific rare formula in my head
I felt her heartbeat against my own and by then I knew she was my all, the one I have always been searching for
Her kiss invited the motive for sex
Sex, I never thought would happen prematurely
My mind went on a field trip with notions
On such occasions people meet and great
And us we broke boundaries, the status quo
Everything seemed scripted with directors yelling “Action!”
The cameras were rolling with every sex scene we had as we kissed passionately
She was a great kisser, I placed all the blame to her on the scene of the crime
God Outlaws!
Her sexy naked body was in a shower we shared together and my lips losing control kissed her watery ones
I was so lost in my world
I knew I had a great story to tell
She was mine and I knew she was all that I longed
The audience were our inner souls which captured every move we made
Poet
Masego Nkuna
Valeria Valdermare once was a young ballerina who coveted a pair of red ballerina shoes. Oh! how she truly longed to grow up to become a prima ballerina! But alas! She was last in her class. All of her peers sneered and ridiculed her not only to her face. But behind her back in her absence. She possessed neither beauty nor grace. How could she continue bearing her heartbreaking disgrace?
Valerie worked harder and longer than the other ballerinas in her age bracket. Her teachers and their assistants took pity on her. They wanted to have her parents discharge her. Why should they waste their hard earned money on more lessons? Maybe Valeria should try something simpler by becoming a book worm? She certainly did not have any athletic nor dancing abilities!
But Valeria had a secret weapon. She had her very own fairy godmother, Blue Morning Flower. Her charge Carnation Pink Mayflower, was a younger fairy godmother of her exact age. It was Carnation Pink Mayflower who was awarded the higher honors.
When Valeria laid sleeping in her bed, Carnation Pink Mayflower. Tap her brown haired crown three times. Proclaiming each time,"Valeria, your wish has been granted unto you." Valeria dreamed she saw her in her nighttime visions. She had always believed in both fairy godmothers and pixies. Her parents never tried to get her even once to change her mind.
The next morning, there was a carnation pink wrapped present besides her princes' bed. She discovered her coveted red ballerina slippers. Grabbing her presents in her small hands. She ran downstairs and showed them to her astonished parents.
The next ballerina class session, Valeria put on the red slippers. When they began the practice warm up routines. Valeria noticed the difference they made. What used to be very difficult became easier. Her dance routines were also vastly improved. She astonished her whole class! How they envied her red ballerina slippers! Her childhood dreams of being a world renowned prima ballerina had just come true! She would dream and dance in bright colors!
Love as always,
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
June 01, 2020
***Inspired by Hans Christian Anderson's "The red shoes."
These are some interesting shrooms that i have never picked:
Bay bolete cap looks like brownish blood in color stipe is whitish brown mild flavour Edible
Black trumpet looks like black sardacenia
It’s edible.From its shape that is incredible
Pick it from June thru September
Charcoal Burner,your cap color is purple/olive to
grey .Stipe is creamy white. Its cap reminds me of a renaissance sky on a cloudy day .Its edible
Chicken of the woods cap isorangey reddish yellow color,a shroom with flair.Kind of a bracket fungus- its edible but take care
Coral Tooth Fungus looks like coral it’s colour is white as the driven snow .It is edible when soft
Remember pick it from May thru December
Crab Brittlegrill’s cap color red to purple or brown Smells like shellfish .Have a shellfish like flavor when. Cooking with fish should not be overlooked
Feild mushroom cap is creamy white . This shroom used everywhere with no care
The Flirt’s cap colour brown like wood to pink or red. Stipe is whitish. Taste is mild and nutty .It would be great in salads with honey
Golden Chanterel is one my favorites.It’s flappy cap goes from orangey brown to yellow. Flavour is like apricot and mellow. Would taste good in a fruit salad
The Gypsy mushrooms cap color is golden brown
It reminds me of a feild of wheat. Once cooked has a it has a-nutty flavour that one can savour
The King Bolete ,I want to try. It has a mild nutty taste .I think that is great. Its cap is brown. It’s
stipe is white.Remember the times from June thru December
Morels: Black and Yellow. I would like them on
my cheese burgers,what a treat Yellow morel cap color yellow-brown or cream -brown .Black morel cap color golden brown to black. Cook them well ,put in your favorite dishes you will never go back
The Orange Oak Bolite I want to try.It cap is golden orange to brown. Stipe is white .They are easy to be found. Cook them well or you will experience Hell .
On North Penderton Island I saw boacious boletes To bad I could not get them it would
be a treat.
I saw huge fly agaric too. Their cap 10 inches in diameter who knew .Painted on in painting,
got criticized by my teacher -who knew she had a cow!
a cow
mysterious as Lemuel
unlike hundreds of
other rowdy seniors
constituting the nineteen
seventy seven graduating class
of Methacton High School,
this now mooch older non "Warrior"
(alma mater mascot) alumni -
of late more astute,
(yea rather boyish looking edging
into age bracket,
viz ranked as ole coot)
far to late for
me or any brute
to gather rose buds,
fat and/or slim
chance i.e. remote
while I may in my dreams
play Mozart's Magic flute
at this late stage of life,
no harvested crop yield,
nor any sown
healthy product rendered moot
('cept tantamount to rotten
tomatoes and fruit)
all, cuz your truly
did not give a hoot
'bout his future,
later when the
requisite need for loot
would be absolutely necessary,
not necessarily to buy
a fine gold spun suit,
but more so to be financially
(non bombastically, egotistically,
nor inimitably) to toot
my own (baritone)
horn, no any which
ways appearing snoot
tush (more likely absent minded,
versus trying tubby astute),
no matter this myopic googly eyed
non-boastful logophile,
these days (lives duet
tough lee hand to mouth
existence) nearly destitute
his whole pro Lix life,
witnessed, and flaunted
(reed dit as) inked badge,
(regardless getting promoted,
but nearly failing every grade),
and ambivalent toward
dismal poor performance report cards
testament toward tummy
severely lacking ambition,
while analogously forced
to climb hemp fat tick rungs
jute dish shuss academic ladder,
no matter rope burns
squarely didst root
moost unfavorable outcome
to this wimp who mouthed
pop eyed expletive
conveying "oh chute",
whose then palm (olive)
oiled pilot size glute
more accurately boot
found me poor bum promoted
to higher baby boomer chair
despite favorably portentous signs
tubby potential vagrant,
who would lack self reliance,
nor give a hoot
to stitch survivalist parachute.
Pièce De Résistance Lauded...
Ninety years April 9th 1929
after maiden USA début
hoop fully more than a few
remain, a filial connection
I can cultivate and hew
cuz, the ghost o' me late
mother, would be Jew
(red eye with swollen tears),
bull lent beef hoar, aye rue
permanent AWOL of papa,
whose paternal Zayda, I never knew!
He, pulled off a top aerospace
rocket launched secrete tete a tete
impossible mission an ace legendary
sharpshooter, sans Aaron Harris
firearms passion never did abate
spewed spear shaped ammunition
in league with the missus to create,
who no surprise hapt tubby his bedmate
launched payload with joint consent
(plus bonus) re: private effort to satiate
call of the wild hit targeted bullseye
(eggs cell lent lucky shot) did initiate
genesis nine months later begetting
an audacious, industrious, rambunctious
bouncing baby boy with black curls atop pate
christened Boyce Brandon Harris
bright eyed infant bestowed with brilliance,
brawn, and bravado quickly evinced late
tent smarts landed lad admittance schools
geared to those who did accelerate
with mathematics and sciences, which
positive accolades since a lil whippersnapper
family and academicians did accentuate,
thus stellar classroom dedication, diligence
dogged nose to grindstone did accommodate
him being courted by prestigious storied
halls of education kickstarting promising
future and adequate income to accumulate
ample to live comfortably within middle
class economic (March madness) bracket,
and provided basic creature comforts fate
blessed him, and Harriet Harris nee Kuritsky
with this sole son and two daughters, I advocate
as exemplary siblings (despite) contention,
which required lifetime to agglomerate,
and estranged relationship with me father
coalescing into pleasant raport, adolescent
chomped at the bit, and
did fidget, cower, and alienate
experienced palpable tension
as though a "FAKE" wall,
I could not eradicate!
"You Wanna Play!!!"
Deep into the forest
I found a wooden doll
Porcelain eyes, creeping from behind
Like TV, the music haunted every step
Falling into a paralyzed state
The moonlight darkened before my eyes
The bitter taste of sulfur covered the scene
My heart pumped itself to sleep
Pure evil waltzes around the frigid floor
My body of stone Claimed by a sudden voice
"Get Up! Get Up, before I devour your soul"
The same wooden doll, dark porcelain eyes
Now speaks, his claws bracket around my neck
"Get up, Simon wants to play with you!"
In a sick demonic way, I woke with my lips are sewn shut,
Silent, but alive!
Simon sang a song
"Simon wants to play, Simon wants to play! "
"Simon Says, do as I ask or else endure pure evil"
I wanted to jump to my feet
But, I felt frail and powerless
"Simon Says, beg for Life"
I kneel, pleading with my hands
For he knows I'm mute
"Simon Says, yell a little louder."
He can't hear my screams
Simon bites right into my mind
My eyes began to brim with tears
He dances pushing tangible fear
Simon then speaks,
"Simon Says, to stand on one foot."
Blood slowly slips as I stood on one foot
"Simon Says, get on the floor, slither like a snake
I slithered for a few seconds, then I stopped!
"Simon did not say to stop!" he mumbled
Snatching what remains of my heartbeat
Simon laughs, while he screams,
loosen the thread around my lips.
Simon then pulls a dagger from his little vest
A slash at my ankle - I fell
"Simon then says, get up!"
By this time, my adrenaline kicks in
This wooden doll, dark porcelain eyes
No longer scares, I slam Simon against the tree
"But, Simon Didn't Say."
Finally, I broke free from the insanity of imagination.
Taking control of Simon's game
Simon looked at me with a sad face "Saying"
"Simon doesn't want to play with you anymore."
BY: PD
Over ten worms then? In coats. Goggles? Flight then. Huge paper bees. Altitude 4 on curvatures rattling over the field,fauna and hedgerows. Boom boom boom beasts coming. Mooooving across the territory pulling dragging. When old then its chop chop chop. But if a falling blaster gets there first then death arrives earlier. After a squirt of mud. Nice. Lick lips then. Taste good? No? Yes? And now the ships are coming. Painting playing poker. Captain geranium. General ox. And a poxy fly-by of a boat with 8000 foot wings. But no oars. Quiet is it? For now. All are writing and writhing in formatted charts. To plan the circumference of a beach landing is to plant a cactus in a salt marsh. Humming. Sing a long a song. In either of the varied tongues located in the land masses. Bing bong in a mansion house. Centre of village. Plans are made. Fortress swept by whipping a floor. And a mop is pleasing to the eye. But only after a curfew. Can one really develop lead from that style of bread? Hurry up and bring it home. It is to be said that a fickle strawberry in a flowery dress can pick up many a uniformed prawn. And so it was. And in the a d and the b c and the ultimate balancing act between pillars. Then all fall down. Like tumbling masses of peas into a stench of brown. It is largely thought that the opinions of one are less kinder than another. To form a unison is not the plan between the iron kilted musings of rulers. Turning twisting taking touching tombs. Diving into the depths of the caverns. High viewpoints equal many pointed mountains. Justify not the wisdom stemming from an ionised tea towel. And place the trowel to rest gently. Then go play hop scotch with 15 eggs, 1 dew ball and a cake. With or without cream. Dare to jump off a mysterious marshy rock holding a leather book? 98b equals 64f in a cloud bracket. Xxxxx versatile valiant vanquis. Xxxxx pasteurization z
Form:
Five Or More
What is normal when I lie in bed at night wishing I had a man. Not just any man but the man I have prayed for repeatedly. An associate of mine approached me and asked how come You do not have a man? Many people say, “be specific in your prayer tell GOD the height, weight, race, income bracket, body type and heart of the man you want. “
Yeah, I begin to wonder why she has been married five times. Is she praying for a specific man and getting pieces of a man with every marriage? Who are they to tell me anything about a man? Yes, I want a man to love me, love GOD, love people, love to share, cuddle, talk, exercise, work, discuss matters, share his feelings, cook a little, laugh a lot, healthy, thoughtful, has an income, thinks outside the skull, generous to charities, wants to travel and does… with me by his side. This special one person I pray for is not somebody else’s man or husband. I want my own. Maybe this is the difference between me and her who has a lot to teach a grown woman like myself how to get a man. Viagra for women is sufficient in helping me get a man. I want a real man though. I want one to find me who love women, respect women write, plans, and asks questions, read a lot, know how to make me feel like a lovable woman always…even when he is away.
I never meant to be single my whole life here on earth. Somebody, please let this man find me. I want to be found. I want to allow what the man binds on earth to be bound in heaven. Let me BE! Stop marrying every man who travels along the road to his destiny to find his bride. I am no different than you. I can be a good match for he who asks and finds me. GOD has someone for everyone. He never said I have five or more for some.
Carolyn Y. Palmer
Behold the pulchritude overhead exalts to about a spread.
It is o full swift which greatly outstrips thunder and gale added,
Yet ocular to sigh from more than a score of hillocks afar.
It is yet not as harefooted as my head can proceed thinking,
Wending in raining sands anyway in the world; I am, warping.
Eclipsing, rising flowering is stalking to a lightning hark.
Fit ratherish hebetates the wit seeing the fleeting on-dit.
Wights excitedly get unaware and err without a merit.
Thunderstorm is a marvel, a thrill, and opposite to a pit.
To expand the concept in top glass, I can only compound it
To a bit, as Oak's nether jut loud rackets; I lief bracket it
To daunted lit fibrils in an electric, animated chit.
Grandiosity and haste of german "Blitz" allure me pretty,
Puffing sinew of great intensity as exit gratefully.
No wonder Homer, a sage, enkindled Zeus with it slatefully.
Withal, Gandalf scragged up a demon by a bolt, hit it fatefully.
I fumble in night to kiss spits heard in my inner olio.
To fancy, a mountain of clouds on the stratosphere sits and flows.
Ergo, zenith and nadir fascinate each other, pitch and tow.
Lightning is jars of macedoines of grits afloat as dominoes.
A scad of millesimals in a galaxy: shrunk, shot, and blows.
Such dragons breathe snows wee of infinitesimal ratio,
So snows sock the gullible cherub in me so as hue arrows.
A bolt o real as it speeds, is so so vivid; No nod, it glows.
A man tranquil in a head, able or wicked, it's good to know,
Mental heaven to if it is full facile to trow; Thor follows.
Form: