Long Breezily Poems
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summer slips its heated veil in September
a noiseless stride smoothing out
the numbing pace of leisure
we pull back to the looming pitch of harvest
revering all its bounty
twilight summer
as students on campus embrace renewal
breezily swept up in a spirit of new ideas
that burn through old ones
filters of wanderlust, discovery, concentration
that frame a path for growth
reclaiming the active tone of younger voices
inevitable meandering to fall
wanning hours of summer sun
that bring light's gaze upon you
a folding inward
in shadowy cooler nights
that knit round you
like a healing sweater
to forget the green that's lost beyond our borders
in the churn and flash of breaking autumn colors
Composed: September 17/21
Unorthodox nonestablismentarian epitome
Describes celibate bent aegis.
Mein kampf illustrates gravitas.
Underdog muted lest intimidation
think bully brandishing fist in my face
threatening to buzzfeed me
a brassy knuckle sandwich.
While breezily reading Judy Bloom,
(whose material geared
toward young adult)
book titled Blubber - published in 1974,
(which year found yours truly - me
undergoing amazing transition
classified as puberty)
bemoaned childhood's end - id est mine
interestingly enough romanticized boyhood
livingsocial within Lake Woebegone
(way before Garrison Keillor
named said fictitious town),
purely swiftly tailored
harried styled fabrication,
although that first decade
found torturous growing up years
more so courtesy
self exclusion from reindeer games,
thus during lunch or recess
(two most favorite classes)
bullies turned me into minced meat
taunted and teased
a severely socially withdrawn boy,
who never shared emotional agony,
he internalized verbal slings and arrows
eventually physically succumbed
from brickbats indiscriminately
lobbed at painfully shy
once upon a time happy go lucky lad,
(with a button nose),
when he whiled away days of his life
as the world turned
first at Lantern Lane
for about a half dozen plus years,
then at 324 Level Road
for approximately
one third of present existence
unbeknownst to him
that psychologically dark shadows
lurked within the outer limits
of the twilight zone
haunting corporeal essence
attached to those lovely bones,
now saddled with excess adipose tissue,
especially around belly of the beast
housing hunger artist
starving for knowledge,
and peopling his overactive imagination
with exemplary protagonists
blithely thwarting incendiary threats,
cuz of natural born defense against
gunning character assassination
courtesy fearsome imbeciles
hell bent on nasty, short and brutish fiends,
who did their collective bidding
vis-à-vis cut throat leviathan,
who overshadowed and locked in
propensity to live free and clear
analogous to unfettered noble savage
cannibalizing yours truly (me) as fancy feast.
Soul asylum salvation sought
as if survivor of mental health challenges
akin to foreigner trying
to sidestep gingerly self annihilation.
For Snickers, Aug. 2013 - May 3, 2022
My husband fell in love with him on sight -
the little puppy he brought home one day.
In welcoming him we took such delight -
the way he got excited just to play
or how he was so glad to see us when
we got home from our jobs; he’d wag his tail,
then run to get his rope on which to tug.
So glad indeed were we with him back then.
The years flew by. We got to know him well -
like how he would stand up to get a hug!
Yes, on his two hind legs he would rise up
to let us hug him. Oh, he was our star -
our Snickers named for being a sweet pup,
with markings colored like a Snicker’s bar.
He was not perfect. All pets have their flaws.
But he caught on to most things easily -
like how to act while we were traveling.
He loved his little treats. How sweet he was.
When grandchildren came over, breezily
he played; then things began unraveling.
Our dearest Snickers, with such love to give,
became afflicted, but we did not know
how little time our dog had yet to live.
How greatly did we grieve to see him go.
No more to get to see his cute brown eyes
or listen to him begging for his treat.
No more long walks and things we used to do
like watching him with Christmas toys he’d prize.
Without our doggy, life’s not quite complete.
Dear Snickers, always we’ll remember you.
May 9, 2022
For Form O- Ode- New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme F: Pet
Another whistling train speeds by in midnoon,
the jeering lad waves at pensive passengers
absorbed in serene, not adverse feelings;
his youth is vibrant and ready to lampoon!
Daises, jasmines and violets are gently lulled
in their wild and lush meadows as it rushes by;
ravens disperse in pervasive fear so unequaled;
what was too calm turns into chaos: a pitiful cry!
Is it nostalgia he clings to, or something else?
That landscape is as vivid as his happy yesterday;
he hears the shrieking horn, its sound is not terse:
crossing the tracks can be fatal in mischievous play!
The adventurous boy climbs the breezily and balmy hills,
and excited by the spectacular view, he begins to hum;
all sonorous canaries start warbling to accompany him:
they echo in the valley below to awaken church bells!
Another whistling train speeds by in midnoon,
he describes this scenery in an evocative poem;
no tears go to waste, they're precious to him:
it's nighttime, even darkness will grant his boon!
angry antelopes allowing ants access
bashful buzzards behaving beautifully
curious calves cavorting in the corn
definitive ducks digesting division
eager elephants eliciting excitement
frenzied freckled frogs freely frolicking
greasy green grubworms groveling and grimacing
harried hyenas hectically hopping hopefully
ignorant iguanas ignoring the implausible
jubilant jackals jiggling jiffy jewelry
kayaking kangaroos kibitzing in Kenya
liberal llamas liberating little Libya
miniscule musical mollusks making merry
nine nervous newts nibbling newtons
orangutangs orchestrating outdated Ohio
pressurized primates providing privacy
quarrelsome quails quizzing quahogs
resurrected roosters receiving riotous relatives
sassy seasoned sea serpents sallying forth in secret
tantalizing tarantulas tasting tree lined treats
understated urchins undoing underwater ugliness
visible vixens vibrating toward victory
wily wise walruses whistling in water wrecks
‘xtraordinary ‘xotic eagles expecting easy eggs
young Yellowstone yaks yelling their youthful truth
zealous zebras zipping breezily through Zanzibar
Living death ,hotel for hypochondriacs?
Where there are rarely empty beds
But some bodies may soon be.
Bright curtains are there for all
To screen their shame and pain,
Though the final curtain will surely
On some soon fall..
Blue-jacketed staff breezily
Glide about their tasks
Smoothly and swiftly
Until becalmed by a lull
At the nursing station
Before a maelstrom erupts.
Suddenly a sour smell wrinkles noses
And the team sweeps into action.
Soothing and rancourless,
"You're a terrible man!"we hear them say
As they set about erasing
The evidence of soiled humanity.
Yet we see their neurosis
Over death-defiling bugs
In the continued wiping
Of bed rails and curtains of grime
And then there is peace
In our time.
There will be other flurries,
Punctuating regular routine
But, respite gained,they relax.
A question about the time ,
Is met with,"Ten past s***e!"
Cathartic laughter refreshes
Them for the long ,long night .
I saw one day a city of trees
Walking down a path with me
Following hidden eyes to see
Saplings jungled up together
Like a stream of walkers too
Confused at all by windy weather
Deer pellets scattered walk-aways
Somebody's got to clean that up
Small insects eat away the maze
Emerald canopy of light
Daylight flyers speeding through
Branches complicate their flight
Crowded young trees struggling tight
Set an arboreal street fight
Leaping tall for teen age light
Botanical light shows in the trees
Sun rays scattering breezily through
Red and green for traffic leaves
Partying fireflies up all night
Celestial revue of starlight bright
Crickets and peepers sing delight
Subway system of crooked holes
Gophers nudging sexy moles
Touching each other heading home
Spiders vending corpsal flies
In handy snacky six-pack buys
To homeward-bound commuter eyes
Fauna's eating Flora The Breeze
Loving her out in the hot dry leaves
Completing her lust for life you see
And Green Man is the mayor bold
Dryad, she's his squeeze and maid
Public works by beavers laid
Learning to walk, a child of three
First time I saw the City of Trees
Dryad was holding her hand for me
Dryad, she's my love to be
Taking her inventory of bees
Holding her charms about the trees
So we say and so it seems
City of Trees and sunlight beams
Making love for me and my dreams
"...a band beyond description,
like Jehovah's favorite choir."
Though I'm only old enough to be
Some hippie's kid brother
I've been to hear the music play the band
Times more than a few.
I liked the carnival atmosphere,
Smokeladen from passage of pipes,
Filling the thrumming concert sites
Wherever they appeared,
Everyone dance-happy, everybody friends
When Jerry's Kids and their kids
Got together for awhile.
I remember one of the last times,
A summer's night breezily warm,
The day shedding its bright heat
Drawing slowly down in orange light, purple clouds
While a multicolored audience drew itself together
As a living kaleidoscope for initiate eyes.
I watched one buxom girl,
Clad solely in a blue cotton dress
Wrapped like a mist around her,
Dancing trippingly 'round and 'round through the crowd,
Spinning and hopping,
Lovely as some windblown flower.
They played their usual four-hour set,
One song melting into another
Weaving melodic tapestries
Waxing better the more they went on,
'Til old Bobby Weir got to screaming out
For sheer joy.
Well, I say you can keep your Metal Boys,
Your screeching Fly-By-Nighters,
Deride if you will such nostalgic things.
These gents survived to play their hearts out
From the Summer of Love to the Spring of c.d.s,,
From tiedye n' jeans to Music Video
- Yet still, head-to-head, they could bury
The best the newbies could hope to show;
Could play 'em right into the ground.
Myself, I find it hard to see
What was so funny about a generation dedicating itself to love.
Give me a band like this any day,
Who can draw out well-tailored bankers
To pass and puff,
Fire up forty-year-old mothers-of-five
To dance in place for two hours, enthralled -
Yes, I'm grateful for the Dead, my friends.
They'll always be all right by me.
Lying on my back,
the warm sun blanketing,
I watched the cloud stacks drift,
breezily blown across the bluest skies,
imagining, dreaming . . .
Dangling from my lips,
sweet honeysuckle straws dripped nectar candy,
delicious extract for flavoring dreams,
visions of the joys to come
when I was older grown,
reveries of life and love
and children of my own.
Beneath the apple tree,
in spring pink blossom carpeted,
I laid out the charming rooms
that framed a happy home.
The hollyhocks lent their blooms
for babies hankie-swaddled
and clothed in petal gowns of white and pink.
My flower-children, plump and fragrant skinned,
rocked in cradles strung between the branches,
were lulled to sleep with tender lullabies.
The happy days of childhood passed,
and I was suddenly grown
with tiny babies of my own,
sweeter far than any flower known.
The kisses that I gave to them
were answered, returned to me,
from lips like rose buds formed
perfumed with baby breaths, fragrant and warm.
The childhood dream that I held dear
I treasured year after year
until I found it realized,
reflected in my babies' eyes.
Copyright, August 16, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
She faught for his happiness,
Then forget about her life's darkness.
She faught for bringing back his kindness,
Then forgot about her own wildness.
She taught him to laugh more & more,
Then she talked about herself rare and rare.
She taught him to see beauty in me,
Then she talked about herself in free.
She found a way to love world,
Then lost a way to her own swirled.
She found a way to forgive people easily,
Then lost a way to herself breezily.
She surround a way to help others,
Then lost a way to open her own feathers.
She surround a way to overcome bad days,
Then lost a way to feel what people says.
Her sacrifices are unbeatable,
Only greatness word is not suitable.
She has a pure soul,
But need some love to become his whole.