Long Daintily Poems
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Scrambling tooth and nail for a patterned fate
I approached the lofty mansion of Learning's Gate.
All cued up for a slip of paper - the one they call Degree,
halfway convinced that I hallucinated humanity.
For who under their own free will would venture
into this spiraling sameness:
this illustriously-in-debt, this Regal Club
of the Nameless?
I bellowed my voice into the air
(This great atrocity!).
But not a single student seemed to care:
So well fashioned they were,
adorned in their prized medals of mediocrity.
Along with their unwillingness to ever stray,
all too content to be but rainbows dreaming of gray.
I hung my head in such morose emptiness.
As I fashioned myself: the uniquely ubiquitous.
And what a fool I was to join the crowd - and yet so halfheartedly.
Striving for the cirrus clouds, the silver moon, and then the galaxy.
For my actions didn't match my cerebral creativity
I was statue still cursed with a meandering mind
(and other such extremities).
Exploding with hopes large enough for two
I sat clearly convinced languid leaps would do.
But one cannot daintily decide to dream the Dream
for it is merely the seed, another earthly deed.
You're not allowed to walk away, gandering as it grows,
for we are likened as the summer sun - keeping the rivers a'flow.
"Picturing profits in your hands
do not till the all too ready land"
explained the elderly gent with leathered palms,
"Someday soon you will understand."
And though we aim to be ourselves
gravity inevitably
brings us to the grid.
Imagination like a heavy rain;
we the paper people
so helplessly hid.
But fear not ye denizens
of the cherished cubbyhole:
where you keep under lock and key
your dust-laden soul.
If one burgeoning blunder
tore it all asunder
surely one single spirited spark
could heal even the most
dormant of hearts.
So fare thee well oh Cookie Cutter Coop -
Another day on that wretched plain, and I'd surely die.
I'm glad just to sever sameness in one fell swoop
by hanging on a star in the midnight sky.
NOTE: I always enjoyed using alliteration when I could... and with this particular one I went a little bit nutty... but I think it turned out okay.
A Debutante’s Ball to Remember
In the autumn of my life, oft have I recalled that superb summer night,
when I finally experienced my long-awaited heart’s delight.
Family and close friends were all ready for my entry into society,
to celebrate it with a grand debutante’s ball filled with gaiety.
In a dreamlike state, I felt like a princess with a golden crown,
making my grand entrance wearing a champagne chiffon gown.
With matching gloves, and a pair of satin shoes on my tiny feet,
my auburn hair was adorned with butterflies and posies sweet.
The ballroom was magically transformed with gas lights all aglow,
and a glittering chandelier reflected on a highly polished mahogany floor.
As the orchestra played, my body and soul were enraptured and consumed
by its rendition of Ravel’s enthralling “La Valse” which pervaded the room.
Elegant ladies were all dressed to the nines in exquisite pastel gowns
of winter white, baby blue, powder pink, pale peach and beautiful browns.
In tacit competition to out-best each other, social charms were well-honed,
as they daintily fanned themselves and gossiped animatedly in hushed tones.
Refined gentlemen in their finely-tailored tails navigated the room to mingle,
keeping an eye out for eligible heiresses beautiful, graceful, and single.
Wafts of mild masculine colognes came from discretely dabbed faces and hair;
while the fresh feminine floral scent of French perfumes permeated the air.
Armed with a full dance card, I waltzed the night away with ardent admirers,
curtsying and coquettishly smiling, moving on to more exciting suitors.
My enchanting evening climaxed with Strauss’s “Vienna Waltz” filling the hall.
Oh, what a tale I will have to tell as my granddaughter prepares for her first ball!
11-21-2014
Contest: Your Favourite Old Poem (06-08-2015)
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Placement: 1st
Contest: Ballroom Delights (12-16-2014)
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Placement: 2nd
The Green Door
Those dappled wings, of forget-me-nots, folded around Akutaq,
though the Denali warmth brightened her whimsy. She sat
for a long, long while, contemplating the green wooden door
in a place she had never been before. (Fairies are good
at patience and the wonder of magic) From time to time,
the tingle of fairy dust tickled and nudged. Her fingers caressed
her flawless cheeks and her pinky finger would slide in her lips
as she smiled. See, a fairy is fascinated and curious. Longing
to open the teeny door, but first she must express a wish.
Sometimes a fairy had a “ready wish,” but often one dreams
for a good bit. Suddenly, her wings excitedly flapping; Akutaq
could wait no longer. She blew a kiss, waved her wand, and
the door brightened into an emerald sparkle and opened.
“Ooh! Ooh!” the fairy exclaimed. Forget-me-nots, she leaves
behind and steps into a forest of shiny vines. She dances
among them, climbs, of course her wings tickle with glee.
On tippy toes, she looks over the vines (suddenly shy).
Fluttering all about, are a myriad of her kind. She checks
her wings - are they clean, pristine, the best lace?
She must present her best. Suddenly, surrounded,
“Who are you? We haven’t seen you before?”
Daisy touches Aqutaq’s wings, “Wow, these are exquisite!
What intricate pattern! Come! Come, you must!” she says
tugging at her hands.
Introductions all around. Aqutaq has been lonely, for too long
a time, so she’s dreamt up these lovely friends. Of course,
fairy dreams are real and call out to other lands.
“Yoo hoo,” they call upon the wind.
Suddenly, reds, blues, yellows, oranges -
blossoms snowing so daintily.
Aqutaq’s wings are clapping as the blossoms sing, but no -
purple-plum sparrows are in between and hovering all around.
The Denali fairy spots a much larger door, an inch or two.
It is red. So, of course, she sits down to think and think,
about what might be. Her friend, Daisy, likewise, dizzy
at the might-be on the other side. Wishes and dreams,
collaborated, will slowly and surely, invite friends in.
Is it a butterfly out in the blue,
poised in its daintily delicate flight—
nebula N G C six three oh two—
offering rhymers a poem to write?
In our galaxy, that is the Way Milky,
with structure bipolar in particular,
appear those elongated wings so silky,
from the gas that’s spewed forth perpendicular
to the doughnut-shaped dust ring pinching its core.
Talk about outer space distances far,
this butterfly stretches two light-years and more,
half the distance from Sun to the nearest star,
which is Alpha Centauri, to be precise.
This fairytale picture, a magical treat
like sugar and spice and everything nice,
doth awaken our childhood senses sweet.
Found in the Scorpius Constellation,
it’s known as the Bug Nebula as well.
Yet in this versified celebration
its Butterfly name suits the tale to tell.
With dust belt that gives it an hourglass mien,
though appearance deceives and perceptions can spoil,
one conjures up quite an impression serene.
But cauldrons of heated gas furiously roil
within each planetary nebula wing
of the butterfly that it’s resembling.
The gas tears across this immense outer space
at six hundred thousand miles an hour!
Imagine a butterfly at such a pace
frantically flitting from flower to flower!
So Butterfly Nebula’s not as it seems.
Like the bubble, bubble, trouble and toil
in nightmarish witch Shakespearean dreams,
it is seething in inner and outer turmoil…
And with dying star center five times mass solar,
no wonder that poor butterfly is bipolar!
~ Harley White
[Inspiration for the poem was from the article, 'Butterfly Emerges from Stellar Demise in Planetary Nebula NGC 6302' ~ Image: NGC 6302 (Butterfly Nebula, Bug Nebula) ~ The image is a composite of separate exposures made by the WFC3 instrument on the Hubble Space Telescope. Six filters were used to sample narrow wavelength ranges. The color results from assigning different hues (colors) to each monochromatic image. ~ Image credit: NASA, ESA, and the Hubble SM4 ERO Team]
With his icy fingers he stole my smokey breath,
laid a sheet of slippery freezing cold by my feet
and then whispered in my ear right to the drum
that echoed in my brain with excruciating pain.
She, his wife was of a complete different temperament
quietly without fuss she crafted blanched cotton flakes,
each a masterpiece, unique as if she retained every design
she had ever imagined so each time she could create anew.
He however with his bravado with his swelled chest
would pepper speeding glass-like pellets into the air.
Sting our faces without regret. Salt our wounds.
Mercilessly bite into our flesh with his frosted fangs.
Daintily she'd sprinkle the sky with the magic of her cheer
feather the atmosphere in a delicate splatter of alabaster.
Layer by layer she laid soft sheets of snow to the delight
of everyone alike creating a playground of endless mirth.
His breath reeked of dreams frozen, nipped in the bud.
Already he had high jacked his sisters, the Autumn twins
sent them packing, hurried, gathering their rustic garments.
He had no love of his siblings except his baby sister, Spring.
His wife loving and caring would temper his yearly onslaught.
She knew of his pain, deep, abandoned by his father Summer.
At times she'd blow slightly warmer air to provide respite for
us mere humans and allow the sun to warm our weary bones.
They would sit together and it was her would bring out
the albums of family photos view pictures of his mother.
Her smile like music would soothe his stone cold heart.
He loved, when she'd visit in the guise of an Indian Summer.
With his icy fingers he stole my smokey breath.
I felt her presence there to temper his harsh avail.
Winter had arrived but when they walked as one
this magnificent couple dressed in their royal winter whites,
without a second thought you would bow in front of their regal
stance, a sight to behold, one that encompassed the entire land.
04~01~2015
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name: Seasons
prosaic prologues bewitch
feeble minded scribe doth undertakes
tend toward lugubriousness ring tone
for goodness sake
echoing across,
a figurative lake woebegone, where quake
shutters latched storm windows,
clapped closed winter season didst make
physical environment lachrymose
analogous to imp pond durable dark lake
where sits inside secluded hut,
this fledgling author named Jake
a former cub (scout) at a loss
to string together an aria
tomb other nature and NOT FAKE,
sepulchral paeon to divine Gaea, Mother Earth
especially incorporating
mutisyllabic (sesquipedalian) words,
which exertion
on par with giving birth
(or so I guess),
a particularly heavily pregnant laden dearth
of help mates, doubling demonstrably
deadly duty devoid of mirth
totally tubular taxing toll,
an essentially unbearable
effort with bulging girth
whereat digestion consumes
latent mental ambition,
especially toasty warm near the hearth
which hitherto unknown to any reader
twas Xmas fabrication and fiction
no crime committed, nor animals harmed
in the making of diction
aery necessary entrapping unsuspecting intellect
to comprehend somber benediction
unless perchance one lone wolf
bait Oven English Major
with Westernization
topped off with a European
debunaire suave acculturation
even luckier if hypothetical personage
dips daintily into forays epicurean,
though careful,
and alert since church fathers
would frown on parsonage
whose natural born ardor,
a spiritual abduction
stealing austerity, complacency, and objection
toward forced irrational schemas
averse to abnegation
unfair imposition
to foist upon pruriant predilection
also impossible
to sequester arbitrary animal urges,
punishing call of the wild,
sowing seeds a beastial accusation
considered averse,
then imposition contrition!
Busted
When Santa got stuck down the chimney
What a terrible fright for young lives
Imagine the sight that then met them
Imagine their awful surprise.
With a crash and a thump and a holler
A bang and a whoosh and a boom
The magical globe trotting Santa
Daintily entered their room!
He landed full square in their fireplace
His hat flopped down over his eyes
He looked really much more like Black Beard
Except he was double the size.
The children sat up in amazement
Then hid and peeped through a crack
As this unfortunate dirty old Santa
Was hit on the head by his sack.
The air turned quite blue for a moment
When he finally uttered a cry
I’ve hurt every bone in my body
Was the gist of what he implied
Now Rudolph looked down from above him
Shook his head and then let out a sigh
Get up you clumsy old has been
We still have work left to do tonight.
Well Santa looked right up that chimney
His plight became clear in a flash
He was stuck with his sack at the bottom
And didn’t know how to get back.
The children, still hid in the corner
Just couldn’t believe what they saw
As this dirty old Santa recovered
Did his job and then limped out the door.
They watched as he climbed out the window
His suit now completely akimbo
But Rudolph was there with the sleigh and a spare
He now had clean clothes to change into.
Once more Rudolph rescued the big man
Stamped his hoof, got him out of his whirl
Threatened to leave less he focus
You know, of course, Rudolph’s a girl!!!!
The children got up in the morning
Frustrated, annoyed and distressed,
For their bedroom looked just like a bombsite
Where two sacks of gifts had been left
Despite having left him a message
Stating ‘ please do not leave so much trash,
We are modern day children remember
What we want is a cheque or some cash’
CharlaXFabels
CharlaXFabels
FabelFifty
Poorboy
Eye was fine until the rain came down. The blanket seeped. The CharlaX wept.
The wonder of a dry warm place replaced with cold wet water on my ankle. The
blanket caught the water for it's a comforter with many little triangular pockets
made to simulate a quilt. Eye was trying to have a play a day time dream and
when eye was almost there it came the water dumped inside the thing and
cascaded on to foot. CharlaX almost cried again but long interment in the
camping zone has warned me to be always ready on the go.
Everything eye have belongs to me no thief am eye eye gather all eye need a dry
coat and a shoe on foot these things belong to me the socks so dry on toes.
When eye decide to eat some meat eye twist it up and in it goes the meat is mine
not taken from a car or from the backseat of the bus unless its left for all of us to
have the many people leave a mess sometimes and so the CharlaX is a
scrounge rhymes with clown but the rhythm is so wrong the oversize clothes the
hats made all of wool and so many they seem like a hive upon the hill when rain
comes down the head is dry the hands in gloves the feet so dry in layers of
sockings from the night before the rain eye get my things the old fashioned way
eye work my hands in every trash can in this city trying to pull jewels and
diamonds from the dirty bags of tossed decay. Eye ate some onion grass when
eye was smaller than the now the version of my youth was hungry now and then
eye placed the grass in mouth and eye did chew and the day came when eye
finally saw the grass come up and it was not an onion but a flower all the time
eye had been daintily chewing upon the flowers calling them onion grass its true
no ewe don't laugh its true ewe so very true. Stop the Press. Leadville is turning
into Muddville in John Denver Colorado. This just came in over the wire,'
DENVER -
Because just like frilly and free curiously whimsical the recently enlightened-yet-quietly-
struggling-humble butterfly, resilient-grasshopper... daintily-grazing-dragonfly's locusts hung
precariously low dangling-in small but honest-groups-spread-out-all-over-on-the-side and-
cellar-door back-yard and front-porch-door... . Swaying gratefully on-the-ever-defiantly-
flopping-innocently-broken-screens-that-again I tell-you... I thought, I had fixed... and-as-
well-still-gripping whatever-kind-it-may be today the-birchbark-cherry-helicopter-seed, or-
walnut-tree, awakening ever timely, still halfway wrapped-up-tight-in-their-warm-cocoons
arriving now-from their-moments of-ponder... are told-too to have their-growing fancy... .
The opportunity... virtuously... and ever-novelly, sweetly proposed, like-the-simple-and-ever-
ominous-cry's of a whining filly, two dueling-fiddles three-squealing-unwary pigs... .
Twelve gently-cackling-geese flying-over head fresh-little tiny-cooing-just-barely-naked-as-I-
can mercifully-hear-now — and can tell, with-my-wife and scruffy-five-month-old-shepherd,
and-steaming-cup-of-coffee in-hand — quite-hungry-and-wanted, black-crow-hatchlings-three
chirping-blue birds-wailing-away-pecking-at-each-other all about-them... . Our-gracious
fourteen chuckling chickens proudly parading their beauty off along to-us in full-view of their
own-children's greater-innocence .
My fiery haired fussy cousin small-fumbling baby girl tender angel newborn the precious
eager sweetie suckling kneading away on my joyous... ever-willing and-new, three-times-
over glorious-Mother-Aunties brilliant-supple-and-full... steadily-swelling-enflamed-dark-pink-
nipple a mess-of basil-and-butter eggs-seven-sizzling-young and-healthy-catfish cooking-on-
the-spit over the-open... and-lazily smoking-fire... .
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p7TrU4_-JTY&feature=related
You stand at your front door. Looking down, you see horror. You freeze in that spot
as from under the door, comes the bloody seepage of carnage.
It pools around you. As you push open the door and walk in, it makes a sickening
squishing and suction sound. The gore seeps into your sandals.
You know that you shouldn't, but fear also rules curiosity. You walk further into the
room. Afraid that something is going to attack.
As you step through the room, you here an odd *pop* . You gaze down at your feet.
There oozing over your toes, is the remnants of an eye.
Your throat starts to burn, as the bile rises up. Your eyes lose focus. You faint and
slink to the floor. You lay cuddled in the blood.
Upon your waking, you find yourself soaked in the blood. It is gelled in your hair.
When you can finally stand, bits of raw flesh cling to your clothes and cold skin.
There before you are your freshly painted walls. Covered in...someone. It is then that
you notice that you front door is now shut...and locked.
All you can think of, is the plumber that you had called in to fix you leaking kitchen
faucet. Oh no! Is that a pipe wrench?
A noise from behind, has you quickly spinning around. You see a shadow move. It
slinks in to the kitchen. You give chase. Stepping on entrails.
You had dreaded this. You knew it would happen again. There is no way to stop it.
There, like the last time, on the kitchen floor is Diablo, your cat. Daintily licking it's
paws. Looking very satisfied with himself.
You walk towards your little demon of a cat. It stares back at you with eyes, green as
jade. You stand there, not knowing what to say or do.
As Diablo looks and says......
"Next time, order Chinese, O.K."
Ahhhh, I hope I scared you a bit. This is my Halloween offering for Oct. 5th
Bwwwaaaaahahahaha