Long Debbie Poems
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night market! a juggle of flavors
succulent and citrusy with
pears pumpkins peaches inflamed
and clothed in sweetened rinds like
watercolors of tangerine and mauve...
stems dipped in waters of tender sun
flesh touching flesh,
nectar glazing bronze on squirts turned into nectar,
into savory brine... then to wiggle
upon a harvest filling
quilted baskets sucked and chewed: beaded
globules, bulbs rippling in own honeyed pools,
tangy fruitage which bears the ripest of ovules
lacing the tongue ambrosial. tangy...
and ladies like rush home with flushed romance
in their heads
with piles of delicacies bending swirling
on their ample chests
to taste the liquid radiant syrup
of eve's craving for a night lovers' feast.
For Debbie Guzzi's Just A Little Bit Of Sugar
2/22/2017
It's summertime and time to have some fun. Put away my coats and boots and
find that box of flip flops, sundresses and shorts. Oh, so many wonderful things
to do and to behold . . .
pick some wildflowers in the woods
I could wear pretty sundresses every day
go for a city hike
the farmers market is calling
how about a picnic in the park
lets go feed the swans
and dangle our feet in a cool stream
we can walk barefoot on the beach
collect some pretty rocks and shells
watch the sunset
take a country drive (the scenery is lovely)
blow bubbles in the air just because
go to a fair and play some games
ride the roller coaster and merry-go-round
go for a boat ride
sip a drink on a restaurant patio
maybe a drive-in, honey
or we could snuggle on the porch swing
listen to the crickets sing
__________________________
May 25, 2015
Poetry/List/Summertime
Copyright Protected, ID 05-677-041-25
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Written for the Standard Contest, Summertime
Sponsor, Janis Thompson, Judged 2015
Eighth Place
___________________________
Written for the contest, Summertime Fun
sponsor, Debbie Guzzie, Judged
Fifth Place
Red cents fill the coffers of the rich.
It is the blood and sweat of others,
yet, no longer enough, no longer enough,
worthless as the silver-less lie of a dime.
It is the blood and sweat of others
melted with base metals, base morality,
worthless as the silver-less lie of a dime
not filling the hollow holes of their souls.
Melted with base metals, base morality
a growing virus among the bone weary,
not filling the hollow holes of their souls,
both, rich and poor, suckle an empty teat.
A growing virus among the bone weary,
yet, no longer enough, no longer enough,
both, rich and poor, suckle an empty teat,
red cents fill the coffers of the rich.
**re-vised ;) hope it's clearer!
*an unrhymed Pantoum
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
There is temporary unrest inside my mind
I am neither up nor down. I am snug waiting the clearing.
My room holds great view, and I'm free
Looking out at sky, and bare trees, hoping for the clearing.
The morning invites calm, and the minutes fade fast
And though my heart feels sore, I'm looking for the clearing.
The bulk of energies I share, should allot me good
Only a fool follows a heart, wavering and wandering from the clearing.
It doesn't take me long to recognize true passion
But take away my pen, books, glasses, and still, I'm addressing the clearing.
*
(Written for: Debbie Guzzi Ghazal poem contest)
TRIP TO DREAMLAND
A vacation trip to calm salient suburb overwhelmed me in childhood. We stayed in in Grand Mom’s house covering large rea with huge garden to face hills, to embrace forest and to look at dancing stream as dream. I was enchanted with peerless pleasure finding tremendous treasures of Nature so close under wide sky.
I was charmed listening to giggles of bubbling brook. Me, Mom, my sister and brother crossed the slender stream by foot feeling the touch of little brittle ripples.
Enthusiastically I picked up pretty pebbles and collected shiny glistening gem-like stones from the river-bed and pebbly stream strand.
I climbed the peak of low hill experiencing the glory of victory of my first expedition. I was just startled to respond on echoes shouting in the valley.
Wood apples trees were overloaded with mellow fruits spreading all along the boundary of the garden. After lunch, I used to tear off fruits to relish sapid juicy pulp with small wooden spoon. I was too amused enjoying chirping and chattering of unfamiliar birds.
I met a maternal uncle as father-figure perfectly matching with the environment giving me first music lessons.
When child at seven,
Interaction with Nature
placed me in Heaven.
On seventy plus
Reminiscence still haunt me
wishing rendezvous.
08/12/17
Haibun Contest by Debbie Guzzi
'Twas Christmas Eve and cheer abounded in the humble English cottage!
The olde house rang with joy since the children knew with certain knowledge,
That Santa and his reindeer would drop by for a visit later on that night!
Mum was fixing Yorkshire pudding and a goose for their Yuletide delight!
Papa and the kids had trudged through the forest to find the perfect tree!
It stood by the window brilliantly lit with candles for all passersby to see!
Snow flakes as large as ha'pennies wafted down and covered the roof,
To provide a smooth and soft landing place for each little reindeer hoof!
Later they gathered 'round the olde pump organ to sing carols of yore!
Papa read the Nativity Story since the kids wanted to hear it once more.
Mum served cocoa and biscuits with quaffs of hot cider in between.
No mere artist would dare capture with brush this cheery Dickensian scene!
The grandfather clock struck ten and the little ones were shooed off to bed!
They were tucked in bed after stories were read and their prayers were said.
They napped with one eye open when all of a sudden they heard much ado!
Leaping from their beds they tiptoed downstairs where they saw you know who!
'Twas jolly olde Santa busily placing toys 'neath their Christmas tree!
He saw them and said, "Won't you have some milk and biscuits with me?"
Santa smoked his pipe as they sat on his lap playfully tugging his beard,
When to their surprise it came off and the smiling face of Papa appeared!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Entry for Debbie Guzzi's "Happy Holidays" Contest
As I soared at forty-thousand feet strapped in the aluminum-tubed aerie,
Racing through my skull was a tune made famous by Peter, Paul and Mary!
They made leaving on a jet plane sound so very romantic and swell!
Contrary to their soothing ballad, mine was the flight from hell!
Ah, the thrill of going through the security check still lingers,
Recalling a most "touching" pat-down by Freddy Feely Fingers!
I had to remove my belt, shoes and the change from my pockets,
And open my carry-on bag to prove I had no guns or rockets!
I was "squoze" betwixt two guys leaning on my shoulders snoring!
One was built like Hulk Hogan - the other as fat as Herman Goring!
A squalling kid hollered for the entire trip! I suffered beyond belief!
I ordered a Manhattan on the Rocks in hopes of finding blessed relief!
About the flight, I told Betty Boop the attendant, "I'm tired of this fuss!
Next time I travel I'll skip all this nonsense and ride a Greyhound bus!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
NOTE: I've suffered through many such flights wondering if the agony
would ever end!
Entry for Debbie Guzzi's "Songs to Poetry" Contest
Haiku one of my first poems on soup
rattlesnake
Georgia rattlesnake
venomous dangerous foe
hidden in garden
A Rattlesnake In Georgia
Metamorph Revision
To the herb garden meandered
Some squash needed picking
Gloved hands and a six inch long blade
No thoughts of snake sticking
Rockie our Rat Terrier pet
Jumped 'pon retainer wall
Then back down as fast as lightning
The snake did forward crawl
Putting some herbs in the basket.
Out of corner of eye
Something in a flash moved
'Twas a snake going by
Looked like a rat snake mixed in straw
"Twas a Copperhead then
Sticking him with my blade so hard
He crawled off, coiled just when
I thought I had him conquered_ he
Rattled, raised up, fangs showed
Backing off out of reach, gave thought
When he dropped, my blade goad
He crawled off injured; Hope he died
I didn't want him to strike
At unprepared family member
Enemy still dislike
Inspired by:
Debbie Guzzi
Contest: Metamorph
The form is similar to Quatrain but not exactly.
It is a form used by Emily Dickinson in many of her poems.
It is a type of Poulter's measure.
It is 8,6,8,6 with the six rhyming.
Verse is a stanza of a poem so these are stanzas or I can change it to Quatrain..
Lamp posts eyes
through cracks
of curtains
spying
sewing needles
through mine
uninvited
screeching tires
honking horns
sirens
plucking mind’s guitar
unstop.
Take me to the Sonoran
steal into a hut
while its inhabitant
hunts
fall asleep in its belly
hidden
from rattling reptiles
hunting grasshoppers
coyotes
the howling hunter mouse
monsters, giants
the Gila, the Iguana
scorpions!
Take me to the Sonoran
illumed by the Saguaro
opening its white petals
at night
a lamp post of
candelabra flowers
where lizards
on waking
take sunbeams
showers
savoring magic
of orange red
golden yellow flowers
winking at sunset
and vanishing.
Honk, honk! Screech!
Splash!
Spilled my glass
of chamomile
slumbering on the sandy
waterless beach
of the Sonoran.
Third Place Winner: Brian Strand-Premier 1196-3/11/23
First Place Winner: Brian Strand-All Yours-3/12/21
Third Place: Debbie Guzzi- Exotic-7/22/17
Sometimes I find it hard
To be strong.
No matter what I do,
It comes out wrong.
There is so much wreckage to
Overcome.
So much darkness,
Not much sun.
The only thing I can feel,
Is the pain.
No more sunshine,
I only see the rain.
A lot of wreckage,
A lot to heal.
One thing for sure,
It's been real.
I'm a people person,
But I'm alone.
I'm in physical pain,
Right down to the bone.
My attitude sucks and,
People are crazy.
They're stupid, creepy
A whole lot of shady.
I tough it out, you never know
What's around the corner?
I take each day as,
Debbie the explorer.
So, if you see me,
Do not ask why.
I try to smile,
So, I don't cry.
Turbo1904 ?