Long Flamingoes Poems
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“what inspires you to write
such indiscriminate indiscretions
like that?” he speaks to himself
and thinks
not long
without thinking,
unnaturally he feels,
something, so
he promptly writes
it all down
without a further
doo-diddley-day
there you go
a muse
the muse amused
reads his take on it all
and up her mind goes,
the ride, like a pole
flags, waving
checkered,
black and white,
racing all the way
up and down
down and up
the rollercoaster thrill
of it all
jack was planting seeds
for his bean stalking tour
counting the footsteps
along the imprinting way
she wasn't eating
her curds and whey
you have to be quick
like you know,
nimble
sometimes
she galumphs
naturally
unnaturally
across the page
burlesque,
headlights
turned on, full beam,
delivering the splits
smiling
for laughs,
the laughs,
always splitting the mix
can-can
she thinks,
masked, yet best
in tap dance shoes
nakedly
confronting
fingers tapping
minds pointing
un-a-mused
qué más se puede pedir
Spanish for those untouched
uber tall flaming flamingoes
que puis-je dire
French kissed
all the way
for the les enfants terrible
a - mused
fearlessly venturing
forward
for more
let them go,
the others
waltzing Old Time
away, out the door
'tis better
elemental
she feels
the win-win
can-can
she thinks
and smiles
amused
indiscreetly
not
turning
away
win-win
she smiles
a full-wattage
salute
can-can
She
thinks,
begin
the beguine
indiscreetly
not
turning
away
Candide Diderot. ‘24
reacclimating after the climatic gavel falls
after sunrise and sunset and flamingoes
after wood, Rembrandts and aluminum
after prodigy, prodigal and guitar strings
and chatter. after all what matters
is chroma-splash, illumination and surrender
a soundless cacophony of instruments
and muses deliciously dancing
dripping from a litany of brushes
Y O R
e r e
l a d
l n s
o g
w e
sea blues, teals, whales
swoosh…swoosh
the presence of fame
God is a fave…
time’s talent from only one of his fingers
i figure, in heaven’s palette -
won’t we forever be astonished
7/10/2022
Brian Strand’s Premiere Contest
May is warm,
energetic, enticing and embracing
singing rhythmic rhyme, melancholic melodies of spring;
in a change of weather flowing on the wispy neck of winds
fall the rain drops, cold and heavy in their spin,
petals loosen and release down to the earth below
a hundred buds open wide to the chilling flow.
The rain dance waltzes and sweeps its playful tango ballet
in the spread of flowerings on the edges end displayed
of cultivated hedges in a damp dove gray sky
revealing the fall of colors in the garden on the fly;
perfumed lilac lavenders and magnolias scent each breath of air
roses bud gently, tenderly exposed, well loved and well cared;
pinks peek out, deep, dark, delicate, intense flamingoes,
reds bleed crimson burgundy, in spicy velvet, tomato throws;
lacey pale orchids hold steady in cherry blossom rush and blush
beneath a stage of starlight dust, faded white pale ivory tusks;
colors of the rainbow slow dance,
a mix of colors given to whim and chance;
blue, green, yellow, orange and red
stretched in a row along the edges of the garden bed;
scarlet claret burgundies, touch the light rays of the sun and shade
with canary yellow saffron burning in amber mellow lemonade;
the hybrids rise taller, gangly stretching up overall in time
where olive cucumber mint, blends pine grass green, lemon and lime;
and the colors fade like distant aerial gavottes
grateful to the sun and rains for what the season caught.
It's the rain dancing in the end of May
nothing keeps the garden more happy and gay.
Anybody on this road we're on
Ain't nobody wants to be alone
Everybody's trying to make it home
To somebody
Sunflower, we're not in Kansas now
It's a new life down in Alabama
God gave us a little white house
Baby be right, maybe be wrong
We'll make it up as we go along
Been three years stuck in the viaduct
But now, Baby somehow
We got a little white house
Fix the kitchen, paint it blue-gray sky
Place your pretties in your own design
Get some rockers, maybe we can spy
Hummingbirds stop by
Plant some flowers, decorate with stones
Pink flamingoes, a couple garden gnomes
Make your jewelry, I'll write some country songs
We'll make a happy home
Baby be right, maybe be wrong
We'll make it up as we go along
Been three years stuck in the viaduct
But now, Baby somehow
We got a little white house
Sun's shining, summer's coming on
Dogs barking, fat boys mowing lawns
All the kids out, they're all puddling on
The corners
Sunflower, we're not in Kansas now
It's a new life down in Alabama
God gave us a little white house
Baby be right, maybe be wrong
We'll make it up as we go along
Been three years stuck in the viaduct
But now, Baby somehow
We got a little white house
©2019
Flamingoes stand on one leg
If they are cold, it's said
They tuck one leg in their plume
Why not tuck both? there's room
If both legs were tucked in tight
The Flamingo would lose height
It would become a legless bird
One that's never been heard
Of, I know that the Flamingoes Pink
This comes from its diet, I think
Crustaceans in all shades of red
Is the food Flamingoes are fed
Algae and plant life too
Predators this bird has few
Toxicity and industrialisation
Will bring an end to this creation
It's a most spectacular bird
Standing quietly undeterred
Oblivious of what lays ahead
Holding on by a slender pink thread
It makes all sad to think
This endangered species will become extinct.
The Desolated Greatness
ABAB
The brooding copse of archaic place,
where many stories lived and died,
rapturous and dismal both interlace,
to charm all, as in thousand hearts it resides.
Where peacock fawn, to win the mate,
and nightingale sing surmised
and where brown-recluse spider wait,
and search its life disguised.
The echoed heaven, with multitude
of songs and cries,
of birds in solitude
or in group as they flies.
The squirrels jump and pop around,
and enjoy the april scene,
as all of them ecstatic found,
with all hearts eager, all eyes keen.
The fragrance was in the air
of full blown flowers and old
which drops here and there
cries, hopes and become cold.
The winnowing winds of adjacent field,
ruffles the hairs of indolent calves
which nothing now can yield,
but deplete the fodder to halves.
Pinkish flamingoes grace the lake
which dips and uplifts
its beak in serene water, and take
the required and drifts.
The trodden path midst this greatness
reminds us of its splendid past
and also of nature's creativeness,
which is only left at last.
-:AKASH SANGWAN
INDIAN PIPE
(The Corpse Plant)
in the shadows
in the shadows
teardrop eyes
Like bagpipes they play, somber tunes of fear,
as doves do weep, as flamingoes bow down.
A ghost plant dirge, doth tremble dusty clouds.
The bells, they ring, intensely sing, slow-deep.
in the shadows
in the shadows
teardrop eyes
Like wax, their silhouettes a frozen mask.
A countenance, thus drained of chlorophyll.
The vampiric cold parasite craves night -
A leech, among the beech, with lovers scars.
in the shadows
in the shadows
teardrop eyes
A cold and clammy touch, doth turn a corpse
an inky black. A translucent pale ghost -
don’t touch, nor handle plant, nor creep too near
its eerie soil, nor step, upon its grave.
in the shadows
in the shadows
teardrop eyes
Original date : 5/11/2017
YOUR CHOICE FLOWER VERSE,any form ,any theme Poetry Contest
Brian Strand: Sponsor 6/23/2019
I woke up to my mother-in-law’s snoring noises loud and clear.
Come! I said to my husband. I swear that your mother is near.
Outside on our front lawn we saw a parked Airstream with windows wide.
I knew for sure exactly whose big mama was sleeping loudly inside.
She had built a little fence and put out two plastic flamingoes, pink.
I was so consternated and confused, my mind would not let me think.
“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” my husband yelled, knocking on her door.
She did not wake at first, continuing with her horribly loud ugly snore.
The kids got up and began yelling “Grandma!” glad to see….
What had sort of kind of actually irritated me
Pink birdies! They yelled, thrilled with this woman from Ioway.
My only concern was, how long did she intend to stay?
A place in the sun...bright and shining from early morn.
Ebony tones everywhere..colorful garments
lend an air of festivity....hustle and bustle everywhere.
Streets...bands of steel meander through the city
tall buildings ...cast grotesque shadows along the roads
as trees bow in homage to the new day.
People rushing by...insects trapped in an invisible jar
laughing, singing....white teeth flashing.
Aromatic scents of herbs and spices
emanate from side walk cafes to
tease the senses.
Side walk hawkers...fried fish, fried chicken, fried cassava
tittilate the senses... tempt the taste buds.
Taxis rush at a mad pace oblivious to potholes all the way.
Wildlife a-plenty ....... from lions to giraffes
a colorful scene ....a feast to the eyes.
Flamingoes on the lake.. fiery pink compete with brilliant sunsets,
a world seen behind rose tinted shades.
Even the soil.....red as ochre, black as coal, white as the beaches
a variety of colors throughout the land.
Tea and coffee plantations..a delightful view
in a beautiful land , I once knew
where suffering, hardship, joy and laughter
embrace each other,
Come with a smile,
come with a wink.
Come to the land
of pink, pink, pink.
Imagine
yourself
as a pale pink fairy,
wearing an earring
that's a pink clip-on,
and real pastel pink petals
held in your pinkie,
pointing to the pink chink
glow upon the horizon
at dawn.
The garden's dye this July
is floral pink blossoms.
And at times I do
have such pinkish dreams,
where everything is hued
in pink ice-creams.
Where I own a fine
posh pink cadillac,
parked in a pink chateau
festooned
with fallen pink lilac.
That,
overlooking
a pink sea
ebbing on pink pebbles,
where a pink moon
looks like big bubbles.
In pink colors,
if I could customize
'n'
personalize
my world:
so pink cushions all about,
and pink curtains unfurled!
My birthdays always wish
for pink balloons.
Oh, I love to decorate
and celebrate
with pink festoons.
And nature lovers could watch
salmon pink flamingoes
who stand upon one leg,
hiding
half their pink toes.
Or even bunny rabbit eyes
in bright pink glows.
Ah, pink's so feminine.
Think of pink hair pins,
pink lips 'neath two pink
blush cheeks,
right above cute
chinny chins,
or as buds in a rosebush
take pinkish peeks.
I see as well baby pink
frocks
and frilled pink socks,
and pink pom-pom caps
upon golden locks,
their pink sashes behind
them upon the walks.
Ah, I've always believed,
and still I think,
that pinkish is girlish and
girlish is pink.