Long Frivolously Poems
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It’s something we do and something we don’t.
It’s in the sound of the stars and the rustle of the boat.
It’s dramatically ambiguous and frivolously bright.
It’s the beat of the shore streaming across the night.
How vague could I be?
How dark and discreet?
How painfully pitiful?
How serendipitously incomplete?
How familiar, it may seem, the fragrance of the flower,
Yet uncannily forgotten, beneath the yellow star.
Have pity on thy master, Have pity on thy slave,
Because the righteous, that I know, shall never behave.
Behold this beauty, in all her rage,
Behold this tempest, behold the sage.
Beaten by misery, torment and pain,
Beckoned to rule over and over, forever, once again.
BY
Amanda.M.Miller
Form:
I am the sorcerer of nothing
The master of no one
The author of an imaginary missive still in the bowels of non-existence
I am the queen of thought processes
Flirting and flitting in another dimension
Nowhere near my dendrite field, ignoring me completely
I am dallying and dallying this week.
I am frivolously playing.
I am living my truth, unconcerned at the lack of wisdom or thought.
I am lying in the sun in a lawn chair
With a happy dog at my feet
We are practically napping.
Bunnies are hopping around, fearing neither of us
Cardinals are flipping us the bird
No small feat but delightful
It is summer and I am the mistress of the meadow
I am the goddess of clover
I am the keeper of the lull - life is good.
I'm locked in
True to the end
Tunnel vision on Fleek
To my foes, idleness, I bequeath
An oak tree standing
not moving, glorious goals I'm demanding
The sun in my soul burns
Sweet dreams, my heart yearns
Aspiring to beautiful heights
Not meditating on memes, ready to take flight
Practicing social distancing but not because of COVID
Frying fish and making doughnuts 'cause indolence is outmoded
I'm stubborn about my dreams because they're mine
We all have 24, and I ain't playing with 'Father Time.'
I'm unwavering in my goals
Failure to plan will certainly invite woes
I'm unyielding about my life
To live frivolously is like dancing with strife
I'm just a stubborn creature
And my industriousness is my best feature
Who is he? Who is She? Who is me?
Questions so easily asked, but often frail and weak.
Today i was asked who am I and why?
I had no answer as my brain crashed and my mind fried.
Well you see I am me, Simply put i'm what you see.
I am so unique it would be an insult to label so frivolously
Reputation is something we work on till the day we die.
To expect me to explain when my actions speak aloud is a crime.
I suppose if i were to explain myself in order to entertain.
I'd keep my answer short simple and plain.
With my mind fried and an answer made harder than needed to be
Quietly i mutter I am my actions and the rest is a mystery.
Who am I, and what makes me, Me?
Well dont ask me, just watch and observe carefully.
In my dream, I sailed away
Over the tame waters of a tranquil bay
And landed in a magic isle
Never set foot before by anyone alive
A pleasant retreat of birds and beasts
Far removed from world’s dust and heat
A terra incognita with a magic spell
Hidden away at Nature’s veiled breast
The sky was rent with songs of birds
The air, smelling of odors sweet
Here and there were exotic blooms
Bulrush, Blue bells and Lavenders fresh
I roamed frivolously from end to end
Of that enchanted land of idyllic charm
With twining creepers and silken grass
Proclaiming aloud of a perennial spring
My heart leaped in euphoric delight
My senses alerted in ecstatic thrill
My feet moved in an explorer’s gait
After the treasures stashed in its caverns deep
I rambled relentlessly through untrodden paths
Feasting on the marvels, my eyes could catch
Arching trees framing a leafy roof
And fruits, ripe and raw, hanging from every bough
As Nature, thus unveiled her bounty before,
My fancy, unfettered took to wings.
I loved my sway over that terra incognita
With treasures galore that none could claim
August. 12.2022
~ Placed First~
This or That, Vol.13.Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Edward Ibeh
I know I should not whine or frivolously fret,
but I believe I have lost my pet marmoset.
I have also lost a blue barrette, a red tea set,
and a beautifully carved purple aigrette.
They all went down in the drain,
putting me in a particularly uncomfortable cold sweat.
I did not mind losing Jeanette,
a snake who was never an exceptionally kind or loving pet,
I am sad about losing my baby’s bassinet
and a tiny edge of my bathroom’s finest moquette.
They both fell down the storm drain,
when I paused to look at my rapidly disappearing tea set
Way down deep in the bowels of the sewer,
and I am especially sad to lose my pet marmoset.
Here comes another person.
She has lost a briquette, diskette,
and a sliver of yellow georgette.
Written 2-28-2019
Contest: Down a Storm Drain Gone Forever
Sponsor: Eve Roper
When people say don’t use the F word, do they have any idea how formidable fellowship, flux, foxy, finite, and figure-head are freely and fervently formed?
The F word?
What F word?
This crazy admonishment has led me to
This F word poem.
A fantastical fabricated tale, formulated and foretold by
four flirtatious faeries who frankly, felt fractionalized, forever far-fetched, finely falsified, and furiously fantasized by formerly frozen phenoms.
You will find words like fervent, frilly, formidable, feathery, figurehead, and flicker, in this finery.
You will forget fizzles, falls, fits, feeling fervently and frivolously focused.
Foundationally, this formidable fleeting fable of a quadrant of feisty feminine femme fatales
Is fraught with falsehoods, fictions.
My assistant, Franchesa, who was one of these frivolous faeries, is in a frantic frenzy toward focusing her feminine fancies on a phenomenally fragile finish,
What? I have not even added my favorite f words yet.... Fun-filled, flesh-eating, form-fitting
freckled, frozen, fast track, fair-weathered forget-me-knots to name a few.
We are at the fidgety part of the flowery forest of fantasy now.
I appreciate your faithfulness in falling for my ferociously friendly, flowery, f-trap.
I find it funny that family, fellowship, famously, fleshy, formula, and feckless begin with the same F as fanciful, Felix, fanny and the word that shall not be named.
Formidable words forever feel forgiven in the forefront of the fanfare of the forest.
Philosophically, what about the furious finish, fortuitously finalized by my former free mason, Fritz?
Forgone conclusion, friends, the finale was fortuitously inspired, of course, by my favorite letter, F.
Living yet I’m not alive
Frivolously stupefied
Uncaring of myself and I
Nonchalantly undefined
I used to compete but there’s no glory
Victory always unrewarding
Someone would appeared before me
Dispossessing the importance
Progress would demoralise
Feeling bad after you’ve tried
All that effort was applied
Just to leave you dead inside
Punishments for doing well
Turning happy into hell
Flip success into a fail
how do you ever excel
Belittling what I achieve
Telling me about my failure
Eventually make me believe
I am nothing but a failure
Some mates have a bitter streak
Take you down when you succeed
Teaching you a winning streak
Is not something you ever need
Unprepared or unprotected
It doesn’t really matter now
care for myself is neglected
Life will only bring you down
Every time I’m motivated
Times that I’ve overachieved
I seem to be annihilated
Death will be my sweet relief
Love's vibes sneered at my sunken face
And bid me to hear, booming from the
Calling clouds, that what I had idealised about
Is in fact nothing else other than figments
Of my own imagination!
I breathed in my anguish
While the rising winds
Seemed to tell me
That I have now become a soul,
Who is free to roam in a world
Which can be beautiful
If lived with caution
But can be dangerous
If lived frivolously!
Fists clenched, I let the tears dry up
On my face and set my new destination
As the many lands found on the other side
Of the calm ocean's horizon!
And while roaming, I came across poets
Bearing the same mindset as I do,
All living to allow their inner oceans
To thrive in their freedom
And felt, at last, like I have hit home!
I have been roaming for quite a while
And I am overjoyed at the discovery
Of new cultures, new delicacies,
New savours, new dressing styles,
New forms of poetry and other writing styles,
New forms of arts, and even new forms
Of that power which we all call God!
And so far,
I regret not having been set free
And having been given the opportunity
To roam!
21 Jan 2023
Pick - A Title Vol 34
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
The fake isolation of the island insinuated the fostering of remnants;
remnants of religious fervor, close knit seafaring families, and rugged farmers;
remnants of power past and present.
A fog shrouded canvass awaits the onslaught of August revelry.
And, where widows walked the peeks of robber barons manses, the elementals now play.
Tomato red fire trucks ring the seaside green. Throngs of , oh so, polite W.A.S.P.S
and multicultural couples dot the lawn in precise groupings.
The squeal of stroller strapped toddlers echo across ocean
and down alleyways lined with painted ladies
Gay blades and saucy sisters saunter unharassed through the crowds of young families.
Prosperously retirees with salt and pepper hair in pink and green golf shirts line the porches
of the gingerbread homes ringing the green.
In the gazebo a brass band plays John Phillip Souza and closes by belting out
the American anthem, after dark, no flag wave, yet random patriots stand.
Their forms silhouette upon the gray fog like their intentions
mocking the holiday aire with their reminder of war….
those raging on in Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan.
and fade with the crowds roar to “Sit down your blocking the view!”
And as the elite, and privileged meet and greet chatting in wonder over the multiple sightings
of airforce one choppers and past President Clinton.
The three times the worlds average wage is spent on FIREWORKS, frivolously,
for the entertainment of the richest citizens of the planet. God Blessed America.