Long Furiously Poems
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It began as an idea.
Hopped up on my dendrite highway.
Zoomed through my wide-open interstate and took me on a ride.
I was holding on as hard as I could.
A smile turned into a flat out worldwide laugh.
Idea one turned herself into upside down girl,
Flatulent gorilla, chameleon on a stick.
A poem? A canvas? A play? A book?
A novel? Possibilities overtook me
And threw me into a soft nap.
Ideas do this to me sometime.
To percolate prettily while I sleep.
I never color inside the box,
Because I do not see a box,
I always see a diamond or a star.
My hazel eyes on the prize, I took out my favorite glitzy paints and began to devour myself.
On a canvas, on the wall.
Drew the brush swiftly onto the wall and down onto the floor.
Never stopping, happily, zanily out of control, abnormal to some,
Completely normal to me.
Beginning once again to create what will become a teensy bit of me...
Fully into the
Kingdom of “be yourself” which my dancy, prancy muse and I will leave
In my wake at my wake.
Furiously creating a non-final me.
Written 12-14-2019 Contest: Creativity in Visual Arts
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Fragrant lovely pink roses in the month of May
Pretty marigolds also in my sight
I’m in grandma’s garden so fine.
Spy little butterfly
Day is beautiful and the warming sun is bright
A magic that warms me from head to toe
In my sage imagination I always go
Back to this moment of glorious light
Barely takes blink of hazel eye
Small leap across a line
Lilies and daffodils, also tulip delight
Whimsical garden, incredibly gay
Nostalgia whisks me back to this fine summer day
Watching a bumblebee with all his might
A buzz upon his royal dine
Luna moth butterfly
Floating in the air like a heavenly green kite
Furiously loved grandma’s garden so….
Written 1-04-2021
Contest: A Little Memory
Sponsor: Constance La France
Checked syllables with www.howmanysyllables.com
Look now here he comes
Taking a strole through the slumbs
He is alone in the garden of flowers
Using the moons enchanting powers
Ending all contact with most ladies
For his heart was broken in the cities
A girl who was to be his wife
Cheated and caused all his strife
With a man of unknowing stature
Tall dark with eminent structure
Every night he excuses haunting dreams
Among the gardens beauty and light streams
He left the fiance' in his mansion
Coursing the man of her new passion
She tried furiously to find him after
But his note enclosed this dark chapter
The note brought her to tears
She couldn't find him for years.
But now her search has drawn her near
A beautiful seductress that is his fear
Her spell can no longer hinder my actions
Nothing further can sway my factions
this garden is my final just sanctuary
In hopes she fails and falls to the wary.
If I see her I will not speak
Just bow my head close my eyes and sleep
Closing my ears from her leathal rambles
Her emotions will end in infinite shambles
Her actions I will never forgive
I am ashamed for wanting to live
To feed her flame and her desire
I would go back and try to aspire
For this my heart tells me no more
Casting a shadow over feelings sore
Adjusting to life it seems
Conjuring old wants and dreams.
Form:
oh, how the pyramid, does grow and grow.
how was i to know?
i signed that dotted line, in repose.
should have dotted i’s and crossed my legs.
my first hint arrived with labor pains.
i squatted jewels – diamond, ruby, emerald.
wore expert rings with the likes of dr. spock.
i devoured each sweet honey book.
but woe to me, i thought i’d suffer solely from “empty nest”.
those birds flew high and strong, then crooked and lopsided.
i wracked my brain, contemplated walking the plank.
sleepwalking, i found profundity, a book of eureka gold.
apparently, there are experts in rearing “adult children”.
i furiously speed read, all the pages. i scanned its horizon
for clues and answers. they came with blue sky ribbons.
i slid to the floor, bewildered, wide-eyed, relieved.
then my children became experts, in rearing their own.
taught me how to use my adult voice - unlike a duck,
no squeaking allowed. and how i should let them cry,
and let them fall. who’d ever heard such crazy talk?
i’d still sign that dotted line, but with eyes open wide.
my husband and i reside at the precipice of the pyramid.
it quakes with birth pangs of shattered glass.
still, our family’s strong. none will crumble. none will fall.
They would watch, with wild amusement,
as chubby little hands worked furiously, struggling with each button.
Tiny, unskilled fingers loosening, gnawing at them, until the last one was free.
She would wiggle out of her brand new, red velvet coat,
scrambling to play with building blocks and toys.
A capsule in time, that confirms something about her that cannot be tamed...
her pride, stubbornness, and a fierce desire to be
INDEPENDENT!
We are watching in mild discomfort,
as blue veined, arthritic hands work furiously, struggling with each button.
Swollen-knuckled fingers loosening, gnawing at them, until the last one is free.
Slowly, and methodically, she shrugs off the old familiar, wool-tweed coat,
while we patiently wait to enjoy our afternoon tea.
A capsule in time, that confirms something about her that cannot be named...
Is it pride, or fear, or a fierce desire to be
INDEPENDENT?
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For the contest sponsored by Black Eyed Susan: " Buttons "
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Zee was a tumultuous force to be taken seriously.
Men trembled in their boots when she was on her way.
The battles she fought with her centaur furiously,
Made other armies quake, run, hide, and pray.
We called her Zee, no one got close enough to know why.
She was muscular, fierce, and mighty in her majestic ways.
One called her Queen Zee once, and I do not lie,
she cut his mouth with a blade with beautiful sun rays.
Zee is here, the warriors will say, and it races through the ranks.
Your blood turns cold when you hear it, for she is frightening.
You wish now that you had battle axes, hatches, and tanks.
Because she and her centaur come into the fray slashing like lightning.
I only saw her once, but I was careful that she not catch my eye.
Her feats of daring are not rumors by an inventive word player.
I ran away in fright, hid in a glen, watched so many of my friends die.
Because they did not believe the stories, of Zee, the ultimate slayer.
Special powers has Zee, known to Joan of Arc and Attila the Hun.
Most of the warriors were easily chased, sliced, and savagely begotten.
For to go into battle against the invincible Zee is clearly quickly no fun.
Seeing her centaur come over the hill that day will never be forgotten.
2025.4.14.
I have started writing diary since May last year.
Eventually, my diary's style, transformed to poem like.
After five months of losing friendship with BB,
By the end of the year,
I rested a bit. I was emotional exhausted.
I started posting my poem in mid January this year,
When JC introduced me to the poetry world.
Every thing went well so as
The on and off friendship with JC.
Until last Saturday, when he messaged me
He would call me in the afternoon.
I prompted him to read the poem I posted that morning.
My poem was a bit like a riddle,
Which challenged him to find me.
Instead of this, he went further and read others,
Which I disclosed my true feelings,
Through reading his book and from my observations,
He found my poems offensive
And furiously ended the friendship.
How he reacted to the situation was expected,
As I found the way he stipulated in his book.
But he crossed the line by breaching his written agreement.
Which stated "No negative and abusive language around me"
His F word had actually helped supporting my decision,
To me, F stood for finish, farewell, and final.
I was very upset, not because the friendship ended,
But mainly because it took so long,
To make him realised, we had nothing in common,
But too many differences,
Like our up bringings, and culture values.
Different interest and different life value.
I had set clear boundaries for him to observe,
He firmly agreed in writing.
Now when he was upset,
He bounced back and accused me of a F...... Gamer.
From the beginning, I had made it very clear,
The only thing I expected out of this friendship was
A fun and joyable travel companionship.
However, things went wrong, from one point after another,
It took me a while, but I remained calm and in control.
JC, it was not important the way I or any one spoke of you,
It was how you really presented to the society and the world.
It might as well goodbye as you said thar magic word.
Tripped down in a shutter when i met you, now stuck in a mindgame/, in a psychopath's hold i try to remain sane/
Your words cleaves me/, your hands strokes me/, things i once fell for now decieves me/ and chokes me/
You terrorizing me/, investigating me/, furiously obscene/, using my body creating your own crime scene/, blue fingerprints all over, but for others to over see/
I hear your whispers at all time/, like a schizofrenic i become, when your violent thoughts interact with mine/. Maybe there is illness in my state of mind/, but before you, i sure was fine/
Playing your role posessed with mad hate/, an addiction/, for me it's only affliction/, what is fake/, what is fiction/
Repeatingly you pushing me over the cliff side/, just to leave me hanging, begging for your hand, so that you can, as you always do flip side/
Trying to play along to survive this mental manuskript/, but im outstripped/ and you just atone like there has been no conflict/
There is a precision to my wild horse self
My muscles at the wake, ready for instruction
My imagination calling the moves, for all prissiness is gone
Society long forgotten
Audience unnecessary
I need to dance,
For me,
For myself
For my eye
My omnipotent steps innate, untaught, following my soul's lead
I thunder at the music which only one can hear.
Whipping moves out of my precision belt
Fast and furiously, mine alone,
I need to dance
For me.
For myself
For my eye.
It is blissful
It is amazing
It is powerful.
It is God-given
My abilities and talents
Not my own, yet all my own.
I dance to honor He who has given me this gift.
This marvelous gift.
I dance for me.
I guess I am just a joke,
never to be taken seriously.
Gave pieces of myself out too generously.
Even though I did it cautiously,
The evidence shows it was still done dangerously.
Ive fought for the wrong ones furiously.
Trying to hold on to that memory,
now seems more like a stupid fantasy.
Does everyone think I don't have the mental capacity
to handle the truth or deserve honesty?
I don't hide awful intentions masked by chivalry.
I may have flaws, sometimes rather clumsy,
there's not much of me
Ive become somewhat shaky,
But when you're all in, so am I entirely.
I think people think I am a joke, sadly
I've learned that curiosity can come off as acting suspiciously
Being anxious or nervous can turn into a catastrophe.
Inner commentary
Acting awkwardly
Try to approach things delicately
Failed miserably.
To Be continued...