Long Kindle Poems
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There are times when my passion to write poetry
burns holes to the innermost depths of my soul.
Flames escape to stir my heart in deep arousal
until they become a raging fire, out of control.
It's then that my hand desires to grip a pen,
enabling my pent-up thoughts to flow like a river,
cascading down in a waterfall of rhymes, either
in raging emotions or as a benevolent almsgiver.
Often, I'm driven by desire to pen Sonnets of love,
given no choice but to follow along and proceed
down paths of adventurous journeys, and gladly
I trod chosen avenues where my muse may lead.
I would rather drown in a sea of crashing waves
then not be able to build a fire on a sandy shore,
a light so warmly radiant that even on dark nights
I'm able to kindle my heart as poetic flames soar.
Follow the Fire Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mystic Rose Rose
December 16, 2022
"Help me ... to strive, to seek, to find and not to yield"
Quote by - Tennyson
My tears could fill the ocean blue,
because my heart is forever shattered;
your deaths have my soul bleeding,
and my spirit is broken, broken;
Lord, give me strength for today !
Mom, when you died I just withdrew,
I was empty of emotion and done;
and I would not listen to people,
all help and questions I ignored;
Lord, give me courage for today !
When I said farewell and adieu,
to Daddy- gone was my anchor and rock;
it was so sudden that I was lost;
oh, I will always recall the exact time;
Lord, help me to surrender my pain !
Grandma left me with the morn' dew,
she had taken this child in her arms to mend;
and had been my inspiration to write,
the reason poetic words are now my life;
Lord, help me accept all this grief, sorrow!
I visit and pass a statue,
of a weeping angel at his cold grave;
my love, I know you want me to go on,
but to grieving your death I did and do;
Lord, hold me in your arms when I am afraid !
Again, I was in a church pew,
weeping the loss of my sweet baby boy;
we buried him with a little blue teddy bear,
his death took away what was left of me;
Lord, carry me in your arms when I am weeping !
But, somehow this sad girl got through,
it took courage and strength and lots of tears;
it did not happen fast but took me years,
and I now whisper each day healing prayers;
Lord, I give you all my sorrow so I can let it go !
From- The Book of the Prophet Isaiah,
Verse 43:2 When thou passest through the waters,
I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not
overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou
shall not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.
_____________________
January 06, 2022
Poetry/Dramatic Monologue/ TEARS I GIVE TO THE LORD
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1419-470-06
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Inspiration is my 07/12/21 rhyme poem, My Heart Is Shattered
rewritten in Dramatic Monologue for this contest (words and lines
added and some rhyming words deleted to change it from rhyme)
Written for the Standard contest My Significant 2021
sponsor, Beata Augustin, Judged 01/25/2022
First Place
Time. Time, it has been proposed, is the fourth dimension.
And yet, for mortal man, time has no dimension at all.
We are like horses with blinders,
seeing only what lies before us.
Forever guessing the future and fabricating the past.
Roebling from the movie Kate and Leopold
PHOTO-BOUQUET
His charm a ne’er do well,
when heaped upon the table,
fraught with wine and game of shells—
this knight in cocky sable.
Twilight, he twinkled apropos,
but his midnight dalliance dwindles.
His forthright tongue strikes a blow.
A courtly romance, he couldn’t kindle.
Inkwell and feather pen, in figure eight
precision, portends an indefensible apology.
He begs an overture by moonlight, Kate.
The oaf’s acumen engenders sparks flawlessly.
The maid of honor, enraptured with royalty.
Roof terrace violins, lanterns, and lavish table set.
Fairytale of time, the ambiance carefree.
Intermingled lives— daydreamers tête-à-tête.
Leopold leaps— she’s not sure she is capable.
Neither rich nor old-fashioned— a modern day
business woman yet her fate is inescapable.
With success in pocket, Kate unfolds a photo-bouquet.
Impossibility of simpatico in parallel places and times.
What else would make this lucrative lady jump?
The present spinning paradigm of past and life times.
Her existential leap— an aspiring broad jump.
The photos show Kate and Leopold in his time
where she’s never been — behold, fate’s sublime.
10/20/2021
(buzzfeeding, kickstarting, needling darn noggin)
An effort to recall word, phrase,
musician... indigenous tribe...
most frustrating literary
endeavor to das scribe
aggravating enough to sub
bourbon spur teetotaler to imbibe
and/or nsync, whereby soul searching
devil's advocate demands bribe.
Lil brokeback Engelbert Humperdinck
(born Arnold George Dorsey) bent edict coercion
(think sexual mores)
scaring stripes off blushing zebra
bunched unencumbered vice pliable straw
aforementioned pablum admittedly "fake"
birthed within cerebral tenderloin
of impractical joker,
whereby fifty plus shades
of gray matter (mine)
chafed and rubbed raw
prevarication playfully did overdraw
and tax poetic license writ courtesy this paw
poor putz offal declension
sprouted within mum maw
noun tent to verb (bull eyes - red) to draw
flak, but merely to harmlessly entertain
so accept apologies (mine)
verses calling strong (lanced) arm of law.
I (garden variety poetaster) reckon fair game
media personalities grist for rumor mill, though lame
explanation given (funny first and surname)
adopted by supposed "finest middle-of-the-road
balladeers around," who co opted his stage name
from authentic Engelbert Humperdinck; selfsame
prodigy circa 1 September 1854 –
27 September 1921
German composer, who wrote, I gently exclaim
the opera Hansel and Gretel - a Grimm fairytale
actually frightful saga - read countless times
setting me boyhood imagination aflame
with mailer daemons, who haunted dreams
(mine) 'course in retrospect material tame
compared/contrasted with current pandemic
analogous as if mother Earth -
a metaphorical dame
experiencing long overdue reprieve, cuz shame
on *****sapiens belching pollutants
at any price to garner fortune and fame.
An episode of birds hovers beneath
a marmalade moon , just for a while,
as cotton-clouds sweep
the brushed limbs of a sky ready
to cradle the cloaks draping avian settlers;
those who like us ascend on hammocks
of dreams windblown by heady seasons
gliding through embroidered spring, the livid
lust in summer, on to a pious psalm come autumn,
soon... opal stalagmites of winter:
how abrupt and immediate this leaving!
Here we are, beyond shadows tasting
the song of evening walks soaring with
Aurora’s mist vanishing into a world
where permanence of cycles returns and repeats
the refrains from humming rivers growing frail,
until buds explode into leafy twirls
sweeter than the scent of parsley
on a fresh daylight…. icy, spicy, tangy.
Birds tweet, to swivel back into ancestral nests
much like us... wandering then yearning to kindle
the fire and oil of sweet home. Somehow,
seasons change… but our children’s dwellings
and god ‘s grace do not.
............
1/28/2016
For Cyndi Mac Millan's Contest
FIVE PROOF: FREE VERSE
THAT SHOWS IT AIN'T NO PROSE
......................
Literary devices: Assonance, Alliteration,
Imagery, Mood, Synesthesia
We sat beneath a night sky of graduated charcoals, blacks and interstellar blues. Fall’s begun its indispensable work, banishing the harsh sun, the creepy lanternflies and hot summer nights.
The stars seemed hesitant tonight, like they feared the sun might change its mind, reverse its course and run them back off - except one, which Peter says is Jupiter (and therefore not a star at all).
We were (Peter, Sunny, Anna and I), studying, in our fold-up lounge chairs and reading by little kindle lights clipped on our books. Leong’s there too - supposedly studying - but in reality, she was waiting for her date.
Leong and Sile have been flirting since last year and tonight’s their first, official date. Leong’s never been on a western date before or ever been alone with a boy in a car. She’s only seen romance in movies or from afar, like an astronomer viewing a distant moon through a telescope.
Her outfit, though casual, was coalesced from six wardrobes and no king or questing knight has ever been dressed more carefully or with greater ceremony. She even positioned her chair at a carefully chosen angle, to show her, initially, in her best light - “Zhù ni hao yùn!” She insisted (It’s good luck).
She’s a gorgeous, brilliant, amazing woman with a razor-thin veneer of amorous confidence. I know my nerves playup when I’m uncertain about things, but Leong’s playing it off, acting casual.. ish.
Finally, with an almost physical jolt, she saw him enter the quad. As he approached, his every aspect was scrutinized by vigilant, overprotective roommates. The air was filled with the whispered buzz of shared analysis.
Soon they were walking off together and chuckling at something we couldn’t hear. It’s funny, I’ve never felt so much like a parent.
Avid interest prevails
for this "news junky" to get affix -
hence kudos for journalists,
who risk life and limb - bricks
bats clobber such
daring persons, who strive
like fledgling chicks
to get bonafide storied scoop,
especially when video flicks
capture shame faced
depravity, or worse,
these days many brave souls
killed for kicks,
nonetheless paltry posthumous tribute paid,
with primitive cross made of sticks
assassins gun down, (or kill some other way
to silence frontline factfinders),
sans brutal, short and ruses and tricks.
as a concerned global
citizen, an ache
prevails to glean abhorrently
base, corruptly demonic,
evilly ferocious, gory henchmen,
insidiously kindle and break
king the lofty liberty, laudatory
ambitious aims of
REAL versus "FAKE"
information, and praise to die hard,
fearless, and intrepid soul who make
searching for raw bits their mission
so such valuable
nuggets of verity slake
my unquenchable thirst
to gain insight take
a moment of silent
appreciation so I a can wake
without a trace
of doubt within
mine cerebral space
the outrageous naked
issues afflicting race
religion, nationality, et cetera
co opting and out pace
sing modern day torch bearing
apostles amazingly grace
fully doggedly persevering
despite the ugly face
of thuggish sinister rogues
damning to erase
any iota of factual happenings
emboldened duty bound scribes chase.
The good witch is still trying hard to collect the future
Nostalgic and post-modern she fondles her crystal ball
With soft hands she embraces Gaia and its sepia hue
Oblivious to oblivion she attempts to elude the inevitable
A monochrome reminder of the future’s soft calling
If the earth was flat warriors would fall of the edges
But her grip remains an illusion of human endeavour
And yet the photographer’s lens refuses acceptance
'My paradigm is one of lingering hope' he seems to allude
The voice of a renegade artist while the shutter is closed
The mind wanders along fantasy’s perambulating soul
Blends out a scream shot phases into caring surrender
Of a world not quite forgotten in hearts of compassion
Tables need turning and sheets hold fragrance of love
Flickering light embraces translucent impermanence
Its not rocket science to kindle an ephemeral candle
With astronauts on the moon and apocalyptic star wars
Prophesy’s calling however resigns to a parallel universe
In which the dark ages have come to haunt humankind
Clairvoyants see photophiles show and the poet must write
29th February 2020
Daddy what was at the bottom of that bottle that was so important to you? Was there a golden treasure buried there? Tell me is it true?
It had to be something incredible for you to need it all the time, I mean you couldn’t go a day without it, but you could my mother’s love, and mine
Was it the cure for cancer at the bottom of that bottle? If so, I could understand what made you continue to drink, you were trying to help some man
I know that they say alcoholism is a disease and that you can’t just walk away, but you never tried to, you just let it consume your days
It was your life, the reason you got out of bed, you thought about it when you couldn’t have it and even when you would lay down to rest your head
It was like a mistress that you couldn’t let go of, it took a hold of you and destroyed your heart and soul
It destroyed your life, but you were alright with that, if you could just feel the burn, that was your daily task
Were you trying to fill a void? What was missing in your life? You had a family and a loving wife
You had no reason to be unhappy, no reason to want to drink, but it was your lover, and I guess it made you not to have to think
All I want to know is was it worth it in the end? You lost everything in your life, well except your drunken friends
They were there to support you and cheer you on, they made you feel that what you were doing was right, but you should have known it was wrong
Years and years have passed, and you still hit the bottle every day, I’ll never understand but I guess it’s not my place.
This poem is from my book titled Daddy Issues available for purchase on Amazon and Kindle. My pen name is Amanda Carroll Kinzer
Planting seeds of life - growing self awareness...
(Subtitled: kudos beloved Amelie Beth)
Dilly gents gal lore spellbinding
metaphorically exhuming, ferreting, gleaning...
insightful handy dandy blues clues
unearthing treasure trove motherlode,
(and father lode) eye opening discover re:
visa vis our family of origin ancestry.
Painstaking efforts undertaken
courtesy thee i.e. eldest sister
(age difference between her and yours truly
thirteen months and twelve days)
ye (figuratively) dug deep
within plethora of genealogical database
mine insight piqued
following genetic revelations.
Raw bits (nuggets - comstock
rivalling wealth of Croesus
sowed countless generations ago)
enlightened this protoplasmic broth heir,
(a biological composite dada
elicited factoids ginning
humongous, illustrious, judicious...
awareness, that allows, enables provides...
knowledge linking me deoxynucleic acid
with forebears, whose good n plenti
inherited characteristics, desires
(under the elms), mannerisms,
predilections, quirks, urges,
yearnings, et cetera contra dance,
flickr, golong, kindle, shutterfly...
within mine contemplative,
intuitive, reflective...soul asylum
explaining, informing, liberating...
natural inquisitiveness percolating within,
not necessarily to excuse
deleterious, egregious, infamous...
(hyperbole for poetic impact)
behavior (mine), nonetheless
delighting, educating, fascinating...
assimilating, bridging, semen ting
heritage invariably jumpstarting
dormant desire to acquire
increased comprehension whereby,
I experience surge to learn
greater familiarity affecting
heightened awareness, where
countless questions once incubated
regarding spiritual communion,
where lovely bones of mein kampf
feel linkedin with spirits
of thee dead ancestors.
Hence awesome accomplishment
piecing together (with assistance from relatives)
once puzzling enigma shrouding
past lives (not sainted)
comprising Harris family of origin.