Long Powder puff Poems
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I want to be lost in a sea of rainbow leaves
as the drum of time rolls and September is here
and Summer is a shadow on the wall of time
today clouds sail across a blue azure sky
though some clouds are still and powder puff beautiful
but sadly my garden in the stillness is decaying
and fading, fading each day with whispers of farewell
for the nights are cool and crisp
oh, hello September, I welcome your breezy ways
and the leaves that will fall and float, spin and twirl
it is time for pumpkin pies and roasted chestnuts
cuddly sweaters and lighting a crackling fire
and making fat apple pies like grandma used to bake
and going for walks to enjoy the vibrant nature change
my golden hair flowing and my cheeks blushed mauve
and my lips ruby red waiting for a raindrop kiss
the lovely emerald trees now vivid colors against the sky
and squirrels are busy gathering and birds tweet a song
as my feet crunch the leaves and the air is scented earthy
oh, hello September ...
____________________
September 16, 2021
Poetry/Free Verse/Oh, Hello September
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1389-209-16
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Hello September
sponsor, Mystic Rose Rose, Judged 09/19/2021
Fourth Place
Blessed with scent-lavished fulfillment
I thank God for sense of smell’s* endowment
allowing my nose to optimize daily goodness merriment
while feasting on fragrances wafting pleasurable bestowment…
Morning greets with awesome “floral blossom” spray freshness moment
Oh, my special child’s “tangerine” shampoo offers refreshment
as his “powder puff” baby cologne subdues his excitement
after favorite “bubble gum” toothpaste’s settlement...
I’m pampered with cooling “pepper mint” body scrub treatment
then “aloe vera” prevails for my preferred organic enjoyment
not forgetting “citrus” in its moisturizing engagement
and my lingering “vanilla” perfume statement...
“Eucalyptus” tops my therapeutic involvement
along “jasmine” aiding toward stress management
never setting aside “coconut” with healing sentiment
soothed by “chamomile” inducing my sleep and prayer commitment.
Philippians 4:18 … an odour of a sweet smell, a sacrifice acceptable, wellpleasing to God.
March 26, 2021
1st place, "Favorite Scent(s)" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke; judged on 4/1/2021.
Isabel was the youngest of four children, dwelling in a large old house,
Nestled under the burgeoning oak trees, in green spring, of no doubts.
Isabel's parents were devout churchgoers, insisting upon going weekly;
But, Isabel often preferred playing, like dawn, pink sun, shining meekly.
Theirs was a tight knit community, the kind everyone wants to live in;
Like orange butterflies, calling on red flowers, of golden days in a spin.
Isabel and funny friends flew blue kites, under floating clouds of fluff,
On finer days, foreseeing furious storm, betwixt yoyo's, bikes and stuff!
Fleeting faddish colors flitted summer gardens, as bug eyed frogs leapt,
On flighty days of family visits, and gloss sunshine, where the ages slept.
Isabel lived in the house of now and then, like a rare eclipse of wonder;
Or the burgundy roses of seldom, evoking the green spell we are under.
Scented sincerity wafted from still blooms, on the street of sunny views.
There Isabel's family lived sparkly lives, like yellow stars, in sweet youth.
Nice music came from treetop nests, in shady niches where it was born;
When nonchalant neighbors came casual, and geese honked their horn.
'Pink powder puff' flowers applied talcum, as 'rattlesnake calathea' hissed;
And 'purple daydream' dozed away, its fragrance and beauty, very noticed!
'Weeping blue wisteria' was melancholy, although sun was shining orange;
And 'blue waterfall' bellflowers cascaded, like a couple, taking the plunge.
Sunday came and Isabel was pouting, as she would be in church for hours!
And she wore a long face to Sunday school, like dissent among the flowers.
But, Sunday school was so much fun, and she had forgotten it was Easter;
And the Lord's face was smiling down, and her unhappiness, released her!
They all had a snack and played a fun game, singing and clapping along;
For every warm heart is happiest, midst melodious voices, raised in song!
'If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands.
If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands.
If you're happy and you know it,
Then your face will surely show it,
If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands.'
I Could Sit Here”
I could walk along this sandy shore.
Crashing waves to and fro.
Sandpipers chirping,
Seagulls circling,
White sails sailing.
I could sit here for a while.
I could hike this rocky trail.
Relish the splendor of snowcapped peaks
Bathe in an icy brook
Cast a line without a fly
Bull elk braying in the meadow below
I could sit here for a while
I could lie in this meadow of green,
As Meadowlarks sing their prairie songs.
Powder-puff clouds away up high.
A Light breeze cools my brow.
Golden sunset paints the sky.
I could sit here for a while.
I could swing you to and fro
Watch you glide up to the sky.
Your gleeful laughter makes me high.
You are the sunshine in my eye,
The brightest pearl in my life.
I could sit here for a while.
Angela is our oldest, she was the prettiest baby imaginable
Her large blue eyes from her Daddy’s side of the family, spoke volumes.
She had a gorgeous face and curls that danced when she toddled.
We thought she was all that and she was.
At nineteen months she became a big sister, and she took it seriously.
Tracy, our second, became her “baby”. She adored her, loved hugging her.
We could not prop her bottle though because Angela would confiscate it
And lie under the crib drinking it with gusto, as she had recently been weaned.
Angela was allergic to everything green, so she preferred inside to outside.
She had weekly allergy shots when she was five; it broke my heart.
She loved school until some big boys she could not identify ambushed her.
It was the first time I let her walk by herself. I held her and sobbed.
When she was seven she got a new baby Sister, Susie. She claimed her.
Telling me one day “You don’t have any idea what this baby means to me.”
She was an avid book reader, had a fantastic sense of humor and a terrific laugh.
Constantly tried to please everyone, which was impossible.
As a preteen she painted her room black and went “Goth” years before anyone else.
I knew it was not a reflection on her soft heart and was unconcerned.
At 16 she was hooked on romance novels, so I took her to a Romance Writers Conference.
We had the best time; and she met her favorite romance writer, Helen Mittermeier,
Helen Mittermeier was gracious and asked Angela what her favorite books were.
Angela could name her heroines, heroes, and tell her the plot of her books.
Helen asked her who her “second favorite author was”.
Angela named someone, and Helen’s entire table of women writers burst out laughing.
Angela’s second favorite author was Helen Mittermeier, using an alias.
They were totally impressed.
Angela went to college and became a designated driver on campus.
No surprise; she always likes nurturing people.
She joined the Air Force when she was in her twenties. I was stunned.
My little powder puff joining the Air Force? What?
She did great; to this day she is a federal employee.
She is a GS16 which is high up.
I have always been proud of my daughter, but my pride was bursting
When she gave the eulogy at my mother’s funeral.
No one could have done a better job.
I am sure my mother was proud too.
My principal is one
Of the best four principals
I have ever met, told me she
Saw her budget, and the counselor
For her school (our school if you include me)
Gets a counselor for 4 days next year, not 5.
Which means, if I am the counselor, I would
Have to be in another school one day a week
Next year. Ugh! Some of the schools are pretty
Awful. I’m such a powder puff, I’d be running out
With crying eyes by 8:15 in some of these schools,
And they don’t even start until 9.
My Principal (M.P. for short)
M.P. spoke with the second only to the TOP
The Big Top- the Superintendent himself,
And she said that they need me here
Next year, and it has to be 5 days
A week, because I mean this much
To her and our school.
I am so grateful! And optimistic
because the counselors often
do not know what school
They get until Saturday night at 9
The week before school starts.
Our pristine, prissy, upscale dining room was almost never used.
And now it can’t be used for eating, for it is slightly junked and abused.
Dining room table is so long, it started to almost immediately collect....
So many items, that who has inclination or time to carefully inspect?
At first it was just an art project, or a button or two,
But then it was stacks of magazines, and material red, white and blue.
Our junk drawer became two, and three, and four.
And now we just put a few things in boxes stacked on the floor.
Yesterday I found Great Auntie Leigh’s French powder puff.
My sister discovered her Christmas stockings and holiday ****.
There are boxes in here that were not here this summer.
We do not eat here anymore, probably can’t now. What a bummer.
We have a path to the table, but not to the fancy schmancy chairs.
I am slamming the door before my husband comes down the stairs.
He has the illusion this place is tidy and clean, waiting for company.
I am afraid if he saw it he would suggest dusting or cleaning to me.
I jump from the chair, and fall flat on my sad little hands.
Discover six inch ball made of six thousand and two rubber bands.
Well, that is where you are! My husband says, poking in his nose.
He hops over some chairs and grabs up a cornet, taking some blows.
Your junk is in here too! I say, accusing him, trying to have a fit.
The dining room has never been used this much. This I have to admit.
We can never eat in here again, he says plunking down a box.
What is he trying to get away with now? That conniving old fox!
Lines more lunatic than the sun – 9
for her
who looks most beautiful in red orna
i’m carrying the best wishes of those lilies
blooming on the iron-grill
When the blue-lotus is becoming more intense
within the rain pipe
i’ve lost the gate-pass of my earthly-birth
this world of secret inclinations and intentions
written in the letters of wild-jasmine
here to take a step
there is the ring-worms
to extend the hand
there is hydrophobia
so many nicknames for the boat-sinking
so many infiltrations
here the information from akrur catered much more
on the skin of masala-muri
than on the misti-dai
much more dance of the algebra
when by the hands
stolen from the sheep-herd
i’m sweeping the fallen leaves
it repeatedly comes to my mind today
that many market-price does not see me alive
even-then each powder-puff is scripting me
on the soap-water
Lines more lunatic than the sun – 10
then
owing to the pollen-grains
i can’t become a good goal-keeper
even a morning
overcastted with nimbus
does not walk
catching the finger of the clap of the thunder
courtesy the james-clip
in her malkosh is playing on
the caw
the news-paper hawker
the maid-servant
though with some different bonding
with some different lighting
so much lachrymose on the cover of the opposite-water
as if at the gate of the candle-manufacturing-plant
some one by the capsicum get attached
the well-being information of the bison that breaks easily
and after stealing some over-boundaries
from the store of the un-timely spring
mingles with the pages of physics
a ratnti-kali-puja
that’ve got titillations from the nail-polish
through the act of walking
i’m
as i can guess
going to become drunk-mad
Form:
"Has solitude ever led your steps down a green
forest path to linger in tranquility"
Quote _by Poet
Powder puff clouds sail across the deep, deep blue sky,
and peaceful eagles soar and dip in a fly by;
the flowers gleam like jewels in the sun,
the beauty of the green hued forest makes me sigh.
There is a magic beneath the tall dappled trees,
among the many bird songs and the buzzing bees;
I admire a soft spider web spun,
and the squirrels use tree branches as a trapeze.
Soon, afternoon shadows are stretching long and thin,
oh, a cool rippling stream beckons me to step in;
and some brave birds visit me one by one,
I watch pretty butterflies whirl, twirl, swirl and spin.
Amid saturated colors and thoughts I heal,
oh, the serene forest has so much to reveal;
seems that nature is God's favorite son,
and I am wrapped in a cool blanket of surreal.
"and the birds twitter like whispering violins ... "
quote by _ Poet
_______________________
September 14, 2021
Poetry/Rhyme/Tranquil Thoughts
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1388-695-14
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Idyll
sponsor, John Lawless, Judged 09/29/2021
Second Place
Windswept Dreams
“Find this day on glistened beams, the love within my windswept dreams"
My windswept dreams follow satin spider webs, creating wish spun tapestries
in patterns of desire threaded among yawning willows lazily flowing, shifting colors,
reflecting the cheerfulness of an early morning sun on blue skies smiling.
Love sent messages, passionate poetic whispers, floating on powder puff clouds
softly seeking the winding path woven of marigold promises and butterfly tickles,
through oleander hedge mazes shaped of nature’s beauty, guiding them to your heart
Good Morning Soupers