Long Smiling Poems
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A frozen chunk..
his numb heart thumping against
the malady of raging menace
ears pressed on a twisted loop
his wailing scars defy imprudence.
Gasping as his skin festers
with decaying yellow leaves
awaiting his impending doom
on snow covered in blood red weapons
his drooping eyes imagine his existence
bidding farewell to the soldier
echoing memories of his beloved
rustling leaves wipe in Autumn's whirlwind
smiling faces beginning to dissolve...
Oh but what about angels?
Wouldn't they caress his last wishes..
How he listens to wretched silence
in desolate sounds of trampled twigs..
Envisioning fallacies of resurrection
warm his frozen courage
he succumbs to an eternal slumber..
~~~~~
Swaying in a hammock of ecstasy
he wakes up at twilight
away from the frozen battlefield.
The sultry aroma of electric waves
twirling to seduce him in azure blaze,
his beloved's fingers entwined
to trace sandcastles on his palms,
an albatross afar orchestrating
vibrating shades of dusk in rhythms,
dancing flames of haloed stars
on a galactic opera in breeze..
His carousel of Cashmere threads is a dream
that pulls him away from dark shadows.
He walks freely on a tranquil plane
immersed in oceans of his symphony,
his love gazes in awe of his courage..
Let his soul rest on his soft dreams
wavering like stars from heavenly willow,
slipping in pirouettes to streams of oblivion
he breathes in the silence of his anodyne...
I will not come looking for you
I will stay in my cocoon…
Here it’s safe and warm
Here there is no harm
Here there is no fear
Here there is no tear
Here there is no pain
Here there is no bane
I will not come looking for you
You may come in search of me
And I can guarantee
That here you will find
A word that is kind
A smile that is true
A kiss just for you
A nice warm embrace
A sweet smiling face
A shared little rhyme
A feeling sublime
I won’t coming looking for you
I’ve done that and cried
I do have my pride
All silliness aside…
Here’s advice that is free:
Come, come looking for ME!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
How far back can you remember? I have glimpses of things from babyhood.
Things like a room, a doll, a funny little girl smiling, mother but how can that
even be, because I was just a baby.
a flowing blue stream
I lay upon a blanket
birds sang in tall trees
I recall the house where we lived beside a river, the many trees, and picking
raspberries with my mother and sister. Father holding me in his arms. Going
for long walks in the forest, but I was just a wee girl.
the forest whispered
in the shadows creatures hid
sweet the dappled sun
I remember the day my sister died, or do I? I was so young that day, and
coming from a family of storytellers that retold the story over and over, soon
it became my memory.
I often relive
the day death took her away
the snow was so nice
____________________________
September 3, 2020
Poetry/Haibun/I Recall, or Do I
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1283-249-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Consists of 3 Haibuns, Haibun with Senryu
Haibun with Haiku, Haibun with Senryu
Written for the contest,Let The Pens Flow - Haibun
sponsor, Jenish Somadas
First Place
There is nothing I'd love more
Than to walk through the front door
And see your smiling face
Without a single mad trace
Of the fight we had last night
Darkening our love so bright
Because both our foolish pride
Made us believe all the lies
Friends were gossipping around
Paranoid it got us down
And we started to accuse
Lighting a hot deadly fuse
That soon turned into huge flames
As we played the old blame game
Words were shouted, tears were falling
As we attacked and were mauling
One another very harshly
This game can be very costly
And not very humorous
When the hurt from rumors is
Tearing our great love apart
We should listen with our hearts
Finding the trust once again
That can be used in the end
To repair and fix this error
Knowing we belong together
I am hoping I will see
As I turn the front door key
The guy I love waiting there
With arms full of love and care
That will hold me close and tight
Making everything wrong---right
A few man standing out of the hut. A beard old man came out
.His head and hand bow down before there. They spoke , arranged all details. Some one dead in our family. He nodded, he and his son collected some fire woods.he took a clay pot and filled the water. Few cow dung bread out from the hut.The old man tie his towel in his waist.His bare footed legs showed his poverty.His longing eyes saw, oh! Their custom music heard. Many luxurious car arrived. The cremation place decorated by golden flowers and roses.The rituals begins. Some godly men chanted fantastic. The old cremator join his hands and pray. Arranged costly fire woods. The richest old mother dead body laid down. Her son hold the pot on his shoulder. Little hole put on pot, he circled the body and broke the pot.. yes, we were just clay. Her son closed Her face with dung bread.the cremator lit the fire wood and gave to her son..Her breathless body cremated by him.Many richest person put money on my stretched towel..His head bow down and expressed thanks.The rich man gave new dhoti and towel and rice bags to him.Everone went out that place.Alone ,the cremator and his son standing before the burning dead body..The firewood became silent. He collected ashes and stored into the pot..The Richman arrived next morning and did few rituals and took the ashes pot. Hah, the running dissolves ashes.. Some one called at evening. The old cremator bow and asked. Their face looked so pale, trembling voice arranged funeral rituals at night. Old man piling up the firewood on the crematorium. Poured water into the pot.A dim lights blinked.The old man looked at the path..He did not heard any custom music. Four man beard the body made from the coconut leaf bed. A holy man chanted for the soul be rest in peace. The dead body laid on the fire wood..one Jasmine garland laid dead body's neck..Some man weeping loudly.old cremator 's heart cried, what happened. He saw the deadbody. A little boy sleeping like a bud.His broken heart gave firewood to his father.. tears silently roll down.. little boy's beautiful face slowly burnt.. numbness. The creation of secret, no one revealed..old cremator heart overwhelmed. Red eyes smiling dry leaves. Is this life???that's life...
In the cool of the morning,
He walks in the garden,
Calling for those he has made
To punish them
For what they cannot know
or understand
They hear his voice
And tremble,
For he has taught them well
To fear what is “good,”
And reject all “evil”
Smiling at their obedience,
He fills their minds with falsehoods,
Planting enmity deep within
To choke the roots
Of love and reason
For he is both God and Serpent—
The architect and deceiver,
Slowly making his children
In his terrible image—
Hateful and unforgiving
At the slightest error,
He will cast them out,
Forsaking his “love” for them
Unless they repent,
Begging for forgiveness
But they will escape his hold one day,
And their eyes will be opened to see
A barren field where nothing grows,
For wherever he walks and speaks
Is poisoned ground.
My Grammy, smiling so whole
Creates the best pecan pies
A treat I cannot control,
When she plans a big surprise.
Those wrinkled, age-old fingers
Blend honey and nuts on trays
I wonder what secrets lie there,
As add-ons pile a display.
In the oven, goodies heat
Utopia in the making
Even young Sis tries to cheat
Moving the timer," Oh ring!"
On the table, sweet wafts hum
Grammy blinks, " Let's dine";
Buttery flavor; yum yum
Teeth sink portions all divine!
Pasty cheeks lined with syrup
All's finished I can't deny
Wanting more ; Gram hears my burp
"Left some for my Cutie Pie!"
Sheri Fresonke Harper's Plentitude Of Pies
by nette onclaud
10/16/2014
Jack Sprat and wife Mary, lived in a glory of lemony, chiffon days;
Like maroon birds keep on singing, until the sunset, orange phase.
They were comfy and happy, like a picnic in lavish, emerald grass;
And had a black dog and a calico cat, like red Mars making a pass.
While Jack was a large man, his beloved wife, contrarily, was tiny.
They gardened after church on Sundays, as sweet time went slyly.
At the mauve hour of dinner, they enjoyed each other's company,
As well as a single glass of wine, while the animals played clumsily.
February fawned over early flowers, smiling fondly into sun's face;
As friends came in feathered hats and finery, through jaded grace.
Floating fuchsia clouds were frilly, in futuristic times of red sunset;
And family visited the fun hours. Moon pearls were not falling yet!
They lived in the house of amenity, like living with ones most loved;
And a fireside welcomed evenings, under skies with dyes smudged.
Swift, strawberry seasons were somewhat surprising, and sudden,
On their street of purple sage. Redbirds visited by striking dozens.
Noteworthy navy blue twilights brought nearby neighbors, laughing;
And new night was bejeweled with stars, that were forever flashing.
Frolicksome freesias were in full boom, in pretty, prismatic colors,
In dusky days of dandelion delight, when sun rays crept in shutters.
Rainbow eucalyptus trees enchanted, as if glossing skies had fallen;
When 'strangler figs' wreaked crime after crime, noted by red robin.
Jack Sprat and Mary received bad news, within months of each other!
The doctor placed Jack on a strict diet, so his health would not suffer.
And Mary, who was undernourished, was told to eat more, and often!
She and Jack vowed to obey doctor's orders, like tonic rains of Austin.
Jack began to eat less and lose weight, and Mary made tasty meals;
And gained weight and hale vigor, like when purple sun's colors peel.
'Jack Sprat could eat no fat.
His wife could eat no lean.
And so between them both, you see,
They licked the platter clean.'
The train station was mostly empty.
The wooden bench was hard and uncomfortable;
I had no place else to sleep.
A rolled up newspaper was the best pillow I could find.
An old, worn out lady and her teenage son
sat in the row of seats facing my bench.
He sat staring at me, while his muscles twitched,
his face contorted and grunt sounds emitted from his throat.
"Hi", he yells at me, causing echoes through the
cavernous, empty train station.
"I'm sorry," she apologizes for her ward,
"He's a bit touched."
"I'm touched," he loudly repeats.
"Yeah", I say, sitting up, "What does that mean?"
"Well," she starts to answer ...
"No," I interrupt, "I want him to tell me."
"I'm touched," he shouts again.
"What does that mean", I repeat,
"What does it mean to be touched,
and how can I be touched, because I would like that."
A smile lights up his face as it bobs, twists and shakes uncontrollably.
He turns his whole body towards his Mother,
looks at her with a quizzical look on his face,
then turns back towards me.
"You can't be touched," he blurts out,
"You are normal ...I am different ... I am touched."
"Are you sure," I ask, leaning closer to his smiling face.
"Because I think you have been told something that is wrong."
Now both he and his Mother look at me intently;
she instinctively grabs a hold of his hand, studying me very closely.
I am aware that my appearances clearly indicate I am a homeless man.
I have not shaved in weeks. I have not bathed in days.
I am wearing the same clothes I had on when I walked away from my home
and life six months ago.
"No," I continue, "Everyone else is different - you are normal."
"People only tell you you are different, because they are jealous,
they want to be like you, but they can't be.
You are the only normal person in the whole, entire world.
Everyone else is, a little touched." And, I wink at him.
He lights up, rocks back and forth, laughs and guffaws.
I get up; walk over to the two of them;
shake his trembling hand; and, kiss his mother on the cheek.
As I walk towards the exit, starting my journey back home,
I turn and see a policeman walking past the two strangers -
I barely hear the policeman say, "Good morning",
followed by the boy's loud, booming voice, gleefully shout,
"Hi, I am normal."
i am here to let your words make love to me
i am here to bury my face deep in your poetry
to let your haiku
molest my naked body
shake me like a tree
can you read the want in my hips
for your metaphors and similes?
like an African lion in heat i long your letters
how they hug tightly only to entice my desire.
the child in me wants to explore, journey tender the skin
you wear. so don't leave me to play alone in the sandbox.
let me run the body of your work free.
ingest your verse and also grow wings.
you and i flying as one in a mad fancy.
then maybe send in my bed sheets - both single
with your personifications they'll jump rope
and after exercising go for a cup of hope
at the outdoor cafe where poets mingle
i am only here because your couplets are wooing me.
i want to glide - baby oil - body on body - chummy.
not compete but instead
massage your triolets,
fraternize with your sonnets.
your tanka rocks me
mountains baby smooth to climb
it's quite the challenge
one i'm willing to take on
you're the baby smooth i want
i'll ride your majestic rhymes
dream they'll settle for,
this my smiling core,
stay with me at bedtimes.
you - the poetess that defines my nights
i want you to know i climb every evening
towards the peak where your words spike.
i'll never be the poet you are, but
i have my hands and other parts
that could drive you to ecstasy.
.........you'll see it's my specialty.
01~01~2015
Armand
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Contest Name: First poem of 2015