Long Sweetness and light Poems
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Only time will tell the outcome of this rhyme,
Whether it will succeed in the nick of time.
So better safe than sorry, as they say,
A good beginning makes a good ending, I pray.
I’ll write a little bit of this and a little bit of that,
All fingers and thumbs as I lay down my hat,
Better safe than sorry - the acid test,
I’m as busy as a bee and I’ll give it my best.
If the poems voted up I’ll be as pleased as punch,
Or back to basics because there’s no free lunch.
Between you, me and the bedpost I’m hoping for the best,
That it proves head and shoulders above the rest.
With luck it reaches the four corners of the Earth,
For I’ll give my right arm for some literacy worth.
I dream that the votes might go through the roof,
That I’m not hung out to dry as a poetic spoof.
I’m not asking the Earth and it could just be pot luck,
Whether this is a raving success or as dead as a duck.
Will this win an award? Yeah, in your dreams!
This could be the end of the line, it seems.
Writing this poem’s not all sweetness and light!
It’s a long shot trying to get this right.
Just have to keep my pants on, cross my fingers and all,
That it takes the world by storm and I’m not in free fall.
I can only hope I knock it out of the park,
That it’s not just a stab in the dark.
Last be not least let me bend your ear,
For this opportunity doesn’t knock twice I fear.
I’ll leave you with something to chew on my friend,
It isn’t rocket science, we all get there in the end.
It might be a white knuckle ride at times,
But you can leave your mark with a poetic rhyme.
My Love, Forever and Ever
My Bumpa, a burly teddy bear,
With hands so big, beyond compare,
A pirate once, with tales of the sea,
And Santa Clause, for you and for me,
A heart as vast as endless sky,
With a gentle spirit, and a loving eye.
My Nana Sue, so tiny and tall,
Her heart held love enough for all,
She'd bake all day, with flour and glee,
A constant giver, for you and for me,
Her hands were never idle, always on the go,
Planting seeds of kindness and watching them grow.
He'd be Santa Clause, with a booming laugh,
For Christmas in July, on our behalf.
And she, his dear Mrs. Clause, so kind,
The sweetest woman you could ever find.
I couldn't see them as often as I'd crave,
But in my heart, their memories I'd save,
I'd sit and listen to the stories he'd tell,
Under his magical, loving, pirate spell.
And with my Nana Sue, I'd share a secrete smile,
Knowing her love was with me all the while.
He and I walked in the forest, green and deep,
Sharing secrets only we could keep.
We'd talk for hours, just the two of us,
About life, and dreams, and a child's trust.
The trees stood witness, silent and grand,
To the special bond of a girl in her Bumpa's hand.
They took me to the ocean, vast and wide,
Searching for a sand dollar, with nowhere to hide.
For hours we'd comb the sand, side by side,
A treasure hunt, with nothing to gain but pride.
That single shell, a symbol of their love,
A gift from the sea, and from the heavens above.
At a market, with colors and sounds all around,
A special treat for me, they had found.
A fruit tart, a burst of sweetness and light,
A perfect ending to a day so bright.
My heart would swell, a love so true,
For my big Bumpa and my Nana Sue.
My heart belongs to them forever and ever,
My love for them will leave my soul, never.
They are not merely poets.
They are sorcerers of words, concealed deep within their souls,
Letting them seep out quietly like mysterious shadows.
They fear not critics, for they understand that poetry
Is an ancestral calling, a force springing from their very beings.
Their journals transform into kindness or darkness,
Before they realize their calling as magicians of words.
Their truths emerge like an enchanted river, astonishing them.
Feelings crawl onto pages, in fierce and thirsty letters,
And romantic sensibilities settle gently on lined sheets,
In the form of sweetness and light that envelop them.
They are players of words, possessed by an ancestral obsession,
Yet this does not wholly define them.
This sorcery is but a secret touch of their own entities.
They can be wonderful caregivers or friends,
And those who rely on their smile daily may not know
That they are enthralled with words and obsessed with bringing them to life.
They are unique gems, mined from the depths of divine minds.
Poetry rouses subtle veils of their own essences,
But their secrets remain occult and hidden.
They are not just poets.
They are lovers of life and words, keeping their grandeur
Hidden and unknown to most.
This is really good fun
no one can see me at all
but I can see everyone else
this is astounding, feel so tall
It's amazing what you see
when nobody has eyes upon you
so free to watch on and on
especially to know what to do
Looking now seeing weddings aplenty
love proposes for women love man
as man seeks women for his bride
bringing kids to extend life according to plan
Divorce is banned, no separation
harmony rules forever and a day
such sweetness and light to be found
hold it close before going grey
Invisably enlightened overall
nothing hidden for my eye to see
amazing dreams to wish upon
feels strong like that large tree
(I have written this poem from a quote "If You Became Suddenly Invisible What Would You Do And Go". You would realize no one could see you anymore but you could see them.)
Little known virus billed with hype
is much like the elusive snipe
look for clues and bilk mysteria.
COVID-19 is a blight
take your temperature, dispel fright
combat the urge of hysteria.
Cancellations? don't groan and gripe
take wise advice to wash and wipe
learn CDC’s criteria.
Counter laziness, use your might
raise your normal household fight
reduce viruses, bacteria.
Social distancing is an archetype
of honest help instead of tripe
Heed experts in your area.
Apply intentional foresight,
Observe limits with sweetness and light
Thank God this is NOT malaria.
March 16, 2020
("July 7 - Hot and Blue", 2024, original encaustic)
Turning to Become
As they say, humans are like onions,
Densely layered and prone to making others cry.
But I think a better metaphor is Earth herself,
After all the Good Book tells us
We are created in God’s image.
At the surface all is sweetness and light,
The abundant fruits of survival’s tricky game,
While just below tectonic plates drift to a darker rhythm
Leading to all sorts of uncontrollable forces,
And at the core, something unknown,
But pure and original nonetheless.
So with us, we show our best at the surface,
While just below swell the barely repressed tides
Of biases and bigotries, passions and poisons.
And at our core the mysterious essence abides,
Pure but powerful,
The clear light of primordial awareness
For lack of a better, poetic term.
Each of us is such a complex world,
The micro expressing the macro,
Each of us challenged with being ourselves
And getting along with others.
From cradle to grave Life is the constant,
While we the change
The world is turning to become.
(7/10/24)
They both breeze in, like bright new stars
Nice clean clothes, nice new cars
But they hide their truth like chameleons
And blend into the scenery of Machiavellians
He talks behind her back and she behind his.
It’s all sweetness and light; but a quiz?
Both smiles hide fork tongues
And eyes never leave the floor
They’re the perfect couple, blond and blue eyed
Perfect and emotionless husband and bride
She spits venom when they disagree
He spits contempt the moment he’s free
For days a curtain hung limp, torn and broken,
They’re nods and eyes, glared-words, unspoken.
Stubborn, determination neither gives ground
Curtain remains half-mast, flaps in the lounge.
Now they spend money to replenish their vows
Apply the glue of a mortgage in a new house
Anything that might distract from emotions they feel
Two fish, wriggling to escape the fisherman’s reel
David Cox 23/06/22
Little things touch my heart,
Things give my day a glow,
A kindness acknowledged
Or the call of a cheery hello.
Family gatherings are noisy but fun,
Four generations
Great-grandparents to Great-grandson
It isn't all sweetness and light
We don't always agree
But we never fist fight.
Life isn't dull,
It's complete and exciteful
Although at my age
I find a lull
Welcome and delightful.
Like all families
We have shared memories galore,
And in the future
There will be many more
Losses and gains
Happiness and joy
But they will forever remain
Our Girls and Boys
Even when I am gone
And no longer there
The collection of memories
Generations will share
Some of us are secretive at first. We hide our poetry’s soul self,
gently letting her peep out; sometimes regretting it immediately.
Fearful of critiques from people who do not understand that poetry
is something we are compelled and born to do with our feelings.
Your diary entries may form themselves into goodness or badness
before you realize your calling as a poet.
Truths shockingly ooze out, surprising you.
Feelings creep out onto a page, in loud angry letters,
or romantic feelings daintily brush onto a crisp lined page
in the form of sweetness and light.
You are a word player, because you cannot
stop this obsession, but it does not define you.
This poetry gig is but a glimmer of a glimpse of yourself.
You might be a caregiver, or a wonderful friend.
People who count on your smile every day may not realize
you have a love affair with words, and an obsession to write them.
We are each a unique jewel, mined from God’s mind.
Poetry may initiate a whisper of a tiny facet of ourselves,
but our secrets are safe. We not merely poets. We are lovers
of life, and words. Most importantly, we remain gloriously hidden
and unknown to most.
Written 12-20-18 Contest: You Are Not Defined by Poetry
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Bill Bulldog we had named him
with his brindle coloured coat
He had the most amazing face
too many wrinkles for one so young
mischievous, cuddly and full of fun
At first the only sounds he made
that first night all alone
heartbreaking cries
he missed his Mum
He’ll settle soon in his new home
That wonderful scent of puppy
Reminiscent of a newborn babe
His coat so soft just newly grown
I watched in wonder as he slept
A Mum in love with her new pet
His face so handsome like no other
a face that could only be loved by his Mother
so many expressions you would not believe
defiant, pathetic, look at me, can we play
melting my heart each and every day
He always knew when I was down
his insight was spot on
Sitting close, head on my knees
so full of sensitivity
Sending his love into my soul
I slowly emerged from the deepest hole
The traits of a Bulldog are fairly surprising
when you first take a look at his face
So don’t be alarmed even though he looks fierce
as a bad bone would be, so very hard to trace
Only sweetness and light
for my Bill would not bite
though he’d lick you to death that’s for sure
Even welcome a stranger into his domain
but would want him to stay there forevermore
For a Bulldog really loves company
he hates to be alone
but once you are there
he will climb on your chair
licking your face as he welcomes you home
These words they describe him right down to a tee
gentle - loves children - snores loudly like me
can be stubborn, aloof and suffers from flatulence
Some foods requiring total abstinence
My darling British Bulldog Bill
such happy times together
such funny little ways you had
remembering them forever
A ritual witnessed every morn
on waking at the crack of dawn
Rolling over on his back
his four legs held aloft
Bill gently rocked from side to side
as if to say, ‘I’m still alive’
Though sadly now he’s not...
Written 2018 in memory of our darling Bill Bulldog
Contest My companion and friend who never complains
Sponsor Eve Roper
1st Place
Contest Strand Select Q
Sponsor Brian Strand
3rd Place