Long Tucked Poems
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It was when I reached my fortieth birthday.
Not so young, but, youthfulness ruled the day.
I was known as an educationist, around,
My intelligence and wisdom, they felt, was sound.
Not many were invited to my birthday party,
My friends said I looked hale-and-hearty.
Cut the cake and with all simple meals shared,
I felt, as though by all, I was loved and cared.
It's when I stood to thank each one that evening,
Something tucked my tongue for no evident reasoning.
I stood silent, shocked, perplexed and lost,
None could understand what had happened to the host.
I tried to talk. I could not. Tried again; failed!
Not knowing my state of mind my friends hailed.
When, after hard trials, like dew drops, my tears spilt,
All, around, understood. Lo! There’s some tilt…
They took hold of me and asked me what happened,
I could not articulate; all seemed so saddened.
Doctor - some said; That's what they soon did,
None could remove from my tongue that lid.
I, an orator, remained speechless. Is it God's work?
Or demons do such tricks that God gets the jerk?
I resigned to the state of affairs and remained silent,
Everyone around understood this and became quiet.
I felt my trouble is nothing before John Milton,
I could see; he could not; My path is, hence, silken.
Pain in me, yet, grew, like fire in a dry forest,
Though I seemed silent, within I had great tempest.
Having found no remedy in treatments mountainous,
I turned to God, who is bundle of boundlessness.
I surrendered to him and said - Give me speech -
In return, I will, your glories ever preach.
In return? O fool! What would you give God?
Inner mind said. What could to God you award?
It's, hence, I lay before him, as though dead,
As mute as a muted lute, I went ahead.
In one of praise and worship during night adoration,
I could feel, within my tongue, certain restoration.
Is it reality or illusion? I did never know,
Dumb will speak, scriptures said, if believed so.
I believed; trusted; relied on his immense power,
Many prayed during that very long operation hour.
I talked. They could understand me as before,
Does anyone know, yet, the truth within the core...???
God and God alone is the truth I firmly say,
Without him, for salvation, there is no other way...!
24 October 2022
ER: Enlightenment Recovery Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
How wonderful! God sees our worthless vessels,
yet they carry his message and light into the world.
O wonder! God moves our feet, directs our paths.
Our minds must not hinder nor slack. They must
attack the dust, muddy mess, and all life’s elements.
Special, me? If you flip my lid, there’s a dynamo
treasure trove inside. Jewels of the universe reside
within, deposited daily by the Holy Spirit. The gems
of God’s Word are precious, spectacles, reminders.
Blessings! Tucked away, dusted off, to heaven or bust.*
Don’t hold on tight but release fistfuls of holy dollars.
There’s much more where those came from. Fill
your jar daily then open up and let out the sun, moon
and stars. Don’t mistake a handheld diamond,
sapphire, ruby for a god. It has no power over you,
under you nor around you but God’s power lights
up the universe. We borrow it to light our houses
but most assuredly we can never illuminate our own eyes.
God lit them and will darken them. Take care if you want
to see the light of heaven colorize your eyes once again.
1/31/2022
*The term “or bust,” used in traveling in a vehicle.
People would make signs, “To New Orleans or bust,”
for example to indicate they would do
everything possible to get there.
Dear Kitty, with small paws tucked underneath
your furry chest – I watch you slumbering.
Instinctively, your sweet eyes open wide
as I lean in to study eyes flecked gold
with oval slits. I watch you watching ME!
I wonder can you see me. Am I just
a shadow figure? Do you see me gray?
Or in this room with sunlight streaming in,
am I as vivid as the very hue
in which I’m viewing YOU, sweet pet of mine?
With me inside this room, you have no fear.
But when you dream, perhaps you wander plains
of ancient Egypt or of Africa,
and catching sight of me inside your dream,
you flee, to prowl through ghostly reeds where howls
of predators – coyotes, jackals, wolves -
are shattering the stillness of the night.
Do you then creep into a secret place
to later waken to an orb of gold
that shines above you as you run to play
with your cub companions, tumbling in the grass?
Then in the arid heat of afternoon,
do you lie down and tuck your lion paws
beneath your chest and doze off, dreaming of
a distant space much smaller where there looms
a strange new species? And among it there
is one who meets your needs by bringing you
strange food spooned from a can and also grooms
your coat and keeps you safe and someone who
most curiously, watches as you sleep!
12/20/16 for Broken Wing's Form B Poetry Contest
“... betrayal begins with trust.” ~ Phish
Nothing is more hurtful than betrayal--
The traits of Cain, Delilah, Judas, Brutus;
In their darkest hours they all led astray
those they vowed to be loyal to and protect,
spawning events that were calamitous.
Trust—
It appears, there’s none anymore
Not here, not now and never ever was;
It’s an ancient fable, a myth
long tucked away in books
in sermons and scriptures
in mythology and fairytales,
Not a treasure rare and precious,
but a mere figment of our imagination;
Trust is a portal through which
a man can manipulates, lies and betrays,
A chimera of the fantasy world
like a mirage to the desert dwellers
a floating straw to a drowning man
a flickering light at the end of
a tunnel to a desperate soul.
Trust but thyself
and to thyself be true,
Yet indulge not in thine own conceit,
Mistrust no man without just cause
Nor be credulous without proof,
Stay neither far from reason
nor close to folly…
Trust is hard to find,
But when found, don’t let go!
~05/24/23
~Contest: Writing Challenge 'B' quote
~Sponsor: constance La France
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the night
Santa and reindeer flew into the light
not a gift went amiss not a sound did he make
as he slid down the chimney and arose with a quake
with siffoned soft whistles and gregarious tee hees
he placed down the gifts just before the big flee
too late for retrieval soon he was caught
by a little wee tot who abandoned his cot
May I call you Kriss Krinkle he asked with a lisp
made you some cookies, bit burnt, but their crisp
soon they were wrapped and then tucked in His sack
alongside the toys, they went clickety clack
Oh crumbs I must go, Mrs. C wants me home
she covers them good with some chocolate Arome
no worries my lad, next year burn some more
my reindeer love burntys, cuz it helps when they snore !
December 7, 2022
Sponsor Joseph May
Contest Name The Night Before 3
I have been keeping secrets since I was a small girl
mammoth, gigantic secrets
little teeny, tiny, mini ones
I am an expert at the hush-hush
very good at top-secret
tell me and my lips are sealed
I will keep your disclosure under wraps
you can confide in me
I will never tell
all the enormous, monster secrets
or the itsy-bitsy
itty-bitty peculiar ones-
one day mother whispered in my ear
a very particular secret
she made me promise to keep it concealed
to never tell even to close family
that was years ago-
people have tried to pressure me
but I made a secret pact that day
even though mother died the secret lives
I have it tucked away in my head
but just in case, I wrote it down on paper . . .
_____________________
April 21, 2021
Poetry/Free Verse/Secrets
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1348-604-21
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, All Yours (April 23)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 04/24/2021
The honky-tonk music of ferris wheel rides
Still enchant, as I used to stretch my hands
To gather a chain of moondust above
A glittered skytop, while the breeze drones
Evening's jubilant melody:
And the lilting rhythm of a float's cadence thrills
While girlhood days screech after three, four circles
As Daddy laughs, bringing forth the sizzle
Of warm hotdogs. O, how memorable
the hushabye from a rickety carousel.
But life seems absurdly mechanical today,
Where robotic noise reigns the game, zooming:
How plastic tickets computerized would never
Become dulcet memoirs gently tucked
Within a musical box. How modern scheme changes
A once-anticipated warble of the ringmaster...
Crooning youth's jingle as carnival arrives:
Now, a recorded playlist jigs; I feel numb.
11/1/2017
Written for Eve Rover's The Sounds of the Past
Theme: Photo 1
**This is a special set of poetry written with my friend Justin Connor--we each wrote separate accounts of special companions. The ending verse we wrote together. These poems are meant to be one piece of work. **
Scarcely a year old, I remember with sad, sinking heart
But then I smile, because I remember all the good times
It was the night of Pentecost, our little kitten was found
My mother, happy to bring in the oddest of pets,
Curled her fingers around a small kitten, beaming
And there was sunlight in all eyes all the night
He had been crying in the bushes for a place to stay
And he had found one…it might have been destiny
There was something in his green eyes that dazzled me
Weakening and strengthening my heart all in one I held him in my arms,
A special cat on a special day
Pentecost is his name, and it is here he will remain
I remember everyone loved him because of his grace
That dreamy eye and soft-hearted face
I remember the first night and many more nights to come
I turned my music box, opened it up and sang him a song
He listened intently and soon was fast asleep
His small colorful multi-marked body breathing deeply
His tiny, white boot legs tucked under his chest
“You’re the best, Pentecost,” I whispered. “You’re the best…”
Even my father, who was never fond of cats,
Was won over by his embraceable charms
Pentecost would spawn an effort to make him smile
Stretching out on the floor making sure everyone was watching
Listening lovingly to my dad’s favorite classical repertoire..
He would ring around our ankles with his paws playfully
Causing us to scream in shock and skip away
He would jump back from the shriek making us laugh up a storm
And look up at all the noise curiously
Pentecost also liked small boxes to squeeze into
I would lift up a cardboard flap to see a whiskered jewel
And he would look up at us and wonder
Can we make room for two?
He favored no one and was friendly with all
Long and muscular, this cat had boundless energy
One point he’d be at the window
And the next in the laundry, his tail whipping
What I will never forget was how happy he would lay in the grass
I would watch him and pet him, the sun hitting his fur
Gray black stripes and swirls of art lighting all at once
His soft, sensitive ears rubbing against my arm
The affection was mutual as Destiny knew
I have a little shopping sack
That folds into a square.
It’s nylon; tucked inside my bag,
I hardly know it’s there.
The one I carry’s navy blue
With lots of bright green stars
And it is strong enough to schlep
Some boxes, cans or jars.
In stores, they ask, “You need a bag?”
For they’re no longer free.
I shake my head, unfolding mine
And I am proud of me.
Of course, I never carried one
When bags were given out
And if I didn’t have to pay,
I’d use the store’s, no doubt.
Yet now I do my little part
(Whatever it is worth)
To save some pennies, but of course,
To help out Mother Earth.
It succeeds my intelligence
Beyond my sharpest reason
Surpasses common sense
All logic begins seizing
Minutes become hours
Weeks add up to years
Golden grains sour
Stagnant pools of lonely tears
A new mother, hands shaking
Baby boy clinging to her breast
Time flies, a rude awakening
Hesitantly getting dressed
Head to toe, in her best attire
Lipstick and pearls to adorn
Streams of tears, though, not much of a cryer
Reminiscing the day he was born
Entering the sanctuary, a bitter sweet smile
Finds her seat on the first pew
A strange man escorts a bride down the isle
She is the first to boohoo
She used to be his everything, stars and universe
The only woman in his life
But as time moves on, they must disperse
As his bride becomes his wife
Time is elusive and much too fickle
To wrap her brain around
Days like drips on a heated Popsicle
A silent, jarring sound
Before long, new becomes the norm
Two trips around the sun
Then the birds and bees swarm
In the oven, a bun
A new grandmother, steady hands
Baby boy against her heart
Wise to all of the infant's demands
One journey ends for a new one to start
5 generations, gathered together
Tucked tightly in a small room
Her son squeezes her hands of leather
A new life being formed in a womb
Tears rolling, the family is shaken
She inhales her last breath
Another beginning is in the making
Birth coincides with death