Long Twinkle twinkle little star Poems
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in this world of the limped nuptial
i’ve appeared as a power-missile of the lac-dye
that is used by the hindu women
to paint the border of their feet
the tooth-ache of some-one pumpkin
that grows on the thatched roof of a hut
has wringed spirally
my mythological birth with corporate death
managing and arranging my thoughts
on what I was in the past
what I would be in the future
or what is my dos at present
the wonder-paintings of the altamira cave
unfolds its wings beside my painful in-growing nail
and in her own sky of miss marry
my hands become so much condensed in every drops
as if within that moping smog
without any speech
speaks the twinkle twinkle little star…
beside that labour pain what awakes then
is the patronage of a one-horned idea
along which while walking without much preparation
i can enter into any e-mail
though our love pulls a very long-face about itself
and in the opinion of the married women
the sigh of the sin ? of our love wants to cultivate
mustered-seeds on the soil of the inhabitants
of this human-life
with a stick by which the monkeys are driven out
what more can i say in lieu of
a piece of red-salute written in green ink
if i say in the dawn of the 52-cards
i touch your face
by the hands of a school-boy
your calmness and earthly perfume
make me stunned
then in this field of sweat and war
the explosion of logic and intellect
of your top-floor
seems more famous anchor than the milk
that spilt over on the fire
and more to say
when daubing all over the body
all taste of the path of joy
enter into then fort of gold you can notice there
when in some unknown moment
my pajama dies socially
by the bite of the snails and oysters
to keep the heart of the break-kiln always move
this form-less interactions are so well
in the harvest-arrangement of the late-autumn
we are all uttering the name of cherry-flower
and begging shelter from the mango leaves
I'd say it was late Spring or early Fall in 1954, a quiet time
in American history; and Mr. Eisenhower was The President.
There was a sweet and kind teacher hard at work,
teaching kindergartners how to figure, read, and write.
She's also teaching them fair play and how to do what's right.
No one seems to be interested in picking a fight with The Lord's
Prayer or The Golden Rule. No one is opposed to the reading of The Ten Commandments or The 23rd Psalm being read in public schools. Why,
there's a Bible on her desk. There's a little boy playing with cars and trucks in the big sandbox, and later that evening, I saw him on a stage in a play with several other kids as they were singing, 'twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are'. The next day, he was on the playground having the time of his life swinging high and seesawing. He and all the boys and girls were jumping on and off the merry-go-round and never grew tired of running and playing hide and seek. Every second of play is treasured, recess being so very brief. That old fashioned cowbell rings dutifully every morning, signaling class time. Several hours later, it was lunch time followed by a recess of fun time. I saw little girls 'jumping rope' or playing 'hide and seek' as the little boys busied themselves playing 'marbles', 'softball' or 'pop whip'. Sitruc, the little boy I referred to earlier, attended this little school about two years before it burned down, and he had to be schooled temporarily at a little church in the same little community. He was now in the first grade and loved playing 'pop whip'. As usual, Sitruc was at the end of the line, being held very tightly by an older boy, lest he being airborne, gets thrown across the grassy green campus grounds and get severely injured. Before long, the old cowbell begins to ring and kids start their trot for the afternoon classes.
020821PS
Arohee (one who ascends)
With a sweet, smiling countenance sat little Aarohee,
Placing a finger on her cheeks, she, aged only three,
Draped in a little sari her mother had made her wear,
She sat in contemplative thought, yet smiling with care,
With ornaments around and decorating her little head ,
She sat, with her little hands on the side of the bed;
Aarohee is the bright radiance in her home, reigning supreme,
She is the her parents', grandparents' and others' pride and dream,
Lights of the future sparkle in her candid and wide eyes,
Intelligence and curiosity makes her intelligent and somewhat wise,
She learns at a fast pace and evolves with care,
She knows the alphabets and talks fluent and fair ,
She can count objects from one to ten
And can write some alphabets with her little dot pen,
In two languages , she recites poems, her pronunciation strong and sound,
From "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" to "The Wheels of the Bus go Round and Round",
She can sing the " Happy Birthday to You " song
In perfect melody, repeating every word from two verses long,
Aarohee knows and uses her mobile phone well,
Watching her favorite programs , her eager eyes can tell,
She prays in the Puja room with her mother along
And can even sing a few lines of a devotional song,
In the evening , with her father , she plays hide and peep,
She entertains her parents with many baby stories till they are all fall asleep,
Usually she plays with her little teddy bear,
And scolds him with little words when he doesn't care,
The little child is the future, as her life shall evolve,
She , with others,someday, shall perhaps society's and the nation's problems solve;
There she sits, pretty, in her beautiful dress,
With glitters in her eyes, Aarohee, the little princess.
Thy Moon I seek tonight,
Calls the wind to come to light.
Blowing the words in my head
While I’m whistling as I’m ahead
Of all the wild rowdy commotion
Featuring the herd with its notion.
Thy white moon I seek tonight,
Faces the fields to hold me tight.
To stop me from walking home
As I’m stuck in the world I roam.
I appreciate its hefty humble soul,
Tucking me tight in fields I stole.
Thy bright gleaming moon I seek,
Comes to visit me when I’m meek
To greet me when I’m at my worst,
To greet me when I’m at my best,
To listen to my language of art
In the end, middle and the start
Thy moon I seek tomorrow night.
Will make sure I’m in his sight
When I’ll visit his fruitful fields
It is the night where he shields
My twinkle twinkle little star.
Good night. I’m going far.
I lay my baby down to sleep
Imagining the Sandman digging deep
Into his bag sprinkling stardust as she falls asleep
And I watch her fall into a sleep so deep
As she dreams of kitty tease
As trees, leaves move in the breeze
Teddy bears dancing
And Doggie barking
Chasing butterflies
That tantalize flying into the skies
Mommy and daddy
Cuddling and embracing her lovingly
I sweep the toys to the side
So I can have some room by her bedside
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
My baby girl is a superstar
In my eyes
She’s my prize I idolize
When she cries
I snuggle and sing lullabies that pacifies
The window is ajar
Letting moonlight in from afar
She’s sound asleep
In her crib sleeping without a peep
© 4/24/2015
Contest Name: Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Confessions of Pistachio Pudding
The pudding said to the whipped cream
"I love the way you feel on top of me...
all light and sugary...but I have a confession
I was not always a bowl of Pistachio Pudding
I used to be Lancelot
And
I suspect you were once Guinevere
I suspect that maybe Dave Matthews
Was once Mozart
I suspect that writers reciprocally
create the same masterpieces over and over again
Just changing them
But leaving the same message
and thus "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star," became "Satellite"
I suspect that possibly Arthur Laurents was William Shakespeare and that's why
Westside Story and Romeo and Juliet are so similar
I suspect a lot of things that animate objects would never suspect
When your inanimate you see things others can't
and so my delectable whipped cream
I suspect I have known you before
Confessions of a Blowtorch
The Blowtorch said to the Steel
“I am going to enjoy this
More than you know
Believe you me
We reap what we sow
Like bright burning fire turns wood to gray ashes
Like a Singapore criminal that gets thirteen lashes
It is now my turn
to burn into you
For three past lives
I suffered through
You were rubber
while I was glue
You were the slaughterhouse
while I cried out “Moo!”
You were the white man
And my people the Sioux
But the past is the past
We start a new
And this is my turn “to do”
what I do
Like kismet karma on a merry-go-round
The truth is false
The lost is found
I burn you steel
I feel your pain
I’ve cried your cry
I feel no shame.”
It should be ironically noted that the steel was in no way hurt or bothered by the
flame of the blow torch
Excerpt from: The Chemicals Between Us
By: Joseph DeMarco
A Second Star Story from Christmas
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
Up above the world so far.
Leading wise men to the place
A baby came to save his race.
But, alas. Men’s greedy hearts
That’s where trouble always starts
Some have more than I can gather
Others may have what I would rather
There’s oft a line that’s drawn between
The outcome oft so easily seen
Someone strikes out. The fight is on
No one will stop until they’ve won
Until at last, we”turn the cheek”
Revenge is what our “neighbors” seek
How many millions must fill the graves
Because some bullies just can’t behave?
Would this prove the only star
To bring its comfort down so far?
Would there be in years to come
We might sort out, yet another one?
Could it be a Star of Peace & Rest
Would find its way into human’s breast.
To offer them a place to turn
To contemplate and maybe learn
To serve mankind as a shining beacon
Some real help that man’s been seekin’
Yes there’s that one that rose above
To prove existence of undying love.
This same babe we’ve spoken of
Was later called out by a dove
The great Messiah, God’s own son
The Star of Peace, the final one.
He would not turn away from death
He loved us all with his last breathe
That we might live from shore to shore
There’d never need be war no more
If that is true, what’s said above
Why is there war and not real love?
Because ‘til all proclaim “Him” King
Only strife will mankind bring.
Written by oldbuck Dec 3, 2017 as he looks forward to “Peace On Earth” Good Will Toward All Men.
SIDE NOTE: Some folks believe, the Star of Peace rests firmly on Matt Dillon’s chest, while others feel Christ forever wears it best.
Twinkle twinkle, little star,
93 million miles far.
Giver of light, supporter of life,
energy, climate and season device.
The sun is a star, we're glad it is here,
as our life support, for 5 billion years.
This star is among the brightest in space,
though close, many questions about it remain.
With violet ,orange, and reddish of hues,
our home solar system pivots on you.
8,000 degrees of Kelvin heat,
elements of Hydrogen and Helium meet.
Over 100 times the size of the Earth,
rotating once is a seven day turn.
The first of three layers is visible light,
the thick photosphere is a veil of white.
The atmosphere there is a plasma in ways,
which emits a series of wavelengths and rays.
A more defined trait are the patches of dark,
Sunspots are cooler, magnetically charged.
These spots tend to vary and alter in shape,
every 11 years, new cycles take place.
Solar cycles can affect the weather on Earth,
filters and color are how they’re observed.
Direct observation can damage the eyes,
I'd advise that precautions be sought and applied.
The heat is supplied by a core via fusion,
and exits as energy and light distribution.
Plasma is also among things released,
Solar Flares on the surface are a common sight seen.
All around they emit rays, X and UV,
which frequently jam radio frequencies.
Close to the sunspots, the flares can be viewed,
particles majestically travel in loops.
The Sun, like the Moon, is a welcomed companion,
life without it cannot be imagined.
Twinkle twinkle, little star,
93 million miles far.
Giver of light, supporter of life,
always shining, through day and through night.
“Little Star, twinkling so beauteously bright
I greet you again a very blest night
Enthralled with mirth to see your sparkling light
That beckons me to delight in sky sight.”
“Nice to see you with your starry-stare zest
Oozing along your glowing interest
I saw such exuberance; oh purest
When you sought for my response to your quest.”
“Thanks for the brilliant realization
That you are God’s marvelous creation
Highlighting His omnipotent function
Along His wondrous artistic action.”
“Well, I just affirmed your science know-how
Midst astronomy’s concepts as of now
Blending with Bible facts that truths endow
To illumine as hope and faith allow.”
“Yes, I’m settled with what your are … indeed
To me, you radiate heavenly creed
Pointing me to the Saviour Christ I need
‘The bright and morning star’* my soul does heed.”
“Just keep learning … midst childlike wonderment
Sharing wisdom in loving engagement
While upon your mentoring fulfillment
Exalt the Lord with best-star-achievement.”
*Revelation 22:16 I Jesus have sent mine angel to testify unto you these things in the churches. I am the root and the offspring of David, and the bright and morning star.
February 15, 2022
(Inspired by the nursery rhyme, “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star by Jane Taylor
“Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.” By Jane Taylor)
2nd Place, "A Conversation with a Fictional Character" Rhyme Poetry Writing Contest; Sponsored by Natasha L Scragg; judged on 3/2/2022.
When we were nine
and yearning, outcasted
I did not understand the bruised
nature of your soul. Perhaps I
do not understand even now.
I remember
how I criticized you for the way
you sang "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star"
in your warbling baby voice
also how you were the only one
who ever acknowledged me.
I remember
how you lived with grandparents, aunts
instead of your methhead parents.
Your blonde hair. Your ugly clothes.
Freckles and a cheap brand of romanticism.
A picture of you and me, sixteen:
I remember
you used to say, "Call me Puff"
to all the dangerous boys; we once
crowded on a dirty mattress with four
other people passing bong for weed,
pipe for that toxic crystal Devil of
devils. I remember
you fed me cigarettes, cherry tomatoes
from your grandfather's garden.
A lightless smoky room full
of young and lonesome prisoners
of perpetuated misguided soul-searching--
I remember
how we savored our shared pain
like something holy. Godhead of
black magic and the violation
of innocence.
Today I
am torn of that chrysalis,
and I think sometimes of your soul
left there to stagnate
in the dark. Christina
I don't know how to say
any of this to you,
but when I remember how
you fed me cherry tomatoes
I think of your grandfather
finding you out, you were feeding
meth to your young teenaged sister
so she wouldn't care if your
boyfriend and all his friends
f***ed her.
I remember
feeling so much love for you (sister?)
when now your name compels in me
nothing but disgust--this disgust
which bruises my soul, Christina...
I never wanted to feel this.