Artist Henri Matisse
wrote a learned treatise
Also many a model he did depict
maidens it seems all hand picked
demure hushed in Avalon fog
weaving fables at grey spindles
river was tableclothed quiet
whiteness soft enveloped bodies
silvery sheath covered psyche
maidens mature into women
protective watchful fog unveils
ripened wombs awakening pink
__________________
sponsor : Nette Onclaud // 2.8.26
contest : Eight by Eight : theme Fog
Placing: Third
weathering Wales in bleak winter is hard
though starred sheep remain sleek
taverns roaring fires a feat
making Celtic maidens sweet
~~~~~~~
O yon Loch Ness Monster
is come out of the lake
through all the wide border
his tail left a wake
and save his fire-breathing
he weapons had none
he swam all unharmed
and fair maidens he won
so faithful in love
yet so very messy
there never was wee beastie
like the young dragon Nessie
(With apologies to Sir Walter Scott)
Soap of my heart somewhere far but near my heart,
Oh! Grand daughter and daughter of some African
Kings,
A soap is used to remove dirty on the body but many
People spoke that you are capable to wash inside
My body.
Oh! my princess, you are the soap to clean my heart
Friend of mine in the long life journey.
Heart in my heart , You are so beautiful and kind in my
Eyes , the only dream woman of my entire life.
All maidens are happy for my first position into
Your heart.
Really ! Poet Alfonso Mussabwa is doing poetry
On you.
Tell the World about the beauty of this romantic poem
Oh! My future Queen.
My eyes are all over you ,
So come to me darling.
March 29/2023
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe Mussabwa Chris
When snows beset slippers upon the feet,
and draw tears of pain upon reddened cheek.
Thoughts of former boots instill chilled notions,
that will call for future healing potions.
Someone asks of you, "what were you thinking?"
you answer with shivers between blinking.
"I must track this wet to the farmers' fare,
for my beloved a fine meal to share."
"She is demanding but I am in love,
and willing to be to her hand a glove."
The clouds will let loose one more shed of snow,
his nose to run and not feeling a toe.
Now reaching the place of his desire,
his sleeping goddess and a warm fire.
With a full stomach and a look so sweet,
she tenderly held and tickled his feet.
date: 9/30/22
Maidens
like dreaming buds,
grow with passionate dreams.
ponder ever in gorgeous thoughts,
giggle with those unblemished rosy cheeks.
pure, tender and innocent hearts,
equals to goddesses.
On earth, they are
daughters.
Give me a Rictameter! Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: M. L. Kiser
Date: 11-02-2022
Placed: 5th
Green maidens from the church of March
Ride gentle over northern gusts
Upon a misty rainbow arch
Their mossy robes of clouds adjust
In frost tipped moonbeam's yellow glow
To pollinate with pixie dust
Where thawing rivers stir and flow
As lilac icicles are made
And shamrocks grow through thinning snow
Where icy glories drifting, fade
The sculptured swords of silver kings
Melting in shades of pine and jade
Where branches bend in turquoise rings
Caught in between winter and spring.
3/6/21
He was thunderstruck by the maiden’s beauty,
It was love for the knave upon first sight.
To her parents she had an enormous duty,
To maintain their honor, integrity bright.
She was truly gorgeous with petite height.
He was thunderstruck by the maiden’s beauty.
Wanted to marry her with all of his might.
Her reputation was in no way soiled or sooty.
Her dowry would be a welcome, handsome booty.
She was prettier than Venus’s natural light.
He was thunderstruck by the maiden’s beauty.
She pranced through his dreams into the night.
Everything about her felt exactly right.
Her natural scent was amazingly fresh and fruity.
She was a natural, pure, gorgeous delight.
He was thunderstruck by the maiden’s beauty.
The sun is rising in the Eastern sky,
its rays cutting the early morning mist.
To shine on the inky black waters cried,
by fallen maidens to an unjust fist
Why have they been beaten so hard they break.
Causing such pain and sorrow as to cry,
for an eternity to spawn a lake.
Not seen by night or serf as they pass by.
Its not their fault time has taken their looks
they become knurly and twisted with age.
To wander the forest to hide their shame.
Until time takes their life and their rage.
But their masters, the Ogres, life is long
Beauty is their lust and young their desire.
for SeamusHeaney
1939-2013
A flap of wings
and agitated rustlings
in the darkness
jar forth protective prayers
for mice and voles
and winks of thought
that barely lit
on the page of day
before the sky’s hunger
pitched down-devouring
as if commissioned by
some cleansing spirit
to sweep away all evidence
that these girls had lived,
had sipped dew from buds
or feasted on a wind-born grain.
Doggedly elders buried bones
in shale, whispering,
“Thus we will hide this history.”
But Seamus’s spade dug deep
into the mystery
and taught us how to read
the twisting motives
in our own soft guts
by learning how to dig.
Some elderly, glamorous, Hollywood maidens
Gathered at the meeting in "mourning clothes."
O, poor creatures with sudden recollections,
About losing their maiden honour. Supposed.
Maiden's Lament
Rewinding the memories of angst lost, broken
Our souls make solemn demands against our hearts
Thoughts uneasy, shattered, remembering time's lies
Deliver us, reluctant, unto today's reckoning revealed
Believing yet another, today's promise is unspoken
Love and solace abound in time of yesterday's pain
Maiden enthralled within, peace is found upon the mist
Innocence remains for the chosen, pain forbidden now
Living through the windows of tomorrow, pathways ascending
Dreams realized within her heart, a oneness is embraced
Joys released without hesitation, spirits renewed forever
Beauty and enchantment unrehearsed, life's danger's forgotten
© 1997 David J. Mitchell
The Nkporo Maidens
Are waiting down the great street
Of perfection to be crowd with
Love for their honourable deeds
I watched them danced yesterday
At the Agbala with their bangles
and jewelries.
Their breast stood in happiness
Later Each began to go up and down
In salute to the Audience
Their bodies answering the call of their feelings
Their were spirited in the thunder of perfection
Sparkling like the sun
I think they were the best to none
As i watched them entangled in the dance
Our deities their were, the lilies of our lives
No one does it better than those
Maidens from Nkporo who tells a fascinating
Stories with the movement of their bodies.
MATISSE MAIDENS
Maidens..so many.Marguerite
dressed so neat, Laurette and
Lorette so sad, so sweet.The
upstairs maid with Greta Moll
his still life doll.Odalisques
curves and shapes, in colour
and drapes.Chapeaux and
Chevelure with locks astray.
A sister or two,and a wife, green
with envy,to paint and portray
Listen to me read this and others at this link
http://youtube.com/ichthyschiro
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