a good teacher is nectar to learners
they sip honey from his brain in freedom
and construct knowledge, skills and values
a good teacher is nectar to learners
the slow ones find good time to explore
and select petals to obtain mode for self-reliance
a good teacher is nectar to learners
fast learners peck hidden stigmas of creativity
and build special talents to transform the world
a good teacher is nectar to learners
individual learner scrambles for his colorful petals
to build dignity, self-esteem and self-actualization
a good nectar is nectar to learners
every learner mixes pollen grains and ovules
and cross pollinates the ovules of potentials within
the good teacher is as rare as a four-teat goat
but those who can teach congest streets of learning
The past is time gone forever
The present is for us the serious
The future is for the unknown
To live in the past is to be a ghost
To miss the present is lost game
To mind the future is to be naive
Leave the past to the dead ghosts
Live the present fully without fear
Leave the future for fetus and ovules
Past, present, future are one game
Played by the divided in time, space
Pitch the same, referee are unknown
Sing your song, dance your rhythm
Future gone, tomorrow not for you×2
a beautiful wife is flower
souvenir for the heart
giving every day a picnic
for the man she married
and the children she bears
are little beautiful flowers
from the ovules of her life
as free gifts to the world
that love and cherish glory
There she is crimsoned
bright-faced, smiling lips
beckoning me to hurry
shyly I watch it from near
piercing my innocent soul
with sharp unforgiving looks
violently looting my desires
Petals open and receptive
rosy and perfumed aroma
attack my nostrils fiercely
stigma swollen with ovules
eagerly wait for lost heart
it lies waiting impatiently
that both hearts may meet
and harass each other
in chaotic romance
In the center of a fresh pageant,
she throttles like a mythical woman
quick to dance among open flowers,
whirling like a hundred stars
with curves round and breasts oyster pink
as the trees, ovules, candles in her eyes
open the fingertips of near April.
Wild tempo vibrates on wispy notes,
until eyes of fire melt nightfall's brew...
for primal and young is this Aries goddess
holding a voile skirt that lifts
into a twirl while the moon
hangs like a violin... eager to wing
this lady's reggae jigs
drifting on brocade of her springtime arms:
And if every detail of lace in a gown
can be sewn in the light touching her flesh ,
this she shall bring too... this near April debut.
Contest: Your best poem in the last year
Sponsor: Silent One
Written 3/6/2017 Re-submitted 2/5/2018
night market! a juggle of flavors
succulent and citrusy with
pears pumpkins peaches inflamed
and clothed in sweetened rinds like
watercolors of tangerine and mauve...
stems dipped in waters of tender sun
flesh touching flesh,
nectar glazing bronze on squirts turned into nectar,
into savory brine... then to wiggle
upon a harvest filling
quilted baskets sucked and chewed: beaded
globules, bulbs rippling in own honeyed pools,
tangy fruitage which bears the ripest of ovules
lacing the tongue ambrosial. tangy...
and ladies like rush home with flushed romance
in their heads
with piles of delicacies bending swirling
on their ample chests
to taste the liquid radiant syrup
of eve's craving for a night lovers' feast.
For Debbie Guzzi's Just A Little Bit Of Sugar
2/22/2017
That body that glitters like gold
which mothers all along
is the flower of this universe
With petals, stigma and ovules
prolific powers it has for the world
But when she surrenders it to foxes
A curse to humanity it becomes
That body that glitters like gold,
which a mother carries all along is
the flower of this universe of partying.
With petals, stigma and ovules,
prolific powers it has for the universe.
Well used it creates joy, peace,
more lilies, more morning glories,
and natural honey from her nectar
As the universe licks them gladly,
becomes joyfully drank with sweetness.
A beat of my hungry passion draws you
To me. And I wait for this slow approach,
Excited…darkness on camouflage of grass
My limbs attract,entrap... now a quick dance begins,
And I devour your crown through firm motion
Ending this pleasure with a deathly adieu,
While ovules scatter on wet ground, my seedlings
Growing in the vapor of nightfall’s circle…
I become a widow again, praying for other mates
Till eve’s desire enthralls more consorts to my lair,
An instinct borne from Nature's law of entrapment.
-------------
Contest, Praying Mantis for Anthony Slausen
8/19/2016
A pageant of hued flappers drapes the air,
where maiden butterflies awake upon
fresh tunes gliding in crystal winged sensation:
how beautiful they are, enough to initiate
my own spring of rebirth as April endows
this hint of childlike wonder: my breath emerging
while rafters explode in velvet glow… tossed petals
unfurling their limbs while monarchs circle along
ovules with flamenco swings, so luminous.
Much like this season they are born from, rustlings
weave a glazed ascent in radiant pirouette
of joy: I encounter a different scene, a different
potion of life through this moth-like shimmer
from laced nights: at last, spring’s bosom is decked
in flickers that my own awakening yields
to this cycle’s homage for butterflies’ swift magic :
tassels waltzing… until their charmed life- spans are done.
For Rob Carmack's Screwed X111 Contest
Resubmitted 4/25/2016