Tingly skies full of surprise oh how I love when with surmise
the little rascal aims his dart as if it were, poetic art !
Cupid found me and turned me into mush
when he walks by I suddenly begin to blush !
Cupid has my number and when he rings my bell
I feel all sugar coated, dipped in love's pell-mell
Cupid God of desire sets his darts on fire
toasting hearts and filling them with great desire
Cupid loves to match us heart to heart
fitting us together we will never part
Cupid isn't stupid in fact he's very smart
he loves people and calls everyone, "sweetheart"
Cupid knows his arrows are extra-extra hot
so when it comes to love he always hits the spot.
When cupid's arrow aims for you, there isn't much that you can do !
'Twas the night before Christmas, and insomnia befell,
No creature was stirring, but my thoughts are pell-mell.
Would the family squabbles and feuds come with the cheer?
Would I have to drown them out, with too much beer?
The smile and wave diversion has limited worth?
How long can my mirth defray my feeling good dearth?.
I flit like a butterfly, I sting like a bee.
But, my hands can't hit what my eyes can't see.
It's all so jovial, with all folks tongues tied.
Letting slip barbs tongue-in-cheek that lied.
Lips forced into clenched fist clamped smiles.
With forget-me-knots shrouded as wait-a-whiles.
The reindeers were laughing, stopping on the roof,
as I downed another draught of whiskey high-proof.
A hangover is a sure-fire cure to help me cope,
with the downhill slide to the slippery slope.
'Twas the night before Christmas, and I'm awake,
fearing the family feud sparring earthquake.
My mind is churning over past disputes, give-and-take,
and how to avoid ruining the day with a silly mistake.
I was not born to the moors; my roots are planted
by wild running seas,
even so, a rolling heath is a green tide heaped
into wind-sculptured waves,
low breakers that may tug you deeper,
or crash upon any too certain a mind.
March is a good time
to be a thin branch in a treeless landscape.
You can catch hold of a wind-serpent
in your upheld hands,
a sea-creature born to be the innards of the sky.
When a high rain surfs mountainous air,
you can be pitched pell-mell onto thrashing shores
shorn of any footholds.
I was not begot to be native to these moors
yet they deliver me into that wild ocean
counterpoised between land and sky,
and there, you may also wave-walk
or be born again.
In marked territory, I must step with care,
For shadows past and present linger to snare.
Each step poised, measured, cautious, slow,
Falls on ground where furtive few, dare to go.
I kiss the bliss of ignorance, I know
Cannot dispel the florescent deja vu glow
Knowing virgin ground is non-existent,
All is done before, done for, insistent.
Even when I plow the field to furrows spell
Up pops the litter and glitter, that therein dwell
Echos, reflections, touche touches that smell
Of the death of innovation, pummeled pell-mell
For all out there is marked, scared, sullied and stained
As used before, or well past its use-by-date ingrained.
For machines are now omniscient, beyond what I could ever know
And all my steps are marked as plagiarist AI copies faux.
Strange things happen in politics
We cannot trust the polls
Life has its own dirty tricks
We can play divers roles
This is not business as usual
Always fight to save one's soul.
Things are upended in politics
Ignore the belligerent critiques
Everything happens in a season
For an un-intelligible reason
Nobody can predict the results
Of an election filled with insults.
Politics in many countries are very dirty
We all can see why. Politics are slushy
Voters lie. They mislead the pollsters
Who behave like palm readers
Like inexperienced magicians
So they can foul the naïve audience.
Things are pell-mell in politics
Life has its own yucky tricks
Everything occurs for an obscure reason
Under the lights of an unusual horizon
No anchors can predict the results
Of an election filled with assaults.
Copyright © November, 2016 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
March is a good time
to be a thin branch
in a treeless landscape.
You can catch hold of a wind-serpent
in your upheld hands,
a sea-creature born to be
the innards of the sky.
When high rains surf
a flat-faced landscape
mountains of air,
can pitch you pell-mell
onto darkly crashing shores,
margins you once mistook
for yourself.
I want to write something grand
I want to catch some fireflies
Without applauses or a band
Cage words in a jar for eyes
Consonants make a light show
String them with floating vowels
Words imprison djins, you know
Don't you dare throw in the towel
Every day fireflies search for me
Even in November when it's cold
They like words want me to see
I can't without wine and be bold
Are fireflies for a show and tell?
Woolfs without a howling pack
Damned insects are caught pell mell
Glowing words buzz in my sack
To feel crows captured by Gogh
I want God to say well done
Anything but Him saying, So?
Chasing fireflies should be fun
I coax myself onto the stage
The greats did it, why can't I?
Without claps, they fill the page
They lift a glass for fireflies to lie
Vowels in a jar should be grand
But, I've lost how to be a child
Delighted only by God's band
I suffocate fireflies ever wild
Leroy
Cowboy
Rode horse
Of course
His hoss
Named Ross
Ropes steers
Slurps beers
Slouch hat
Flaunts gat
Wears boots
No suits
Eats beans
Wears jeans
Raised hell
Pell-mell
What's more
He swore
Has gal
Named Sal
To pub
For grub
They dance
Romance
They kiss
Pure bliss
Gets slopped
Fun stopped
Big brawl
(That's all)
VITALITY
encapsulates
celebrates
innovation
hurtling
pell-mell
straight towards
an encounter
with
the viewer
veering
en route
in
movement
one to another
between
wrong turns
a restlessness
some haste
is
detected
& is
understandable
part
of this
zest
underwhelming
feels peculiarly
unfamiliar
in
an encounter
so brief
an
excursion
disjointedly
underplayed
Once upon a shiny polished day, the sun shone bright as golden ray
and in the park where the children played the puppies danced ballet
The kittens meowed from their outdoor yum cafe
and the birds chirped from the trees while they surveyed
the pretty ducklings waddling in the pond, hurray hurray !
Once upon a starlit night the moon smiled sweetly at the sea
and in the river all the loons echoed across the lake, woo wee
The owl gave a hoot and the foxes slept tee hee
while the rabbit stretched and caught a snack or three
Once upon a fairytale a little Pixie cast a spell
and all the sicklies of the forest were suddenly made well
each precious creature went pell-mell at the sound of a Fairy's Bell
while all the ogres, trolls and elves, tap danced on a chanterelle.
Sponsor BJ Legros Kelley
Contest Name Write a Sweet Fairytale For Children
Hand in hand two sprites on a magic flight
with wings of crystal glass and fairy light
they flew, inside an abstract sky of white
wing to wing, one was nimble one was bright
Wearing taffet gowns of silky swishes
they were often flourishing their wishes
blessing all with benign hugs and squishes
tiny pixies, no bigger than mom's dishes
They were sent to baby rooms and wee ones
they shone like light from fifty golden suns
but every now and then they goofed all thumbs
and landed in a cabbage patch, oh crumbs !
they flew like Peter Pan and Tinker Bell
with magic wands to cast a spell, pell-mell
they scurried this way that and then oh well
they crazed it up and then they cast a spell.
Feb 26, 2023
Sponsor Eve Roper
Contest Name Nursery Rhyme
I just stood bewildered, staring
Specks of the sky slowly pass through the glass
Adding a frosty sheen to the scene
A soft, creamy dew passes through.
A boy standing by a mothball light
The dark entrance of nature exposed
The darkly hidden entrance of the mind
You may be in a slump, so
Don't muse about relying on this.
How the spindle works
It's different now, and it's pell-mell
Yet, notions have left my mind
My feelings and views are scattered
On my face, a faint answer shows.
Written: January 8, 2022
** Current Events Knelling **
Ignorance and evil remain — it’s easy to tell —
Around the world, still alive and well
No matter how much we pray, scream and yell,
“Please! Learn something from history, not pell-mell,
Before those ego’s ideas devour us all cell by cell.
————————————————————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 12/18/2022
with Thanks for the promises of God
In what way will we understand this?
Dopamine candy, groping, stoking doses
Fully arousing in deepest clarity.
Circular selves,
Porous places in and out,
Echo and shout.
Interior spaces
Glowing, fading traces.
Some scary faces,
Some easy embraces.
Liquid, feedback lucid looping,
Temporal and psychic standing,
And stooping, regrouping.
Ordered by silent commanding.
But no one is demanding.
Observer and possessor,
Obsessor and transgressor,
Cybernetic controls,
Systems in parallel.
entangling pacing realms,
quantum ghosts in pell-mell.
Wonder is never childish enough
Until it is sufficiently old.
What lives and deaths
Must be breathed and passed?
In what way will we understand this?
Autumn burnishes furry heads,
even we, who however scant our hair
flourish in this wind-blown leafy.
No room for stray gray wisps;
our locks turn golden brown,
crown our minds with crinkly laurels.
Mr. Groundhog looks pretty spiffy
in his cabbage leaf toupee,
even the bent old lady
who walks pell-mell
in the Fall, the strewn and gusty,
has sewn together a wig so big
that it covers her face with beauty.
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