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Most of April I spent, my mind totally switched off from poems, reading nor writing them, and wondered what if poems are penned no more. Pondering over, this poem was born.
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What possibly might well happen
If poems are no longer penned?
Would all water bodies go dry?
Rivers flow reverse to mountains
And all Earth’s greenery get gray?
Would oceans go under Earth’s belly?
No, nothing that sort would happen.
Yet, who’d the rain fairies exhort
To come and play strange water sports?
How else heavenly damsels descend down
To bathe free from their gossamer garments?
To venture all over the sky,
Who’d imagine hills would wear wings of wind?
How’d blades of grass shed tears of dew?
No, everything may move as ere
And still seem less than fair.
If poets no more poems were to pen,
What at its worse might well happen?
Things more serious than imagine we can…
Earth, getting dull with shades of gray
Might well seem more so from that day.
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Musings | 04.05.2026 | ocean/sea, poems, rain, river, free verse
Have a pang or a pining?
Poised for piquant pleasure? I positively preach:
when dining,
you must savor
a pulchritudinous, plump peach
flavor.
Says I,
“Please enjoy each
pie!”
Have a pang or pining -
A pulchritudinous, plump peach
pie!
Has she left me? I wonder.
‘It’ is not the same as it once was—
The passion and the playfulness,
The tumbling of words
Finding appreciative expression.
Bereft of ideas, bereft of thought,
All my efforts coming to naught.
Dreams of she holding me tight
Once sparked metaphors deep in the night.
Now, it’s ages anything was penned,
And this was never how it was meant.
Feelings, emotions, and love—
They are all very much there.
But nothing flows from me.
And that is so rare.
You, the readers, might as well ask:
“What the hell? Why the frustration?”
I’ll say, “That is not the question.
My beloved is with me- I don’t refuse
But I still wonder, where is my Muse?”
Hello! Old friend,
You crossed my mind today,
After decades of no thoughts of you.
Today, I sat across a meeting I'd rather avoid;
Then I thought of you.
I wonder what happened to the life of us.
We were there, then we weren't;
Too absorbed by the happenings.
We didn't remember to preserve our sight of each other.
My old friend,
I thought of you today.
I found out you also had your share of life and its happenings.
I remember you,
Just like how much of the past I want to forget.
The memories of you are delicately situated in that past,
But I thought of you today.
I remember the smiles we shared.
I still remember that we share the same birth month.
To an old friend,
Being friends again might not be possible,
But I'll always remember that we were once friends.
I'll only remember us as friends.
The dogs are unfettered in this pen
It’s big enough for an army of a hundred and ten
No one has to wear a leash or be tied
The yard is long, the pen is wide
Still, I feel guilty leaving them here
Why this is, is in no way clear
They are safe here, they cannot chase cars
Yet leaving them here gives me anguish and scars
I have no idea why I feel this way
But I sit in the pen with them every day
This silly guilt I probably should not have
Yet I sit here, stone-faced, feeling bad.
Mystical magical hand pens book for the masses
Few see it, less read it, it floats throughout eternity
Waiting for the right person, knowing her when he sees her
She walks past, waving her hand impatiently, thinking she is too busy
Not realizing her destiny, not living the truth of the life she could have had
Sadly, not living her best life, barely living at all, for she did not pay attention
The book included a lesson she needed.
Take care of yourself first, build yourself up, listen to your heart.
Live your soul dream.
The book wandered, looking for another.
The trail is lovely here around the bend
The rains of spring have formed a clear, deep pool
God's handiwork, so delicately penned
The red buds, almost hard to comprehend
Adorned in pink and ruby colored jewels
The trail is lovely here around the bend
The crocuses, in purple, to what end?
The foliage, now greening, keeps them cool
God's handiwork, so delicately penned
The robin showing off to lady friend
The salamander naps beneath toadstools
The trail is lovely here around the bend
Mere form eclipsed, here, beauty far transcends
Design revealed to all but blinded fool
God's handiwork, so delicately penned
So much to take in as I slowly wend
My way through classwork not revealed in school
The trail is lovely here around the bend
God's handiwork, so delicately penned
—————
FIFTH PLACE WINNER
For the ‘An Original Villanelle Contest’ Poetry Contest
Sponsored by L Milton Hankins
Written 02/25/2022
Allow readers to write comments
On these sweet sensible statements.
Lord, as we display heartfelt, honest appreciation
on this day, we honor You - the Spokesman of all creation.
Help us recognize You, the Only One Who knows what’s best;
Help us realize Your Life brings joy and peace to the test.
While Earth, Satan and sinners remain
we’ll face trials daily in every domain.
Your Love is our blessed Hope, You reign.
Endeavoring pain, we grasp well-being.
We know real Liberty, Your Spirit’s freeing
expressing our faith in Your firm overseeing.
Lord, help us study Your Word to keep our spirits aligned.
Help us spread Your Light that gleams within our mind.
Help us strip ourselves of wanting man’s favor,
Lord, we worship You, best, and love our neighbor.
May 3, 2021
written to honor this year's National Day of Prayer
the theme was Lord, pour out your Life, Love and Liberty.
words pour from my heart
from my pen to the paper
I express my love
Happy birthday, Sister Anna,
This type comes from Japanese court;
The lovely lines penned in choka
Are sometimes long, and sometimes short.
Topic: Birthday of Anna P. Bero-an (March 19)
Happy birthday, dear gorgeous Gail,
This opus is truly priceless;
These lovely lines are not for sale,
I have penned poem not to impress.
Topic: Birthday of Gail Gabayeron (March 09)
A-uthor's
G-reetings
A-re
P-enned
E-mploying
F-abulous
A-crostic
I-n
T-heme's
H-eartfelt
M-essage
A-s
N-ame
Z-one
A-pplies
N-atal
O-ccasion
Topic: Birthday of Agape Faith Manzano (November 14)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
POEM PENNED PRETERNATURALLY
Too many misses of sprinkles
Wets the heart like little drizzles
Over the rags of time
The chasm between us couldn't be caged
By the eons of past pain
During our storm and rain
Thunder slice me off a heart of cold fury
Because anger rest in the bosom of fools
But the cold chill of your serendipity arouse every shivers
Like the toe poke of a baby when bathed
Our brotherhood, blossoming rose in the sun
A ripening wheat in a flourishing field
With a soft conscience to pacify the sun
The heat of the mo' can not asphyxiate a flame
Lighted by compassion, affection & name-identity
Soulnated with telepathy.
And to cross-eye again,
Every dog has its own day
Which keeps soul in blazing affection of anticipation
To subsequently engage brotherly communication.
VickWizzy
Written by: Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Titled by: Weiss Vae Mmendie
Copyright© 2016.
Would my poetry improve if I used a posh pen
A fountain or quill, as was used back when
People took pride in all that they did
Not like these days, anything for a quid
Where are the inkwells that adorned a poets table
Imagine a quill pen with a white feather if you are able
The poet or writer looked in charge of the situation
As he dipped the quill into the ink with a flourish
And wrote words of inspiration
The ink flowed freely as the poet wrote words
Hardly ever heard of or used
Words that tugged at heartstrings
To take in, ponder and muse
A fountain pen came next without the romance of the quill
It was a status symbol some people collect them still
You did not dip the pen into an inkpot
Instead, you fill the pen with ink
Sometimes it got too full and made an ink-blot
Fountain pens are not used today only by a few
It was the Americans that invented something new
Biro is the name of this pen used by everyone
They are a dime a dozen and are sold by the ton
They are very practical and convenient to use
Therefore it's not the pen that makes poetry flow
It's the imagination of the muse
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