Blossoms parade on the wattles,
cheering a sudden spring.
With pompoms of pollen
they’re boldly announcing
long light in the evenings...
and less dark for sleeping-in.
Winter Roses - Mystic 11-8-25
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Winter Roses
white winter roses
amid the wrath of blizzards ~
born in summer wombs
seeds baptized by rain
birthed in warm breaths of sunlight ~
autumnal surprise
frosty solstice queen
dressed in a gown with sequins ~
winks with aurora
pink frost party dress
hues of jewel tones glitter ~
cold winter thriller
magical snowbells
descendants of vernal joy ~
wears chilly bloomers
peppermint ice roams
with soft pompoms like snowballs ~
stays to kiss springtime
polestar spreads her seeds
as tempest breath turns sultry ~
artic roses sleep
mystical flower
a rose blooms at the manger ~
yuletide miracles
windy breezy day
green tree leaves move like pompoms
snakes hide in the ground
Little Yellow Bus
First day of school yellow bus stopping at the mailbox,
Bouncing down country roads - pausing next to city sidewalks.
Nothing seems to stop you not autumn rain nor sleet
Morning and by afternoon you travel busy roads and streets.
Traffic never phases you - you just motor on,
Following appointed routes - this your daily marathon.
Girls with pompoms, boys with bats, runners from a track meet,
Students ride of every age filling up your empty seats.
Stopping at the bus stop, not all cars stop too
Speeding past your warning, they haven’t got a clue.
Do you sigh when you rest within the bus brickyard
Or dream the school year yet to come riding lanes and boulevards?
First ride giggles, last ride whispers – all the in between –
Forgotten lunches, mittens, scarves – life’s signature you see.
We wait for your arrival, bus stop routine day-to-day,
Sometimes need to remember, you don’t come on Saturdays! Hooray!
pimpernel on my thighs
eloquence and delectation
conversations with the wise
reveal to me which death i must die.
lily in the valley
bravery passion and determination
whatever has to be done
is a puzzling bird song
eyes lifted skyward past the sun
sensitive tranquil and confident
imagination manifests the role
your humanity learned to adore
suspended in the 'not' time
zeal energy and the wish fulfilled
feelings don't get shut down
nor are they the skin of a reticent sound
kissing the pompon undefined
foregoing forbearing sacrificial
the soul has no power in the self
until it is recognized by it
sunflowers begin a perfect day
poised energized and glowing
outside is all within
happiness is on the other side of fear
waterlilies basking in the moonlight
resplendent unobscured polished
dreaming up another dawn
reveals to me which death i must die.
My pearl heart rests
in the chiffon sands
of forsaken memories,
like an open oyster shell,
engrossed in saffron-streaked
serenades,
while embracing. shifting shades
of an
apricot-feathered sunset,
the sky sings for
your magnolia magic~
unraveling clapping
rays of glittery pompoms
celebrating the
rising of champagne crescent.
There, I find secret
keys to the golden
g a t e s of your soul.
I gaze beyond the
sparkling crest of
the honeyed horizon,
as cantaloupe lines
of waning gloaming~
slowly tip-toe
towards the
whistling waves,
ferrying Poseidon’s
souvenirs draped
in sapphire strings,
like scattered
sea-shells singing
songs to rippling
runes of cosmic love.
And this poem shall remain
within porcelain pages;
mermaid memoir of
a mystical romance untold.
Clouds, fluffy, white cotton gaseous
Floating in the sea air
cottony blue sea Full of snowy peaks.
Soft whiteness in heavenly sky
white to white in bluish azure...!
Plumes, pompoms to enchant!
To romanticizing Life...!
As dark canvas unfurls bit by bit
Randomly gulping down acrylic paints of dusk
To satisfy his own thirst, not for long, to sprawl
Into a magical cosmos - flapping his dark wings atop
Swirling soft fair clouds that rock and roll
Through gray-black, myriad dazzling stars so
Idyllic, and artistically spilt sparkling stardust
Charm the sky as if shiny pompoms and buttons;
Night sky lights up my gloomy mind:
In its artsy glory, I savour a tick of tranquil clock;
Glowing bright, stars and moon transmit rays of
Harmony. Aw! tiny drops of opals and diamonds
Thrown arbitrarily at pitch-dark canvas as if
Showcasing splash liquid art - so bright and brilliant;
Knitting a charcoal-black fabric of captivating stars and moon,
Yay! our night sky is shining, inspiring my bardic pupils.
Date: 01/13/2023
Lipogram Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Too fragile stems hold heliotrope heads
Taffeta flaunted purple pompoms preposterous
Let us lie on the grass, smoke cigarettes
Aft petal papering conjure new year's purpose
Behold from below the branches spread
Frilly dusk shock puffs, dancing shuffle clusters
Obscure wombs become Wilde, paraded
Lying Spring in Winter cherry bloom discovered
Crushed plums, ostrich plumage cabaret
Bud watching binoculars magnify trivial matters
Syrup decay drips paint over Dorian Gray
Individuals strive beside their neighbours' status
Berating stoney belief in banal morality
Seven deadly virtues bruise a perfect husband
Ademant magenta silken siren Cheveley
Upsets good sense in serpent gaudy diamonds
9th June 2022
Written for Contest:
Purple Flowers
Sponsor:
Nayda Ivette Negron Flores
If I were a jukebox, long-forgotten,
Languishing amidst some rusting antiques
In a cold, cramped barn mostly filled with junk
I would summon all the strength I could muster,
Light up those bubbly circuits around my face
Throw on a few 45-rpms from the fifties,
And throw one hell-u-va party.
I would shout, “Let’s clear a space in the center
Where we can partner up and dance!”
[Like they did in Toy Story
When no one was the wiser]
I’d extend my slender arm to a grand ol’ Edsel
And shake a tailfin-der or two,
Maybe rock around the clock with the Comets
Until sun-dust starts settling through the slats
Then put back all those refurbished memories
Into a cardboard box full of old postcards
Salt and pepper shakers, pompoms...and stuff,
If I were a jukebox, long-forgotten.
Reposted April 8, 2022
[a poem I like very much re-posted from
January, 2021. Hope you enjoy it the
second-time around.]
Deep purple dahlias - plush garden zen
steeps in the moonlight hours. Zappiest buds
sleep in their flower beds - beautiful dreams.
Keep of dazzling pompoms - perpetual studs.
Blaze of royal beauty ~ reign of kindness.
Praise of Queen of Autumn in twilight’s dim.
Sways, the ornamental puffs, sowed in dirt.
Daze of youth plucking stem. Love’s princely whim.
6/10/2021
Contest: Lento 8 Lines
Sponsor: Joseph May
If I were a jukebox, long-forgotten,
Languishing amidst some rusting antiques
In a cold, cramped barn mostly filled with junk
I would summon all the strength I could muster,
Light up those bubbly circuits around my face
Throw on a few 45-rpms from the fifties,
And throw one hell-u-va party.
I would shout, “Let’s clear a space in the center
Where we can partner up and dance!”
[Like they did in Toy Story
When no one was the wiser]
I’d extend my slender arm to a grand ol’ Edsel
And shake a tailfin-der or two,
Maybe rock around the clock with the Comets
Until sun-dust starts settling through the slats
Then put back all those refurbished memories
Into a cardboard box full of old postcards
Salt and pepper shakers, pompoms...and stuff,
If I were a jukebox, long-forgotten.
Written January 23, 2021
Little Yellow Bus
First day of school yellow bus stopping at the mailbox,
Bouncing down country roads - pausing next to city sidewalks.
Nothing seems to stop you not autumn rain nor early sleet
Morning and by afternoon you travel busy roads and streets.
Traffic never phases you - just motor on,
Following appointed routes - this your daily marathon.
Girls with pompoms, boys with bats, runners from a track meet,
Students ride of every age filling up your empty seats.
Do you sigh when you rest within the bus brickyard
Or dream the school year yet to come riding lanes and boulevards?
Waiting for your arrival, bus stop routine day-to-day,
Sometimes have to remember you don’t come on Saturdays! Hooray!
9-11-20
Contest: Fall-Autumn Rhyme
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
loud exuberant cheering
the hats are on
everyone has pompoms
every time their god opens his mouth
they go nuts
shades of Hitler
they are so loud none can hear what he says
he makes all kinds of claims
mostly lies
they hear him not
so proud, puffed up
loving his pompous attitude
and his big stupid grin
he could be talking about snake oil salesmen
or the merits of new feminine products
the crowd is frenzied
his fervent admirers
cheering every time he tries to utter a sentence
he is more and more puffed up
they adore me he thinks
I can say anything
And he is right.
I don't like poodles when they're shorn
They should stay as they were born
Not with pompoms on tail and crown
This really gets these canines down
Then they're primped up to be on show
They even have to wear a bow
Oh No!
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