Short Missive Poems

poetic mouse channeled Coleridge
no one noticed
he channeled Poe
Ravens roosted next to his missive
unfortunately,
his muse Thoreau
would not let him
beat them off with a broom...

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"period"


it seems
that the .
simplest
of things 

can't be men
tioned mens
truationally
as part of

a submitted sub
missive title of 
any part of 
anything


titillating...

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She often had an audience to perplex
Her magical act causing applause
Never one to bow or genuflect
Or read any missive to its smallest clause
She made her own rules, created her own laws...

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The
missive
came, posted
from my home town.
Detached, I laid it aside for awhile.

A week passed, I unearthed the envelope.
She will arrive
on the train
today!
Mom.

...

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Imaginative
And fantastical
Ideas from my muse
A mysterious
Missive in my mind

Leaping dancing
An opening
Of possible
Dream paths

Delightful
Insightful
Cleverly

Quickly
Jotted

Poem...

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Sparkle 
to opals do they lend 
shine 
to emeralds they offend 

exude 
the missive they can send 
glow 
despair they often mend 

burnish 
surpass and do not bend 
heal 
put right before the end...

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On the sinister horizon,
only this bottle
missive, message...
Uncertainty...
No ships pass,
no planes on this route...
Nobody in sight...
just sinister line
from the horizon...
Only this bottle to browse
my exile... !...

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My heart often whispered  
Words which I could not say – 
Wish my stirrings reach you 
Upon some fateful day. 

Should I fail this missive 
Before am ground to dust, 
Know heavens will reach it – 
To you sweetheart – I trust. 
	**********...

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The sun slips beyond the horizon
Like a letter slips into an envelope
Where it will stay until the dawn
When the envelope reopens
Spilling its contents into the sky
Brightening the world
Lifting the heart with its delivery
Like a missive from a loved one...

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During a many troubled times we see,
A few brave souls who dare to speak.
They have the courage to stand up tall.
To resist the crowds clamoring calls.
To not be silenced and just go along.
Now I shall leave you with this missive.
It takes the same courage to sit and listen....

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Dear December moon
Rising in the night
What’s got you waxing pensive
When all the world’s alight?

Dear December moon
I guess it must be hard
To see a world so festive
While lacking warm regards

Dear December moon
Please be glad to know
I could not pen this missive
Without your tender glow....

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Congratulations. I like your poem.
Great job. Fantastic missive.
Wonderful imagery.
Fabulous metaphors.

Where are these comments?

What the heck did you mean by that?
Are you a moron?
Where is the rest of the story?

I have learned to not write about politics,
which is why I no longer see these…....

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New Orleans, sister city to Port Royal kin
Where all our pirates children separated
Was by water and not by pigmented skin
O how in history you two stand ill-fated
Orphan children in a sad state so despised
By subtle policies unmasking subtle lies:
Man's heart more callous that storms denies
Its own humanity in each humanity it despised....

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Are you ready to be a poet or a bard?
A romantic or a bad ass?
A poetaster or a poet laureate?
A good girl or a bad guy?
Would you rather poeticize or take poetic license?
Would you like to be referred to as a romantic or a rogue?
To compose in verse or keep writing until you make your missive worse?
I choose all.
I am a writer.
This is what
We do…....

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Thunder gas pushy pals.
Wonder mass cushy gals.
Under crass gushy owls.
Sunder lass mushy fowls.

Yes poetry is a play of words.
Sometimes funny, other times absurd.
Whispered sweetly, gently overheard.
On wings of faeries or tiny birds.

Gobbly wobbly grizzly bear.
Sobbily dobbily crizzly share.
Making up new words without a care.
Creating a missive, easy to share....

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Optimism entwined in this missive
Letting hope flow through nature’s ceiling
Splayed up on the page by a maestro’s hands
May entice readers’ emotions to reeling.

Spirituality oozing into the words
Gentling guiding the band’s helpful intent
In a reverent manner with love
This poem is truly heaven sent


Written 4-23-2020
Poetry Contest: Poetry Anthology
Sponsor:  Krish Radhakrishna...

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Feed me your stories
I will believe
For I am a good girl

Tell me how to behave
I will be compliant
A Stepford wife

Show me your ways
So that I may copy them
Throwing out all ideas of my own

Give me the missive I am to follow
Listen to me parrot words I do not understand
Reward me with stickers and bookmarks

Thank you very kindly!
I am so glad to be a part 
of your well-accepted cults...

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A Trixie Belden Mystery Novel!
lost in the bowels of the closet
Opened the missive slowly.

Felt like coming home
Smell you can get nowhere else
From nothing else
Wafted into my nostrils.

The smell of an old friend, 
A book from my childhood
It is not found in any sprays or candles.

Cannot be duplicated, replicated or even hinted at.
The smell of an old, familiar, wonderful childhood book....

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Let this missive remind you of how you feel about me

you can throw it away
or throw it aside
you can find a nice place for it to hide
you can even burn it
or just lay it around
rip it into pieces so it will never be found
you can fold it neatly and tuck it safely away
or keep in your possession to read another day
How ever you treat it, let it remind you of me
and know that your actions will set me free....

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The missive sealed and now en route
will never settle their dispute;
to others it may seem minute,
it leaves us cold and destitute.

As they congeal in dark collusion,
others flee in stark confusion,
like poppies hide behind delusion,
the mystics kneel in tense seclusion.

The forests know they will endure,
the mountains, also, rest assured,
the waters of the Earth run pure,
Mankind is the non sequitur.


©Danielle White...

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Reason bare of structure like a storm
Ovulating in an angry sea
Stir sedition and juxtaposes its norm
Ego-wise against a season's glee
Latent turbulence primed with insecurity
Drizzled from a tempestuous sun
Altar of a sadist's alternating history

Gulp your blustering track to the mark
Rendered as God's boundary
Exert not your vain effort to spark
Excitement of lightening in the air
Never more your rage shall cloy my heart with fear....

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Extracting a piece of glass from a fishnet’s eye
Clearly drinking shrimp extracted from the sea
I extract myself from the situation rather furiously

Banana extract drunk by monkeys in the sky
Extracted from their nests way up so high
They extract themselves from this poem with glee.

Extract has never had this many meanings for me
A dictionary was necessary for this missive to be
Thank you for enlightening me. Extracting brain dendrites from me....

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Just a little missive, a note, a billet doux,
words scratched out on paper, strictly entre nous.
No literary masterpiece, not even clever prose,
just words strung together, but they're the ones I chose
to let you know my feelings and the depth of my affection
please accept them unadorned, without any circumspection.
When used with neither thought nor care, designed to misconstrue,
three little words, seven letters, four vowels, implicitly, I love you!...

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No matter how wonderful your writing is
Someone else will say it better with a pen that is more magical
Sometimes with poetry, other times with prose

To compare your missive to theirs is to turn your poem into a dust rag.
It could get moldy and dank, and stinky; you might elect to throw it into a ditch.

Whether or not she continues to survive and hold her head up with pride is up to you. Remember how proud you were of her yesterday?
Let's go back to that....

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My darling, dawn is still dark and I awake
To coks crow and night bird song
Hear the breeze shake a drowsy sadness
From the loneliness of a strong tree
That keeps vigil for you. The place where
Bird nest hug the arching branch
And wide eyed serpent slithers near
Is that vacuum yawning from long ago
For love to come again
For love is far, so very far away
These things trembles the morning more
Than the sudden coldness of wind
Gusting between the silence of hearts separated....

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