Yours is bigger
and full of stuff
and unwelcoming
angular, modern
furniture.
Mine is small
and colorful
and full
of backwards art
that I made
in my whimsical
corners
of a modest
existence.
The dogwood
is flowering
over the porch.
It will be over soon
and lots of petals
will fall
unappreciated
yet still modestly
breathtakingly
beautiful.
Your house has space
and framed pictures
in black and white
of handsome people
with frozen smiles.
My home has animals
scampering, twittering,
and sleeping,
and plants that struggle
for room in the slants
of sunlight.
Your house has
a quiet that comes
from emptiness.
There are clean
colors and lonely
rooms where no one
sits or passes through.
My home has just enough
laughter, dirt, clutter,
and future memories
for a lifetime
of collection.
A mourning dove
offers soft music
to the tattered ends
of a March sunset.
I sit in the grass
and focus.
How wonderful
it is to appreciate
the home I made my own.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
morning light slants gold
through venetian blinds, slow as honey.
summer stretches its limbs,
yawns across the porch swing,
and time dissolves like sugar in iced tea.
hubby’s hand in mine—dry warmth,
the rustle of leaves underfoot,
a conspiracy of squirrels.
the woods don’t care about our plans,
and that’s the gift~
nowhere to be but here,
no clock but the sun filtering down.
December arrives wrapped in laughter,
a tangle of mismatched chairs,
too many forks, not enough plates.
someone always burns the rolls.
the carols rise anyway~
off-key, overlapping,
a chaos of joy sharp as pine needles.
blank pages are kinder
than mirrors.
They never judge~
only wait.
My pen bleeds
stories, coffee stains, and
ink smudges like bruises
I’m proud to carry.
the wind howls its complaints,
rattles the windowpanes.
I let it.
the mug warms my palms,
steam curling into the air
like a ghost of comfort.
The cocoa is too sweet.
I drink it anyway.
My one heart as a part of humanity's great heart,
spiritually holds the indwelling God presence as sought.
A human hold shiftily slants and grows knots tied fraught
with false-held, gloomy feels that egos and fears impart.
Divine truths dawn in our souls thru imagination,
not from human workings but graces gifts in-working.
Imagination can stop fears from falsely out-working
and foil mankind's believed limits of false accreditation.
In still solitude, spiritual truths as held in our being
meet our consciousness, our divinity's hidden place
in which our indwelling Christ gives ALL with God's grace
and intellect joins intuition to seek a soul's true freeing.
Through spiritually held faith one is belief aligned
in God's power, greater than any fear episode
man may encounter or engineer to earth upload.
No one or thing can malign what our Father designed.
My faith would never crumble feeble as styrofoam
when the worst that could happen is I'd get to go home.
Somber light slants through the window.
The sun lazes behind blankets of clouds.
Grey skies are all I see.
A tranquil yet almost uneasy atmosphere
rests over everyone.
No one dares to shrug it off.
Today is a day for soft musing and true thoughts,
it's sobering and uplifting at the same time.
There will be no more doubts by the end of this day.
A chilly wind breezes over cool skin as
colors are dimmed and speeds are slowed.
Nothing resists the sleepy pull of these grey days.
This poem was mused by:
"Shakespeare won't look at me" by ThomasW.Case
----------------------------------- --------------------------------
We fill our lives with work and stress
in the lust for new possessions
we're taught that this is called success
and it makes for good impressions
But pleasures we’re taught to suppress
so our souls will fly up to the heavens
but this flesh that god has gifted us
are our only true possessions
If we find ourselves casually undre$$ed
which is frankly, our natural condition
and if s3xual needs should be addressed
there’s no need for tawdry confessions
for pleasure is something to be expressed
if we’re alone or in a marvelous coalition
So I wish you satisfaction in el@tions quest
as you work the knobs, slants and levers
because this isn’t some kind of competition
P.S. Will Shakespeare was familiar with m@sturb@tion's guilty thrills.
"The expense of spirit, in a waste of shame is lust in action"
.
.
For a contest. This poem was mused by:
"Shakespeare won't look at me" by Thomas_W._Case © Anais Vionet
.
.
A song for this:
Flowers by Miley Cyrus
Bronx cheers, muffled in December
‘The Boys of Summer’ have vanished
gone the way of the playground
ghosts of warmer climes
Slants of ice fill the empty stands
Cheers – or boos – reserved
for vagabonds
for drifting wads of paper
I'm walking with love,
I hear God above,
It's nativity,
Christ's life ... changed me,
Angst drain with a sieve,
I chose more to live.
First, it robbed my glow,
Then it stole my show,
War is at the end,
Clues are in the sand,
I looked everywhere,
It was always there.
Done talk, only give, (Refrain)
I chose more to live,
Hardhead, please forgive,
I decided to live.
Crazed slants far-fetched love,
My heart's like a glove,
Be gold and save me,
Your light set me free,
You need not worry,
Just read my story.
Done talk, only give, (Refrain)
I chose more to live,
Hardhead, please forgive,
I decided to live.
I know that you love me,
I know that you care,
There is nobody,
That loves me I swear,
Done talk, only give, (Refrain)
I chose more to live,
Hardhead, please forgive,
I decided to live.
Yes I am walking
Down that road of mine,
Baby, I'm coming,
My story divine.
suddenly bare branches
sway and shiver
shiver and sway, outstretched
in vain
to December's flares
stunted grass shoots
deign not wave
to howling winds
their lawns daily prowl
icy slants of rain
piercing bare heads
autumn’s roses gone missing
color them dead
COUPLET
After a couple of Tequila Sunrise
so I swap my drink that'll keep open my eyes
so I had a glass of Kahlua and cream
that's a blunder as I fell into a dream
INNER RHYME
I awoke that felt like a cape of good dope
morning sun I think of myself as undone
but what finds me amiss is what all of this
all awry the land slants slights but not the sky
END RHYME
No matter where I roam sand sea smells like home
glad I be if it's true but sad though I knew
a place that's all new naught a place where I grew
I walk and I moan knowing I am alone
RHYME
Flowers of blinding beauty scents that steal souls
sandy beaches where surf surges and tides ebb
eddibles and delectables island naturals
but minus the faces I know ease my schlep.
KEY: H: Heart h: hearth
h: I can see footsteps coming close to me a mile away but if they stand in front of me, the noise will be blinding.
h: I stand flat-footed on my bedboard perpendicular to my body. Beyond my pane, are the viewpoints on life from the many. 'His slants differ from my own.
He constantly reminds me that when he's out of prison, he'll find me and get me.
H: But he's standing right there.
h: But he won't do anything.
H: Why not?
h: His parole officer is standing behind him.
H: But it's a woman?
h: His mother.
H: Oh, making certain that her son stays on the straight and narrow, eh!
h: Ohh! You are a right smart person--she's his lookout!
The mind is a traveller,
on an earnest quest apart,
link road to the innermost,
signpost for bold hunch,
meaning is a hazy sky,
lay-by as mere pause,
quietly we trudge in tight bands,
but never wonder why?
time doesn’t play that well,
showing few if any paths,
language can be strained,
notions, slants, angles, terms,
tangled oxymoron at risk,
stifling broad consensus,
world weary air a plague,
night shift, day shift,
life belt for the toiler,
spoken in camp phrases,
that spur to vocal fringe,
who might alter vacuums,
now passively endured
Written: November 03, 2023
________________________________________
Ambrosia-colored slants shine and gaze within.
With delight, watch the white embers spin.
Sifting through waves of serenity and quiet.
That rustling across the heavens is reliant.
In this outpouring of glorious radiance,
I believe we all require authentic shadiness.
A place where the soul may rest in peace.
We pray every night; carnage must cease.
This unchanging mood is shared by nature.
Greeting everything with eager prayer
Holding every bit of grass, heating each stone.
With a dazzling embrace and a beaming tone.
The velocity of the world ceased to blur.
Whispers of eager voices rustle and spur
Drafts of leading vitality reach the soul.
The era we are in currently is rich and full.
Dreams drift in the air akin to wisps of wind.
The depths of inner reach are being blind.
Silent cries blend with an aesthetic melody.
As rising goals meet broad esoteric parody.
Through Garreg-Wen’s nomadic hearth, we grew
and waned like lichen’s stole on Moel-y-Gest.
Her lustrous tablet’s cleaved expanse possessed
our sacred streams. Where plasma sands, in lieu
of blood’s endured aspects – our angled view –
was figured, flawless: all we knew. North-West
Nirvana’s alien tongues recite the pest
of castle’s: tourist’s transient blight; so too,
ewe’s balk like doubtful dunes. Idyllic slants
in callow youth, discern, so seldom, tints
beyond the rosy realm of spectrum’s scant
surmise: stars, not blinkered by levant,
lost streetlights. Night’s insight may not imprint
the shape of time that teary-eyed stars grant.
Winter kisses blown from the whimsical side of my heart
as the snowflakes dance in the light of day, I dream
of castles in the sky and angels all aglow in snow;
Feathered wishes as light as flakes
I love the way sunlight slants and shakes
the child in me is wide awake
Winter blessings sewn together on this January month
when the snowfall carpets the ground like a gown
the silence turns golden and my heart is light
Downy thoughts of wintertime
I hear the church bells chime
sounding so sublime
Winter spells of magic my eyes have seen the view
I love winter how about you ?
Sponsor Mark Toney
Contest Name 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 25
What Ant Troops Surrender
Field ants
yield pants
Field Ants as Farmers
Field ants
yield plants
Jack’s pet peeve
“Black ants!”
Jack rants
All the Survivalist could Find
Black ant -
snack scant
For an Ant Vacation
Black ants
pack pants
“Run Run Run” & “Creep Up Fast”
Thief Ants’
Chief chants
What Mac Won’t Put with Cheese
Black ants?
Mac can’t!
Good Thing to Know about a Restaurant
We can’t
see ants
When Ants climb
Higher slants
tire ants
What He Doesn’t Know Won’t Kill Him
Pete can’t
eat ants
Nov. 1, 2022
for 'A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE' Poetry Contest
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