Christian Values — stitched in Lace —
On Children’s Tales of Flame —
Where Angels hum of golden Gates
And Devils chant our Name —
Born — of Nothing — less than Dust —
Yet promised Crowns of Light —
We toddle toward Eternity
With Candles for the Night —
But Death — a sober Storyteller —
Turns every Page to Air —
And folds the Book of Flesh and Bone
As if we were never Here —
No Trumpet sounds — no Judgment Seat —
No Pearly Portals gleam —
Only the hush of finished Breath
And Ash where Faith had been —
If Heaven waits — it keeps its Word
In Silence — not in Flame —
And Brimstone is but Fairy Ash
From Fear that learned our Name.
CONCEPT...FLOW....PROSODY.....
these are sequencailly sound!
Wishing aint gonna make it happen
it's best to stop whinnin and complaining
tuuf it out if you goota
when life puts you through changes
we gots to togther
sorting out the foolishness
from the good stuff
got to be more reliable
to get through this situation
it aint easy thinkin up something
when there aint that musch to say
what seriuos to me is a joke to you
sems you like it that way
toddle up and get ther
do your best to keep it right
we gonna be together
just let me make it throught the night
pucker up and kiss me
Sweet lady let me be your man
concepts flowing groovin together
pouring out like a soda can
swig aint that nasty
it sweter then the honey from the bee's
cold to cold today and tommorow
just keep me off my knee's
Here comes —
slowly— the greyed fitness with heavy,
clasping hands, that tie up
limbs with the flayed string of life,
in which we build gingerly,
toddle for the last time,
and climb stairs more with our breaths
than with our senses.
Fresh off the teat, throttle on bottle
Fresh on the feet, waddled a toddle
Tot spit out a noodle
Then spit out a doodle
"MOM!...You gotta swaddle my waddle!"
In my dreams, I see cute babies
Little ones crawling and smiling
Their soft sighs of satisfaction
Are somewhat sweet and beguiling
They toddle on their little legs
To my lap of love that's longing
Laughing loud, I lift them up close
Cuddling, cradling, all belonging
I raise my hands to hold them near
Find empty air and shed sad tears
Waiting still, this dream to fulfil
Until then, I've hope ~ my God hears.
The docile ducks toddle out in the sunny morn,
being in the winding file they are never forlorn.
In fluffy random rows the downy ducklings trail,
their frisky frolics aren’t ever listless and stale.
In curly webbed feet ducks scamper to a pond,
where the dancing lilac lilies they find so fond.
In the sunburst dulcet dawn under the sky blue
they slide with the symphony of the spring hue.
Sparkle of gold and emerald splashes all around,
the wrinkled reflections in crystal water abound,
performing in concert with the playful duck pack
on the sound track of their synchronized quack.
In chorus they intone the duck song of harmony,
resonating in the rhythmic reeds swaying in glee.
The rows of the fashioned feathers slickly swing
in the lilt of rippling zephyr of serenading spring.
As a child born late summer,
my senses were first flooded
by the images, sounds and smells of fall.
Was I aware of orange pumpkins, wind
caressing the bright leaves, and smells of pies?
I must have known the cold of
wintertime. Did I marvel
to see my first snowflakes and feel them too
falling on my skin? Christmas would have been
in the air – pine scents and sounds of carols.
The wonder of spring coming
surely had brought me delight.
My soul was growing then in many ways.
Did I toddle in sunlight, looking at
pretty flowers nodding in a cool breeze?
Summer’s advent would have brought
my first experience with
sweltering days and perhaps a parade!
Did my eyes widen to see fireworks burst
in night’s sky? Did I wade along sea’s shore?
By age one (not knowingly)
I’d have learned much about life.
Paisley at my bosom, soft head tadpoles
Wrapped dependent, rest in trust cherubic
Teeth buds plump palms grip my knee, betrothal
Chatter germinates language sporadic
Gurgled contentment, vowel upswings strangle
Trance silence slumps little limbs from frantic
Pure rapture adoration fresh angle
Rock A Baby slobbered face romantic
Blossomed brood, clan, cluster, fan club gaggle
Toddle boldly confident beyond skill
Awe for mundane magnifies appraisal
Frustration annulled, infantile stun still
Sibling envy love wound rigid, rough rope
Petals inseperable open with hope
27th January
Childish desires
A bright crisp day, gray clouds could not detain;
At once toddle arm-in-arm the distance.
Whisk away with a quick light steady rain.
Fruit set, new growth, leaf and shoot existence.
Marigold starts to bloom, love's insistence.
Butterflies swarm; all different colours,
Across the garden with all the others.
Spring-summer rain, flickering gray shadow,
Blow the birds about with their small brothers.
Rainbow hues spread and hope for tomorrow.
10/26/2022
Dizain Poetry Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
When I think of poetry
I think of a child manipulating
his first steps, the wobbly nature
of his strides~that confused, meandering
toddle, and then trip and fall – the dear
first efforts of us all. When I think of poetry,
I think of my introductory cords attempting
articulation: the naive study of lips, the spitting
aspirations, how the throat struggles, and then the
mouth opens to the notion of sound. When
I think of poetry, I think of the squinting and the
rounding of the eyes first awakening to light –
how the heart adjusts to thought...and how,
somehow, it is all related to love, the cooing,
caressing of a mother, before weaning.
Then when I think of poetry, I finally think of nothing...
empty myself, letting poetry think for me –
become my sight and voice, my very direct
line to God~knowing best the language
of creation.
Slap to start, gasp your first
Hope for best, fear the worst
Lungs inflate, blood runs hot
Limbs lash out, suckling sought
Crawl and stand, toddle then run
Thinking thoughts, just begun
Brain brights up, play and school
Seem so smart, then a fool
Look for love, meet and mate
Fortune shines, find your fate
Work a job, raise a child
Life leads on, years are piled
What goes up, must come down
Heart beat slows, sorrows drown
Gasp your last, then you die
Dig you deep, loved ones cry
Ash to ash, dust to dust
What’s the point?! Just…we must…
January 10, 2022
Morning snows in my dreaming book of secrets.
Like a Disney movie, sparrows are singing in my head.
An hour after coffee I grasp reality as if it were
inflatable and survivable.
A plane crashed in the night, I know I went down,
but the night forgot the plot in the turmoil
of another dawn chorus call.
Now there is deep snow, and winter forecasts
are already piling into drifts where a few sparrows
bounce weightless in the sparkling air.
Today will be special, I will go to special school,
one created for semi-illiterate writers of sparrow music.
I will choose bright yellow sun-shaped faces.
Helpers will open my book of dreaming secrets,
then slowly in a language made for simpler times,
explain what I said when my mind was fed
by fantastical stage music.
Then after crumpets and tea, the rest of me
will toddle into the night dragging a life-belt behind.
The sparrows will fall silent, a dimmet landscape
will be full of previously downed and drowned,
I will enter it with eyes closed
in order not to see what happens next,
and if we all again die a little, will it matter?
Build me a house my children can run in,
One they can toddle around and have fun in,
Give them some rooms with unbreakable chairs
A house with no doors or windows or stairs,
Let them be free, let them be who they are
For if kids can’t be free, they will never go far.
On the DVD, I’m topless
And relaxing in the pool
With a metal bucket in my hand,
Too young for ridicule.
While in other scenes I toddle
Or get jiggled for a smile
And I get to rock some outfits
Showing off a sense of style.
“Family Movies” is the title
Put together by my bro.
What a kick to see some relatives,
Their younger selves aglow.
All my grands and even Zaide*
Plus my uncles and my aunts
Laugh and mug so that the camera
Can record each circumstance…
While, along with several cousins,
I clap hands or sit and stare
At the future that awaits us,
Of which we are unaware.
*Yiddish for grandfather but in this
case, my great-grandfather (pronounced
“Zay-dee”)
I watched as you toddled, giggled and played
dancing around with the new friends you made
crying for plasters when you grazed your knee
my little angel- the whole world to me
as you grew older I saw something had changed
prayed you would ask for help before it was too late
now sorrow surrounds me as I kneel at your grave
my rescue too late you did not want to be saved
tears that I shed and asking God why-
you never reached out- why you wanted to die
photo's fading of your smile long ago
weeds overgrow on your grave- yes, I know
its too hard to sit there and remember the way
you used to toddle and giggle and play
one day I will join you in heaven above
until then angel I hold onto your love
May God in His wisdom forgive man his sins
In this City of drugs where evil wins.
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