Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
fell into my field today.
We sat beside a lovely flower
and whiled away the hour.
Every day, the old man worked the soil,
but he whistled. He didn't toil.
Each day,
I was a child at play,
and as I whiled away the hour,
I fell under his power -
till the day there was no sound.
The shovel lay on the ground
and sprouted up...a flower.
Dreamily, she whiled the empty hours
with her little dolls and her crayon box.
She drew lonely princesses in towers,
hummed to herself, pulled up her socks,
and sketched a field of colorful flowers.
The forlorn blooms lay flat beneath her gaze.
She wondered, would it be as she had feared -
this would be one of those sad, hollow days.
Then, on the page, the sun and breeze appeared,
as lovely blossoms came alive, ablaze.
With my wife and kids, passing through
the Republic of W,
armed policemen grabbed me.
A nightmare I would have never dreamed -
my wife's expression, so strange it seemed,
dragged away while my children screamed,
I was no longer free.
They didn't tell me, all I knew -
it was because of my tattoo -
and so began my fears:
what would become of my children, three?
what would my wife think of me?
would she wait for me?
I whiled away the years.
I asked my guard who wore a frown,
what if my tattoo were upside down,
and why always, "us vs. them"?
Suddenly, in my nightwear,
I found it was only a nightmare,
but it taught me how to care,
awake in the land of M.
"Are you lost?" asked the sheep
in the front
(not the one who'd gone to sleep).
I'd gone to get some air and walk...
a strange question -
to hear this stray creature talk!
"I'm a man and know quite a lot
(if I say so).
I've learned things that you cannot.
I know about countries and beliefs,
and also,
borderlines, property, and thieves."
The sheep just smiled and smelled a flower.
I stopped speaking
and whiled away a sunny hour.
I wonder why this sheep did me, accost.
Is it not him, but me, who's lost?
As long as he was hale and hearty,
has not uttered the name of God.
Until things went well as per his plan,
has not offered prayers to Him.
Taking pride in his youthful vigour,
and very handsome Cupid figure,
has not felt His holy presence.
Failing to see Him in every heart,
and running after physical pleasures,
he whiled away his precious time.
Now, having lost his wealth and health,
the Enlightenment has dawned upon him!
Feeling the burden of his life,
for solace, in times of grief and loss,
having come to know that
God is his path and destination,
his spiritual journey towards the Almighty
he has only just begun!!
once winter whispered
we whiled away, wished warmer
winds would wend our way
----------
for the Alliterku Poetry Contest
sponsored by Charles Messina
written on 2/26/23
syllables checked by HowManySyllables.com
Tina was a prostitute
a lady of the night
By day she whiled the hours away
staying out of sight
Though she had repeat business
she earned no royalties
for bending over at the waist
~ or sinking to her knees
Remembering the glory days of golden youth
When love and laughter ruled the day,
Barmy frolicking was ever the gospel truth.
And every boy was a neighborhood sleuth
With nary a moment to be whiled away,
Remembering the glory days of golden youth.
When hell was to be paid for a rash untruth
A principle to be upheld, come what may,
Barmy frolicking was ever the gospel truth.
A typical boy was seldom known for his couth
Always jaunty, but for an insult would repay,
Remembering the glory days of golden youth.
Maintaining his pride so important, forsooth,
While holding his peer antagonists at bay
Barmy frolicking was ever the gospel truth.
Well-groomed and natty, ah, so very smooth
Careful never to be thought of as fem or gay
Remembering the glory days of golden youth
Barmy frolicking was ever the gospel truth.
Written May 5, 2022
You are a friend indeed
For your deeds I have heard
From others in need
Or is it from your own deeds?
That from your lips I have heard?
In my life you've been for a little while
Though it seems like quite a while
Is it because it was worth my while?
Or of the time away with you we whiled?
Hope you will be in my life for a long while
Out of my comfort zone you've challenged me
Prodded, provoked, enquired, piqued,
Though not always happy, you've made me
A true friend in you I've recognised
As the treasure you really are
Stayed in bed yesterday
Whiled the whole day away
Though idle
My thoughts went astray
Stayed in my head yesterday
Pondering possible pathways
How things may go
How they may stay
Made up my bed today
But not my mind
Stuck in a gray way
But certainly
Soon
Will find my way…
Most intimate entries written upon blank pages;
a confessional within them releasing emotions to a forgiving Lord. Quote _ by Poet
I write upon a blank page of my diary,
Loving warm desires neath the umbrella
Whiled honeyed rain fell all around;
Looked into hungry eyes.
Perched and drenched on a tree bough a red robin spied
On quenched by a rainstorm of French kisses.
Our brief dates were short, realizing he misses
Being together. I do sneak outside;
A feeling of warm butterflies
Excites fluttering round,
Didn't attempt to deny desire for my fella.
My hand rests on my recorded story.
I listen to please music notes get me teary,
Dancing round feeling like Cinderella
With my fella, a love I've found.
Sleepy romantic skies
Look down upon me, my diary alongside,
Till the balmy night's quintessence ceases.
1/31/2021
My Invented Form - I Write Upon Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
abcdef fedcba abcdef
12/10/8/6/12/10 syllable lines each stanza
Oh, what a poet I could be,
If it wasn't for Babslou93.
Each day new words come thick and fast,
Each one I think I'll make the last,
But no, I can't resist the lure,
I send a stonker right back to her.
Then back she comes with thirtyfive,
I strive to keep the game alive,
My paltry twenty she jumps on,
Sixty eight, where did that come from ?
I'm really stuck - I've got a Q,
Defeat is clearly now in view.
Resorting to strange words, it seems
Nothing can outwit her schemes.
My every little plot is thwarted,
I'm really feeling quite exhausted.
The end's in sight, a final flourish.
She's won the day. My game was rubbish.
And though I'd like my breath to catch,
No chance, she's after a rematch.
And so the hours are whiled away,
As urgent matters of the day
Are sidelined, but pleasant I agree
Is Scrabbling with Babslou93.
A blanket laying, book-reading, lemonade sipper
turns a page
There is a ghost of sadness in this place
shared madness, despair and rage
Somewhere in the sandy and dreaded dune
convicted breath feels as warm as the month of June
She feels the depression that once enveloped
a once upon a time, mild-mannered man’s illness
Now there is only stillness and something
in the Saugatuck breeze that feels like a gasp
Old scribbles on his walls of silence
seemed, or once was deemed prophetic
“I was wasted just like today was”
a mother’s son whiled away the time
Too forsaken and forgotten to find rhyme
abbreviated sighs and another day’s tally mark
For him, fate…
the future came much too late
The unholy hole handed a mother’s son the shivers
Her lemonade is coldly soothing
sour moments taken in without regrets
Moving her toes in the warm sands once tread
by a man with invasive demons in his head
It is oddly unclear what once happened here.
She turns another page long after he could have.
Perfect limber lassie;
she leapt on her toes,
dancing, rousing sassy
loose and red hot pose.
Swaddled simple, graceful
rich and rare she dared.
Simper very playful
light mood she had shared.
Slightest hurried impulse
she took a light glance
often enough avulse
thought of course to dance.
Welcomed whirlwind romance
whiled love ruled the heart
into lasting advance
flames struck and took part.
2/21/2018
Poetry Contest: 88 Syllables'
Sponsor By: Joseph May
64 words 88 syllables
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