¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ Miranda wakes,
Feels the sun ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ unwilling step ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
Shuddering to the mirror.
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ Miranda's sight
Is old and gray and dirty;
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
This morning she is thirty.
Shining ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ star,
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ twilight shining,
Haunted ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Miranda is a-pining.
Silly ¦¦¦¦¦ silver girl,
Draw ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ toward you;
Time ¦¦¦ makes the years to whirl
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ he adored you.
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ timelessness for you;
Calendars ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦ a year, or thirty, to
Loveliness made woman?
¦¦¦ Night will not see thirty again,
¦¦¦ soft ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ Miranda;
Pick up your glass ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
How old is Spring, Miranda?
(Blackout of A Lady Who Thinks She Is Thirty by Ogden Nash)
A sultry maiden moon watches
hours of leisurely reading illustrious literary works
dreams of fiction become possibilities
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
The world is in a whirl
whizzing its way along
Topsy-turvy, turvy-topsy
straight lines all curvy
What is asked from us
but to exit that bus
to escape the crush
to avoid the rush
To slow down and find
truth amidst the hush
sufi sun
at center
rumi trance
joyful earth
divine love
mystic daze
subtle sound
dizzy beats
rhythm control
floating floor
giddy dance
ego spins
repeat turn
sway slowly
receive grace
Blending spherical
green orbital mental thots
with a pea for brains.
Words, like a gentle breeze, can whisper untold tales,
Carrying secrets through meadows and rustling in sails.
They can build winding sentences with clauses that flow,
Connecting ideas where knowledge can grow.
But words can also storm with righteous might,
Unleashing emotions that set wrongs to the right.
They can twist and turn with a poet's keen art,
Creating unseen worlds that capture the heart.
So choose your words wisely, with purpose and care,
For they have the power to build or tear.
Like the wind and the storm, they can soothe or sting,
But in a poet's hand, a beautiful song they can sing.
When I was young
I attempted to keep pace with it,
I felt its arms,
sometimes cool,
sometimes as a fool
go round me;
it felt wonderful
at the beginning,
but later,
when I stepped into old age
I completely got the fact
Not to love but destroy me
And as many say and said
“ C’est la vie”
Twirl and Whirl - NK
though love may break
it won’t die
but shine bright
as a star
in the sky
deep in heart
forever
in the mind’s eye.
what’er will be is meant to be
love is a merry chance
a dream that has come true
it’s waltzing in moonlight
in flowering romance
to music of the night
slip on your dancing shoes
twirl whirl, free heart and soul and dance.
*+*
23rd September 2022
**
Charlie New-Ku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Charles Messina
Twirling
Prancing
Whirling
Entrancing
Unfurling
The Dancing...
Say that you dance.
Lest it not be said,
The art is ever dead.
Or even the merest of a chance,
Of nearing extinction.
It is all life's essence,
To move, be, think and dream.
To express a universal scheme,
That speaks through nature's lessons.
Not in man's religion.
A boundless form of communication.
So intricate,
Yet so ruled by emotion.
So elaborate,
And so full of devotion.
Needing no words of translation.
At one with God and all of creation.
A legacy of the beginning explosion.
To live in blissful celebration.
Saint Vidas is the lord of the dance.
If in need, seek out his blessing.
You might as well give him a chance,
And dance out your confessing.
So why should we dance?
The answer is simple and clear.
To join the dance is why we are here.
So dance, indeed dance.
Don't. Can't. Won't. Listen. Listen.
My mind is awhirl. Too much of that stuff.
Life is redundant. My friends are boring.
My parents are fussy. Absolutists.
No room for me. I try to get in my truth.
Screaming it out in looks
For I am not allowed to speak
Unless spoken to. Right?
My mind is awhirl. Wanting to break out.
Of this prison where I was put right away.
Little ladies don't get dirty.
Don't speak until spoken to.
My friends jabber about the same stuff.
Every day. A rewind conversation.
I am screaming with my eyes
And my body language.
No one cares.
As long as I
don't show
my crazy.
The dandelion, a broad-leaf perennial,
life with very distinct stages.
Don’t confuse it with a biennial
cause this plant has five changes.
Seedlings made of yellowish leaves
form a basal rosette, oval in shape.
And as it ages the oval achieves
a very different kind of fate.
As the plant begins to mature,
the leaves transform with edges.
They are toothed and jagged for sure.
Come watch as it progresses.
Once the plant is mature enough,
it sits flat on the ground.
I know you’re waiting for the puff,
but it is nowhere to be found.
The roots are thick and strong,
and now it’s time for her to flower.
She stands tall with stem so long,
and a yellow flower will tower.
The fruit will form inside the yellow,
and is brown and yet quite small.
This is an elongated oval fellow,
with pappus white hairs overall.
So that’s the stages of her life,
the dandelion, a changing girl.
You waited patiently through all five,
so blow real hard and watch ‘em whirl!
Whimsical love-in-a-mist
Himalayan blue poppy
Elegant lily of the Nile
Graceful columbines
Playful balls of hydrangea
Ravishing blue daisy
Humble globe thistle
Delicate flax blooms
Sublime forget-me-nots
Breathtaking cornflower
Exquisite blue anemone
Blooms of every shade of blue
Paradise for me and you
AP: 1st place 2020, Honorable Mention 2025
She flows, flows while petals spread their vibrant blooms
On April's mural , those lips dare to tease...
Her contours trailing with velour costumes
Wildly ablaze, to ride on spring’s trapeze.
This ambrosial drift which shines ,which glows
From heaven’s mold granting dahlia's trance
Enchanting a whirl, my shade of yellows...
Like me, she curls into a floral dance!
Flower Contest:Brian Strand
Leaves spinning and whirling swinging and swaying to the beat
of the wind drums pulsating and rapping to their rhythmic jive
we dance all of our madness into the darkness together
I was preparing a blue-berry cake for supper,
Foaming it saw some spinning rings on the syrupy mixture
It reminded me of the sequence of cosmos;
As the planets spin on their ever homely compass
The sugar, flour, soda and the eggs
Circling still inside my food processor.
I ogle and solicitously imagine,
If I’m thrown away at space with such a whirl,
Shall I swivel in the infinity?
Or-shall I be smashed; otherwise, be crushed by the aliens?
The space scientist would better answer it,
My data is limited, to me, all these are worthless, I never know;
I just know how to mingle the mixture of a cake,
I’m a poor mixture machine operator.
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