"naturedly" poems
twice by god's accidental interference,
our crash vehicles, super sized shopping carts,
connect, we are manger-penalized for unnecessary roughness
and disturbing the supermarkets peace
what better way to judge character than to examine
a single persons shopping cart contents?
hers,
all organic, milk, heirloom tomatoes, even the Chardonnay,
grown upon the farms of the island and vineyards on
the forks that shelter the isle from the ravages of the Atlantic
mine,
Hebrew National franks, yellow mustard,
very classy brioche buns, a six pack of Corona Light,
and funny colored, funny looking, rusted russet potato chips
with a tremulous smile, and an overly loud, derisive sniff,
pronounces me dead man walking sooner than later,
to which, I respond,
then, teach me, where shall we dine tonight?
later that night,
after a thousand kisses of her fluttering eyelashes,
she props herself upon an elbow and
in a tone sincere and caring,
extracts from the poet promises of
natural exclusivity
from now on, healthy, natural only, organic and pure,
from the soul soil of our shared habitat
her suntan skin, garden-digging hand, I clasp,
softly climbing on top of her,
announce with total genuine sincerity and solemnity;
I swear it, from now on, all my loving will be sourced locally
rewarded with a laugh and a gentle but hard enough,
garden to table (with her free hand), head smacking,
I noting nod, good naturedly
that both the laugh and smack,
as well,
*sourced locally,
sourced lovingly,*
which then seeded
this new only love jointly authored poem,
planted in our mingling blossoming crashing
bodies
5/29/17 i
12:43pm
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
Passover or Easter or Happy Any Ole Thing, Sam I Am
she
asks me good naturedly
which to wish me - a happy this or that
and a poem’s immaculate conception is instant arisen arising
hot ****
rueful smile and unruly reply
a solid out loud Ha!
neither either or he writes and so believes
for I am a god loving man,
whom we’ve -Him/It/Me have agreed
that I may call
Sam I Am
and the answer to your question is
why not
for most quests and questions can be well-answered
why not!
my genes my historical beings my ancestors and my issue
all declaiming that I am a jew who left egypt, no defaming, a slave to no man who cannot love another like his own self
but some in all that I write, this deity boss slips in quietly unseen in one of his jokes-on-us-disguises like singing ave maria
and thus whose to say
his rightful name, is not
Sam I Am
my choice and the big D
(a self-employed informal his choice, nom-de-guerre)
has agreed via his acknowledgement in his normative style of
low volume taciturn tacit acceptance
so wish me a u happy
anything you want-to-call-it-day
don’t matter. but know this u were there
when, all on that happy day where, @ the manger,
when this Sam-Approved-Appeared
poem was born and Sam blessed it with a
hot ****
she laughs, tosses back in my face, some schematic I
prior penned that I can’t recall the when or where or my
nom-de-guerre employed but fits this ex-slave perfectly
“there are no lines or lies in my writings
there are no definitions and
perception is only your truth”
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
A Long time ago,
I was far from home,
Far from good food,
company
and familiar sights.
I was washing my bike,
Hoping for my neighbor's
sweet daughter
to come out
on her Balcony
Light up my day
with her sweet smile
My neighbor
My landlady,
Had a family of six
Beautiful daughters,
Who had no father
This churned my heart
I went soft for this family
But had no Intention
to ruin
Disrupt their peace
Nor interfere
In their daily lives
I kept my feelings
bottled in steel
but smiled
Good naturedly
at them all
and stood guard
against
any male that threatened
their gentle citadel
They treated me
with snacks
and their gentle
smiles like I was
the Orphan
and I was well fed
with my sacred
relationship
But their smiles
created pangs
in my young heart
which good breeding
stifled with iron hand
Until one day
I espied
my contractor
make eyes
at the oldest
This enraged me
Lit a fire
(I thrashed the man
Ah, the strength of youth
Knows no bounds)
into an inch of his life
till he begged
for mercy.
This fell on the ears
of my superiors
who in their enthusiasm
to please
their clients
had me transferred
2000 kms
from home
I waved goodbye
with tears in my eyes
my six angels
and their guardian
who had grown
to like me as well,
That day I swore
that no girl child
would come to harm
under my watch
without her will
and some times even
with her will when
her delicate youth
made her stray
into harms path
I would slay the dragon
of temptation
at the cost of
my reputation
among friends of
being a Casanova
I wear my disguise well
To Please God and Man.
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 2:32 AM UTC
Miriam And Esther Were Chatting Over Tea One Day.
"My Daughter, Kate Likes To Laugh Too Much.
She Does Nod Behave As An Amish Should Behave."
Said Esther To Miriam.
Miriam Perked Up, Rather Good Naturedly.
"Ach, Vell, If Laughing Means I Am Nod Amish
Then I Guess You Can Put Me Im Der Bahn
Because I Do Nod Mind A Good Ole-Fashioned Joke
Now And Then."
Miriam Replied With A Smile.
~Marian~
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
He walked to the gate while the soft summer wind stirred the oak,
and the sun reflectively smiled in the ruts on the road,
to greet his brother Ted who’d languidly move across
so that Vic could companionably lean and look at their cattle
grazing under the Breckland pine, and reflect.
He drove his tractor and tended his fields,
enjoying the changing seasons but moaned about fen blows,
and unexpected showers which slowed the combine,
good naturedly grumbling with other farmers
about the price of fat cattle, the return on wheat,
and how many potatoes are in a packet of crisps,
when at Bury market on a Wednesday.
He’d sit to the left of the door of the Cricket Club
contentedly watching Lakenheath bat,
and readily smiled when they’d hit a six,
bringing his big brown hands together
to join in the ripple of applause.
He’d bring his prince of a Yorkshire to where
his grandchildren drooled ready for turkey
with all the trimmings, and fresh vegetables,
hearing the microwave hum, cooking the pudding
whose brandy sauce bit, before heading the evening games,
candidly laying a domino, announcing to all concerned
"Another fifteen."
He’d talk about the little black pony he drove as a youth
over top Maiden Cross Hill to Brandon,
with a cart full of produce, hating the finicky woman
who always made him eager for home.
He hoed his little bit of garden, and happily cut a lettuce for his tea,
another to pop round a neighbours' with a hand full of beans,
and a third to lay with the sack of spuds waiting for his children.
He watched the Weakest Link, and commented
on the stupidity of students, and foolish woman
wishing to spend a thousand on a handbag, and reckoned that:
“If there were more men like brother George,
who was straight and true, the world would be a better place.”
He laid in bed in the moonlight, listening
to golden oldies of yesteryear, and Victor Palmer,
the father of five, my dear Father, a gentle giant of a man,
a man of the soil, dreamed of his garden…
Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 12:15 PM UTC
expertise irrelevant, a knowing
recognition where & when & why,
venn diagram inflection points
intersect, and also confine
the nirvana nexus on a line of dots in a
movingly motion connected by a formula that
has an equal 🟰 in its muddly middle the man’s best sole instructions to her only
solve! me
when in an moveable interaction
the power of rushing baking cake & it’s filling
is akin to trying to hold back a bucking stream that cannot both be ****** or dammed
running words, making
you obsessed to remember
every detail, but commas only,
never a period interrupting continuity no
essential points of exit and entry
and yet…
you cold stop to breathe
wondering how came you
to be a container intertwining
motifs and motives, desires contradictory,
control contrives to be a
controversy pressured pressed
together, and you want to stop, go,
turnings to touch,
she be tablet and he the pen,
and you wrack to remember each
detail, the poem complete or will
confusions reign supreme
and all the fantastical
schemes are shot to
hell, ink spilled,
house doused
and she good naturedly laughs at you,
cause she knows poet better than himself
and forgives him his inspirational
dazes and gazes of confusion
because it is hard to give when
giving birth to
a dream’s obsessive demands
to love one more
than the other
each deserves no rival, just a final fini,
she wants the same, but the heart
is where he keeps hid, exactly
what she needs, so forgives a
little, because loving a crazy
man after all these years
is taking the excesses
costly cause that be
an insanity desired,
what she loves,
the dusky duo
inside him
a constant
battle re
fusing
resolving
the man’s contradictories,
that she cherishes him for
more, his mired mind, more and
laughs at mores, cause it is never ending;
his more is feature why she loves him very best, she showers and laughs, he rushes in
puzzlement featured on his face, so invites him in and as he falls to his knees in a watery
embrace, while grasping her hips, she
states with a finality: “‘
”let us discuss the importance of proper endings”
Oct 4, 2024
Oct 4, 2024 at 4:38 PM UTC
There was once a little boy, who liked a little girl
and one fine day, by the beach, he found a little pearl.
Thinking of his sweetheart, he picked it up & took it home
and he polished it all day, throughout the night until it shone.
The very next day he put it in a velvet box;
went out whistling, thinking of her golden locks.
He kept thinking of how her eyes would gleam;
how the pretty pearl would make her beam.
He found her swinging on a mighty big swing,
How his heart fluttered when he heard her sing.
The wind catching her hair and tossing it all about;
he thought she was an angel without a doubt.
He clutched the velvet box and took a step forward
then stopped because suddenly he felt like a coward.
What if she spurned his advances & didn’t accept his gift?
Or worse, she thought him funny and had a laughing fit?
His mind in turmoil, his little heart pounding away,
He thought about fleeing 'coz he didn’t know what to say.
Glued to the spot, his prospects sure seemed grim
when suddenly, she turned and looked straight at him.
With no apparent escape he smiled at her tentatively
and like a miracle, she grinned back, the sight so lovely.
Encouraged, he walked up to her and held up his gift;
She reached for it shyly and his spirits started to lift.
As she slowly opened it with a smile upon her lips,
he watched her, fascinated, his heart doing the flips.
When she beheld the shiny pearl, her eyes opened wide;
her obvious pleasure in turn, had him feel overjoyed.
She looked up, her brown eyes warm and sparkling,
cocked her pretty head to the side and kept on looking.
Then after what seemed like ages she finally said,
“It’s really beautiful. Thanks, you are very sweet, Ted.”
Amazed that she knew his name, he said happily,
“It is not more beautiful than you dear Emily!”
She smiled, then laughed good-naturedly at this,
then came closer and gave him a sweet kiss.
His happy heart about to burst, he held her hand;
his love conquest a success, he felt so grand.
He had found his playmate, his first love ever,
his friend, his sweetheart, his life’s pearl forever.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 3:29 PM UTC
Bili’s one of my two best chums. She's exquisite, cagey and ferociously funny - compared to her I’m tomboyish.
Her hair is a straight corn-silk that shines like black-enamel. When we watch movies, I get to brush it. Her heritage is Japanese, she has perfect, warm-ivory skin, but she’s as American as sarcasm or gun-violence.
When she talks to me, sometimes she’ll be flirtatious or motherly, but always jocose. She bullies me, good-naturedly coaxing and chivvying me onto the trajectory she selects.
I’m jiggered - I enjoy being treated like a pet. I’ve been so harried lately that it’s somehow calming. I think I’m going to spend the rest of the summer, blithely letting her arrange me.
Jul 31, 2021
Jul 31, 2021 at 6:43 AM UTC
laughter, tears
It's all the same
a washing of the soul
release of the dam
it was under too much pressure
gotta let off a little steam,
no shame in that.
She looked beautiful
tired as she was
and complained the dress was too tight
but it showed off her legs well
and there were leaves on her chest.
Waiting for the taxi
we bickered good-naturedly
and laughed about our old lady ways
in young bodies.
We were late, that's okay
we're the eccentric ones,
they wouldn't expect anything different
from the two young, old ladies
with the same first name.
May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 7:26 PM UTC
you beguile me
with your talking dead
who said dreams
were of the future?
my history flickers
through my REMs
like a trailer for a movie
I did not choose to watch…
crumbling gray walls
around my mother’s home
my father confusing
some interloper for my lost sister
extending his hand to her,
from the grave, good naturedly,
in the flatlands of life
I feared him
even now, feeble on the floor
of this flowing dream
he has power to perplex
by appearing, by simply taking milky shape and form
reminding me he once was there
and that I must let him go
and my mad mother as well
but I am not running the projector
when I slumber, again, and again
they and the other fallen actors
can grace the screen
and all I can do
is open my eyes
to a deeper dream
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
For forty-five minutes today, I refused to look at my phone.
That's an accomplishment by the way, my phone is new,
shiny rose gold, with a fingerprint scanner and a high res camera
sometimes I find my fingers just playing with the screen
a familiar caress to calm my breathing and lull me to a sense of dulled security
I cheated a few times, I looked when my mom texted me
saying she'd be another fifteen minutes late, and another
But other than that, I wouldn't look
I looked at the people instead, the trees, the cars
Sitting under the pink awning of some random storefront
I challenged myself to look the sidewalk goers in the eyes
and smile
Some smiled back, there were some awkward how are you exchanges
with people I've never met, some glazed their eyes over and pretended not to see
I saw the most unhappy looking women get into her blue car with her bags from the pharmacy
I watched a older man sit in a spot on his tablet, listening to the radio
I wondered if he was just having time to enjoy himself when his wife came out of the store and the started arguing, good-naturedly
'What else do we have to do?' 'I don't know' 'Do you want to walk around?' 'God no, I hate this town'
Me too sometimes, me too
Everyone here is in a rush
It is a grab-everything-in-sight town
A material, self-centered town, with prices that pay for it
It's odd for a girl my age to stop, slow down and watch people
To smile for the almost-spring breeze, for the cute siblings across the street bundled into matching winter coats
To smile for the sake of smiling
My cheeks burned self-conscious with the thought of how I must appear to everyone
I touch the phone in my pocket
then push it further into the lining of my coat, along with the fear of being me
For forty-five minutes today, I lived authentically
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 11:55 PM UTC
when you can barely
put these thoughts
into words?
I am intrigued.
In the daytime I’m happy and nothing seems to bother me too much.
I go about my day good naturedly and laugh and smile a lot.
When night comes all the things my thoughts come back and I become sad.
Everything that makes me upset jumps around and shuts out my joy and it’s really overwhelming.. No matter how happy my day was.
This happens all the time now.
I do love my life.. It’s the foul black night that tempts me.
Yet I still somehow love the night..
Still i must strain to see through blurred eyes, my Creator is cradling me under moon and sun.
good night earth
Aug 18, 2010
Aug 18, 2010 at 8:45 PM UTC
the darkness doesn't shine within you.
impossible.
it smothers.
sometimes so delicate and lightly with skilled seduction
it conditions you for its welcome
sometimes forceful and passionately dark,
like the night and fears wrapped into one cloak
it forces you homelike into the darkness
where the peace is only a temporary ruse
manipulation to ready you
for your deathly dangle
again and again.
sometimes it appears helpless
and calls you in with longing and pain-filled eyes.
it prays upon your light
and draws it out of you good-naturedly
and makes you feel needed,
promising to love the light...
but oh, the smothering
is the most cunning of all these things,
learning to breathe with light is not an easy thing,
you must learn wise and sacrifice for together these are
powerful things.
what glitters is the cold
what shines is the soul
what covers is the darkness
what opens is the light
anyone clothed in darkness
is only one thought away from light
and that is that they must deny the power of the dark
as it is no match for the holy light.
a soul is not permitted to stay too long in one or the other,
that's why the sun and the moon were made
and each disappear behind a shroud, here and there
to make you understand how it is
that love and hate go around,
for one must contrast the other
each as capable but none is sustainable.
so thus measure your darkness
with the balance of light
and enjoy the strength
you gain in the fight
may you endeavour in the end
to not let the other win
then may your soul take flight,
a higher journey is always a touch away
ever just in sight.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 3:21 AM UTC