Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Terry O'Leary Dec 2015
1.        Eugene And the Pumpkin Pie

Wee Eugene's but a lonely boy
(arrayed in cap and corduroy),
has Jungle Jim (a ragged toy)
and fancied Friends his only joy.

Well, Jim appears from time to time
behind a pane of pantomime,
a charmed mirage, or dream sublime
inside a Cuckoo's nursery rhyme.

Still Eugene always finds a way
(while riding on his magic Sleigh)
to meet with Jim somewhere halfway
between the Moon and Yesterday.

When Jim brought Eu to Timbuktu
to kiss the Queen (a Kangaroo)
and tweak her tail (bright shiny blue),
Eu sneezed instead “achoo, achoo”.  

The baby Roo, surprised, awoke
and thought 'twas but a funny joke
beholding Eugene cough and choke...
well, sounding like old Froggy's croak.

Said Jim to Roo "Eu has a cold,
we mustn't laugh, we mustn't scold
instead we'll let the tale unfold
and frolic in the marigold".

With runny eyes and mighty sniffle
Eu could hardly get a whiffle,
climbed a hill to reach the cliffle ,
searched the sea for ship or skiffle.

Behind the breeze, some sloops were seen,
a grand delight that pleased Eugene,
and Jim, and Roo, and yes, the Queen;
they then set sail for Halloween.

Above the sea, below the sky
they saw a skinny Scarecrow fly -
within its beak (one couldn't deny),
surprise, surprise, a Pumpkin Pie!

The Scarecrow wore a veil and shawl
so really couldn't see at all
and swooped too near the sunny ball,
got grilled and let the pastry fall,

which bounced upon the waves below,
then slid beneath the undertow.
"Why did it fall, where did it go?"
cried Eugene with a gasp of woe.

Roo wondered would it reappear
(for where it went was certainly queer),
but where it went became quite clear
to Eu and Jim while standing near

the Queen who, hungry, hopped awhile
observing Crunch the Crocodile
come floating down the river Nil
with belly full and toothy smile.

2.        Eugene and the Wolverine

Within the sandbox played Eugene,
as well, his little friend named Dean,
a simple-minded Wolverine.

But yesterday was Halloween
when they collected sweets unseen,
all stuffed inside a sad Sardine.

And making sure their hands were clean,
they shared a snack - a tangerine,
a cantaloupe and big fat bean.

But they forgot the Sandbox Queen
whose hungry name was sweet Pauline -
with no invite she felt so mean
and woke the naughty Sand Machine.

Sand trickled in their fine cuisine
which scratched their gums and set the scene
to brush their teeth and in between.

Poor Dean was sad he hadn’t seen
the sandy specks with sparkly sheen,
all hidden like a submarine.

Eu sold his cookie magazine
And bought a brand new limousine
To flee the naughty Sand Machine.

Next time their food they’ll try to screen
from something hard and unforeseen
while tapping on a tambourine
to sooth the hungry Sandbox Queen
and trick the naughty Sand Machine.


3.        Eugene and Antoine

Eugene awoke and looked upon
his Mirror in the morning Dawn.
He saw himself and stopped to yawn
then saw instead his friend Antoine.

Well Antoine said ‘come in, come on
I’ll whisk you with this Magic Wand
then we can journey to the Pond
and sail astride the Silver Swan’.

And once inside the Looking Glass
amazing conquests came to pass
before the midday hourglass
released its sands upon the grass.

Well, first they sought and found the Pond
and hypnotized the Silver Swan
to sail them to the edge beyond,
to Charles, the Froggy Vagabond.

Well Charles was said to be ‘a King’
(whose Crown was hanging from a String)
while hopping with a golden Ring
just waiting for a Kiss in Spring.

Now Antoine said he’d kiss ‘the King’,
(or better said, ‘the Froggy Thing’)
but Eu refused to do such thing
unless the Frog removed the Ring.

The Ring transfixed poor Froggy’s Nose
instead of round his tiny Toes
to keep away the Midnight Crows
(as far as anybody knows).

When Froggy’s Nose was finally free
there was a sudden kissing spree
with Ant and Eu (and Swan made three)
to fix old Froggy’s Destiny.

The Rest is rather imprecise.
As to the trio’s Sacrifice,
the facts alone should now suffice -
the Pond and Froggy turned to ice!

And Swan became a Toucan Bird,
the strangest thing I ever heard,
instead of chirp she only purred
and even then she sometimes slurred.

Though Charles the Frog was mighty cold,
upon the Pond he stiffly strolled
behind the The Ring that slowly rolled
in search of one more nose to hold.

Well, Eu watched Antoine set the Pace
when beating Toucan in the Race
to seek and find a warmer Space
in front of Mother’s Fireplace.

So Antoine waved his charmed Baton
and whisked Eu back to Mum’s Salon -
But looking back, Eu’s friend was yon
behind the silvered Amazon.


4.            Eugene and the Milky Way

Eugene stayed in to play today
inside his secret hideaway;
he laughed and ate a Milky Way
with little fear of tooth decay.

But Dean, his friend, was far away
just driving in a Chevrolet
and didn't wish to disobey
so hurried home with no delay.

What took so long, I couldn't say
but Dean came late, in disarray -
he'd lost, alas, the Milky Way
that he had hidden Yesterday.

When asked, Eugene led Dean astray
about the missing Milky Way,
blamed Pauline in her negligee
who'd fed her little Popinjay.

Then Dean said sadly, in dismay,
"It was a gift for your birthday".
Well Eu felt bad, no longer gay
and offered Dean ice cream frappé.

Soon afterwards they romped in hay
beside the forest near the bay;
but when the sky turned somewhat gray
they flew back home to hide away.

At home, with all his toys at play,
Eugene confessed to Dean, to say
"Dear Dean, look here, I can't betray,
I ate the sweet, it made my day."

Said Dean, "I knew it anyway,
I saw the traces straightaway,
your chocolate lips, the giveaway;
but we're best friends, so that's OK."


5.         Eugene and the Gold Doubloon

Eugene took his nap at noon
and dreamt about Loraine the Loon
reclining in the long Lagoon
adorned in birdie pantaloons.

Then Eu suggested to the Loon
“Let’s pay a visit to the Dune
we’ll search and seek and very soon
we’ll find a shiny Gold Doubloon.”

But naughty Sand Machine typhoons
arrived and whisked them to the Moon
and left the playmate pals marooned
where gold of pirate ships was strewn.

Pale moonbeams played a mystic tune,
and touching on a magic rune,
Wee Eu, he found a pink harpoon
and in his hand a Gold Doubloon.

Instead of sitting on cocoons,
Loraine, she hatched the Gold Doubloon
when suddenly popped a blue Balloon
revealing Royce the red Raccoon.

Well Eu, awaking from his swoon,
was sad he’d lost the Gold Doubloon.
Instead he found a Macaroon
and munched and munched all afternoon.


6.        Eugene and the Dragonfly

When Eugene climbed a mountain high
and wandered down a dale nearby,
he came upon Doug Dragonfly
asleep beside a Tiger’s eye.

Soon Eu was thinking “Now’s the time
to take a rest from my long climb
and waken Doug to tell him I’m
about to pick a bunch of thyme”.

But Doug was quite a grumpy guy
when woken from his dream whereby
he’s dancing with a Butterfly
in magic realms that mystify.

So Doug complained “My dream's now gone
of dancing to the carillon
with Butterflies upon the lawn,
which won’t come back until I yawn.”

Then Eugene said “Well I know what!
A mug of tea and hazelnuts
served with a chocolate Buttercup
will surely help to cheer you up!”

Thereafter, picking tufts of thyme,
they heard the distant bluebells chime
and watched the Fairies pantomime
and dance till Eugene’s suppertime.


7.        Eugene and the Eskimo

Not so very long ago,
a bit before the morning’s glow,
Wee Eugene met an Eskimo
while trudging through the windblown snow.

Bedecked in boots and winter fur,
the Eskimo said “I’m Jack Spur.
Or call me Jack if you prefer,
it might be somewhat easier.”

Soon Jack was passing by to say
“Well could you help me find my way
back through the door to Yesterday,
to where I left my silver Sleigh?”

So Eugene said “I’ll come along,
but listen, hear the breakfast gong,
my Mama’s made the porridge strong
and chocolate milk, if I’m not wrong.”

So, filled with porridge to the brim
and feeling vigor, full of vim,
Wee Eu called Jack and said to him
“Well now we’ll travel on a whim.”

While seeking Yesterday and more
they searched an unseen corridor.
Somewhere behind the mirrored door
was Yesterday, the day before!

Without a fear they slid within,
with Jackie playing violin.
And Moon above was seen to grin
’cause Jackie’s tune was kind of thin.

Though searching long to find the Sleigh
they heard instead an echo stray
quite sounding like the Donkey’s bray,
the Donkey’s bray of Yesterday.

The Donkey’d left to find some food -
well, something fresh and not yet chewed
by Fran the Cow that always mooed
(and sometimes burped when she was rude).

The Sleigh was at the Donkey’s back
and nowhere’s near the railway track,
so Jack took Eugene piggyback,
just stopping once to eat a snack.

The Donkey heard the munch of chips
and wondered if his hungry lips
would ever taste some bacon strips
before the midnight Moon Eclipse.

Well Fran and Donkey, unforeseen,
found Jack at lunch with Wee Eugene
and shared a mighty fine cuisine,
provided by the Sandbox Queen.

Well ,Franny chewed her little cud
and Donkey ate a shiny spud,
and Jacky said “Now we must scud
before the coming springtime flood".

So Jack jumped back upon his Sleigh,
the Donkey droned a farewell bray,
(and Franny burped, need I to say?)
while Eu returned from Yesterday,
surprised to hear his Mother say
“Well, now it’s time for you to play!”


8.        Eugene and the Christmas Tree

Eugene awoke on Christmas morn
to find the Christmas Tree'd been shorn
and presents strewn around, forlorn,
midst bows and tinselled paper torn.

So blowing on his little Horn,
Eu called Eunice, the Unicorn.
The duo flew away airborne
(straped to Eu's side his Sword, a Thorn).

Escaping back to Yesterday,
in search of thyme and Santa's Sleigh,
Eu sought to brave the grinchy Fay,
reclaim the joy of Christmas Day .

Then Eunice and the Reindeer Corps
chased fey Fay to a sandy Shore
where Santa banned forevermore
the Fay to mop and scrub the floor.

Then Santa iced the windowpane
(thus waking Eu from dreams again),
left gifts arrayed, and candy cane,
beneath a Tree with candled mane.
MBJ Pancras Sep 2015
An enigmatic smile she’s dressed with to chant mystery,
Poets and bards with their magical poesy tried the mystery,
Philosophers and thinkers broke their minds to unravel the secrecy,
Scientists and law makers built hypotheses and verdicts to read hers,
Painters and sculptors fatigued with their colours and clay,
Actors and directors enacted to unknot the thread of obscurity.
Odes and epics, long-written, attempted to sing Lisa’s Smile;
But reflections of their beloveds’ smile read in their verses,
Philosophies and thoughts expressed in huge volumes;
But less understood even the painter’s invention,
Theories and laws built around Science and Law;
But little is the outcome of their propositions sans the mystery,
Colours and clay played on mighty imaginative realms;
But Mona Lisa ne’er spoke of her mystery Smile.
Enactments on massive stages thrilled the collective audiences;
But Mona Lisa hid the mystery of her Smile.

I walked around the garden of poetry with fragrance of mystery,
I saw a poem in her distinctive beauty ruling my mind’s eye.
She smiled at my heart and in turn my heart smiled at her,
Her smile taught me a mystery and it took time to read it;
Yet there was a veil betwixt us, and I took my plume to write.
She took my heart unto her, and I romped in joy.
She’s been decked with melody and rhymes,
And the string of verses stretched beyond the horizon,
Where the mystery of Lisa’s Smile be found.
She took me with her beyond the horizon,
And I followed her with no utterance till our destination.
She laughed at me for my silence;
Yet she smiled unto me; but her smile looked unfathomable.

She smiled and smiled at me; yet she had no utterance for me;
She looked a little bit puzzling unto me, and I had no answer;
Yet her smile dwelled in me, and I invoked the Muse of Poetry.
“Thou art to be a silent lover, and her smile is the answer unto thee,
She’s the Mona Lisa; she can’t speak, but smile and smile.”
I lay on the soil of the kingdom of poetry, imbibing Lisa’s Smile,
I adorn her smile; I worship her smile; I revere her smile,
Let me not move away from the garden of poetry
Till Lisa’s Smile is translated unto me.

I waited and waited and I found the answer:
Lisa smiles and her smile is the love of silence.
My heart rests in silence that her love is felt within.
She uttered into me:”Speak not, but love with smile,
And that the mystery of my Smile and my Smile lasts.”

I know why Mona Lisa smiles.
She loves me with her silent Smile.
About Mona Lisa
MBJ Pancras Sep 2015
An enigmatic smile she’s dressed with to chant mystery,
Poets and bards with their magical poesy tried the mystery,
Philosophers and thinkers broke their minds to unravel the secrecy,
Scientists and law makers built hypotheses and verdicts to read hers,
Painters and sculptors fatigued with their colours and clay,
Actors and directors enacted to unknot the thread of obscurity.
Odes and epics, long-written, attempted to sing Lisa’s Smile;
But reflections of their beloveds’ smile read in their verses,
Philosophies and thoughts expressed in huge volumes;
But less understood even the painter’s invention,
Theories and laws built around Science and Law;
But little is the outcome of their propositions sans the mystery,
Colours and clay played on mighty imaginative realms;
But Mona Lisa ne’er spoke of her mystery Smile.
Enactments on massive stages thrilled the collective audiences;
But Mona Lisa hid the mystery of her Smile.

I walked around the garden of poetry with fragrance of mystery,
I saw a poem in her distinctive beauty ruling my mind’s eye.
She smiled at my heart and in turn my heart smiled at her,
Her smile taught me a mystery and it took time to read it;
Yet there was a veil betwixt us, and I took my plume to write.
She took my heart unto her, and I romped in joy.
She’s been decked with melody and rhymes,
And the string of verses stretched beyond the horizon,
Where the mystery of Lisa’s Smile be found.
She took me with her beyond the horizon,
And I followed her with no utterance till our destination.
She laughed at me for my silence;
Yet she smiled unto me; but her smile looked unfathomable.

She smiled and smiled at me; yet she had no utterance for me;
She looked a little bit puzzling unto me, and I had no answer;
Yet her smile dwelled in me, and I invoked the Muse of Poetry.
“Thou art to be a silent lover, and her smile is the answer unto thee,
She’s the Mona Lisa; she can’t speak, but smile and smile.”
I lay on the soil of the kingdom of poetry, imbibing Lisa’s Smile,
I adorn her smile; I worship her smile; I revere her smile,
Let me not move away from the garden of poetry
Till Lisa’s Smile is translated unto me.

I waited and waited and I found the answer:
Lisa smiles and her smile is the love of silence.
My heart rests in silence that her love is felt within.
She uttered into me:”Speak not, but love with smile,
And that the mystery of my Smile and my Smile lasts.”

I know why Mona Lisa smiles.
She loves me with her silent Smile.
Mona Lisa's Smile
Mary Gay Kearns Apr 2018
He was lean, his aesthetic back stretches
Into neat trunks tied at the waist with cord
Sand sprinkled dipping in the circular pool
Where the shells and seaweed floated about
Like newly washed hair his shade of brown.

And this is how I remember him next to me
With our spades and colourful beach towels
Our clothes draped across rocks in the sun
And those plastic sandels with the salty buckles
Cutting into our fleet especially when new.

We were not very affectionate but occasionally
Romped the floors in our nightclothes at bed
Dragging the eiderdowns, downwards in disarray
And taking a length of string between bedrooms
So that we could keep connected by a joining tug.

This was childhood at its most fierce and beautiful
Before adolescence set its patterns on our forms
Marked us out for education and dress codes
Until then we were still securely latched in time
Asking each other, now and then, for piggy backs.


Love Mary for her brother ,Richard.
Alone within my emotional wilderness

A reverie along memory lane when, this lviii sea sunned
row man (stills paddles in oarlocks and serenely quizzically,
lackadaisically, and harmoniously drifts) along the slip
stream of time. Awash on his figurative manual navigated
opportunistic prideful quintessential schooner reflects,
regales, and revisits ebbing lapsed instances (fast receding
into the past time, when psychological instability grounded
fragile my self esteem (generated venting, steaming, and
piping hot brickbats). As a newly minted harrumphing,
grubbing, and floundering dada enmeshment (analogous
to a fish caught in a net, hence quickly ricocheting, rabidly
splashing, and sloppily thrashing) predicated my foray
into das fatherhood. Aye experienced nearest approximation
Bing battered, rammed, and torpedoed from glomming
(par for the course riot ting heaps) necessarily imposed
adult responsibility. Such metaphorical motoring across
avast Battle Creek with no landfall in sight, this then nada
so Grand Turk (key in the straw) Otto man continually
snapped, cracked and popped. This human ping-pong
fitbit part player papa felt akin to subjection re: thralldom).
At this juncture in me cross currents of existence I can
harken back to those most exhausting, fatiguing, and
grueling endeavors. Hindsight offers this aging baby
boomer the luxury to cast astern. Retrospective leisurely
trawls along the shoals throes of fatherhood allow,
enable and provide and opportunity to scrutinize per
chance, where arises this on account of the empty nest
syndrome. Ordinarily the wife (i.e. missus to appear
more formal), would caw out my name nonstop….
”Matt”…”Matt”…”Matt”…, but she opted to organize
the cluster of assorted household items at the apart
ment (located in Crum Lynne – Ridley Township),
we hope to move within a fortnight. Thy spouse
volunteered her own mini reprieve by setting order
to the miscellaneous fixings gradually amassed,
appropriated, and gifted thru out the twenty plus
years of marriage, which hodgepodge of personal
possessions downsized whence circumstance dictates
evaluating goods having keepsake meaning versus
anomaly of belongings to be unloaded, repurposed
for someone else, or ordained as unworthy to schlep.
Alone asper like a very brief sabbatical from marriage
finds stillness amidst the white noise of the whirring
fan. Thus, I sit here ruminating how to dredge up
some idea for a poem,  (non) fiction or essay. This
husband became acclimated, conditioned, and em
bossed with a mate a tete for two plus decades,
whereby both thee dos delightful daughters on
Track 742 heading west. Honest to dog, I miss
the role of fatherhood when either off spring
(with an age difference of approximately twenty
five plus months) romped, scampered, and trotted
as toddlers, and upon childhood, thy little girls
found exultant excitement dashing higgledy-
piggledy, hither and yon, to and fro across the
playground as most glorious human indulgence.
Despite the plaintive wail vis a vis Juliet saying
goodnight to Romeo (…parting is such sweet
sorrow) haint pleasurable atoll. Hitherto un
known that during the most vexing, trying,
and quaking bouts when both kin of thy ****
fought like angry cats would there transpire
the occasion of sincere tearfulness ululating
vain warbling. Now a pang of nostalgia arises
when I drive past their happy go lucky stomp
ping turf, or reflect on answering the trumpet
call to chauffer one or thee other to amusement
park, play date, mall, favorite toy store such as
Fivebelow, birthday party, et cetera. Even
certain tunes recalled to mind and/or heard
being broadcast across the audio logical spec
trum a cause for moistened tear ducts. Wince
with sadness also mixed with sigh lent bundled
expostulations of joy. Both progeny metamorphosed
into able bodied, minded and spirited lasses,
whose attainment far exceeded any projections
internally forecast. Initial onset of parent role
found me all thumbs. Prior to begetting two
darling dames, this chap spent disproportionate
number of hours sequestered within some hide
away, which frequently happened to be the
designated bedroom at 324 Level Road, College
Ville, Pennsylvania, 19010. Never did thee major
rit tee days of mine life point to babysitting or
working with that chronological demographics
comprising the adoring blessed innocence,
murmuring newborn obliviousness, that bespoke
penultimate unsullied, utmost virtue necessitating
interaction with tender infants beckoning being
cradled, endearingly fondled, demonstrably easing
fondness gripping heartstrings issue jetblue kinks.
Aye felt pitched headlong into this foreign territory,
and initially experienced utmost awkwardness when
attending, pampering and pulling (albeit gently)
upsy daisy, the nascent hint of autonomy. Remembrance
and recollection of élan, joie de vivire, and yea those
ear splitting threshold of pain screaming tantrums
all boxed into tidy wholesome Zen announcing
nuggets of greater meaningfulness and absolute
value. The above long winded reverie intended and
meant tubby a semi biography, but leave hit up to
his hie n hiss, he went way overboard, and will give
a one line summarization to describe his i.e. yours truly
life sentence fate decreed. He (this Anglophile chipper
chap lived under duress of extreme anxiety, obsessive/
compulsive behavior, panic attacks and essentially
schizoid personality disorder for the greater part
of his life and hard times, which raw bits would
warrant fleshing out to extrapolate how these psychic
pitfalls represented critical factors at various and
sundry turning points in his life.
The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.
noura Aug 2021
It is the mundanity of the act,
of envisioning your hand gently wrapped around the copper kettle.
Obstinately gripping the pen, while you wring a sheet of paper dry for the right words.
You, cupping my face as if you were holding something precious.
As if I might slip through your fingers.
It is this devastating simplicity that obliterates every shard of my being.
A brick wall, left at the mercy of a gleaming sledgehammer
that is determined to turn everything to dust.

I see your hands everywhere.
In the haze of steam and shower curtains,
the lines dragged in velvet throw pillows,
the cloudy smudges left on a glass of water.
They run faint paths through my hair, their touch ghosts against my eyelid.
If I stare long enough,
your palm is right there, pressing into mine.
Silver cuts through the air and delivers a redundant blow.
The dust scatters once more.

You did not leave a hole
the way everyone said you were bound to.
Empty space cannot exist without everything that surrounds it, yields to it, forgives it,
validates its gaping hollowness.
Empty space is a needle and thread on the dresser, a sellotape dispenser on the desk, a container of soup left on the doorstep with a get-well-soon scribbled on the lid.
Empty space is where you can see remnants of what once was whole.
The faith and conviction that bit by bit, you will put your fragmented pieces back together again.

The nothing you left was so thick and suffocating
that it permeated every room,
filled my lungs to bursting capacity and left me gasping for more.
Its sickly, bitter fragrance danced relentlessly in my nostrils,
as though my suffering was the sweetest symphony ever heard.
It waltzed until I could feel it rising in my throat and leaking from my eyes,
twirled until my head spun.
The nothing you left insisted on making its presence known my every waking moment
and then gleefully romped its way into my nightmares.

It was so quiet, though.
A resigned quiet, like that of the ****** swinging in the gallows,
when everybody holds their breath to watch the pendulum sway.
The crossbeam glistens with last night’s rain and
they trudge back home, muttering to themselves as the dust settles beneath their feet.
I sink into sheets creased by your fingers and watch it sway.
Hazel Connelly Sep 2012
I've won a day at the races
For me and my friend Doreen Maguire
Posh frocks and new hats
That's what we require.

So off we go shopping
Hair and nails done on the way
Well we girls want to lookj our best
For the big race day.

Now Doreen's buxom and curvy
Me I'm thin as a latt
Or you could say slim and slender
And Doreen's just fat.

We went in loads of shops
Nothing seemed to fit the bill
Everything was kind of frumpish
And we're definitly not over the hill.


Then we came accross this shop
In a side street in the town
It's called Reds Closet Boutique
And we both came out with a gown.

We got fascinators to match
Shoes, accessories and bags too
Doreen got something in pink
I got something in blue.

It was the day of the races
We were up with the lark
Had our lunch at Tom and Jerry's
Then off to Haydock Park.

The horses are under starters orders
And I'd backed the grey
Well it came home last
But it was winning all the way.

Now we came to the last race
And we're digging deep in our pocket
Doreen said put it on this
It's called Super Rocket.

Well it romped hom at 50/1
This horse called Super Rocket
And me and Doreen Maguire
Went home with brass in our pocket.

© Hazel
Londis Carpenter Jul 2011
In the bygone time, of an age sublime, in the long of long ago,
  by means arcane, which I can’t explain, I once lived by knife and bow.
Though I can’t forswear in truth my tale; it is woven out of dreams,
  (a fabric made of memories that only night-time brings).

Alas! These tales gush from my soul when midnight casts her spell.
  They fill my mind with visions of both paradise and hell.
Vivid dreams are they, words from a book, once penned by ancient lore;
  they cast a spell with the tales they tell of a life I lived before.

Can a man interred have his ashes stirred so his spirit will come again,
  in another life to this place of strife—and in someone else's skin?
For if that be so, than indeed I know that somewhere near Bismarck,
  near Montana’s line, I lived one time, in the Land of the Meadowlark.

My people are “The Band of Friends”—Lakhotas—near the lakes.
  When white men came and named us Sioux; did that they know they called us snakes?*
Fort Peck soldiers came one day, with a smithy shop on wheels.
  With their iron tools they made repairs and bartered a few deals.

After our trade we romped and played, deep into the dark of night.
  A man named Doug produced a jug and we drank until daylight.
One man stood out among the rest, amid the din and clamor;
  an English smithy called Hawk-eye, whom we named “Man with the Hammer.”

Round after round he stood his ground, besting first one man—then two,
  in games of skill he won them all—a warrior through and through.
Our friendship grew into brotherhood and before the moon was spent,
  with mingled blood, we sealed our bond to witness the event.

What could have been I’ll never know, because by quirt of fate,
  a drunken warrior killed my friend, from jealousy and hate.
Shamed by his defeat in the games and seized by a drunken rage,
  while others slept, he took revenge and stabbed this noble sage.

Tommy Cuts-The-Rope fled, fearing punishment, and escaped in the dead of night.
  I tracked his way the following day, with an oath I would set things right.
It was at Wolf Point several miles away that I finally took him down.
  They speak today of the duel we fought; it’s a legend in that town.

Now I don’t know the sacred laws that govern the reborn.
  I have no clues how Spirits choose which life is next to come.
Can souls pass the abyss in pairs?  Do they go on alone?
  May friends journey together to each new fleshy home?

But today I am an Englishman and I have a noble friend.
  He has a loyal servant, Tommy Coward is his name.
My friend comes from a border town somewhere in North Dakota
  and I swear upon my mother’s grave, his sir name is Lakhota.
penatease Mar 2012
There was this garden where I looked for breaths every morning.These cool and pine slapped winds gave me reason to live as I fought hard to ward frustrations of life.So many of them clouded me that they could have outnumbered the grass blades that stood proudly in the trimmed lawn. There was this lone Oak that stood tall and alone just like me in this mountain ***** retreat.A peculiarity of this land was that it was not amenable to growth of any flowers. I had none of them whatsoever in any 12 months year after year. The flower rows had turned **** pots for two terriers and three cats that romped the greens almost whole day.Despite their efforts at fertilizing nothing happened.It was accidental that I discovered a puny rose bush,almost stunted, at the end of one row when I was asking my housekeeper to clear the row of dirt. My delight knew no bounds as I saw the little survivor. It may have been little but it was old and had strong sharp thorns and drew blood from me as I tried caressing it. Its first regular watering was that very drop of blood.Determined to let it live and grow I became a care giver instantly.



Fertilizers,gardening manuals later I drew up a watering plan that kept me busy day after day.To my delightful amazement the plant took to shoots and little greens. Soon it had its first bud then another and then another.The first flower that beamed at me one morning was a green rose. It was smiling and thanking me for letting it grow and live.I caressed its silken petals like a Romeo who caressed the skin of his Juliet. The flower bloomed and became so brightly colored and big that passersby stopped to glare at it in awe.Its siblings too started showing up. Soon the bush became a show case of that garden and my life. One cold night I drank a bit too much and slept like a horse only to wake to a white sheet of snow. Green had gone and the white ruled. I panicked to the rose bush and almost screamed. The snow had made a grave over it. Lacking oxygen and sunlight its leaves and petals were ready to turn brown. There was nothing I could do to save it. In two days time it had reverted to the stunt that it was. Yet I smiled ! Why?



The flowering had left me a lesson after its demise.



Careful tending and hard work can lead to success even when everything seems impossible.Carelessness can lead to losses which can be total.



and then...



The life events are seasonal and cyclical...time and circumstances combine to make for fruition.



Medicine or human care can only prolong but not obviate natural decay.



There are always spoilsports for your 'victory party'.



Success cannot last forever.



You need to sow it with blood to make it work.



These were precious. All flower on a robust bush in my maturity that will never wilt inspite of all storms or snows.
Nirmalee Mar 2013
Since the time I was born,
I was nurtured as a fawn,
My governess looked after me,
As my mother had then been a busy bee..

When I grew a little more,
Like I was around three or four,
I whined and nagged all the way to school,
All wrapped up in muffler and wool.

I romped,I played, I learnt
Through all the years that I grew,
Life whispered new lessons in my ears,
And everyday I grew into someone new.

And now I'm in my adolescence,
Too swayed by emotions, impulsive in nature,
Vulnerable to the torment of words,
Chasing after fame and stature...

Yet this is not what I want to be,
Let my wings develop completely,
One day I'll be soaring up in the sky,
Dear Mamma, that day you'll be proud of me!
Pearl Feldman Dec 2013
When I was a child
Fireflies romped and played
In the night skies.
But that was before DDT

Wagtails strutted on green grass.
They drank from pools and made me laugh
That too was before DDT

When I was a child
Forested mountains grew high
For us to climb up into the sky
But now new mountains
Of plastic and garbage grow
And so they will stand
For they decompose so slow.

Trees on the mountains
Are all chopped down.
The birds and the animals
Who lived there before
Are gone and many will be seen no more.

We’ve ****** the underground rivers
Of oil almost dry
And polluted the air
Until you can hardly see the sky
We've dirtied the rivers
With our waste that piles high.

Proud mountain lions, tigers,
Elephants, gorillas and monkeys do flee
To the last few places
Where they can roam free.

I fear what will happen
When we destroy them too.
What kind of world
Do we leave for our children
Tell me please do

When are we going to realize
That we are running out of time.
The earth, birds, animals, air, and sky – cry.
Who is listening?
Who cares?
Who will try to change
The course we are moving along?
Sharon Talbot Sep 2018
If spirits can walk the earth after life ends,
Or even before, to soar in flights unhindered
By physics, let me dance then!
To reel, arms out, on a vivid green lawn
In a garden before a comfortable house,
Where lush flowers grow and summer reigns,
Touching rows of Constable trees that tower, emerald,
And violet-shadowed even at noon or painted
In twilight, soft before a rising moon.
I would skip over roads and find that field
That lies, protective, above the Connecticut,
Watching as it winds lazily northward.
Then, being sure that all is right,
That the corn is tall and full,
I would speed up to a rounded hill
Above a Victorian barn in Leyden,
Ten acres of rye grass for the cows.
I would stand at the summit and gaze
Far away, down the sleeping valley in its haze,
To the little towns and glittering in
The sun, my alma mater, towers
Of attempted wisdom, of spires and dreams.
Then I might then bathe in a little lake
Where I once romped with friends
After a wedding, **** and laughing
While puzzled farmers watched and leered.
As before I would flee to the river that wound
Down between the hills, splashing through
Pools in shade and sun, basking on smooth stone
Whose marbled veins glow in the canyon light,
Remnants of an ancient era, of pressure and time.
Then on I’d go, bounding from one hilltop to another,
Turning north from the cesium-laced Deerfield,
Passing Vermont’s border to stroll the streets
Of Brattleboro, Putney and Newfane.
I might find a canoe and glide up the West River,
Somehow floating above the rapids and dam,
To rest on the flat water as the sun sets,
Skimming lightly, watching the trout rise
To sip dancing insects or hear the splash
Of a bass as it flicks the surface with its tail.
And then I would sit with the ones I love,
Silently, breathing in the mist that rises
As the sun slips below the hills;
Sunset-colored, elliptical echoes
Catch the low swells like waving glass.
I would wait here until morning returns,
Not ready to leave this beauty or the world.
Reverie about the places I love.
No me contéis más cuentos,
que vengo de muy lejos
y sé todos los cuentos.
No me contéis más cuentos.
Contad
y recontadme este sueño.
Romped,
rompedme los espejos.
Deshacedme los estanques,
los lazos,
los anillos,
los cercos,
las redes,
las trampas
y todos los caminos paralelos.
Que no quiero,
que no quiero,
que no quiero,
que no quiero que me arrullen con cuentos,
Que no quiero,
Que no quiero,
Que no quiero,
Que no quiero que me sellen la boca y los ojos con cuentos,
que no quiero,
que no quiero,
que no quiero,
que no quiero que me entierren con cuentos,
que no quiero,
que no quiero,
que no quiero,
que no quiero verme clavado en el tiempo,
que no quiero verme en el agua,
que no quiero verme en la tierra tampoco,
que no quiero, a su ovillo, como un hilo de barba sujeto.
Quiero verme en el viento,
quiero verme en el viento,
quiero verme en el viento,
quiero verme en el viento...
quiero... ¡quiero!... sueño... ¡sueño!
Soy gusano que sueña... y sueño
verme un día volando en el viento.
Mike Essig Apr 2015
~ BY THEODORE ROETHKE
The whiskey on your breath  
Could make a small boy dizzy;  
But I hung on like death:  
Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans  
Slid from the kitchen shelf;  
My mother’s countenance  
Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist  
Was battered on one knuckle;  
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head  
With a palm caked hard by dirt,  
Then waltzed me off to bed  
Still clinging to your shirt.
I used this little poem to teach college students how to read closely. It took a full hour to go through it line by line. They were amazed at how much is in so few lines. That's how you learn to read poetry, which really helps you learn to write it.  Mike
Three pigs sat in a tree
wondering which was best
gorging down a meal
as quickly as can be

A toad looked up
and was afraid.
After a frightened 'ribbut'
it jumped away.

The first pig ate all the leaves
and bark and bugs too,
it ate everything, leaving
just the second pig's hair-do

The sound of the pig's gluttony
echoed throughout the forest
and all the small critters
ran away to buy insurance.

The second pig did not fret
in fact all he ate was a
twelve-year-old baguette

That's when the old bear
could smell his next meal
he romped around looking for bacon
but exerted himself too much
for he keeled over;
for real.

The third pig starved
and fell out of the tree
it landed on its back next to ants
smoking ****.
The pig was saved
for it had a feast.

That's the story of three pigs in a tree.
Dog, you are just as old as me
Our mind in one purview,
When I was young and did a lot
Dog dreamtime cradled you.

When I had ripened to a fault,
Growth full, next stop decay
You tore from tree to me in glee
And romped all day in play.

From that, we both decline in one
To sit and listen now,
Our ball is caught, our song is sung
And we wait the hour.

My flesh and bone is well and strong,
The mind is loth and weak
Beginnings new the loss among
Happy now to seek.

Break out O Sun from that swift cloud
Sailing the Heaven free,
Warm up Earth’s stones and my bones proud
To embrace what is not me.

A dragonfly inspects my garden
In a fleeting blaze of sun,
Huge and dusky, like a dancer
Whirling wings of filigree spun
Beguiling sweet my spirit faint
Tips new-dipped in golden paint.
An interesting thing happened before the election,
both parties were rooting for their chosen candidate
with fever pitched excitement.
David and I favored the
Biden/Harris ticket.
in fact, first time ever we planted
a sign on our front lawn.

Everyday felt like a horse race.
Then one evening as we went
for a relaxing stroll,
we ran into a neighbor who was
an avid horticulturist,
he was perched on the side
of the road examining wildflowers
he looked at us and
said, "I don't mean to be political
but do you know what this flower is called?"
I said, "Daisy?" It was a small
dainty daisy looking blossom
he said, "It's called the
Biden family Daisy."  
Both David and I gasped with delight
What an auspicious omen,
all was boding well for Biden/Harris.

Then post election, after Biden/Harris
won the presidency
and the fervor and tension calmed down,
I noticed on a morning jaunt
Biden Daisy families exploding in size.
They romped through
urban street meadows, neighborhood lawns
sides of the road,
their jolly miniature white and
yellow pinwheel faces
bobbing in the breeze.

Suddenly my eyes caught
something quite unusual,
the white pearl petals on some of
the Biden family daisies
had transformed into
vibrant purple amethyst petals
"How Royal!" I thought to myself
and befitting our new leaders
Joseph Zenieh Jan 2019
MAN DESIRED IT.
I love all the people all,
not excepting one of them.
They are all poor human beings,
who groan most of their life-time.

What are you , man, but a mind,
that can ken the end you meet?
Beasts are lucky; they don't have
knowledge of the wrong and right.

You were as pleased as the horse
which romped and grazed in the field.
Such a snake of bad intent
made you love the mind of woe.

You were so glad like a steed,
Jumping in the field of life
till that snake brought you the mind
that gave you the care of God.

God's care's too much for you, man,
but you wanted that big care,
which showed you that you would die
and God would come to repair.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
____________
William Blake and wife played Adam and Eve
In their English garden, totally ****.
His neighbors were shocked and morally peeved.
Such escapades proved outrageous and rude,
Till his poems made his scared public believe.
He showed their mind-forged manacles were crude
Facsimiles of mankind’s true freedom.
His strategy, both Romantic and shrewd,
Found Eternity in sand’s finest sieve.
The doors of perception caused him to brood
On the spirit’s want in a world bereaved
Of sustenance. Infinity: soul food.
From Heaven and Hell, he would never leave.
Adam and Eve romped, always without shoes.
Alan S Jeeves May 2022
The chestnut tree within the glade,
One half-a-mile past Windy Lea,
There in the cool, refreshing shade.

A friend, indeed, in her I made,
She stood upright, aloft was she ~
The chestnut tree within the glade.

Out in the breeze she gently swayed,
To-ing, fro-ing, so wildly free
There in the cool, refreshing shade.

Her spreading, leafy, boughs cascade,
She, open limbed to welcome me;
The chestnut tree within the glade.

Round and about, where squirrels played
And romped a happy, joyful spree
There in the cool, refreshing shade.

Yet youthful brightness starts to fade,
My eyes grow old, I barely see
The chestnut tree within the glade
There in the cool, refreshing shade.
Prophecy III -. "Sixth, Resilience ..."

"They were on the perimeter trying to keep me united to their order, I go every day for his pantry, food, groceries, bookstore supplies and ink, oils and other essences for the environment in continuous handwritten obedience, I have to leave for Skala where some people who have ordered bring Gricos and Psili Ammos materials to project your home, If this has been written this way, it is because my placidity of walking has written it, in the company of the one who has written for the one who walks with me!

They always asked me why mention why I have to do this for them ... I will tell you that I used to serve leaders who consolidate Hellenic geography, without them everything would have been invaded by unleaded foreign hands ...in that rest, I have to attend for the preceding verse ... which says that we have already entered where I intend to argue the following ...Resilience and exhortation that from the beginning I have taken since it began ... now I will abide and lecture your messages on a very predominant note, I was Commander Hoplita of the Falange and Hetairoi, now a Christian who does not dispute to live a life of obedience to those who are not and are not without their martyrs ... like that people to whom God swore, they will not enter into my rest in whose amen the verse will be preached in a passive voice!

Stay as the verb indicates with the actual facts, the word
independent of the present, independent of who and when ...
Saint Gabriel my Abrahamic angel will give me white strength and romped lilies like baskets of hermaphrodite lilies procreating only begotten forests on the altar.

Remain upright on the Abrahamic campfire without mittens or shields, rethink your beloved woman and take a sharp step to heal your wounds there is so much grass to cut and so much poetry to chew ... from up on the mountain towards Skala at night after drinking wine Epitrapezios Inos setting fire with harmless saffron atmosphere lips of fire and bread, for a good offensive fight.

Dawn united with deep disorder
Give the color that your day deserves to have as a constellation
with the image that rests in your angular and poly-calloused hands. holding back spaces of loss more than all the centuries that waited for the minimum incense to a good warrior, sweet wine for bleeding open wound not his ... thunder that conceals baptisms in all hearts empty of blood ...

As Vernarth prayed in his oracle, he feels a thunderous supra sound As if the gates of hell had been opened ...
As if millions of angels seconds were scattered from heaven
To reduce more seconds of silence to the finest pleading eardrum
A few days ago I saw a ghost that was chopping wood ...
I couldn't realize it was really Him I also saw him cutting thousands of volumes from a library ... Also not realizing I saw several, like more than eighty manuscripts of encouragement that they still did not prosper in the hands of Saint Mark ...

It feels like a gigantic door slam again ...!
again it was the angels that were coming
right now on his return… but now on his return
they were climbing in and out of the Eden garden. ”

Vernarth, evicted from the habit of the unknown, was apprehended by his crafts, he continued to be attentive to being received by Saint John. The longer it took to wait for an audience, he did not postpone what his memory pointed out to be more than an experience plotting capacities in the face of his own limitations. From that moment on, a gigantic door is felt again! The angels who went back one after the other with their burnished masonry cloaks repeated…, but now making the garden of Eden their own,… being theirs in their own, that they would be in the house of a wise gardener of Eden perhaps being the same manger from Katapausis at once!

Raeder says: hugging her profusely! time has to go in flight like the little angels, having them next to us as companions of time what is left over in their wings giving it to your all enjoy living and feeling lost in you without finding it. ! Khaire my Vernarth!, I have some karidopitas with walnuts and yogurt accompanied by baklava with nuts of delicious syrup from Kalymos. Petrobus jumped for joy and flapped like a hummingbird to steal a few pieces! Eurydice and Vernarth did the same. That night they told militia tales while they ate the bites, so they fell asleep as if it had been the first time they had fought such a great menu.

Eurydice assists in the same with her fresh clean face, creating an atmosphere of conciliation to renew the dream of a day that will dawn close to its awakening away from the criminals. Vernarth takes his staff thereafter and divides the books and manuscripts into two parts, so he would have time to take steps to really feel like he can walk close to Saint John.
PROPHECY III
Marshal Gebbie Jul 2020
Thrice I promised clemency, thrice I laid them down
And thrice I played my cards wrong which led me, love, to frown.

Recalling how it went, love, when we were, but, two bairns,
We romped amid the heather and leapt across the cairns.
Joyously we ran through youth as only youth deserve
And adolescence chased us hard to tax our hot reserve.

Love and lust co-mingled there to thread our gauntlet long
Though conscience ran a ragged race to countenance our song
Just one of us survived it all and one threw in the towel
Though both endured to struggle on despite the gossips' prowl.

Despite the prim expressions, despite the churlish tone,
Despite outraged opinion, we each, as one, alone....
Went our separate ways despite the searing love we felt
Tho, to capitulate to tumult, we bent the knee and knelt....

Broken hearts and searing pain determined how cards fell
You chose, alone, to end it all, as far as I can tell.
Hollow in this vacuum of agonizing night
The meaningless tomorrows extend in endless flight...

So thrice I pondered clemency, thrice I laid me down
Yet thrice we played the Jack of Clubs .....
Which led us, both, to drown.

M.
31 July 2020
The Case Of The Pregnant Orange Coloured Pepper
Whilst preparing a veggie Madras
I sliced into an pepper coloured orange
Much to my surprise
I found a baby one inside so strange
Was it impregnated by a Pomegranate?
Maybe romped with a drunken grape?
A ****** birth? for what it's worth
Or a weird destiny, it couldn't escape?
After much ponderation
Of all my first thoughts above
It occurred within my refrigerator
A strange kind of cold love
Obviously the lights were out
It happened in the dark
So it must of been with a mushroom
Or a person, doing it for a lark
But there were none of these around
Apart from myself of course
But it may of been the red pepper by its side
Which may be the obvious source
Although
There was a bunch of suspicious bananas
Looking very guilty
However, i threw the 'evidence'
Into my curry, yum
by Jemia
When did the day turn into night
while we sat idly by?
Horizons slipped beyond our sight
before we blinked an eye.

When summers came we romped all day
there was no end in sight.
Then winters we would slosh away
with nary a respite.

When late-day sun felt limitless
our hearts were always filled.
We had no plan to acquiesce
and yet the evening chilled.

When do we douse that single spark;
that joy to be alive?
Just as the twilight turns to dark
we lose the will to thrive.

When is the last time that we laugh
or take our final sigh?
From frolicking to epitaph
the crows no faster fly.

When does our soul take up in flight
across the narrow glen?
Up to a place so warm and bright
where we all meet again.
Dedicated to Duane Junker 10/29/41 - 06/06/22
Shivpriya Dec 9
We had a cup of coffee together in our lily garden. Poppy Bird, Mommy Bird, and I were filled with our sweet talk and the small stories we usually shared during our chit-chat at evening tea!

I romped in our garden and shared my relief with the cold wind! Happily, I sat near the swing in our garden!

To feel happy without any perfect reason is a great relief. Smiling in this moment makes you feel like you are your own best friend!

And you always feel like chirping when you are happy!

I can't throw the dry leaves away from the *** I care for during my leisure time at home! This time, I decided to do some creative work with the dried leaves, which had turned pale yellow!

I planned to give them beautiful colors by painting the dry leaves with attractive hues to look pretty in my room!

While looking at the new look I gave to my flowers and the dried leaves, I remembered a conversation I had with my friend Bird the other day! She asked me, "If you are your best friend, then how do you talk to yourself?"

I looked at the bold colors I had given to the leaves. They felt very pale, although they had an attractive gleam!

Oh, this gloominess! It doesn't feel rosy at all!  
Oh, this gloominess doesn't look attractive at all!  
Oh, this gloominess doesn't look loving without the thoughts of your beloved!  
Oh, this longing doesn’t look good without remembering your beloved!  

I felt this and looked in the mirror. The flower *** in my hand was trying to make me see a rose among the hidden stems!

The rose was not there in the ***! The longing didn't look attractive, even with the imaginary rose!

I had other friends kept tied in a silly small cage! I happily freed them and started chirping to see them off! They tweeted back and told me they would see me daily in my flower garden!

I gave them a waving hand as I looked at them flying from my window! Oh, this window helps, I thought to myself, and fell asleep!  
©shivpoetesspriya
I’m happy to share the fourth chapter of my writing collection, Short Stories. Here’s the title of my new chapter:
Chapter 4 - A Serene Heart Feels the Joy of a Blooming Lily!

— The End —