"timely" poems
fischers rap
on a hot tin roof
bristol creek pools
over rock and seed
english wolfhound (and the barkbuster)
stroll pine lane
vibrant colors
of a cool spring
in cob yellow and
forest green
field mice squander
in cotton wind
goats and ferret
hold seven hour trim
raven and ****
meddle and forage (on a splendid fiaker goulash!)
crickets and frogs
hidden
in swollen grey logs
creepers fill the
cut stone walls
coy wolf high
on a frayed white rope
eagles perched
at trudy’s bend
catamounts laze
on a snow base cedar
(pared arbutus bent
through a failed ground rock)
brush spider spins
a timely web
brown bears fumble
at the spirit jamboree
quizzical squirrels
crack their nuts
as pillow clouds float
over telegraph trail
12 point dances
on talus and scree
hen hawks float
in a big hard sun
clydesdale and coach
trot copper smith road
(glancing down
on finch and the warbler
whistling through
colander row)
lavender fills
the peat soil box
mountain cats
guard the heavenly gates
black eyed ridge
is wide and open
the country squire hails
this fruitful land
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 12:18 AM UTC
Can I have a word, please?
It can be any word.
Just give me a word.
We can all share the rest.
Just let me have one.
It can be anything.
I'd take canteen or avid.
I'd even settle for timely.
But you can't use my word,
whatever it is,
without asking.
Because it's my word.
And I'll almost always let you use it when you ask.
Unless, for example, my word is wonderful
and you want to use it to describe a movie I haven't seen yet
or a movie I saw already and didn't care for.
I really want everything.
That's my first choice.
Flabbergasted is a close second.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
I was listening to a poet
reciting his poem “Times”.
He was pondering, could
it be like this and that?
Suddenly my cup of tea
happened to taste so sweet,
made me wonder why
wasn’t it such an edgy,
a while ago any time
before now just as tasty.
Where on a stony thorn
was it stuck this long?
It had to bloom just now,
so sweet a rose!
No one predicted whether it
will rain or not, it just drops.
The sun, shedding clouds,
suddenly swims so low!
Pondering me, I could
then only digest it
accepting a truth:
It doesn’t matter when
the bees love to come out,
sit on the rose and fly.
For the time, its best bard
only sings on time!
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
Loving you is like being kissed by the stars
A whole galaxy of experiences,
Caught in between that space,
—legs that are wrapped around a face
Our hair—a complete mess, and I must confess
that the taste of you is a taste of cosmic prowess
And I’m always stuck on loving you for hours
As is our nature, we who dwell on this earth
I’ve now learnt that your natural waterfall flows
After I’ve treated your wet flower source with a timely worth
A slow tease creeps up and down your skin
Your arched knees are a resting ground before another
journey of my tongue. As the sweetest taste is a taste of fun
By the skin of teeth, are the few bite marks
I’ve left here and there. Your digging fingers in my hair,
Is all the pain you and I have to share.
It all seems fair.
You’re lost for words, choked up by fiery passion;
my gentle hand around your throat
And this rule of thumb; is the one you love to bite on
An aggressive action, but never to be passive
It’s 945, and quarter close to ten
Usually the time we should be resting in bed
But instead, I’m resting my tongue in you
It tastes like a perfect end
Mar 7, 2023
Mar 7, 2023 at 12:12 PM UTC
Breathing fire, from below,
Spitting a molten soul skywards,
Flinging pumice, ash, and fear,
The angry Vulcan casts,
His ever darkening shadow cross,
As the timely reminder , of
The fragility of this existence.
© Nick Strong 2014
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
From the green hill, blows downwards
a wind, gently titillating the languid trees
of this dense forest,the rustling of the leaves create,
an impromptu tune, proving they are taut strings,
yielding willingly to the sensual fingers of the wind.
Super moon,while raising, listens keenly awhile
as if she had never heard one like this before.
The wise silver owl, sitting on the high branch
keeping account of every stroke of night,with an imaginary wand,
as the conductor, catches the emerging mood that seethes
within the million pieces of orchestra that gently merge,
get exhilarated, finds a pause to punctuate it with a timely hoot,
the moment freezes, falls in to the repository of time for keeps.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
Discoboli of African poetry has now sparked above aphasia
The aphasic silence today breaks eardrums with cacophony
Of the world audience in the by standing duty of workshop tubes,
Executing poetic experiment on the origin of **** poeticus
To link the archaic baboonish proteins to the black chimpanzee
Cradling African man, the sire of all and their poetry.
That when the Chimpanzee blood we poured
Into the African veins of vena cava and aorta,
Feeding the heart with viscosity of nutrition,
And the Chimpanzee blood fell into deadly
Tomperousness like Shakespearean impetuosity
Once seen in Romeo and Juliet, giving timely Birth
To untimely half the yellow Sun
That juxtaposed planet of poetry
Behind the star of tribe as a priority
Condemning to stark oblivion all the fated,
in full uniform of tribal dimunitions, or mimesis.
Ever predated on when tribes form nations.
A time to try the chimpanzee blood in the veins
Of white humanity, battling cynosure
Historically evinced in Antony and his father,
Or Tybalt and Mercurial of mercutio,
Or Macbeth and counterparts
Or Hamlet the Danish and the inheritors of his mother,
As the white blood cells of the white blood,
Militantly attack the white corpuscles
Of the misfortunate chimpanzee,
Converting the later into
A chewer of misfortune.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
Here in America,
we improvise morgues
as needed.
in the cafeterias
or by the lockers,
near the ticket booths,
and at the altars.
We divvy up the dead.
Tally them
and report the number
like an answer.
13, 20, 49, 58, 6
Every death count
a timely national shock.
Almost as if
our well-televised
monthly tragedy
was ever anything less
than a game of roulette.
anything less than a matter of time
and time and time again.
Covering them each
with our bed sheets,
we try and stifle it.
Do our best to
staunch the the sights,
the noises,
(“just like chairs falling”)
the names
that keep bleeding out
onto our thoughts
and tongues,
Far too much and
too often
not to choke on.
Here in America,
we’ve learned that
horror is level-headed.
It is debatable.
It is pangless.
It seeps, deep to the core,
perverting with a silent smile.
the steady, feverish dread
weaving itself into the mundane.
the “god help us”
annulled by the
“respectfully disagreed”
the nightmare that lies
always just underneath,
and just out of mind,
Until it insinuates itself
Again and again...
Here, in America
We line the bodies,
death slumped, and
bled out on the pavement.
We arrange them-
Side by side.
Most are missing things-
a hat, a piece of face.
one shoe, a dulled pencil
(fill in C)
phones
buzzing on the ground
lit up with unread messages
(“Please call me”)
They are missing-
an upcoming
7th birthday party,
(Star Wars themed)
They are missing-
their vacations.
their first dates.
their college applications.
job interviews.
kids.
fiancées.
Lined up lifeless,
they are missing
far too many things
to gather.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 3:14 PM UTC
A single life so worthless, that poor fly,
Sooner than its timely moment to die,
As commanded by my unnerving will,
Its incompetent life I chose to ****
Put more simply, for disturbing my peace,
Its feeble and destitute life I ceased.
Yet my bloodstained hands always remained clean,
Once crimeful killing had become routine.
What almighty and sinful God am I
For unsparingly judging who must die
By my sword, without remorse or regret,
The slaughtered fly under my gavel, I forget.
An evil power from no source or spring
Springs power in me like a maddened King.
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 10:43 AM UTC
Well, she looks like a witch,
Her pointed nose does twitch.
As she frowns upon the grocery list,
Then scrunches in a timely twist.
Bidding her straw broom,
Which she doth groom.
Hovers away into the gloom,
Over a pond she doth loom.
To frogs, rats, snakes and slime,
Quoth she, "All in good time!!"
Soon they'll be no room,
For the impending doom.
Her cauldron happily hissing,
As she adds to the seething,
Her black cat begins meowing,
After the rats, he begins running.
Slowly cooling the putrid portion,
She applies the lovely lotion.
The moles, warts and silver hair,
Disappear into thin air.
Her velvet apparel now lace,
Not a blemish does one trace.
Fondling her silky Siamese,
She heads home with ease.
To the little candy castle,
Awaiting Hansel and Gretel.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
Korean fashion experts have shared their know-how with Malaysia.
At the "K-Fashion Conference for Malaysia" in Kuala Lumpur on Feb. 16, a group of Korean professionals gave lectures under the topics "K-Fashion Design Trend Transition & Forecast," "Digital & Online Marketing Strategies," "Power Brand and Concept Development Strategies" and "How to enter the global market."
The Korea Fashion Association, the Malaysia External Trade Development Corporation (MATRADE) and the ASEAN-Korea Centre organized the event to strengthen the competitiveness of Malaysian fashion brands by improving the added value of the industry through brand development.
About 50 Malaysian fashion industry companies and related government officials attended.
"There is growing interest in K-fashion, along with the high popularity of Korean dramas and entertainment shows, making this workshop even more timely and meaningful," ASEAN-Korea Centre Secretary General Kim Young-sun said. "The Malaysian fashion industry has huge potential as it is currently ranked in the top five in the ASEAN fashion industry."
On Feb. 15 and 17, Korean experts visited local fashion merchandisers for market research and consultations.
According to the ASEAN-Korea Centre, the Malaysian fashion industry has had massive growth with the expansion of Islamic fashion markets.
MATRADE aims to boost the industry as the nation's leading exporter. It has been organizing Malaysia Fashion Week (MFW) since 2014 to make the capital a fashion destination in Asia.
The second MFW in 2015 featured designers from more than 15 countries, and over 300 booths showcased the quality products of Malaysian fashion brands to the domestic and foreign trade, accodring to the organization.
The ASEAN-Korea Centre is an intergovernmental organization established in 2009 with an aim to promote exchanges among Korea and the 10 ASEAN member states.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 4:12 AM UTC
I used to stand in awe and watch Grandma making biscuits.
She’d take her wooden bowl, then dip the floor and sift it.
As snowy flour would drift to form a mound of just so much;
She’d form a crater lake of buttermilk and shortening with her loving touch.
She would smile and watch our faces as she squeezed the flour to goop
And transform the mess she made into dough that she would scoop.
A pinch she’d take and make a ball to flatten in her palm.
Then with her thumb she’d press it down, so gently and so calm.
With care she next would take the dough and place it on a pan;
A thumb print etched in dough as she continued with her plan,
To place the pats side by side until the pan was filled
By perfect rows all laid out with hands so quick and skilled.
That cozy pan she placed into an oven warmed just right
And closed the door to seal them in and cook them out of sight.
In timely care she’d pull them free, delicious golden browns
Setting fresh hot biscuits on the table, to banish morning frowns.
Now I stand in awe and think of all the biscuits she has made,
Of all the time her thumb has pressed, as her heart has prayed.
Life finds us now, her children, in life’s wooden bowls
And we feel her loving touch as she leaves her thumbprint on our souls.
For Grandma Mary Grace Kindley Davis
On the occasion of her 105th birthday, February 9, 2007
Presented to her at her Birthday Party the next day.
©2007 Michael S. Davis
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
Its the perfect costume for a superhero goddess, and it makes her feel invincible; fishnet stockings, blazing red bra, heroine hotpants and the clincher; kitten heels.
Bunny can take on the world, now, appropriately dressed. She's got superpowers, alright, the doom-dogs seem to think so, and they're running scared.
Those rumours, that they trade and use and barter, of baby bunny's beautiful mouth, sloe doe eyes, and inexhaustible tongue. It's been said that she can bring an evil tyrant to his knees as she sinks down to her own, it's been said, she's good and bad, so very bad, so very, very good...
But, listen!
*** bunny's been given a new mission; There's a new and timely terror, and the doom-dogs are, of course, the evil source; find and ******* *** bunny, the formidable phallus of doom.
Only you, ***** tawny Queen of Dawn are up to the task. Don your whiskered mask, wriggle your nose once, twice, yummy bunny, and fly, fly! Find the phallus, save the world.
It's your destiny.
You were born to blow the horn for cosmic ****
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
Each tick of the clock,
With time passing on.
Every second and minute counts,
But when does time become irrelevant?
Is it when we ignore it's protruding stride?
Knowing each second and minute,
Brings us closer to die.
I have watched and wasted,
The many timely hours at hand.
As the clock strikes it's hours,
Across the land.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 12:15 PM UTC
Now there were two of them
Separated between thousands
of read texts and timely
chats touched by sound
but not skin
Awake in the others sleeping
Sleeping in the others awake
Restless as they wait
Restless as they wait
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 7:03 AM UTC
Talk-show queen
Oprah Winfrey with her entourage
is going to Australia
and it’s timely now for a quick Colbert Report
on the state of the colony of Australia
Colony?
Yes, that’s right
Australia is still a British colony -
How else do you explain it?
as the Head of Government in Australia
is still the British Monarchy
and her Majesty, the Queen of Great Britain,
has her representative
a Governor-General in Australia;
and the Aussie national media faithfully reports
that Prince Philip is a God in some remote island
and the TV stations broadcast visions of
which British Prince kissed which of their latest fancy
And so, Oprah, welcome to the Colony
Ah, yes, and the Chinese migrants coming in
are surprised to learn of Australia’s status
at citizenship ceremonies
and the young man explains to his grandma:
“Oh, Foreign Devil still control Australia;
sad, Chairman Mao did not Liberate Australia.”
And Indian migrants, much to their disappointment
are heard to remark:
“Oh no – does this mean we still have
to go through another fight for freedom as in 1947?”
But then they are consoled by the fact
that a Gandhi only comes once in 200 years
so we can all still get on with our lives
and the nation will continue
to eat burgers and enjoy barbecues and hop like kangaroos
until such things may happen…
Ah well, dear talk-show Queen Oprah Winfrey
and her entourage
this ends our report on the sovereign nation down under:
Happy Stay in Her British Majesty’s Colony
Sep 23, 2010
Sep 23, 2010 at 12:16 PM UTC
The man in galoshes with the world on his back,
strolls along the broken track.
Weather beaten,
Fighting the rain.
It's lashing him.
He's tied to the kerb.
Anchored only by the weighty boots on his feet.
He's out there fair weather or foul.
Desperate to keep his public happy,
With a timely siren,
the arrival of an infants birth.
He is the performer up the garden path.
At least the rain's outside again.
So is he poor sod.
The postman, nearly demi-god,
or nearly dead.
He's tramping through the rain and the snow.
He had to let you know,
you know.
The latest news and hot reviews,
a little bit of useless information.
There's nothing better than a letter,
unless it's from the revenue.
Our fair weather friend he has so many uses.
A warrior, he fights wild dogs.
He's churning up the grass,
his only means of escape.
He's wearing an orange hat,
it's curled up at the edges.
He uses it to fight the rain.
The orange hat so luminous,
he's looking rather fruity.
He's forlorn and in pieces,
because he's getting washed away,
He has one every morning in his place,
each and every day.
Stacks and stacks of bits of paper,
Life and death wrapped up in his sack.
(C) Livvi
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:43 AM UTC
Maybe it's fate,
Maybe it's destiny.
That losing the battle,
Was meant for me.
I tried my best,
I gave my all.
I'll push through again,
I WILL STAND TALL.
I lost the battle,
Not the war,
I'll spread my wings,
I will soar.
This is simply a lesson,
Life's timely reminder.
Plan well, stay strong.
Be the commander
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 12:29 AM UTC
Can a Love song be used twice?
I love you’s and the reminiscent blues,
do the rhythm and blues remember the
ones you loose ?
This reminded me of you.
I use the lyrical hues
of this fine tune to put into words my feelings for you.
Expiry date.
Can a hummingbird still sing
when your number no longer rings?
I wonder
Nat King Cole’s somber stardust melody still
haunts my reverie.
Can I really vow to another with the words I solemnly devoted to my past lover?
As seasons change
so to does my musical range.
Yet a love song , is still a Love song.
To my future love,
at times my hearts desire cannot create words which quantify that;
of a lyrical tune and a lyre.
A Love song.
Love in the present.
Beyond the fond memories of things the lovers dreamt,
Love remains in all things spent
within life’s timely symphonies.
Oct 14, 2022
Oct 14, 2022 at 7:34 AM UTC
CRIMSON
Colors explode
As the sumac stands sentinel over the ebbing rays of the sun
Shepherding away Niibin to make room for Dagwaagin
Standing, alone, in a sea of green
Sumac heralds the changing season
And like an artistic wild fire
Is the first in what will become a palette of chromatic vibrancy
Sensing the subtle change
Mother deer, her two fawns and yearling
Meandering through the sumac grove
Make haste of the fading green buffet
Mother Bear and her cubs, now a year stronger and wiser
Gorge on honey and berries as they ready for their winter's sleep
Red-Winged Blackbirds, Robins and Sandhill Cranes congregate en masse
Hummingbird drinks the final drops of nectar
In anticipation of their journey south
In advance...of the returning white Biboon blanket
The clock of Mother Earth is precise
And the natural world follows her timely rhythms
As southerly and westerly winds shift to the north
Eagle soars high above...the yet unfrozen river
Vivid foliage slowly falls to the forest floor
Creating an intricate insulating tapestry for those below
In the meadow, swaying in the wind, stands a solitary Daisy
It's single yellow petal defying the departure of longer days
Harvest moon shimmers through bare branches
Dancing, tapping in rhythmic fashion, upon a quiet window
Stirring Misigami from her reverie
Outside her window, a lone black figure, a Lobo, like her
Acknowledges her presence, blurring the lines of consciousness
Signifying that dreams do come true
And that through the change of seasons
We grow
We become stronger
Wiser
And are given the true gift...of forever being...
...Hopeful
(c) 2013 Shawn White Eagle
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 6:31 PM UTC
An entrenchment of truths
That hold forth a funeral table
For gracious hospitality
Of gentle nostalgia
In indulgence of murderous affection
Which manifest adequate
Yet uncomprehending grieving
Ambiguities of advocacy
In their extreams of moralizing warnings
In fleeting appearances who tell bold lies
In the mosaics of enclosed palaces
Presenting bouquet upon bouquet
Of black flowers on this weighted table
Truths that have been deprived of their vein stone
Truths owned to identity of embodiment
Surreal and interchangeable
That resonate in timely dissorder
Like the noise of migrating birds
Flying to the edge of the world
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 6:31 PM UTC
I am the Reaper.
All things with heedful hook
Silent I gather.
Pale roses touched with the spring,
Tall corn in summer,
Fruits rich with autumn, and frail winter blossoms--
Reaping, still reaping--
All things with heedful hook
Timely I gather.
I am the Sower.
All the unbodied life
Runs through my seed-sheet.
Atom with atom wed,
Each quickening the other,
Fall through my hands, ever changing, still changeless
Ceaselessly sowing,
Life, incorruptible life,
Flows from my seed-sheet.
Maker and breaker,
I am the ebb and the flood,
Here and Hereafter.
Sped through the tangle and coil
Of infinite nature,
Viewless and soundless I fashion all being.
Taker and giver,
I am the womb and the grave,
The Now and the Ever.
3k
i.
O'
Timely
Apricity;
ii.
Mayest thou
Warm, and blanketeth
Me; as a neonate, as
Thou shalt gorgonize
Me, from within the space,
Ourn embracing is a cataract,
Of heavied chime-together laced.
iii.
Thine speak is comely, Concord
To mine earshot; the copse is
Surrounding, none manor
Needed, just the coney's,
With the delightful tree's,
veneering ourn cot.
iv.
Exhaling all ourn woes
And sorrow's, as if none
Tommorrow; None haste,
And none distaste, house-
Leeks groweth whilst the
Flaxen colored roses follow.
v.
O' oriental Apricity
I'm cold mine lass,
I'm freezing fast;
This winter day
Hath chilled mine
Soul, I needeth thine
Fire-place, to heateth these bones.
Though far-flung, away on stretched water's.
I'm awaiting for thee, mine queen, O' Apricity,
I'm awaiting O' queen, mine swart of the sea, thou holdeth the lock, tis I hath the key, here thou goeth amour', open it up, flyeth on through-setteth me free.
©Brandon Nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC
Life was amazing. Boats will fly causing mass transportation. Sometimes I think exclusively until I erupt through word Bothered, enlightened, and hungry watching gay cinema eating bananas but not ripe until next time I hate myself for liking weird cinema, Striking matches without touching myself when hearing groans from my basement which come apart from the throat. Knocks, bangs, and poottitangs among our findings in timely minute fashion. The weather will forever be surpising under a burnt out hookers muffintop. Mashed feces under but over kinfolk of a studious wellbeing transcendence, stupendous sacred.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC