Well, I still haven’t slept since my Day 19 prompt. That will be remedied soon enough, but I wanted to get today’s prompt and poem up before sleeping in. I started yesterday in Georgia, made it up to Ohio (grabbed my sons Ben and Jonah), and am now back where I started (in Georgia)–more than 19 hours later. Whew! (I apologize in advance for any typos, missing words, etc.–I’m exhausted.)
For today’s prompt, write a best ever poem. Now, don’t stress out. I don’t expect everyone to write the best poem ever written–however, you’re allowed to aim for that if you wish. No, I’m asking you to write a poem about the best ever something. For instance, the best ever kiss, best ever dance, best ever party, best ever comeback, best ever moment, etc. Think about your personal “bests” and then write one (or three).
Here’s my attempt:
“Best Ever Triolet”
I tried to write a triolet.
Though it wasn’t the best ever,
I needed a fun game to play.
I tried to write a triolet,
because the rhymes fell fast today.
Don’t think it’s because I’m clever
I tried to write a triolet.
Know it wasn’t the best ever.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
And check out my other blog: My Name Is Not Bob
Bramley Tarts (A Yeats Octave)
A pie is called a tart in Erie-land
in England, too, I guess. Irrelevant –
because for half a year, the time I spent
on western County Mayo’s coastal strand
acquainted me with Bramley apple tarts
Uncooked, the sour apple taste can pinch
a tongue and pucker lips up tightly in a clinch
but sugared, baked in pastry shell? The best.
best ever
by juanita lewison-snyder
you, me, and the dog
a deck under a full moon,
planes, satellites
streaking comets
voyeurism at its best,
mugs of lapsang, warm
in our laps, quietly steaming.
life in ‘burbs is good,
slow and easy
a trickle in the woods
away from treacherous falls
in the city, a safe place
to dangle tired hot feet
in the headwaters
ever so often,
a haven to turn off
peacock colors and
just fade to grey
a little while.
the dog’s breath
on the back of our arms
reminds us it’s time to return
to the warmth of our beds
likewise waiting patiently
for the crush of our
own sweet heads.
© 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
Serial Monogamist
Don’t sit at the end of the bar, or he’ll drop his cue
and tell his buds he’ll marry that woman,
you, the one who’s going home with him
and falling for him before borrowing
his toothpaste, bearing his son
before he lifts the veil, plumping his pillows,
washing his socks, stirring his gravy
if you know what I mean and I think
you do but you’ll do it anyway,
give yourself to him because he says
you’re the best ever. Pick up
the cue, hand it back gently, refuse
his Jack and Coke. “Best ever” means
“best so far”; “ever” goes on,
and the world spills over
with next bests.
Pamela Murray Winters
Cocktail
Passion in a glass bottle, cherry-red and translucent,
slightly syrupy when you pour it into the shaker.
That first afternoon in the park (when the air
could have split between our fingers, and four o’clock
was pregnant with spells of the sun), squeezed,
collected, distilled, clarified.
Our conversations, our furtive touches, our first kiss:
two shots, on the rocks.
A dash of bitters, whose counterpoint
we appreciate from a safe distance, afterward.
A few muddled moments: horror films,
rainstorms, highways at night, all of it
pulped and sweetened with memory, crystallized
at the bottom of the glass.
Time, clear and frozen solid. Shards of it
tumbling around the shaker, dagger-thin and almost
invisible when poured into the glass.
The whole of it rose-cheeked and frost-nosed.
Curtains of broken light feeling their way. On top,
perfect teeth and caramel skin for a garnish.
Too much of it for a shot, but too short to be called
whole. More of an experience than anything else:
sweet to the taste, many-layered, strips the throat
on the way down. But impossible for us to say
it was anything other than perfect in its complexity,
and overall, well worth drinking.
The Best Kiss I Never Had
Soft inviting
Warm loving
Seductive intriguing
Passionate confusing
Perfect endless
Unspoken forbidden
She kisses me every night and every morning it’s just a dreams sweet bliss
In Search of the Best Gelato Ever
It’s not the Holy Grail, I know
But for someone who believes
That “eating dessert first”
Are words to live by and,
To that end, has been trying
Valiantly to narrow down
The desserts that make
My short-list (and so far
it is a very short-list
comprised of: The Cheesecake
Café’s white-chocolate raspberry
cheesecake, Nanaimo bars,
profiteroles, baked brie and now,
gelato)
Also, as someone who has
had the good fortune
To spend a part
Of the last two summers
In Italy, with proposals
That could see me spending
Part of every summer
For the foreseeable future
There as well –
Gelato promises to figure
Prominently in that future.
Oh the trials and tribulations
Of the gelato taster …
Picture dramatic hand
To forehead gesture here …
Or more accurately –
Picture your intrepid
taster on her never
Faltering quest for
The Best Gelato Ever
Day 20 11-20-2011
Write a “Best Ever” poem.
Perfect timing:
Walking through sparse trees
with daughter and grandkids.
Daughter laughed–so out of character–
at pythons dangling from the limbs,
barely missing her and children
as they dodged and smiled.
Suddenly smooth snakeskin sidled against my waist,
and I must have made a sound as I saw the endless length,
once straight, begin to curl toward me.
Flailing and crying out, I sat up awake in bed.
It was the best ever moment to end a nightmare.
Best Ever Mindblowing Sex
Is still to come
(I hope).
Once George Clooney
comes to his senses
and realises
that all these tall
leggy blondes he dates
are no good for him.
What he needs now
is a short plain
dumpy brunette
with glasses
to cater to his every
whim and desire.
I just happen
to be well qualified
in that department.
Lol
Best Moment
Each moment should be lived
With ‘best’ in mind
On the drop of a dime
Everything should be in line
Excellence portrayed
Every single day
Cause you will never know
When your last day may be
So see a brighter morning
Let your after noon lack gloom
And your nights be filled with fulfillment
For every moment is the best moment
Of your life
HOMECOMING
He’s grown, it seems,
in the few days that
he’s been gone. They
do that a lot at 15.
He smiles and leans
against me so I can
nuzzle him like a little
boy. “I missed you.”
Kimiko…have missed you…this is truly ” the best” can feel it
I’ve been very late this weekend due to a big family obligation (hosting an early holiday party). But here it is, finally:
The Best Poem Ever
As soon as he finished the last line,
he knew he’d written the best poem ever.
Proudly, he read it before an audience -
they laughed, they cried, they cheered enthusiastically.
At the end, they gave him a standing ovation,
shook his hand, hugged him, clapped him on the back.
He entered it in contests and won every time.
Editors clamored to publish it – he even found himself
caught in a bidding war. He got a fantastic sum
to publish it in the journal which proclaimed
“Greatest Poem Ever Written!” on its cover.
It sold out in days. He was interviewed
on Good Morning America, Leno and Letterman.
His poem appeared in every best-of-the year anthology.
One editor said in his foreword:
“I don’t know why I’ve included all these other poems –
this is the only poem you will ever have to read!”
But fame is a fickle thing. The following year,
a woman in Sweden wrote what is now considered
the best poem ever. He stopped getting calls,
started getting rejections slips, most of which said,
“Well, these just aren’t as good as that other one,
are they?” Now he watches the Swedish poet on TV,
and sees her face on every literary magazine.
He’s read her poem, and he admits it’s pretty good.
But every once in a while, when he feels lonely
(which is often these days), he takes his poem out
of his drawer, reads it softly to himself, and smiles.
Soft smiles on this one!
Isn’t that always the way. ~Nice one Bruce.
I’m gonna copy this out and paste it to the front of my folder of rejection letters. Fame is so darn fleeting, why do we even bother to pursue it?
I Love You
The best ever words of all time
On these no one can improve
Whether in prose or in rhyme
The best ever words of all time
Whether shouted or in mime
One to tears, they can move
The best ever words of all time
On these no one can improve
Started from bottom up ….glad to see you Connie… with words so true
DO NOT BE ALARMED
eyes, heavy laden
from the sandman’s touch
hold tightly to night’s realities
the first rays of light
stretch like sleepy limbs
from the eastern horizon
somewhere deep inside
I feel their presence
and know the clock is ticking
I smile and wait
for the best ever sound
of daytime’s dreams:
g’morning, Sunshine
2011-11-20
P. Wanken
Oh “daytime’s dreams”. Lovely
Best Ever Pain
Since a wee one
at brain blowing headaches
at iodine on a blood soaked knee
Told “Rise above this pain
or what will you do
when it comes time
to have your own baby”
Finally the day arrives floating on
turquoised watered sun
Exquisite pain long awaited finally begun
Gleeful scream answers expectation’s call
to pass this watermelon expanded
child is the best joy-fullest joke of all
As the pressure mounts
contained for eons – now melted in this turquoise water sun
bursts with this babe the loudest purest bestest laugh
mesmerized manic incredulity drenched in fathomless incomparable soaring atom sparkling fun
Much love and hugs, Pearl Girl . . . hope you feel better soon!
We’re pulling for you!
Thanks Janet Planet… Much better reading a few from bottom up and then bottom’s down to sleep
Best View of an Autumn Sunset
Rich Atwater Nov 20/21, 2011
Clash between the two: one up North, the other a Southern view,
October, Belgrade Lakes, New Hampshire mountains to the West,
My native Maine in splash of colors for Fall foliage as sun goes down to
Greet the western folk far across the land, Robert Frost said it best:
After dinner, viewing Autumn sunset with a niece who commented to him:
“Isn’t the view just splendored tonight as we watch the sun go down in technicolor?”
Replied the philosophical poet: ” I never discuss my business after dinners trim”,
So quietly they set on that proverbial back porch, and took it silently all in, she, and that fella!
Retirement now to Florida with a view of Tampa Bay, palm tree setting along the beach,
The sun is engulfed o’er the Gulf of Mexico in pink, and purple, and reddish-orange hue,
A mirage of clouds drowned in color as the sky touches the sea from the view of a dock reach,
Sailboats adrift with the anchors let low to hold them fast in the eventides vast expanse of blue.
There set I with my lovely daughter, with Bandit our little canine friend, she says: “How wondrous to me!”
The glory of God in an Autumn sunset blazing across the dusk of evenings heaven by a smooth soft sea,
“Yes, my child, ’tis a prayer come true to take it in with family love surrounding this marvel that you see”,
And we quietly sat to drink of life’s cup, filled to the brim with ecstasy, she, and that fella, the poet who is me!
“best practice”
The spring
of a ballpoint pen…
The curving
path up to the temple door,
and the locked door
inside the temple door
you can pass around
because there’s no wall there…
Make your offering
and pass clockwise.
It’s raining.
Meditating
about the clouds
makes you forget
the long sky above
and the beauty of wet,
mosaic of Japanese
maple leaves,
red on the damp stone
reflecting green
from another source.
Happy birthday as it slips away…lovely poem .. Your birthday gift to us all. Thank you
I remember now why I always look for your name as I’m skimming.
Lovely!
Becky
I remember pulling up
in my old green wagon
– I always had a cup
of coffee on the dash,
a side effect
of working third shift.
I was impressed
with your collection
of snow domes
and the variety of fish
that covered your bathroom
from baseboards on up.
Your ancient black cats
spared me no claw in play.
You made, I don’t know,
spaghetti or lasagna,
to tell the truth
I had more interest in your eyes.
I remember the color
of the light they reflected
from the candles that burned
in the folk art tree
that hung above the table
on the dappled yellow wall.
Oooh Becky…I think I’m a little in love
Thanks PKP, It is hard not to fall in love with Becky
BEST EVER POETIC COMMUNITY WITH BEST EVER EDITOR
You are the poem yourselves . . .
No more words . . .
Are needed,
Except . . .
You are ALL so beautiful!
Thank you . . . with love!
awww… love right back atcha!
Too sweet, Jacqueline, yes and back again!
So true.
Someone once said “a safe place to write”…. Agree Janet it is the community and editor eho make it so
And an echo of love is heard . . . to Robert and the his PA community! Beautiful, Ladies!
Sweet Dreams Robert–thank you for the great prompt and lovely triolet
Just One More
It was late
You had to leave
And leaned over
Gifting my lips
With good-bye kisses
Lighter than wingbeats
That left me
Full
Of wishes for
One
More
Kiss
Tingles!!
Ode to “Smart” (a poem by Shel Silverstein)
the best poem ever
was written by my idol
it was fun and it was clever
the best poem ever
i did not write; however,
it does not make me suicidal
the best poem ever
was written by my idol
“Smart”
My dad gave me one dollar bill
‘Cause I’m his smartest son,
And I swapped it for two shiny quarters
‘Cause two is more than one!
And then I took the quarters
And traded them to Lou
For three dimes — I guess he don’t know
That three is more than two!
Just then, along came old blind Bates
And just ’cause he can’t see
He gave me four nickels for my three dimes,
And four is more than three!
And I took the nickels to Hiram Coombs
Down at the seed-feed store,
And the fool gave me five pennies for them,
And five is more than four!
And then I went and showed my dad,
And he got red in the cheeks
And closed his eyes and shook his head–
Too proud of me to speak!
- Shel Silverstein
NOTE: I could’ve picked any poem from a handful of other poems for this ode because the man was so good and I adore him so much, but “Smart” was one of the earlier ones I read of him and it just brings a smile to my face whenever I read it out loud.
Oh such a grand place to stop and sleep with a Shel smile… Great intro poem… How “giving” of you Jacqueline without even a tree…I now leave …. Thanks for the smile and goodnight
Best. Figure Of Speech. Ever.
Like adjectives? They’re fine, I guess,
And litotes? They could be worse.
Hyperbole’s the greatest, though,
If you’re composing good bad verse!
http://trollpants.wordpress.com
A SLOW DANCE TO REMEMBER
In my forties,
I took a self empowerment class,
With three girlfriends,
And a room full,
Of people,
Roughly our age!
An established group,
Most of us were married with children and careers!
Running late, the door suddenly burst open,
And coming to a chair near me,
Was an attractive and striking young man,
Who immediately caught my eye!
Internally, I told myself to stop,
Acting like I was a teenager,
I should turn my attention back to the leader,
And listen to what she was saying.
Yet week after week,
Exercise after exercise,
I kept noticing his good looks,
Strong body,
Intelligent eyes,
And there was also,
Something else!
After one long and tedious day,
With a rough session,
The leader announced,
Time to take our shoes off,
Listen to a beautiful piece of music,
And allow ourselves to dance, to float,
To let our spirit guide us across the floor!
We were not to touch anyone!
We were to find,
Our own rhythm,
Let our self go,
Feel our natural flow!
How free it was and how glorious!
I felt like I was moving with such an open,
And innocent heart!
When she stopped the music,
She said to keep our eyes closed,
And for the next part,
When we felt another person nearby,
We could dance with them awhile,
But we could not peek, no matter what,
And with any partner we could only stay,
A moment or two then,
Let go and dance on!
Several partners came and went,
With nothing outstanding to note,
I had no real idea if they were a male or female,
Except maybe the feel of their hands!
As one more partner approached,
My heart spontaneously opened like a pure pink rose,
On a sunny morning on the coast,
Waiting to take in every drop of sunlight,
Having no concern with being too open or vulnerable!
I felt a deep love begin to flow,
And grow with a known recognition,
A most loving and kindred spirit,
Was close by!
When we held hands,
A pure heart connection was made,
And neither one of us could let go,
So powerful and profound it was,
The leader kept announcing how we were to dance on,
But we couldn’t release,
And nothing wanted the moment to stop,
On either end of the hands or heart,
Between us!
As the music ended,
We had to step away from each other,
But only a step!
Still near to me,
I felt I could just reached out and feel their hand again.
I could still feel the beautiful closeness,
Depth of love and the sweetness of intimacy!
I knew the person was standing very close on my left side.
When we could open our eyes,
I simply had to glance over,
As did he!
We couldn’t believe it,
Smiling shyly,
Was the handsome and amazing young man,
Who had so captured my attention!
He was just as surprised to see it was me,
Who had touched and moved with his heart,
It was a moment of pure magic,
A deep and natural connection of love,
Found in the beauty of a slow dance . . .
My heart will never forget!
BEST SUMMER EVER
is a blur—I’m running from
dawn to dusk, I’m brown as
cinnamon toast, I’m drunk
on a mix of Kool-Aid and
Pixy Stix, on straight-haired girls
brazen in bikinis and baby oil,
and no dare is too scary, no
radio song I can’t sing note for
note, loud as a tornado, and my
smile is mighty as I’m kicked
out of the A&P for racing a
shopping cart through the aisles,
shouting through the night
leaving toilet paper waving from
the neighbor’s trees and my
parents shaking their heads at
the black soles of my bare feet,
and I sleep so fiercely no bad
dream dares touch me.
Why can’t I write like this? I swear, I cannot. Awesome-just awesome piece!
Cool!
love it!
Best Ever Pork Chops
thick cut, boneless pork
loin chops dusted in
homemade coating, fried
in scorching hot oil
It’s no wonder why
southern folks are fat
like the yummy hogs
we so love to eat
LOL I love me some porkchops too.
A Short Course in Savoring
My old friend knows something
of celebrating moments of her life,
especially in her regard for good food,
each bite a meditative experience,
each meal, the very best,
out of this world, unbelievable,
simply stupendous (popping her p’s)
taste sensation,
knowing at 94
that the last dish she ate
was the best thing she
might ever eat.
Oh, my goodness, this is just so sweet and sad, and so sweet again.
With and Without
The beach cove on Koh Phan’gan
mirrors an orange pink sky
giving over to blue
above, below,
the gently patting waves smoothing sand,
an ocean afterthought of movement,
the breeze subtle as a sleep whisper,
easing my mind, coaxing me to relax,
enjoy, embrace, and be glad
in this moment.
Alone among strangers
here in paradise,
my face lifted to
perhaps the best sunrise ever,
I think of you beside me,
willed across continents,
you here and dawn-warmed
beneath this wonder.
Now, years later,
I sit remembering, pondering
whether such a memory
is diminished without you
or if my longing vision of you
was actually enhanced
by your absence.
Beautiful, Jane.
“This one is already falling”
Yesterday
is a memory,
a ripple
in the stream of time.
Tomorrow
is a dream,
a fall leaf
clinging stubbornly
to a branch,
knowing it must drop
but not knowing where
it will land.
Today
is the best day.
Here.
Now.
Ready.
Take it.
Wouldn’t it be the best ever if I could write the future —- inspired by all you triolet writers out there!
The day after I fought with the triolet
Each word fatigued, by poking distressed,
Hyper-awareness of form in the way
The day after I fought with the triolet
Everything I wanted to say
Came out manicured and perfectly dressed
The day after I fought with the triolet
Was the best
I was proud of myself for posting this early this morning…then I realized I posted it under yesterday’s prompt. Doh!
The Best Attempt at Consciousness
You will in my stead have to read this out loud
because I no longer possess the stamina
to keep up the pace without taking unintended breaths
which distort meaning and trip everyone
and this is more bonfire and less Marathon-to-Athens,
we have no time for breath.
Show me your invisibles
and I will tell you about the moment
I became a ceramic blue jay,
all expression and no practicality
but that’s OK.
I have been the best and worst man at a wedding.
There are those who miss me
and others who wish to never see my beak again,
but that’s OK too, right? Yupper.
It was shortly after Frank told me I looked yellow and skinny
that stuff started going wrong
but that was almost a year ago
and a year is a long time, especially for a flightless bird.
I always correct people
when they talk about the time they were electrocuted
because the -cuted part means you die
and surely they were only shocked to the ground,
the current stopping first at the elbow and then grabbing and screaming
I love you and you must love me and never leave this moment,
the best solution still a two-by-four
as hard as you can to the back,
and not once dead
or were they?
Not in a Million Years
Not one of these
cockamamie creations,
(pie-in-the-sky schemes)
dreamed up by this
consummate expert of
everything first-class,
first-rate, flawless; this –
(picky perfectionist, never
settling for second best,
well-dressed, perfectly
obsessed with excellence) idiot,
could ever hold a candle to those
campfire cookouts, burnt
hot dog dinners, sleeping bag
sleepovers, firefly safaris;
never, no way, no how,
not in a million years
MY FAVORITE THINGS
A distant discovery of a kindred heart,
my favorite thing,
Soft words uttered in hushed whispers,
my favorite thing.
Contented sighs rising from deep within.
my favorite thing.
A smile that can be heard across the wire,
my favorite thing.
A close snuggle in a loving embrace,
my favorite thing.
A good night kiss that lasts until morning’s light,
my favorite thing.
A poem about my favorite things that becomes
your favorite thing.
My favorite thing is my best thing.
My best thing is you.
lovely.
Best Movie Ever
Inconceivable.
I just don’t think that word means
what you think it means.
Best Book Ever
Governess takes job,
falls in love, leaves, suffers. Fate?.
Mr. Rochester.
Best Husband Ever
A bad day at work
Came home to candlelight, wine,
and moo goo gai pan.
Best Ever
Patti Smith Concert
Patti Smith spun
`round my head,
charged inside
my gut, connected
her electricity
to mine. Bottom Line,
NYC, mid-seventies.
A skinny waif, hair chopped,
à la Keith Richards, strode
out, in black pants and gray
ribbed tank. Poetry popped
like champagne corks,
staccato bursts,
a new language. She slammed
into song, wailing her words,
pounding her chest
to keep the beat.
Her unique sound burst
on the scene. I still see
her whenever I can.
I still own a tight,
torn-up t-shirt,
her face sketched
in black.
Slow Boat Ride
The glassy waters that I see
and painted skylines speak to me.
The place where all things I forget,
is a slow boat ride at sunset.
When I sit back, relax my mind,
it seems the greatest joy I find.
All outer influences cease.
There on the water, I find peace.
There’s nothing else that can compare,
Sunset, water, being there.
By Michael Grove
Oh, Mike… this is as lovely as the boat ride.
Best Ever Pain
Since a wee one
at brain blowing headaches
at iodine on a blood soaked knee
Told “Rise above this pain
or what will you do
when it comes time
to have your own baby”
Finally the day
arrives floating on
turquoised watered sun
Exquisite pain long awaited
Gleeful scream answering expectation’s call
to pass this watermelon expanded
child the best joy-fullest joke of all
and as the pressure mounts
contained for eons – now melted in this turquoise water sun
bursts with this babe the loudest purest bestest laugh
mesmerized manic incredulity drenched in fathomless incomparable soaring atom sparkling fun
Best Call It “A Knight”
Rich Atwater Nov 20, 2011
It’s getting late, we are all tuckered out from passion,
A damsel and her knight have accomplished the goal,
Twins in her belly to consummate in royal fashion
The wedding, now marriage, sealed: mate to soul!
Best Ever Miniature Apple Pies
Bake ‘em in a pie crust, eat ‘em one by one!
Created by Mrs. George T. Salomon
(formerly Elsie Pettigrew, on our staff)
in her gracious, spacious home just
outside Boseman, Montana, where
she likes to look out the kitchen window
and wonder what might have been,
had she not met her George T.
on that fateful August night.
No matter, she says, drawing
the curtains closed. No matter,
when the crust is this flaky,
tender, easy to break.
hmm…nice little twist there–well done
Thanks, Penny! I have an old Betty Crocker cookbook that tells who invented many of the recipes, and often it’s someone who worked there but is now Mrs. Male First Name/ Last Name. So I tweaked it a little so this cookbook description is a little off-kilter and tells more than the real ones do.
He’s the Best (Strophe poetry form)
From the Ukraine or Korea to Cajun Country
he takes on their accents unconsciously;
my husband globally communicates.
His coworkers and friends delight in the fun
to hear him speak in native tongue
like a movie star, he punctuates.
Once on a Polish ship, speaking like they do
a Coon-Ass called on the phone, too.
He ping-ponged back and forth in hot debate
from one slang to the other with such ease
others begged for tips from their knees
while he said, “Hurry up we can’t be late,
my family needs me now, let’s go.
They’re number one on priority’s row.”
Yes, one of many reasons why my husband is just great.
I do that too, Laurie, though clearly not as well as he does, and I’m sure, as he would tell you, completely unconsciously. I always fear someone will think I’m poking fun.
Laurie, I have to ask … What did you mean by Coon-Ass? Thanks …
yet to come
there have been good times
and bad times
and great times
times i’d redo
times i’d undo
and times i’d love to rerun
but the best of times
and worst of times
i cannot say i’ve had yet
they’re relative
the times compete
and overtake
and top each other
for the top seat
i now understand
“the best is yet to come.”
Best of the Rest
Rich Atwater Nov 20, 2011
Tonight I fell in love, ’twas like falling in a deep deep well,
The one that was made for wishing for Princess Snow White,
The echo came into my ears: “I’m wishing (I’m wishing) pell mell
For the one I love (For the one I love), To find me (to find me) tonight.
As the birds joined in the chorus line to wish me of “Good Luck”,
I looked into the waters ripple and a reflection there I did see,
Of Miss Julia Kolednik, a goddess sent from above, for me to tuck
Under the covers of a bridal chambers’ canopy bed covers, like Aura Lea!
I jumped feet first into her soft, fluffy white sheets, with pillow for OUR head,
And made passionate, steamy, heated love in the bliss of sheer intimacy,
For she was my bride on a cold winters night, both in love in that readied bed,
A man and a woman in love: doing what God ordained: to multiply and replenish thee!
How it seems to me
Sunrise igniting the mountains of dawn
Hot apple pie on a grey cold day
Drowsing cat smiling in the overstuffed chair
Marine’s first step from his hospital bed
Water like glass over river-smooth rocks
A bowl of rice delivered in that far off place
The smell of leaves in the night air
The rain on the place beneath
A sight of the first star of the evening.
All this, like the sight of my child asleep.
Best Dream I Ever Had!
Rich Atwater Nov 20, 2011
I awoke one night from a fast deep dream of sugarplums in fairy land,
Of Misha Plush Teddy Bears in my arms as soft as a downy pillow,
The wooden soldiers march of a big brass band led by El Kapitan,
There was strawberries in my mouth covered with whipped cream willow.
Waltz of the Flowers was playing sweet melodic sounds of reverie,
When all of a sudden my eyes beheld a glorious site to behold:
Princess Julia with all her entourage, followed by the King’s cavalry,
Was coming to claim me as her Prince for a wedding pure as gold.
Then all of a sudden I realized it wasn’t a dream at all that ever was dreamed,
It was stark REALITY, stone cold truth, an actual fact, for I was standing there,
Right beside Miss Julia Kolednik as she took my hand clasped inside of hers, beamed
A smile on her face, and also mine, as the great high priest said: “You may now kiss the bride” But Beware!
That married life is ahead of you now, and seven children, it may seem, as God smiles from above,
So don’t throw dishes at one another, or break furniture across one’s head, in another time and place,
Just hold your tongue, and keep your peace, when the moment seems to disagree in regards to love,
And remember your dream that you had that night when you each became King and Queen in place.
Best Ever
He decided he’d go with me to the mall
after we had breakfast out at his favorite spot.
The back-ups that lead to the Bucs stadium
went for miles. We forgot about that.
We sang old songs and poked along.
At the mall we parked in the overflow lot,
walked around holding hands and sharing soda.
Saw Santa Claus in his ice palace, heard the squeals
from children, grumbles from adults that it was too soon.
Such a magical time, the times I spend with Bill.
That’s so sweet, Judy.
Sounds familiar! Love it!
The Best Advice Ever
Scanlon,
the obese TV writing instructor
who insisted upon being addressed
as “Dr.”and then didn’t return
the manuscript I sent him
which was my final grade in the course,
gave me the best advice I ever got:
I don’t even recall
the exact question,
but I always remember
the answer.
With admirable passion
and eloquence,
he exploded
“Bullshit!
Don’t be
a second-best someone else!
Be the first-best You!”
I still
quote
him.
YES.
Great advice. Really liked this one
Best in the West
Rich Atwater Nov. 20, 2011
Which one was he, Wyatt Earp, Matt Dillon, or Batt Masterson?
The Maverick brothers, Cheyenne, The Lone Ranger, or Kit Carson?
Sugarfoot, Rowdy Yates, Roy Rogers with Dale Evans by his side?
None of the above, it’s the one i love, Miss Julia, sent to me from heaven, I confide!
My first attempt at a blitz poem…what a fun form to work with!
Best at Finish
Racing the clock
Racing the best
Best of the best
Best man wins
Wins don’t come easy
Wins mean all
All on the line
All or nothing
Nothing to lose
Nothing to gain
Gain a position
Gain respect
Respect the drivers
Respect the tradition
Tradition of excellence
Tradition to preserve
Preserve your sanity
Preserve your racecar
Racecar on track
Racecar is fast
Fast is good
Fast is first
First to the line
First to victory
Victory lap
Victory lane
Lane rubbers in
Lane opens up
Up on the wheel
Up for the ride
Ride the lightning
Ride the edge
Edge of disaster
Edge of glory
Glory days
Glory road
Road to ruin
Road to legend
Legend is earned
Legend is forever
Forever young
Forever free
Free to run
Free to race
Race to the front
Race to the finish
Finish first
Finish strong
Strong
First
The Best Woman I Ever Met
Richard-Merlin Atwater Nov 20, 2011
I’ve traversed the world these many years, to far and wide, across many a sea,
I’ve seen the wonders of many a land, created by man to attract, give awe to me!
But never before in all my life have i ever met or seen a woman more wonderful
Than Miss Julia Kolednik, Goddess supreme of wondrous beauty, simply Thunderfull.
And why may you ask is it so, just a plain simple, ordinary girl, can win such praise,
“Tis because my heart and soul is in love with her, and because she was also raised
By her Mom and Dad to be elegant, graceful, full of charm, as sweet as a girl can be,
Truly a spiritual daughter of God, with a soft kind heart and temperament of a Bumble bee!
“Best ever first kiss”
Two a.m.
front porch closed—a little lonely soulful sigh.
Momma on the living room couch swaddled
and sore inside grandma’s worn wedding quilt.
Daddy hushes the worry from his tender heart.
On this mellow night, soft, and a bit too warm,
patting Momma’s brow with cool cloth, with
silent vows upon his breath, to heaven, to child
upon her breast.
Midwife whispers it’s time. Daddy unlocks the
front porch door, bends, strokes him with hand
and voice—be gentle now, she’s ours to guard
from this night on. He bows to master, mistress
both, with honor•valor•pride he steps inside,
on this mellow night, soft and a bit too warm.
loved it–keeps getting better with re-reading
The Best Ever Vacation
I remember the sun drenched skies
The briny breeze hitting my face,
A coarse sand castle collapsing under
Persistent foamy waves, even
In its destruction, it displayed serene beauty
Careless gulls screaming overhead
Swooping down in zig zag fashion
Hoping for a scrap of food
I remember the soft loll of the waves
Each wave a unique experience, an anticipation
Of the best one, the perfect ride
Cool evening walks on the beach,
Fresh seafood shared with family
Laughter, embraces, restful days
The best ever beach vacation…
Best Ever
Discovering Poetics Aside
A Wednesday group of poets write
our heartfelt words in dark or light.
Unseen, unknown, we take a risk.
I saw my thoughts on printed page
become a poem upon a stage
without a critical, tsk, tsk.
As a bud, I bloomed and flowered,
no longer a closet coward.
My Muse picked up her pace to brisk.
Absolutely right, Sara!
Absolutely Sara! You captured the essence, very nice.
OVER THE TOP
Red rover, red rover let . . . me come over.
Here I come ready or not
looking for the weakest link in the chain, my momentum
quickens by the second. There’s a pair of hands that
isn’t holding on too tightly, holding my breath, and
pointing out two tough guys, picking the one
with muscles. We could use him. He won’t mind
being recruited. It’s just a game
midway through the picnic. Some of the girls are back
setting the tables. Some of the girls are
with us. They are on the soccer team, so am I, but
don’t tell anybody. I’m going for a Soccer Scholarship next year
to a school in the East. There’s no shame in that, is there. Wow,
that was my girl friend who broke the line, taking a guy out,
I mean, from the line. . . . It’s time to play baseball, now
with us it’s Mixed Baseball, guys and gals together. It’s okay,
the physical contact comes later, if you know what I mean,
after the game is over, but I think I’ve told you too much
already. The Red Shirts won. I was on the Blue Shirts, still
it was a good game. My girlfriend pitched for the Red Shirts
she struck me out. Right, it was out of spite
I know that, because she told me. The counselors call us
to eat. I have never tasted a hot dog
in my life as the one’s at this picnic because
my girlfriend got it for me. She knows everything about me, and
even my Mom and Dad like her. They trust us blindfolded
I don’t know why. I guess
It’s because we know our limits. Our bicycles are parked just outside
the park. We got here on our own, and we’ll leave
together. There is this cool bike path around town we go
all the time. Just think, this is a summer day,
the weather is great, the food is awesome,
I’m sitting beside the girl I love.
Can you imagine anything
in the world better than that.
Zev Davis
Stuck on the Stairs
I have
rails on the stairs
I have
grips on the treads
I cluck and
stutter on the steps,
I tut and I’m in a
flap. Take care
now.
Confounded by
indecision
I’m a stuttering
affliction ensnared
and tripped up,
just can’t decide, this one
that one, left
or right, which one is
my best foot forward.
I like this poem and how it has some suspense and hesitation
Thanks, Maxie. I tried to break-up the usual structure to give that impression.
The Best Ever?
There can only be
a best “ever-yet”
since the rest
of bests have
not yet been met
laughing with the best ever-yet.
Good question and a great poem.
This is great!
Best Days of Our Lives
Richard-Merlin Atwater NOv 20, 2011
The best days of our lives are each and every day we had together,
Arm and arm, cheek to cheek, truly we were two birds of a feather,
True love has no boundaries with which to close us in at all, my dear,
Yesterday, today, and tomorrow is all the same: happiness and cheer!
Best To Quit While You’re Ahead
Rich Atwater Novv 20, 2011
The bearded wise old philosopher was ,sussinct, astute and to the point,
And thus he quote that ditty rhyme of long ago and far away in an Irish joint:
A wise old owl sat in an oak, the more he saw the less he spoke,
The less he spoke the more he heard; why can’t we be like that wise old bird?”
The reason we aren’t as wise as him is because we have that human tendency
To put our foot in our nouth, and learn too late “it’s best to quit while your ahead–of me!
No Next Time
Good, better, best
Never let them -
tell you after sweating through
pains that could rip an armored tank in two
that the best is yet to come -
Never let them -
tell you as you hold
your darling child to your heart
that next time it will be better -
Never let them -
tell you as you gather
your daughters around you
that having a son is the best
and next time…
Never let them…
Best Love
Richard-Merlin Atwater Nov 20, 2011
Samuel Taylor Cooleridge hit the nail on the head,
When the ancient mariner from out his mouth said:
“He lovest best who lovest all: bird, man, and fish,
Love of God within his heart whate’er his wish!”
FOR D.S.
Out of the blue, I’d call.
She never cared how long it was,
we picked up where we’d dropped it–
maybe months before.
Daughters of the King together,
saving fabric scraps forever,
escaping into books
unread by others,
sharing perennials,
sometimes singing hymns
in harmony,to empty spaces.
Laughter was our language.
“I had a grosbeak,” I would say.
She might have seen a flicker.
She was the best friend, ever.
What a beautiful memorial. Everyone needs a friend like that.
Best Buy
Rich Atwater Nov 20, 2011
ADVERTISEMENT:
Get your computer, cell phone, video cam too,
From that wonderful technological store: BEST BUY.
You can control the world from your I-Pod, new
Wonders have unfold to you that would make Caesar cry!
The Best is Yet To Come
Richard-Merlin Atwater Nov 20, 2011
He lived a life of full measure to the age of thirty-three,
Taught the world how to live in righteousness you see,
Pained of agony in Gethsemane, Died upon a cross,
But told us “the best is yet to come” if we remove the dross.
B>E>S>T> Breakfast
Rich Atwater Nov 20, 2011
B = Brown
E = Eggs
S = Scrambled (with)
T = Toast
The Best-Ever Headache is Not One at All
“I thought so hard I got a headache.” ~JD Cobb
The best-ever headache is not one at all.
The worst is, without a doubt, most any kind
of migraine or cluster. They both make time crawl
when suffering from them, alone or combined
with other ‘fine’ symptoms, like auras and small
vision disruptions. And pain redefined.
You’ll wonder if there’s not a way to forestall
the oncoming squall that will plunder your mind.
###
Note: the form is Goethe Stanza. 20 days and 20 forms!
(And yes, I do have a headache. Heavy sigh.)
I can empathize and sympathize. They flood my brain, too.
Interesting form.
SIMPLY THE BEST
Cool eyes that penetrate,
probing and passionate,
A smile whose only function
is to simmer into your worn heart
bringing a rise out of your spirit.
As I hear it, the inner beauty
long buried deeply, makes
a sleepy appearance awakening
to a new day. The touch
of such a loving soul takes control
and soothes the calamity the
world has to offer. Embraces
wrapping around to hold and heal
a great deal at half the price;
very nice. To love and be loved;
the best example of things
unconditional; give and give
personified. Distances close
in the reach of love; not
a rocket science. An affinity
for simplicity; love blesses.
Simply the best.
best ever moment
just this:
just us,
we two
with
absolutely
nothing
to do.
love this, De
lovely in its simplicity
de-lightful. And on the nose. – Mosk
nice!
Yeah! =D
Hmmm. I have tried to post this five times. Hope it works this time.
Up the Clan
Despite our differences,
We are made of the same stuff,
And no matter where we roam
In body, mind or soul,
There is that kinship, joined
At birth by blood and bone,
And quirks that only one of us
Would understand.
So what if we are not always
Kind to one another, or disagree
On finer points of politics
And worship? Ultimately,
It comes down to this:
You are my brother, sister,
Mother, father, grandma, grandpa,
Aunt and uncle, cousin—
Best family ever.
Best Past Life Reading Stories
I have many of these.
Two are the very best:
The readers name was Pat,
It was at the internationally famous,
Healing Light Center.
They do not know anything about you.
Once I went for my brother’s murder.
She said many pertinent things.
One was he would not be contacting me,
For a very long time because of how he died.
.
And that was true, I heard him once –
In Sherman Oaks, outside my window
His one of a kind whistle in the night.
And
Another time,
I asked why my former husband was
So mad at me -
And,
She said it was because we had been,
Indigenous Indians who fought,
Back to back and our lives depended,
On each other – and I moved,
And he died.
Past life stories.
The Best Dream (An Ovillejo)
The best dream I ever new,
I flew
to mountains where the trees thinned
like wind
almost brought me to the ground
I found
myself saved by a large hound,
he caught me on my way down
and brought me back to my town.
I flew like wind I found.
love the air light quality of this as well as all the round and round of sound
Best, ever
searching for it
longing for a word
that heals, a heart
that steals our breath,
aching for a matchless
phase
we seek some
hidden inner proof
and miss the truth:
this place, this pace
that loving face are
morethanenough.
your poems draw me in – love to read and read them once again
I so agree with you, Jane. Everything this girl writes just seems to speak right to me. Well done, De.
Perfect, just perfect. – Moskowitz
This is so romantic!
Best Ever Kisses
When my hunger
needs a feed,
Hershey’s Kisses
are all I need.
dark smiles wrapped in silver fun like your poem
I love that one!
Love it! =-)
Best Ever Dream
Hugh Jackman
taking his shirt off
and running
toward me,
sweeping me into his arms…
and then I woke up.
Dammit.
Wow, I’ve had that dream too! Very nice
:0)
Best Ever Sandwich
Meatball sub –
melted cheese oozing
out the side,
and rich sauce
trickling over fingers and
down my double chin.
“…down my double chin” <— awesome ending! Thanks for the laugh.
Best Comeback Ever
Proud of her quick wit,
she polished her satire
to a fine point, skewering her victims,
laughing off their discomfort
as they squirmed under her caustic attention
like suspects grilled in dark rooms
under the harsh precinct lights.
Her gift served her even less well
in courtship than in friendship,
her clever barbs rarely precursors
to goodnight kisses or second dates.
Epiphany rarely comes in life
like it does in the funny papers,
lightbulbs flashing overhead.
Instead, as she readied the best
comeback ever, tasting the words,
relishing the anticipation
of their aftertaste later–alone–
she came to her senses, smiled,
and for once, said nothing at all.
now this is just plain great!
Love it.
The Best Cookie (A Triolet)
I made the best cookie,
I was saving it for last.
I was going to play hooky,
I made the best cookie.
I was not a cookie rookie
But left to cool, it disappeared fast!
I made the best cookie,
I was saving it for last.
LOL, I love this, especially the ‘cookie rookie’ part.
The Best Farewell (A Triolet)
The cancer has spread again,
I don’t know where this will end,
the bagpipes are playing in the glen,
the cancer has spread again.
For one last poem I pick up my pen,
time to say farewell to my friend.
The cancer has spread again,
I don’t know where this will end.
sad.
The Best Husband
My husband is the very best
he has the kindest heart
one of giving, self-sacrifice
even when the going’s tough-
a coat off his back
a hand for a neighbor
staying up all night with sick kids
withholding for the sake of others
putting up with all my sh–.
It’s not finished yet… will post on blog later.
Bogus crusade
He told her the trip was a bogus crusade
to win back the love of her life
from the arms of another.
He thought she just wanted the excuse
of a trip to London and the last-ever,
best ever shag with the man she used to love
She told him he was wrong.
She hugged him before she got in her car,
kissed his cheek, told him she’d call or text
when she got there
or if she ran into problems.
And that was the last time he saw her
except for the photographs on the news
and the one he gave the undertaker
to reconstruct her face.
He’ll always remember the single tear
running down her cheek as she said goodbye
a refugee from the bogus crusade
of her happily-ever-after.
Heaven
I sit with Marvin Gay on Georgia O’Keefe’s porch in Abiquiu.
We listen to Billy Collins recite his poem,
Taking off Emily Dickenson’s Clothes,
reminding us that life is a loaded gun.
Ted Hughes wears a precarious smile,
a bossy wind ruffles Sylvia’s hair.
Billy Joel riffs behind the black door.
Diana Ross scat sings with Lady Day,
tossing random syllables at bleached bones.
Georgia mixes adobe red and ocher for Frida
who paints herself in frontal pose,
a crown of thorns around her neck.
There’s a whole lotta shakin’ goin’ on in the courtyard
where the boys in the band are jammin’
where John Coltrane lays sheets of sound
where BB King lets Lucille do the talkin’
where Satchmo grins a rainbow of teeth
where Ringo kicks in the backbeat,
and Jerry Lee Lewis rakes his hands across the keys.
Later Pavarotti and Sting braid strains of the Angelicus,
send them off on the katabatic wind.
There are more poems from Billy,
Donald Hall and Mary Oliver,
Arthur Miller revises the script for All My Sons,
sips his nightcap cigarette.
A shower of meteors arrives like fan mail.
Faces tilted toward the moon,
we count stars over Chama Valley.
Julia Child brings out platters
of Champignons Farci and Salad Nicoise.
The Creator joins us at the long plank table
and we lift our glasses with Her
to honor the art written into our inheritance,
priceless leavings of the past.
I tell Her I know what Heaven is all about.
Paradise found!
All the mentions brought to mind some picture & sounds. Arthur Miller’s All My Sons is still a powerful read!
Well done!
a feast spread here
Oh, I LOVE this. It made me smile a really happy smile.
Thank you Patricia, Jane and Ina…thx to the prompt, now I have all of my bests in one place. Who knows, someday…..
I wouldn’t change a thing, it is perfect!
(in slight contradiction to my first attempt)
If my best ever
is voted for today,
would I try ever
to better myself?
Would I regret,
tomorrows forget,
and live as I am,
a so-called best?
Tonight, I seek
an answer to me;
Is the best ever,
really for forever,
or can I do better?
The Best Day
Rarely is a date marked on the calendar
Not always a day you have looked
Forward to for a number of weeks,
But is can be.
Usually it is part of a series of days
Or weeks -
Perhaps a period in your life that
Is over – vanished with your
Youth- or simply a time that you
Know would be impossible to happen
Again.
You might associate it with the weather –
A “perfect day” in temperature, status of
sky, humidity, rain or snow.
Often, but not always, you have shared
it with another person…or several
people, who, at that time were near
and dear to you.
Today, as you think about it, you may
realize that these people are close to you
no more, Some could be living in other
Locations. Others might have passed
From this life. You wonder if a search
on the Internet would tell you who are
still alive. If you could locate them
would they be the same as you remember?
Or have the events of their lives taken
them in a direction which you are not
able to share?
Now you are able to picture the scenery
Of those days, they may have made a brief
appearance in your dreams which is
where they will probably remain.
Today you are older, but also wiser and
You have learned to appreciate the good
Moments, and savor them as they happen.
The future is always waiting. Be ready!
Is the Best Better
Or is Good Enough just Fine
What does it matter
The Best Life
Will there be a time for reflection
A deathbed review of the past
A moment of evaluation
Our life going by in a flash
Or will life’s importance not matter
Nothing like the reward that’s ahead
Our moment on earth will not matter
The Best Life comes after we’re dead
NOTE: I wrote this from the viewpoint of a born-again, Christ follower. I realize that not everyone believes in Christ and do not want to offend anyone, but this is what I believe.
From one Christian to another, so thankful for this. Your added message made me smile, Earl. So Christ-like.
Um, why should someone who’s not Christian find this offensive? it doesn’t look like you’re saying the rest of us are dirt…
There are a couple of other forums that I comment on where several people get highly offended if I mention Christ, the afterlife, or infer in any way that God exists. And, no, no one is dirt. We are all God’s creations.
This is so sweet!
But so true, eh?
Yes, indeed!
Weaver of beauty
Ultimate encourager
Jane Penland Hoover
a sweet dedication
The Apple Picker
My first reaction is stunned silence,
watching a man wrestle a trug from his car
and casually walk toward my apple trees
as if they are his. He plucks them one by one
from the branches. My apples — I cook with those,
preserve and freeze them to eat through the winter.
He picks and picks, until I can no longer hold my tongue.
My knuckles bang on the window. He looks up
and smiles, and continues to pick apples
from my tree. So I open the door and offer him
all the windfalls that he wants. He declines.
They’re bruised and buggy, he says.
The absolute gall, the impudence, audacity
and insolence. So I asked if there’s anything else
he’d like to have: a sandwich, a cup of tea,
some flowers in my greenhouse, grapes
from the vine perhaps.
And then I glared and I told him to leave,
and best not ever come back. That I told myself was
a good and proper comeback for the best case
of gall that I’d ever seen.
The nerve!
What in the world?? Sheeeeesh!
A little buckshot in the bottom would teach him!
A triolet prompt deserves a triolet response!
A TRIOLET A DAY
When I wrote my first triolet
I got stuck on the rhyme
and struggled with what to say
when I wrote my first triolet.
Be the best form ever, I think it may
and I write them all the time.
When I wrote my first triolet
I got stuck on the rhyme.
– Cara Holman
You should, Jane. It’s a lot of fun.
Just be careful how you pick the two words you have to rhyme with. I find a rhyming dictionary essential for this!
well taken
Cara, what a fun form. THX for the advice, you don’t need to tell me twice
Have you tried this site? http://www.rhymezone.com/
or this one….http://www.rhymer.com/
That’s the one I use all the time! Never heard of the second one, though, so I’ll have to check it out. Thanks!
This is the first time I’m hearing of 3 rhymes in a triolet… I thought it went ABaAabAB usually..
I struggled with my first triolet too.. tough form to get exact.
You are correct about the form, Leo. I just meant that A has to rhyme with two other lines, while B only has to rhyme with one other. Sometimes I have a perfect word for my A rhyme, but then I can’t find two other good candidates and have to give it up. It’s worth plodding through though, to write one.
My response may be found here:
https://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2011/11/20/before-the-fall/
Thanks
Lovely.
PORKPIE SHOP, 1864
Just what goes in it, you might wonder?
All manner of offal and scrap of a pig ripped
asunder, and baked in a crust. And so
you go visit the porkpie shop, to inquisit;
to listen for whack, and a thwack, crack
of gristle and bone, rat-rat-a-tap rhythm
of cleaver and rind-er, of knife and of grinder.
Who knows what fell implements, steel
upon pig? Porkpie’s a deal for the poor-man –
some snout and some liver, some glands
all a-quiver, a bit of Sad Sammy’s doggerel
verse that got chopped by the printer.
Some scandal and worse? That’s what goes
in a porkpie, or so you suppose. Just open
the door. Can you trust your own nose?
Here’s fresh meat mixed with spices and all
that entices, at affordable prices! Oh, what
is a porkpie? You’ve come to inspect.
And it’s all done so cleanly, scrubbed
ceiling to floor – not what you’ve come
to expect. No spot and no speckle of filth
or of scum, from oven to door. No ill-
smelling giblets, just good parts of pig –
no trace now of hog, shoat, or sow.
You waver? It’s very digestible and, oh,
what a savor! A taste, sir? Oh come now,
it’s yummy, best-ever, and fit for a try,
this grand transformation, porker to pie!
all the behind-the-scenes and smells of porkpie before the presentation – really well done this one
Taylor, your range astounds me.
“from porker to pie”
Big Poem, Big Impact.
The Beginning
The sky was bright to welcome Spring
On the most auspicious day
I waited in my receiving gown
feeling radiant, transcendent
and looked upon the face of love
~my newborn son~
Sleeping peacefully in my arms
Oh, “Z” … my favorite so far.
oh, thank you so much. I am humbled and happy you liked this little poem.
Yea, it is trite. But still a scene I never tire of.
Pretty Much Perfect
It was pretty much a perfect sunset,
As these things are measured.
The clouds gave way for the first time this day
As if bowing to accepted protocol.
The world above persistent waves perfectly still,
Palm fronds and sea oats motionless -
Wind noticeably absent.
Irreverent seabirds skittering on smooth sand,
A few taking to wing in ones and twos,
The only motion to mar the scene -
Along with a solitary dolphin
Surfacing to share in the view.
Even the children slow in their splashing,
Some marveling in the spectacle,
Some only surprised by their parent’s stillness.
Sporadic clouds hanging still overhead, breathless,
Proud formations framing the horizon.
Perfect pinks and shades of purples
Start behind the focus of the beach bound gazers,
Sneaking from cloud to cloud,
Splashing each with color – then moving on,
Marching on the brightening horizon.
You with camera in hand,
Glowingly focused on capturing the scene.
Deep sighs accompany nightfall,
And the wind releases its held breath.
Beautiful!
Thank you, Mark! This is a real gem, captures the wonder of a daily event so well. This summer, saw some Lake Huron sunsets that were wondrous, just like a poem!
Lovely poem! I felt like I was there.
Awwwweee! Felt like I was there.
Thanks all. If you feel like you were there, then I am happy with it.
“And the wind releases its held breath” – great line and a stunning poem, Mark.
First bite of new-baked loaf
so hot the butter melts-
the best of bread by far.
The indigestion will not last
but the memory surely will.
(I’ve just eaten two thick slathery slices from my granary loaf just out of the oven)
I’ll be right over.
Make that two, could you please, Viv? I can bring coffee!
Its midnight here in India, but that poem sure makes me hungry for breakfast!
never come to rest
in a river’s crest
there, only badgers nest
no surviver is blessed
but left alone to guess
in a flash, a memory test
impossible to forget…
your most clever jest
paid a single sweet fiver
and bought that first
frothy pint of lager
it messed up good your life
fleshed out hunger from thirst
quick became your worst
ever faithful nightmare pest
soon to press you to accept
the drunk driver manifesto
one day to collide with the caretaker
of those permanent guests
with a view of the wet banks
proposed by eternal rest
a calm resting spot
[2011.20.11...a]
very chilling imagery – strong one
Pushing intensely
Hoping my best poetry
Has not yet been birthed.
After pondering, I think it would be better as:
Pushing through the pain
Hoping my best poetry
Has not yet been birthed.
Love’s labour found?
Nice!
I feel it too, Marie. You’ve expressed so well this pain. <3
i can feel this one, Marie. I like your second choice better.
SCRUMPTIOUS!
Oatmeal flakes
A bit of bran
Crunchy walnuts
Sliced almonds
Lay spread out in a pan
All drizzled with oil and honey
Baked till toasted so lightly
Mixed in a bowl
With
Dried blueberries and
Red cranberries so sweet
Black currants
White coconut
Best ever granola is ready to eat!
After Viv’s, I’ll head to your place!
Coffee is waiting!!!!
such a lasting taste this leaves
I’m salivating!! I’m with Marie…on my way there!!
I’m on the hunt for this recipe….trail time, this sounds like an all time best.
Oh, Yum. Now I have another recipe to try!
Best of Everything
Richard-Merlin Atwater Nov 20, 2011
I can’t think of what’s really truly the best
Loving you, or being loved by you in return
Perhaps ’tis both in unison as we say: “C’est
le Vie”, and go on loving as true love burns.
like “both in unison” – this short one encompassing with a wealth of words
thanks Jane–happiness to you as you LOVE–even after the nest is empty of little ones
~BEST DAY~
When I wake breathing
And look to see your chest
rising and falling too
and hear our children
with their familiar sounds
of morning magic
I know that it’ll be
the best day ever.
that momnet of first in the morning – captured so well
I experience this daily – now without the sounds of children though
You have such a great and full heart, Jane. Thank you!
great words
Thanks a lot Richard!
The warmest of smiles to you!
Marie! Thank you always and sweet smiles and blessings to you also!
Thankful I am when I notice these “little” things you captured in your poem, Hannah!
I’m so glad it resonated with you, Patricia!!
Can’t relate to it, but I can imagine it
Beautiful thoughts.
I appreciate it, Leo!
oh, this is beautiful!
Thank you ina!!
This is me many a morning. Best piece ever, Hannah! <3
*without the children though (just so grateful my honey and I get to wake up together!
Thank you so much, Jacqueline!! Glad it spoke to you!
THE BEST EVER DREAM
I figured it out one night in a dream,
how to take to the air,
how to fly like the sparrows.
I dipped and I soared
and freedom was all.
I flew over neighbors
and treetops and streams.
The breeze stroked my hair
and filled me with fragrance
of mountain and prairie.
I woke with the sun on my face
and all seasons inside me.
As my feet touched the floor,
gravity hugged me and would not let go.
But, it was mine to keep, that night long ago,
and the best ever dream when
I learned how to fly.
Especially
“woke with the sun on my face
and all seasons inside me.”
This whole poem feels magical! Thank you Nancy!
Yes, I agree.
love this – the entire journey into reality and back – what Hannah says and “gravity hugged me”
Nancy, this is marvellous!
)
Have you ever seen The Snowman by Raymond Briggs? It has an enchanting flyover in England with the Snowman & a little boy who has enjoyed the first snow of the season. Your poem reminds me of the glee shown on the face of this boy.
I know the book and enjoyed the illustrations. Thanks for your comment.
ah, that feeling of flight.. atleast in a dream.. to re-dream again..
Beautiful, Nancy!
It Is the Start, and Everything Is Going to Change
The morning begins with a squeek.
It is the third step from the bottom of the stairs,
and because of your anticipation, it wakes you.
Moonlight is in your eyes. Warm in quilts,
you shivver at the lateness of the hour.
Your mother has come to wake you, and
walks cautiously in the dark, yet bumps
and scrapes and swears, and so you know
every step of her progress. You roll over.
The springs creak metallicly, and the frame,
woodenly. Your mother’s steps turn solid, and
you say: I’m up, and flip back the quilts. Goosebumps
cover you like stars. When your teeth
begin to chatter for the first time in you life,
your words come out like frozen peas.
If this were the best of times,
I still wouldn’t be able to spell.
“your words come out like frozen peas” I love this.
This line is so vivid!
Best line.
I LOVE THIS!
Add me to the fan club! (But, you already knew that.)
Love that last line!
My Four Best Words…
I cannot say them,
My four best words
Until you have spoken three
I cannot say them
Until I have heard
Those three best words spoken to me
Then,my heart over-flows and I say them to you
As I hold you close; ‘I love you too’
This is wonderful.
They are the best, so sweet Janet!
words that carry the day like this poem transports us
amazing inspiration for best words
Absolutely!
Sweet!
Aw, love this!
Oh so romantic, Janet!
To My Delight
the best of you came late
to make me smile
the best of was never fake
never under stress or guile
the best of you came to call
three days in June as I recall
the best of you is early now
each morning new and you my view
Jane Penland Hoover
November 20, 2011
So sweet, Jane.
Jane, this is lovely.
thanks for reading
Nancy
So nice and special to have the best of someone!
’s
we each taken years to get here:)
Simple bliss!
those moments ones worth remembering
Best Girl I ever Saw
She’s there on the beach,
So perfectly formed yet undeniably unarguably forever out of my reach,
I survey secretly from the sand,
My characterless countenance I can’t help but bitterly acknowledge and
understand,
Intrinsically weak,
Unable to speak,
Bullied at school,
And now an illiterately clumsy ugly retarded fool,
From birth to this fate I’ve raced,
Nothing but drugs and booze and frenzied fists have I faced,
And yet,
Something inside reset,
The day I saw her eyes,
Surprise,
All the old pain fled,
A new one flooded in instead,
She’s just over there,
But I’m worthless so I’ll just stay here and stare,
Silently sojourned I sit,
Rejected alone untouchable unfit,
A faceless silhouette,
A subject for an instagrammers atmospheric vignette,
And as the people ‘like’ no-one will know,
Just how low a human spirit can go…
Captured perfectly.
strong imagery and sense of separation delivered through this one
So sad. So human. So many experience in so many ways. Bless your heart.
These lines are so today:
A faceless silhouette,
A subject for an instagrammers atmospheric vignette,
And as the people ‘like’ no-one will know,
Just how low a human spirit can go…
This is a real sign of the times!
Absolutely, Patricia.
Sad and beautiful at the same time. Wonderful poem.
“silently sojourned I sit” – Love that line.
Robert, a fun attempt at a triolet
Maybe it can soon be the best ever. Who knows?! 
Top two?
That’s new..
Inspired
by the best
Out came
the rest best
The Best Ever Music: Night’s Music
The Best Ever Poem..
The best ever poem I wrote,
was the first one I penned.
It came without me thinking,
without a prompt to guide,
without a mask put to hide,
my heart and its every beat.
this one my inspiration for mine today – like the smooth swift flow of yours
Amen!
Leo- One of your best = )
thanks for the visit to my little blog and the appreciation here too, Laurie
You’re welcome and thank you.
SO TRUE! We are living it… Thanks for this thought today, Leo! I write and then read but our poems are on the same page today!
’s
Happens
glad you liked mine Hannah. will read yours soon.
Thanks! I guess the breathing in mine and the heart-beating of yours is what made me relate our poems to each other. Smiles!
Wonderful words!
Thank you!
Great, Leo. I wonder if all poets think that? My first ever poem was a haiku in French, and I’m fond of it for that reason, but don’t think it was my best ever! I think one of my best ever moments was reading that first acceptance of something I’d written.
Robert – you have my sympathy: last Sunday we were driving for ever, and it takes a while to recover. Your poor triolet deserves my sympathy, too!
Maybe, but I feel it best coz it came without pushing
I’m fond of it coz it got me started on an endless journey of exploration. Thanks Viv.
Heartfelt one, Leo. I like it.
Leo, I have to agree with Jane and Marie, this inspires!