*W*hen children are born it's a wonderous thing.
*H*earing it's cry opens mothering love.
*E*very new heartbeat reminds us of spring.
*N*ew life, new hope from creator above.
*A*nyone being there, around this place
*C*herishes memories, stores more to last.
*H*oarding the smile of an innocent face,
*I*nter-relating with memories past.
*L*earning to know a wind-grin from a smile
*D*eepens the contact and makes us feel great.
*I*n these deep moments we all have a while
*S*miling and cooing to try and translate.
*B*ut all the laughter and joy that we know
*O*pens in us 'cause a child made it so.
*R*ight at the start when it made our heart sing,
*N*obody questioned this feeling of love
*I*f we looked closer it would make our heads ring
*T*o know what a treasure we've got from above.
*I*n wiser moments, that sweet little face
*S*orts our soul-searching, erases our past.
*A*ll of our failings will go to a place,
*M*ended by one little smile that is vast.
*I*n one split second they cure us of bile,
*R*ages are buried and anger can wait.
*A*fter a while we just echo that smile,
*C*ured and forgetting all thought that was hate.
*L*et us give thanks for this wonder, and know
*E*very miracle child helps us grow.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Apr 2019
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They strayed below the greening hills to love. He'd show her how,
When breezes raised her tumbling hair and kissed her fevered brow,
to rise above and float the larks suspended in the air
who'd sing the tune of wakening upon the lady fair.
They warbled tunes of ancient things that could not stay her feet
upon the meadow. Feathered wings the right percussion beat.
She danced a pathway to the place whereon he was to lie
with her, there slide himself upon her body, 'till they'd cry.
He watched, enchanted, as the wind took up his favoured place,
Soft kissing breaths upon her skin blushed bright her shy young face.
The sun burst cloud. Its brilliant hue glass-stained her eyes, to flame
the rivers bubbling in her veins, Ignite her pliant frame.
Dried grasses scratched their love lines on her legs. As she spun round
shed scattered seeds upon her thighs. Her laugh the only sound
above the rustling of the leaves, where bowing trees swayed near,
to catch and brush her wind-frilled skirts, and whisper in her ear.
Quite shaken with the wonder of this ecstasy, she lay
upon the flowers, trembling still, and pondered their display.
She sprawled now cooling limbs, then to restore a measured calm,
raised limp lids. Seeing him still there, she lifted outstretched palm.
The beauty of her graceless gait aquiver, filled his eyes,
near burst his heart asunder, as he helped his love to rise,
all glowing still. She whispered low, "pure beauty led the way".
He, smiling, acquiesced, conceding nature her foreplay....
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2019
About this poem:
This is a poem about the power of nature on ssensuality.
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Anger
I look at you and cannot see
the light that used to shine from me
when I beheld the beauty of your grace.
The love that oozed from every pore
I laid so sweetly at your door
is gone when I behold your precious face.
I ache from every wretched bone
internalising when alone
my anger at your going from this place.
When severing all ties, you swore
my grandchildren I'll see no more,
now ire-filled I am lonely in disgrace.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2019
About this poem:
I wrote this 10 years ago when my daughter cut me from her life. I haven't seen her or my precious grandchildren since. I've obviously worked through the pain, but the memory lingers.
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A
single
u n i t y,
a oneness, all
encompassing, sums
everything we now own.
Possessions of no value
defining how we are assessed.
Judged, without the monad of our souls
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2019
About this poem:
Definition poetry as the word suggests, defines the subject.
Triangular poems, are one of the shapes you can make a poem conform to, in shape or concrete poetry.
Nonets are poems of nine lines, where the first line is one syllable, and you add one syllable to each subsequent line, until the ninth line has nine syllables.
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Bird Table (Nature) Haiku
Icy lacy frost
blankets Holly bush and tree,
Graces berry feast.
Sky Art (Colour) Haiku
Crimson wisps blood-stain
azure's fading sky to paint
dusk's art at sunset.
Tall Order (Animal) Haiku
Legs all sprawled askew.
Yards of neck enmeshed in thorn.
Delicate giraffe.
Despair (Emotion) Senryu
Anguish, held too long.
Wracking sobs and flowing tears.
Eyes implore. Arms fall.
Today (Open Choice) Senryu
Baby born today.
Text said: "Girl, black hair. All well!"
Could be monkey too.
I Am. (Tanka)
Set me a challenge.
Give me a reason to know
something that I don't.
When I can master it once,
Then I'll show you who I am
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Apr 2019
About this poem:
Senryu is a Japanese form of short poetry similar to haiku in construction: three lines with 17 or fewer morae (or on) in total. However, senryu tend to be about human foibles while haiku tend to be about nature, and senryu are often cynical or darkly humorous while haiku are more serious. Unlike haiku, senryu do not include a kireji or verbal caesura (cutting word), and do not generally include a kigo, or seasonal word.
It is often said that both haiku and senryu can be funny, but that if it’s funny, it’s probably senryu. Both haiku and senryu can be about nature, but if it’s about nature, it’s probably a haiku. In addition, both haiku and senryu can be about nature or human nature. Both haiku and senryu can be serious or humorous/satirical. A serious poem about nature is certainly a haiku. And a funny/satirical poem about human nature is certainly a senryu.
Tanka consist of five units (often treated as separate lines when transliterated or translated), usually with the following mora pattern: 5-7-5-7-7.
The 5-7-5 is called the kami-no-ku (“upper phrase”), and the 7-7 is called the shimo-no-ku (“lower phrase”).
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In childhood, as granny pummelled dough,
I used to play in sun's dust-moted ray
While she would ask me, " do a dance for me?"
Then I would gather dreams from near and far
And twirl around because she loved me. So
I felt as if her home was Shangri-la.
My granny's house was always Shangri-la
On those warm Sundays, while she made bread dough
For farmer's sons, who'd eat a loaf or so
Each day, while watching weather for sun ray
or rain, that in this climate ne'er was far.
It never mattered either way to me.
She'd sing a verse or two and then ask me
To do my party piece in Shangri-la.
These memories now seem so very far
Since granny lilted while she proved the dough.
Then as we'd wait, we'd walk in sun's last ray
Across the meadows, then she's hug me so
I'd know we had a bond. I loved her so.
Then back again, just letting me be me,
She'd take the dough and put it in the "Ray"
To cook the loaves that scented Shangri-la,
That new-bread smell that wafted from the dough
Which drew her friends and neighbours, near and far.
The cousins and the uncles lived quite far.
They walked there,all a-suited,looked just-so.
For Sunday evenings and the smell of dough
Brought promises that cheered both them and me.
All sang and danced and drank in Shangri-la
Until the mountains let through dawn's first ray.
When granny'd take more bread out of the "Ray"
To feed the ones who had to walk so far,
To see them on their way from Shangri-la.
My family would also go and so
Gran 'd put some sugar on some bread for me
So I'd not cry, and miss that smell of dough.
To see the sun's ray or to smell some dough,
My dreams still stretch far, bring all back to me,
I find Shangri-la, and it comforts so...
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Apr 2019
About this poem:
Sestina
A complex French verse form, usually unrhymed, consisting of six stanzas of six lines each and a three-line envoy. The end words of the first stanza are repeated in a different order as end words in each of the subsequent five stanzas; the closing envoy contains all six words, two per line, placed in the middle and at the end of the three lines. The patterns of word repetition are as follows, with each number representing the final word of a line, and each row of numbers representing a stanza:
1 2 3 4 5 6
6 1 5 2 4 3
3 6 4 1 2 5
5 3 2 6 1 4
4 5 1 3 6 2
2 4 6 5 3 1
(6 2) (1 4) (5 3)
I decided to link the end words as versions of the words for musical notes, or words that sounded like them.
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A crow
black's darkest hue,
jet wings aflame with night,
obsidian and ebony,
lit, here.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Apr 2019
About this poem:
Stresses Per Line
The first line has one stress, which was usually iambic meter with the first syllable unstressed and the second stressed.
Line two has two stresses.
Line three has three stresses.
Line four has four stresses.
Line five has one stress.
Syllables Per Line
Following the invention of this form, Crapsey made changes to the form and included a certain number of syllables per line.
Line one had two syllables.
Line two had four syllables.
Line three had six syllables.
Line four had eight syllables.
Line five had two syllables.
There are other forms of cinquain but I liked this one.
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My lover's eyes are crossed, wave to and fro,
His nose, an ogre's ridge, much to the fore,
I send him out each day and hope he'll go
And not come back 'till this lifetime is o'er.
His skin is dire and pitted like a grid,
Wild hair all matted as a rabid dog,
Great forehead huge, yet pea-sized in the id
And voice that would offend a deafened frog.
To his ablutions he won't give a fig.
He reeks of cat's pee and of fouled roe, fried.
His fingernails would be just cause to dig,
Yes, on his stinking clothes fleas catch a ride!
Yet forged in his intent to spare the rod,
A caring heart, that plain, was wrought of God
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Nov 2018
About this poem:
It's not about what's on the outside.
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At yelping speed she travelled
across an emerald lawn,
pursued by gnarling nightmares
as the darkness nipped the dawn.
Her ears, amber triangles,
bush glittering crystal dew,
body sleek with rivulets,
glowed red with exhaustion's hue.
Her heart palpating bass drums
and panting loud, fit to burst,
'glimpsed a shadow by the gate,
Her escape route surely cursed.
A lolloping great mastiff
of the Herculean type
roused apathetic eyelids
to investigate the hype.
No options left, the vixen
hugged the ground, then made a leap
to clear canine and gate and
safely saunter home to sleep.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Mar 2019
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"What IF" I'd tell my thinking,(IF my old brain could be told),
the little "IF" word wasn't there?, Would we have thoughts to hold?
Imagination would be gone IF we did not have "IF",
then conversation would stagnate and intellect be stiff.
"IF only" would not be our cry, when we were feeling sad
and what IF "what IF"s weren't so? Then no dream to be had.
"I would" would also be defunct, IF "IF" could not be there.
We'd only have, "I will", "I did", "I do", or "I don't care".
How limiting without our "IF"!, What possibles we'd lose!
We'd have to forfeit logic and our basic right to choose
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Mar 2019
About this poem:
The importance of such a little word...
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I stand beside a carp filled lake like glass,
A place where fairies oft flit to and fro.
You would not like my job so well, although
I do it for the Upper Middle Class.
My job is to amuse Sir's family,
Look cute, as I stand there , all two foot nine,
Red pointed hat atop my head so fine
and little gnome house built beneath the tree.
This morning when the sun soft lit the sea
My grunts and roars all through the vale arose,
When Sir attacked me with a garden hose.
The rude device was meant to make me pee.
The fairies hid for fear they would be next,
No longer laughing now that Sir seemed vexed.
~~~~~~~~~~~
He had a mind to make me water seeds.
His sprinkler system did not far extend,
So figuring to use me to that end
He plumbed, to let my tinkler do the deeds.
By noon my old wheelbarrow was long gone.
The Koi looked on quite open-mouthed with shock
As water gushed from out my hat and sock
While Sir's expletives just went on and on.
The afternoon was similar 'till three
When Sir struck gold with piece of copper plate
With which he prodded, worked on long past eight,
A drill producing functionality.
All done! Too late for him to see, Alas!,
The "pee" was squirting out my blushing a**
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2018
About this poem:
A little fun with the sprinkler...
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Blushing puce, cheeks all aglow,
Is there something I should know?
Dancing fingers, fidget, twirl,
What's afoot my Angel Girl?
Sold your sister? Flushed old Ted?
Ate a hole in my new bread?
Sliding glance, you must have done
Something that you oughtn't Hon.
What's that Darling? None of those?
Now you're twiddling your toes!
Must be bad! Now let's go look!
Is it something that you took?
Ah! There's Jimmy, from next door.
What's he doing on my floor?
Stole a kiss! Did he? Oh Dear!
Whispered sweet things in your ear.
No he WON'T do that again,
Now he thinks you're quite insane!
Iron fist in velvet glove
Is what I said! Not IRON GLOVE!
Let me see if he's OK?
Oh My! Jimmy! What a day!
Now you're puce all over too
From the beating she gave you.
Now SHAKE HANDS to show you care.
You're non-the-worse for wear and tear.
Lesson learned from this event?
Kisses aren't ALL Heaven Sent!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2018
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This is a list of GingerGee's Poems. Click here for GingerGee's Poem List