If You Ever Build a Playground

If you ever build a playground                                                            
Make it a place for real playing
Fill it with soft, soft sand                                                                                                   

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Let the children feel the earth
Sand in their shoes
Sand in their socks
Sand between their toes
Let them jump down to earth
And feel earth’s arms
Catching them as they land
Of standing firmly, grounded
Let them push off on the soil
Finding trust in the hand
That gently releases them from earth
As they soar higher
Let their feet bore into the earth
As they push off on the soil
Freezing the swing in motion
Clasping the sand between fingers
Of the sensation of wet or dry
Of generous Mother Earth
Running through their fingers

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Let them walk barefooted
And feel the cradling fingers
Of the hot sand tickling
Their barefooted feet
Exclaiming and squealing
Let them climb and fall gently
Let them communicate with soil
They will be very normal for it
Just be nimble, quick to move
Be the comforter, but let them return
If you ever build a playground
Make it a place for real playing
I saw a scary playground once
It saddened, disquieted me
Completely cemented grounds
Dangerous to fragile bones


--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

I Ate Georgia First

Heroic northern counties celebrated inspired historical fathers
Cobb, Jackson, Gordon, Madison, Oglethorpe
Lincoln, Fulton, Gwinnett caused pride-swollen hearts
Midrange counties focused Washington with spotlight
Glowing amidst one hundred fifty-nine lesser stars
Double-booked city and county reservations
No wonder all are confused
Edible southern counties reminded naming fathers
Hunger inherent in daunting tasks
Hunger corrupted prideful naming
Hence I ate Georgia unwillingly

One Early morning, Cook dripped Long, Crisp Bacon
On paper plates Miller made and cup to drink Macon
Worth the Coffee poured in Pierce(d) Clay Ware
Baker of sweet Peach cobbler geared for a Tift
Agreed to Clinch the deal with apple pie
A McIntosh yanked off fertile orchard
Delectable Pike from Brooks filled bellies
Grilled with luminous Twiggs raging with fire
Stationed on Banks with a Seminole and a Hart
Taylor sewed, Webster wove Bibb for anyone
Candler and Dooly used to carry our wounded
Who could not sit on the Butt in mess Hall

Our leader, a Baldwin, caused female fainting fits
Forming a Troup(e) and a Dade like children
Had to Dodge fast while Fannin’ our wounded
Not for the fainthearted, no Quitman here
Sharp-toothed Talbot smelled danger near the Stewart
Crossing many Towns, noises near we Heard
Enemies swore to fill us with Jones
And we, unwilling to give in to Burke
Clutched priceless Jasper fiercely
A Muscogee, a Turner sharpened weapons
Defending Liberty, we chanted, “Emanuel!”
Phew! Glad I ate Georgia first
Couldn’t handle all that on empty stomach

©2011Francesohanenye, all rights reserved.
(I read this humorous poem at the Georgia Writers' Association's end-of-year party on 12/10/2011. It contained the names of 56 Georgia counties out of its 159!)

--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

It Is Not in How Long

It is not in the how long
But in the how well
Not in how long you study
But how much retained
Not how long you worked
But how pleasing the fruit of labor
Not how long you spoke
But how much impact the words
Not in how long you searched
But how quickly the aim you found

If it were in how long,
I’d be the ruler of this earth
For I’ve been on this earth
A mighty, mighty long time

It is how in well I’ve lived on this earth
I’ve tried to live well in it
Not to hurt it by any measure
To leave it better than I found it
I have aspired to live well in it
To befriend my fellow humans
And cause a change somehow
I have tried to make a difference
In the hopes and plans of youth
Who come my way yearly
So they’ll see better than I saw
So they’ll pass on liberally to all
A kinder, kindlier, gentler
More loving, more peaceful earth
It is not in how long at all
It is in how well you lived

--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

Bitterleaf Sophistication

Yearning to be different
To feel, smell, do differently

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A mark of one needing distinction
It required more effort to taste right
Needing more time for cleanliness
Demanding more patience in preparation
Knowing in its veins its uniqueness
Giving the palate a kick
To notice its supreme occupancy
Giving the eye a view
To appreciate its darkest hue
Giving the fingers a chance
To play with its complexity
The bitterleaf knew its uniqueness
Standing aloof and askance

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Watching herself primped and prepped
Like a Hollywood superstar
But feeling differently
Doing things extraordinarily
Appreciated regally
Its sophistication unrivalled
Its uniqueness cherished
By the best of Nigeria’s chefs
By Nigeria’s discerning taste buds


©2005FrancesOhanenye, all rights reserved.

--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

Silver-Screen Life

My life flashed before me
Not at the eleventh hour of death
Nor at the point of loss
My life flashed before me
Reflected on the silver screen
I knew it when I saw it
How contented I’d be
Not the materialistic nature of it
But the just-being-there of it
Abundance of open rooms
Flimsy curtains playing in the wind
Dancing carefree in the breeze
Blown into my face caressingly
As I slid jauntily by
With sand between active toes
Collecting ocean bleached rocks
Pants knee-down wet
From shoreline escapades
Frolicking before the hairline
Border of the expansive blue
Pouring words tirelessly
Content just to sit and write
Days blending into nights
Getting nary a night’s sleep
I saw my life as it ought to be
I won’t rest until it is so


--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

May Is Turkey Breast

Satisfaction found in life’s little pleasures
Multiplies the joy of daily living
When all whom you love daily
Assemble in one peaceful place
Love shapes life ever so perfectly
Parents surrounded by growing children
Revel in common everyday things
Joy beams gloriously each morning
The future appears certain in itself

The months form own personalities
Like siblings following each other
Knowing where each falls in the
Birth chronicles of parents’ journal
The months formed own personalities
These months ruined each other
April, the month Mother left
Ruined Easter permanently
Like top of hardened bun
Its brick nature suffocating
June, the month Father passed
Leaving on Father’s Day exactly
Ruining that day for ever
Like hardened bottom bun choking
Whose brick nature blocks trachea

Rescuing softness squeezed in the middle
Month of sliced May, the meat
Appeasement for extremities
Of nutritious turkey breast, healthy
Giving brief respite from two months
Of heartaches and unfulfilled longings
Two abominable months of hopelessness
May, squeezed in wisely by God
Offers a reprieve from death’s stings
Merciless double blows punched
On each side of heart, face, sanity
Unrelenting in finality and cruelty
Thirty-one slices of turkey breast saved me
Taking it one slice at a time


--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

A Man Is Never Jealous

My man loves me
But he’d rather die
Than admit, say it
He demands my whereabouts
Questions where I’d been

Demands a print-out
Of my daily wanderings
A print-out from Map-Quest
Minute by minute journeys
Mile by mile excursions
Demanding who’s on my line
Attempts a quarantine
Dare I flirt
Watching every hip shift
Studying men’s faces
For the slightest interest
In my numerous body parts

He leaves me quickly
Returns a minute later
An attempt to catch me cheating
My man’s never jealous
Just drives himself insane
Worrying who’s going to steal me
Steal me from him

©2009FrancesOhanenye, all rights reserved.

--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

Cheating Tomorrow

Fortune shuns me wickedly
Fame and wealth make a mockery
This hope that flings itself scaling
As it shuffles on water-causing waves
Yet failing to come down, to cascade
To allow being held long enough
For the warmth, the feel of achievement
Fortune silently steals away like a thief
Embezzling hope, cheating tomorrow
Of dim lights refusing to shine
Into my forlorn soul should salvation
Dare to pounce like a tiger with grace
Belying the brilliance within
Once softened, the feel of smooth butter
Now hardened like a marble stone
Unpolished, unsellable, collecting dust
Yet the sounds emanating from sheaves
The peals resounding, lifting off the pages
Assure the certainty of fame and wealth
They shy away now, avoiding the clasp
The determined fists clenched, unclenched
Uncertainly, lacking guarantee
Resolute in faith, in hope, in the unseen
Refusing to give in, to be dismissed
Not to be finished with, not discarded
Clinging to heart strings tugging with hope
Dreams must live, must thrive abundantly
To dare, to be, to grow unrestricted
Waiting to be read, to be READ
Taking life, becoming real, REAL
Shouting gives it life, form, fame, wealth
Then shout, I must, for fame I seek
To cheat tomorrow


©2011FrancesOhanenye, all rights reserved.

--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

Eye Candy

Oh, this heart, this heart
Seeking affections in high places
Finding rejections in low places

This heart, this heart
Being broken constantly
Being mended infrequently
This heart, this heart
No longer desiring to be loved
Love pangs and love aches
Left serrated marks all over
This tender pulsating organ
A new mission I have found
Out of desperation to save
From things I want that hurt
From things I desire that bleed
A new mission I have found
To seek out the truly handsome
Truly dark and truly tall
Eye candy for a woman’s ego
Dressed up and dressed to kill
Not to love or be loved tenderly
To decorate the arm selfishly
Not with involvement of my heart
Eye candy for this woman’s ego
Can only last a short while
Before boredom settles intrusively
Demanding a real, real love
For now, the eye candy will do
Until true lasting love finds
My heart a weary soldier
Dreading the possible approach
Of love’s desirous loving war
An assault on my forlorn heart
For now, the eye candy will do
Until true lasting love finds me

©2011FrancesOhanenye, all rights reserved.

--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

Lost in New York

The beauty of New York City
Is in getting lost
Blocks and blocks
Of old and modern structures
Juxtaposed in checker boards
Blocks and blocks
Of faceless faces
Mingling and disentangled
Estranged and disenchanted
I walk unaware
Of the steps I have not taken
And those I have taken
Yet unaware of my environ
Pensive and disoriented
Avoiding contacts and hunched

The beauty of New York City
Is in getting lost
In myself
As I journey pensively
Unaware of richness and poverty
Kaleidoscopic colors and depressing blandness
Friendly strangers and strange friends
My legs synchronized
Not frozen but not hot
My hands ensconced in padded leather
Mildly tingling from sub-zero temperature
As I search through sheaves
For the solution on one
That holds the code
To restore my equilibrium

©2001FrancesOhanenye, all rights reserved.

--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

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I Touch Beauty Daily

I touch beauty daily in my mind, with my hands
In my heart, with my eyes, surrounded by heart’s beats
Blessings abiding with me
Choices sliding to me
Magnets of sweet creations find me in surprised awe
Unprepared for beauty visiting
Choices glide to me
Magnets of brilliance find me in wide-eyed quietude
Having drained all words from my tank of fluidity
Left me bereft of precision
In Nature’s abundant creations
In humble attempts at sane mixtures
I touch beauty daily in my mind, with my hands
In my heart, with my eyes, surrounded by heart’s beats
Blessings abiding with me
Choices gliding to me
I touch beauty daily



©2011FrancesOhanenye, all rights reserved.


"Paper Is Not Silent!" My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

Omg Cholesterol!

The doctor’s warning slaps
The food out of wanting mouth
A litany of what-nots and dangers
Killing my heart with high cholesterol

The tub of food proclaims a warning
To cholesterol-challenged organs
Omg cholesterol, chants it
My hand flew itself back
Like the child sensing stove fire
Omg, cholesterol! Omg!
Blood pressure shoots through the sky
Omg, cholesterol! Omg!
An alarm sets off
Scaring the daylights out of me!

Food manufacturer fails to label products well
Education takes care of that
Zero, not a sibling of the alphabet
Belonging to separate families, these two
Say after me, “Zero milligram cholesterol”
Again

Zero milligram cholesterol lowers LDL
Bad, bad lipoprotein,
You, Low Density Lipoprotein
Be gone from my heart
Give me zero milligram cholesterol

Scaring the daylights out of me!
Talking about Omg cholesterol!
Alphabet "O," not of the Number species

Scaring the daylights out of me!
Talking about Omg cholesterol!




©2011FrancesOhanenye, all rights reserved.

"Paper Is Not Silent!" My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

Magic

Abracadabra chanting
Mysteriously appearing
Faith is magic born
Faith is not questioning
Faith is believing
Faith defies explanation
God initiates the granting
Raining down impossibilities
Showering down abundance
On all the faithful
Believing in the magic of faith
Being awed by implication
Dazzled by numerous manifestations
Faith is magic nourished
Feeding inexplicable beliefs
Faith defies explanation


©2011Francesohanenye, all rights reserved.
"Paper Is Not Silent!" My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

Pearl Fever (A Villanelle)

A fever imprisons me; it’s not the common cold
Laced pearly dreams: breathing pearls, pearls
I keep fighting, but it’s gotten very bold

Purchasing pearl shoes and pearl ties now old
Soul-feeding necessities made of pearls
A fever imprisons me; it’s not the common cold

Glamour stole my money, spent, I am told
Pearls galore and mother of pearls in swirls
I keep fighting, but it’s gotten very bold

Hat of dangling pearl teardrops to behold
Causes tears and class as hair cascades full of curls
A fever imprisons me; it’s not the common cold

Pearl jewelry gains elevation into a centerfold
Striking poses and demeanor, twirls, and whirls
I keep fighting, but it’s gotten very bold

Pearl watches, bracelets hiding in sets of gold
Rings, earrings, chokers mangled, none unfurls
A fever imprisons me; it’s not the common cold
I keep fighting, but it’s gotten very bold

© 2011FrancesOhanenye
Poem appeared on Yahoo! Associated Content


"Paper Is Not Silent!" My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

Summertime Seven

Coming gently, hesitantly, like a considerate male
Unwilling to jingle jangled nerves, knowing he must
It comes softly around the bends
A tolerant smile for eyes' protection
Peeping playfully around the edges
To usher in a blessed blank future
Bounded by rose's eight compasses of hope
Harsh sun, rude riser, rebukes lollygagging
Anticipation has built clouds of skyscrapers
What unfolding dreams will unfurl!
From wished wealth unlived
Yet it shouts not long-awaited fulfillment
Like the nine o'clock usurper
Intrusively clamoring for headaches
It comes gently, lovingly
A cherished sense of self
An infectious personality
Who will not rouse happily
Throwing back body's duvet armor
To rise, to dare the day unshielded
To embrace a cool, blissful well water
Visiting kindly, lovingly at seven


Poem appeared on Yahoo's Associated Content
© 2005FrancesOhanenye, All rights reserved


"Paper Is Not Silent!" My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.