Cecropia, transported through the night
on satin wings lined white in their design,
hovers over innocence by moon’s shine.
A fragrant bloom has stopped him in his flight,
and on a petal he prepares to light.
He ceases fluttering so as to dine
on that sweet nectar of his valentine.
And I alone am witness to this sight.
The moth and orchid's union gladdens me
as wayside, I am frozen where I stand,
for what I've found, though simple it may be,
has purpose and is nothing short of grand.
Now captured by the beauty that I see,
I let my net slip gently from my hand.
For Brian Strand's "Any Poem of 2011" Contest
Past portraits of ancestral knowing
keep our knowing alive through folk lore,
traditional lore is still showing,
habits showing convention before.
Observance comes before each pathway,
bygone pathway shows how we live now,
what manifests now is our new day,
where each day displays what fates allow.
Customs allow us our connection,
our connection to past is esteemed,
ancestors esteemed by protection,
the protection of what we have dreamed.
We achieve what we dreamed at long last
made to last through the rites of our past.
The moon doth appear in that dark horizon
And glistens with a beam of drifting light.
Let thy passions stroll with the companion
Of forlorn hovering clouds in moonlit night.
O Nature, sing not thy lonesome songs again
For I doth find a friend in each of thy cells.
I rejoice in thy touch even in wrecked pain
And my life hath mend its stuttering wheels.
Dazed weariness once mocked my forlorn being
Ere it came unto thy shelter, Mother Nature!
Whilst my morale dips in bosom, come and sing
A song of Love that warmeth every creature.
Nature hath a bliss that drenches our dry mind,
Pouring tender showers amidst the roughest wind.
(This is the first time I have tried to write a Sonnet, so, please pardon my shortcomings)
Scent of change upon the breeze,
as we bid farewell to Summer.
Hear the softly spoken murmur,
of leaves changing in the trees.
The cooler nights begin to tease,
as we reach for blankets, warmer.
We try to stave off Winters rumour,
in the last warm days we seize.
The moon's harvest ring shines bright,
seems to be made of a bed of talcum.
Homes are sheltered, windows shut tight,
yet emit a feeling of welcome.
Wood smoke lends its flavor to night,
as I walk in the birth of Autumn.
For the contest; September-Your Choice
Sponsored by Brian Strand
The fierce, graceful tiger
(a fearsome, wild beast)
is not meant as dinner
for someone's lavish feast.
The giant, harmless whale
(a great, ocean mammal)
won't survive or prevail
against ruthless people.
All Earth's feral creatures,
of land, the sky, and sea,
are here as our teachers
and life's diversity.
Save man's endangered worth
and restore God's good Earth.
I stand upon our Makakilo hill
And gaze toward the valley calm and still.
The brilliant sun will soon be rising high
Morphing rays of gold in the twilight sky.
The clouds are rimmed in light as Sol ascends.
Another day in paradise begins—
As birds begin their chorus in the trees
Our flag waves softly in Hawaiian breeze.
A floral scent embraces humid air
Of heaven's divine fragrance sweet and fair.
I love to rise before the dawn each day
Enriched by nature's wonders as I pray.
I see the good in all mankind and know
That peace will come to nations as we grow.
Happy Easter to Everyone!
< enticing to eyes watching mama's pink roses bloom
fourty years later someone else now cares for them
fresh cut daily and seen in her arms their long stems
tears streaming down face I sit under swollen moon
waiting watching for sun to come up again soon
to catch one more glimsp of mama's planted old gems
unfurling petals before been chopped or condemned
think I'll ask if can take one for my dining room
aroma bursting amidst thy supper's table
bowed heads we come and thank our Heavenly father
somebody still cared though sick and times unable
and answers it's door for which one has come bothered
to let bask in roses empowering fable
and not to be called as it's one's roses robber
French Sonnet is a poem with rhyme scheme
Of ABBAABBA and CDCDCD
Or ABBAABBA and CDECDE
Syllable count is 12 syllable per line.
Rivers roll, across the lands
and their song is heard, by many ears.
While oceans roll, upon the sands
and cry their crystal tears.
The tides will help to cleanse the earth;
sand-showers; they are free.
Though ocean-lands, may have a wide girth;
the tides will find it, yes siree!
Water is the source of life;
a precious, roaming gift.
A lack of water, produces strife
and sands, they cannot shift.
So pray, the rain, will always come.
To water’s music; life must hum.
Sonnet From the Porch.. on Geese
Why linger still upon an ice bound pond
lone feathered symbol huddled warm and dry
dine upon the fresh sweet sprouting frond
unable to assault the fleeing sky.
Bloodline circle beckons join the draft
can nature’s simple truth become undone
weary wings abandon ageless craft
passing on the future to the young.
I cannot travel with them all their days
nor burden gaggle with slow flapping wings
while longing for the feel of old sun rays
watch as they depart for future springs
Thus rendered faster in their flight
seeking out their day and I my night.
John G. Lawless
A fall wind just did recon down the trail.
It's midsummer, this wind did not belong.
Cold, from the North, it noted all detail
of the terrain, although it didn't stay long.
I caught it unawares as it wove in
and out of trees still green and flowers strong
with scent, grasses while gold had life wthin
Bugs and butterflies still work all day long.
It must have noted that the blackberries were
just starting to ripen, a little slow
to be sure, and the stream was still a lure
to small boys walking against its down flow.
Could it be this wind's report will reveal
summer weak, and that fall will soon prevail?
April 28, 2010
My Super Sonnet
Multiple overwhelming thoughts trample upon me in a wild way.
Stunned as well as in awe I am compelled to rise upon my own.
So then I thought no possible way, I will have to be overthrown.
Yes, I definitely have to be thrillistically creative every single day.
Now I am living it and now I know excellence so longer I stay.
Yeah, I do have it going on and got it all nailed to a white stone.
You see, now it is on! I’m sizzling hot up on my game full-blown.
Yes, yes, yes, we are on some kind of fire would you like to play?
I am going to think about you on this full moon.
Maybe you have dug yourself into a cozy grave.
Maybe you like the way I situate myself so soon.
Maybe its resistible greed or I’m just that brave!
Look! I’m feeling you out bringing you my super sonnet, a tat for tit.
Indeed! I’m your full spread of Par-Kay or Blue Bonnet, I’m up on it!
® Registered: Ann Rich 2010
< amidst grass carpet he plays
long ears bushy tail white paws
nibbles bulbs munches away
poor little thing had some flaws
hides hair braided and despaired
didn't stop this little guy
thought to self this wasn't fair
bowed head and started to cry
nectar is what he had sought
on this hopeful days journey
not to be trapped or be caught
or carted off on gurney
Mister Nibbles came to play
In garden's bedding today
Those that must have fled the alien shore
or sought respite at home, secure
in knowledge that when the time is right
they will resume their never-ending fight
The piccturesque masks danger deep within,
ice covered pools with surfaces too thin
to bear the weight of unsuspecting feet,
a thin white line where sky and landfall.
And yet, hope springs eternal year by year -
a Christmas rose, all white, will oft' appear
to contrast with the red of robin's breast,
both with with the strength to fight the Winters' test.
Against the harshest elements to stand
another year, just as nature planned.
A canvas high and felt traced tips
With background broad and tint azure
None posed in space with limbs being clipped
The sketch of liberty one saw
When pillars then in holes are tucked
Sore eyes in Gaya’s comfort seek
While plumes of sentiment are plucked
Love lingers on in love’s mystique
Time let the warble low to swoop
And beak like marble gloss to shine
Thoughts flicker on life’s endless stoep
In tandem with the sun that mimes
That morn when words and wheels are cleansed
Found true and veiled in mortal condensed.
A gentle being, is the rose;
though its nails can be quite sharp.
The lovely flower, I suppose;
controls the human heart.
For valentines, it bleeds so red;
for mother’s, yellow sun.
All will bow their lovely heads;
once their day is done.
Their fragrance, it will mesmerize;
all those who are near.
It doesn't matter, what their size;
lovers, they draw near.
So much more regal than the rest;
the rose, is nature’s family crest,
Keeping—the Syllable Count
Knowing—How to Rhyme
This – is—What keeps is a—Sonnet
Annoying – Iambic—Line
Constantly – Chiming—and Gushing
Blowing—in Merciless – Gusts
And Yet—Still always reminding
Attend to it—While it lasts
Stemming from – Nature’s Rebellion
Or – Simply—Pressuring Air
Or If it’s Heaven—is Gentle
Just Quietly—Whispering There
Flying and Swimming—in Space
Gliding—with the – Utmost Grace
A wakening to days with longer hours,
evening sun to dry the April showers,
and bluebell carpets through the woods appear
as if by magic, Summer's almost here.
The early morning skyline filled with song,
when one bird starts the others sing along,
harmonic chorus echoing the dawn,
inspiring life from seed and egg and spawn.
The colours grow to brighten each new day.
Laughter rings out from children at their play.
A clatter made by man pervades the air
form mower, trimmer, harvester and share.
A time to reap the largesse from the land
in preparation, just as Nature planned.
When the winter winds have stole
their shivered breath,
And warmer now, snow is shed,
what lovely can bring when it sings;
(From mountains deep to waken sleep)
And gather the birds to their blossomed boughs,
singing their elated woody sounds,
(gently loitering in elder trees)
speckled chirps in forest green
Neath budding Sylvan mistletoe
the earth is born-again,
returns this ditty of long ago
(til rejoicing in leafy worlds)
Newly adopted toddlers mourN
Indemnity as locus standI
Event invites the employeE
Rodeo on the wealthy riveR
And the black gold run et ceterA
Nobles with black gold gains remaiN
Spectacles of other specieS
Opener ramains incognitO
Ne'er-do-well holds the horN
No one remembers the mooN
Expatriate the extra farE
Teach the gospel momenT
Gentle Wind Sonnet
East wind blew this far south today
gusts that soothed my weary soul
There at my sweet spot on the bay
sitting there in tree filled knoll
Songbirds singing to Spring's step
a melody of sun's splashing light
Beauty so fantastic I openly wept
dreading days ending into the night
Blossoms giving that fragrant smell
jostling branches right in tune
As if the earth rejoices to tell
fair weather right on into mid-June
Wind gusts that eased my old pains
gentle ones bringing no hard rains!
Robert J. Lindley, 04-25-2015
you should have seen the stars last night, my love,
how brightly they were shining in the skies!...
no spot in the canopy from above
was light-less!...such enchantment for the eyes,
the heavens seemed embroidered all with gems
and all that splendor left me stoned, in awe...
it felt like all the angels' diadems
were spreading down their light, so bright and raw!...
I could have spent entirely the night
by flying all my dreams towards the sky
and staring at that all enthralling sight
that kept on drawing me sigh after sigh...
but watching stars without you by my side
felt as if I was bare on the inside...
I must build a shelter, to fight off the cold.
A rugged fortress lest poachers return –
My bloody blazer, now, filthy fivefold!
I am shivering cold; fire won’t burn.
I stealthily creep seeking higher ground.
With every fear a worn mind can churn,
I crawl beneath some trees; more wood is found.
Two bundles, brushwood: birch twigs, logs, to burn.
I build a warm blaze upon the bare earth.
Then, cook up some vittles: vermin and fern.
While feeding my hunger, I loosen my girth.
Then, see a mineshaft; my hope starts to yearn.
Distantly hidden, completely unmanned.
Through the north woods I come, my bow in hand.
Seeing as how Georgia has mountains
That rise above the beautiful coast
Mountains gather snow some winter morns
Helen is quietly nestled there
Gold was found in those hills long ago
Still being mined today in Dalton
The blasts are felt at night__slight rumble
Gold awaits__the huge vein there they say
Down at coast awaits a day of play
Fun in the sun or boat ride on marsh
See the Dolphins greeting dance at river
Savannah Beach for a day or stay
Georgia has variety mountains high
Coastal plains____I can not complain
Every second passes by me unseen
But I can feel the weight of one minute
After each hour my mind becomes keen:
That these days are adding up bit by bit.
Each week my personality alters
A year goes by and my mind starts to twist
Decades pass and it seems as time falters,
My mentality gets lost in time’s mist.
Yet when I am with you the clock stands still
If only I could exploit these feelings
I could stop the sands of time at my will
But I’m not capable of these dealings
Time now steals what I already forgot
My mind starts to fade but our love will not
My love, you are the fountain of my youth
In steps and stones and sacred shrines of truth
Sitting afloat the pureness of the air
You glow at night and with-in light you glare
A kiss from you is like an ancient tea
That heals thy all from head to heart and knee
Your beauty is the music nature plays
As rainbows rise and decorate your rays
Without your love methinks I might decay
And blue skies would exist forever grey
And nature would have no melodic tune
Thus winter would appear itself in June
If any a man was blessed, it would be me
If anything is pure, your love would be
Our species stands against her tidal flows,
Yet revels in the beauty of her pow’r,
Too fast we live to see what gently grows,
Then cuss her name when it seems all turns sour.
We think we know better than Mother Earth,
Our dirty ways the ones that should now be,
But she it is that gave all life its birth,
From mountain tops to deep within the sea.
In summer’s breeze we want her soothing touch,
Yet whinge and moan if winds then blow a gale,
Or winter’s snows affect our lives too much,
But nature knows she must balance the scale.
To look with joy upon her sacred face,
It is her divine ways we must embrace.
Form: English Sonnet
What inward sight illuminates our way -
Whose lucid eye can all the ages span -
To see the Mystic Law that holds its sway
Beyond the endless birth and death of Man?
The luminary moon, when night is done,
Still rules the tides, though the daylight hides it.
The lotus always turns to face the sun
And yet what blossom eye ever guides it?
The cross-eyed men with intellect adorn
Their intuitions - blind who lead the blind -
The common mortals - blind when they were born -
With doubtful eyes that Truth could never find.
We look - we stare - we gaze and gaze - but we,
With sightless eyes, forever fail to see.
– Harley White
< October 6, 1999 >
Great grin, glow, O glow, ‘til grizzled I grow, humming
Brightly bring bliss back before boredom burns me black
My morn muse minding merry mountains’ moulded rock
Tantalizes thoughtless thought that taunts thoughtless thing
Lulling, longing, life with you, my love lives each day
Whispering wind warmly wheeze words o’ awe, I feel
Forever, firm beauty you own, as always will
Be beauteous blossom, bed o’ boredom stays at bay
Dearest darling, don’t dare dry honeyed aroma
Tempest thorns o’ thunders though sure to us they throw
Yet, you-- yodelled youth o’ yore to death not to sow
And, Angels adore you-- Clematis Cirrosha
Let love o’ mine, for you, flow in the darkest night
Heart diamond o’ thine, how precious is your light
I imagine myself in no other way
in no other time, or place.
I imagine myself gazing upon
no other smile, or face.
I imagine myself amongst the stars
long after life has leapt
From within this empty shell of mine
and aside you, I have crept.
The moon in all her glory,
Grins long and loud and pure.
I see no fault or blemish in you,
I give my heart in exchange for yours.
To spend away eternity
beneath the gaze of forever.
Wrapped in a love so deep and tight
not even time can sever.
Silver lining hides bold spider in tow
Remaining firm to particular state
Though whispered soft winds causes lines to fro
Forever true its bond to blanched white gate
Strong, therefore, the cord of this spider’s silk
Spinning correct, for it’s done in great deed
Although the roses, now scentless, will wilt
Steadfast silver web is not easily freed
Perfection, the master’s making is clear
It’s intent, to harbor a fine, good meal
Although you remove it in reckless fear
Spider shall rebuild its striking appeal
The delightful web requests no grand dread
High regards from me in spider’s great thread