Featuring:) Giorgio Veneto
She writes about Fall's beauty in the rain
The falling raindrops' dance ascribing thence
Bespoken verse that lightens her refrain
before the time they met - her steps commence.
She listens to the soft and rhythmic thrum,
her love turned to escape and cloudy string
Where nimbus mistletoe fell, tears to become
Their kiss of Autumn was symbolic ring.
The first light cotton mists with summer rays
While skyward cheerful laughs adorn the land,
their ceremonial dance diffuses grays,
affectionate embrace, where dreams expand.
Upon September's sky the raindrops gleam
With half of hidden Sun to laugh and beam.
Enjoy the FRAGRANCE OF RAIN
FRAGRANCE OF RAIN
~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~
loudly inside my head,
roaring thunder rushing through my veins.
chaining me mesmerized,
hypnotizing with a mighty force.
thoughts are racing blindly
spilling into open nothingness.
only to rise again
as an eternal magical mist.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Nette Onclaud’s Contest:
Some form of Crystalline
White Crane And Beauty's Flight
White crane flying high overhead
swooping down to its feeding bed
Brilliant flash of gliding white
awesome in high circling flight
Shimmering water receives a guest
one bound with a hungering quest
Majestic beauty stops for a feast
as sun beams down from the east
Grace and calm marks its hot task
seeking prey beneath waters mask
Patience may just bring a reward
yet every hunt is so very hard
This scene, bird awaiting its meal
almost magic as its often surreal
Waters give up that precious dish
As white crane gobbles up its fish
To the blue skies it quickly goes
flashing its gleaming white shows
White wings beating slow and wide
destined to return next low tide
White crane leaving high overhead
quite content as its so well fed
Magnificent sight in the blue sky
fish flopping in the lake nearby
Robert J. Lindley
note : A dear friend asked me to write a poem about a beautiful bird.
And paint it in Nature as it would be most days.
I've always marvelled at the white cranes and their great white wings as
they fly by , so out came this write. Hope you may enjoy..
Listening peacefully to Bach I soar,
Above the clouds as a hawk I soar.
Lying on forests mossy floor,
Listening to natures talk I soar.
Watching geese fly south, encore,
Majestically beautiful flock I soar.
Knowing life has so much in store,
Answering its every knock I soar.
At times life is like a lions roar,
Standing as a solid rock I soar.
I shall hear natures call, and open its door,
Making sure that with every breath I soar.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Seeds of sorrow lay scattered along our path
so oft intertwined with Nature's wrath
Yet till the fields of dreams we simply must
for soon , so very soon we turn to dust
Green is the color of majestic newborn fields
as man enjoys fruits of earthen harvested yields
The sweat and pain given is the simple cost
thus we survive so ALL humanity is not lost
Life requires our own ground be rightly prepared
ignorance is the calamity so many are ensnared
We eat the dust long before we bake the bread
when we seek ease oft great sorrow we get instead
We plant our own seeds to dream to reap anew
yet we all pay, life is not free, tis so very true!
Robert Lindley, 10-01- 2014
note: Inspired by this morn's reading of Debbie Guzzi's
super fine poem , a great sonnet -- The Sowing
I give thanks for this inspiration and the joy in reading
both her sonnets this great morn. Certainly brought me
out of a slump and crazy haze these last few days..
Amazing how sometimes another poet can blow one away and change
another's entire attitude.
BLOSSOMS and BUBBLES
From aggregate supple stellar petals' smile,
spring fragrance bubble spiral free in the air,
their porcelain blossoms dash perfection flair;
suitors bee, beguile the flower by buzzing style,
the blooms' fingers rush to blushes beyond compare.
Bard wind began to sing to serenade the buds in grins
rosy petals breathe a gentle sigh, one long mile...
Afar, some girls and boys see these Belles so rare--
they blow their dreams to root in land fertile.
They hope like blossoms their dreams curve in peak
though trials, struggles may round and round peep
for soon as seasons rouse may their journey begin
To the times their life drifts, avoiding not to weep
These blossoms and bubbles psalm, wisdom speak
J.A. Fraser and O.E. Guillermo
9:37 pm, March 03, 2015
Walking by the river.
It was that kind of day
With the Spring Sun soft and warm
There was a kind of energy
That moved within my form
I could have walked the whole day long
As I felt me, natures pull
Oh Lord those river trails are beautiful.
I passed a group of roos
Who were grazing by the river
Some Parrots screeched above my head
And set my heart a quiver
And as those creatures gave their calls
A Kookaburra laughed
Oh how I love to walk that river path.
It was that kind of day
That you’d like to last for years
With the country air rich in my lungs
And my mind all calm and clear
I could have walked until I dropped
Along that river trail
Feeling good and living in the now.
16 September 2004
As night draws near
Gleaming in the silence
And the brightness of the sun
The trees beside the river
Are dancing, every one
Upon this cooling evening breeze
I’m lost in all of this
As river does reflect the all
My heart is filled with bliss.
Ravens flying overhead
They fill the silent air
With throaty caws, of loneliness
Their songs fills everywhere
With the breath of evening mystery
To herald the dusk in
As day does fade to darkness
The evening song begins.
I’m lost within the sweetness of
The dusks sweet, silent song
I think that it be in this darkness
That my soul does belong.
Bird songs come, then fade away
To be lost within the stillness
As darkness comes to fill the air
With the sweetness of it’s breath
In the depths of sweet serenity
The spirits come to play
And all the nymphs and fairy folk
Do dance the night away
31 October 2013 @ 0514hrs.
Fifteen tiny swallows
Fifteen tiny swallows
All perched upon a fence
Oh what handsome fellows
But here, let me commence
To speak of all their beauty
These tiny little birds
All black and cream with a reddish throat
Oh how my heart they stirred
A lady walking with her dog
Disturbed these little guys
So from the fence these birds take wing
And head towards the skies
It seems that they are dancing
In the way they fly around
They always seem to fly in circles
And nearly touch the ground.
I walk around these wetlands
And wonder at it all
Everyday it’s something else
And it’s all so beautiful
Ducks and swallows, parrots too
And the beauty of the lake
I love to walk there most of all
At the coming of the daybreak.
16 August 2013 @ 1510hrs.
I woke up at the break of dawn,
with the feeling that all hope is gone,
I was not sure where to begin,
but I was determined to win.
No dazzling stars,
no visible moonlight,
no chirping birds,
to tease my empty words.
I walked through the door with a subtle grin,
nursing bruises all over my skin.
I tried to escape yesterday’s punishment,
and saturate my mind with hope and fulfillment.
Walking down the dark empty street,
a cab stopped exactly at my feet,
I hired him to take me to the mountains,
to breath out the stagnant air
and repair my body’s wear and tear.
His grouchy voice thundered through my ears,
he spoke with a strange accent that I could hardly hear,
It passes through one ear, and suddenly it disappears.
We journeyed through sleeping towns,
they stared at us without a sound,
steep hills and rocky path,
bending streets and winding roads
dumping my burdensome loads.
He made a sudden turn,
and I felt a sensational yearn
spilling over in my soul.
Mother nature bursts from the horizon
and filled my heart with glad tidings.
Layers of mountains blink at me,
taking me up and down the gigantic tree
guiding me to my unseen dreams,
while patches of green and sun burnt grass
prepare the city for the morning mass.
I saw her bursting through the thick grey clouds,
and I stopped the car and spoke to her aloud,
I climb on top of a nearby rock,
and reached towards her and interlock.
I was just in time for the meeting,
Oh how my soul yearns for this healing.
Mother nature looked at me with a grin
she shook my hand,
and said, “where shall we begin?”
I lamented the troubles of my piercing heart,
and requested for a balance start.
What took you so long?
I know that you have been hurting all along,
and I have been waiting for you to prove them wrong.
“Worry no more,
I am going to fulfill the desires of your burning soul,
look around and tell me what you see,
observe carefully and you will agree.
Let me ignite your body and soul,
and sooth the sorrows that you bore,
and treacherous lies.
The meeting came to an end,
and I felt free again,
the peshmerga drove up the steep hill
and greeted me with goodwill
Dawn fully broke out into broad day light,
and filled my soul with joy and delight.
©2013 Christine Phillips
Everything goes round in circles.
Everything, it goes in circles
So why the worry all the time?
It seems to me all our impatience
It really is a blessed crime
Always frightened death will touch us
Thinking there is but one life
Fear is such a foolish action
Gets us all in so much strife.
In nature there is not a straight line
Straight lines just exist in mind
The seasons sun and moon above us
Look at them and you will find
That all of them go round in circles
Everything goes round and round
I have looked, it seems forever
And this is all I’ve ever found.
And so my friends just drop your worries
Don’t be foolish, live your life
Without the fear, and the impatience
These they cause you too much strife
Life goes on, it does forever
Take a look so deep within
To worry, worry till forever
This is such a blessed sin.
17 May 2014 @ 0745hrs.
Why aren’t we happy?
What is it in the most of us?
We are not how we should be
We should be like a singing bird
Who boldly, in the trees
Sings his song when fear is done
His life just flows along
He only knows the dance of life
So he just sings his song.
And yet we humans live our lives
Enfolded in our fears
Glorifying in the sad
And making this quite clear
As we always speak of doom and gloom
And watch it on TV
And always live our lives in fear
Is this the way it should be?
If only each would take a look
And see just what we be
We never see the flowers grow
Or let our hearts be free
Maybe it’s time to see the truth
Of what this life could be
If we look at life without the fear
And live with mystery.
6 August 2013 @ 1908hrs.
Oh sweet the forest path where I always meet tranquility,
Thoughts of peace that mingle with the sky above me;
A king has created a forest circle, a ring so calm,
An earthly realm, so heavenly and full of divinity and sanctity.
I draw out my muse and ponder in awe my life,
A princess born my parents tell me, now ageless is my spirit;
Roses red stab my fingers and I have bled into the earth,
And we the children of the world are free to find a path.
With him, the king and with prayers, soft, dim and whispered.
February 1, 2015
For the contest Plucky Two By Nine, sponsor Mystic Rose
Sneak up on their prey
very silent and deadly
don't get in their way.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
A new path is what we seek.
The surroundings are taking a peek,
Going through, very meek,
Seeing no bleaks,
While hearing creaks,
In the new paths that we seek...
The new path is what is found,
Going through forests bound,
Going through the path inbound,
With soothing and raging water sounds.
Passed through burial grounds...
Seeking for another way around,
The paths newfounded,
Our instincts compounded,
Followed by the hounds,
Echoes in ultrasounds,
Passed through mysterious breeding grounds...
Going to stamping grounds,
Trying to get off this ground,
With those burial mounds,
Death moving the wheels around,
Silhouettes running aground,
Trying to leave safe and sound,
Passing through some hunting grounds...
Seeking for common grounds,
The mistaken path redounded,
Regretful screams abound.
Though some are fouled,
Throughout the paths that were found...
However, most are lost and wounded,
Most tended to walk out,
Some minds and hearts full of doubts.
Hearing salvation shouts,
From all these new paths walked and found...
Sometimes I admire the littlest things
A simple rock. A blade of grass.
They need no future goals, no tax exemptions
They don’t need to go anywhere or be anything
They just are.
Sometimes, especially when I’m reading life insurance policies,
I envy the rocks and the grass
And try to be like them for a moment.
I sit perfectly still and give myself to the wind-
And it whispers in my ear:
And for that moment I don’t need to go anywhere or be anything.
And at the snap of my fingers,
All the complex widgets and gizmos that make up my life
Fold into paper airplanes and fly off in the wind.
Like sick allergies,
Boredom can be passed around
I call it: THE BOREDOM DISEASE
Like a horrid storm,
Boredom can catch you off guard
Hold on for DEAR LIFE!
Like the whooping cough,
Boredom can be serious
If I were you, I’d
Get a vaccination !
The echo of Winter will never eclipse
The gentle breeze carrying Spring,
Or birds overhead, with their eyes well affixed
On the future for marvelous things.
The sedulous bees bringing life to the Earth,
While they buzz and wash over each section.
The warriors of progress, unknowing their worth,
Wielding only a sting for protection.
The tiny striped martyrs then bravely depart
From the plant, at some length, to the swarm.
The nectar collected, their personal art.
The hive waiting, welcome and warm.
To witness this magic in calm disbelief,
Is a treasure, a blessing to see.
The simple, whole truth is, from mountain to reef,
All life here would cease without bees.
Standing out in a field alone, a little white flower named Daisy longed for someone to share her world.
One day a blue flower named Bachelor Button entered her world they became friends.
She knew by his name that he was not the propagating kind, but that didn’t stop their relationship she called him BB short for best bud.
The seasons of Spring & Summer they enjoyed the sun, laughed in the rain and held on fast in the Fall.
Winter came it was long and hard they were both covered in a blanket of snow, not knowing whether they would ever see each other again or even survive .The snow fell then came the ice, this went on for months.
The Sun shone brightly the first day of spring. A few days later warmth of the sun melted the snow, Daisy popped up .
I’ve been waiting days for you to come out, said BB, they both chanted hooray!
The snow was completely gone in a few days, the birds started building their nests , bugs were crawling around ,butterflies began to visit the two flowers. I wish there were more of us Daisy said, to BB.
They laughed as the sun and wind blew through their leaves. Then it started the sun and rain took turns until one morning the air & field was filled with the smell of flowers.
Daisy and BB looked at each other and asked what kind of flowers are these ? they’re not white like daisies they’re not blue like bachelor buttons. They did not know the birds and bugs carried the seeds from the two of them and the caterpillars buried them under the soil.
The seeds from the new flowers were then carried by the winds many miles away, they landed in fertilized gardens and flourished, although they faced danger everyday.
as they were called WEEDS ..
The Gardener pulls weeds out of the garden so they don’t choke the flowers, which cost a lot of money and require lots of maintenance.
However there was a Gardener who saw her friends spending hours weeding their garden , that they didn’t have enough time to admire and enjoy the labors of their love
So she set out to give a home to all the weeds ,she provided a place where they could fit in and multiply, they required no maintenance, rain provides their water .
The best part of all is their beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Ask my granddaughter-- What are those flowers in the garden ?
She will answer "WILDFLOWERS " their parents were Daisy and BB
There's something unspecific about the autumn nights
A certain shade of color that uplifts my inner child's eyes
Beside a cashmere moon Venus and Jupiter shine bright
Complimented by a sea of blinking infinite twilight
The scent of burning oak lingers in the air from home made fires
Reminiscent of a time when this man was just a child
Careless and so free to dream and any dream to live
Like feathers floating across a field carried by the wind
As a gentle breeze blows through the leaves shivering delightful gloom
Unlike flowers of springtime the disheveled autumn vibrance bloom
Leaves crackle beneath my feet along the skeleton tree path
Where I try to find my peace or a song to make me laugh
The air is so much crisper and also soothing when I breathe it in
Underneath a starry sky and brighter constellations of Heaven
Amidst the trail I pass a lovely couple holding hands
While their children run aside frolicking in a playful dance
An old man and his wife admire the view from a wooden bench
With smiles on their face as if nostalgia is still their closest friend
Its these specific autumn affects that bring me sorrows and joy
Reminding me of all theses things Ive wanted as a man since I was a little boy
Its times like these that I wish I wasn't always so alone
Because I would light an fire with my family and call it home
Dancing with the trees.
Like the silence of the bush be I
So wonderful I feel
Within the depth of mystic river
Comes a space that is so still
I see it all, and all of me
In the dancing of the trees
The way they wave so gracefully
As they float upon the breeze.
I catch a glimpse of the vast 'I am'
In the power of the silence
All arrogance it dissipates
And so do shades of violence
As they flow away on the painted river
On it's way to the mighty ocean
The only thing that takes their place
Is love and sweet devotion.
A Parrot lands upon a branch
All orange, blue, and green
As I catch a glimpse of the morning sun
As it shines upon his sheen
And make the colours come to life
And I feel that power in me
the power of the all that is
With all it's energy.
25 September 2013 @ 1020hrs.
Driving home, the sun beaming down
highlighting the Quantock foothills
a criss-cross quilt of very small fields
too steep for mechanical ploughs
worked still by man and shire horses
Bright gleaming yellow rape and mustard
interwoven with shades of brilliant green
a paradise for birds nesting in the hedges
tiny dots of white sheep scattered round
deep scarlet red of the fields laid to fallow
Ancient hills stun with captivating beauty
hardwood trees hundreds of years old
spread their sheltering branches wide
casting fat and long shadows ''neath their feet
grassy banks giving shelter to small animals
I gaze with delight filling up my soul
loving the fact these are my hills
that roll and soar around my village
with magical names for each hill
some very bare others full of heather
Reminding me of my native home
Will's Neck and Cothelstone
rearing up above the deep valleys
with nestling lakes and rivers
this place my place till I pass on
these hills were the first place in England to be given the title of outstanding beauty
1956 check them out in Wikipedia for these amazing views
See all of the buds upon the trees
watch closely as slowly one unfurls
each tiny weeny leaf stretching out
one by one peeling away from the buds
Turning their faces up to the sun
some sticky buds much longer taking
all sorts of shapes and different sizes
as they grow and cast their dappled shade
On the tender plants hiding below
shade lovers of stunning colours
scarlet red Hostas amidst bluebells
the trumpets waving on their long stems
All the sun lovers blooms open wide
drinking in the heat beaming down
tulips bright with merry stripes
all the colours of the rainbow
Swaying gentle in noon heat
tall hollyhocks stately bend
the early promise of a rose
scents abound flooding senses
So easy to lay back and drift off
sun shining down heats the skin
bees droning gathering nectar
such an idyllic place to rest awhile
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I am drifting into memories.
Wasting away like a million photographs fading in the sun-
Yet with ceaseless renewal,
Staining the depths of my eyes with images
In the minds shutter ever fluttering to infinity,
Stringing together this conscious stream I play in-
My stupendous God made of dust and space
Tightrope walking existence!
And to think we too are made of mostly nothing-
Chance so scarcely gracing our atoms with a single touch
In a place so lonely when counted,
Yet so abounding when felt!
So dance with the Dust God
Poised miles above the earth-
Prance on your stilts,
And peek into the great valleys beneath his skin.
Because any moment we could disappear
Shining brook glides over smooth rock, Sun shines and sparkles appear I am me and the wilderness is we so show no fear Towering trees above our heads shelter us from the tearful sky Days go on weeks pass by Such beauty and splendor do I feel high Golden green grass on the country side, smell of fresh morning dew surrounds my mind Warmth and happiness in this I find God's creatures great and small vanish as the sun does fall Glowing luminous man in the moon Show us the way be it too soon Leaving this heaven only to return to the city But my mind so clear will forever remember you, oh so pretty~~~~~~~~
Style Ronda Cincuenta
How I love the early morning
How I love the early morning
Way before the break of dawn
When moon and stars are gently shining
Such glory in the mystic morn
I meditate when I awake
Take the dog out for his walk
Then write some brand new poems
All that come from my mind talk
Then the daybreak starts to happen
The sky is beautiful
All orange red, as sun comes shining
This planet, oh, she has it all
My wife she gets up after this
And we have a cup of tea
This is oh, so very lovely
Sipping tea just her and me.
7 September 2014 @ 0940hrs
EVEN LINES RHYME... 2 AND 4, 6 AND 8, ETC
ok... here is a real easy one.. no syllable counting... word counting only....Lets cheer up Pat using her new form this week in the forum... God bless
Ronda Cincuenta is a form created by Patricia Ann Farnsworth on May 4, 2014-
the wording is Spanish meaning Round Fifty…It is done with two verses only with no set number of lines just as long as they are equal in number so that rhyming with the equal number lines can be seen such as line 2 with line 4 line 6 with line 8 etc:
There is no syllable counting just word counting 50 in each verse
It's a November
when I find myself walking
My hand holding yours
Side by side arms swaying
Your little fingers interlocking with mine.
I believe it is a happy day.
I think it shows on your little sun-tanned face.
I feel it myself from deep within.
Slowly welling up like a spring of water
From a dry ground, long athirst.
I see the sun walking along gently in pace with us
Touching your brown nose and passing your limbs.
Blessing you with a soft radiance and blissful joy a child can only know.
Your school uniform lighter than cerulean sky
Matching your gaiety, perfecting a mother-child moment.
Dotting the passing clouds with pure colors of your innocence and laughter.
Gigantic floating cotton balls of clouds
like stringed balloons; oh, please hold onto them,
cease 'em before away they fly.
A moment to treasure when things aren't as happy as they should.
A many of this I pray to come,
A joyful carefree walk with my little boy;
Now, a mother's hand held by her small son.
Unimpressed, she sits alone watching
There high above the river flowing
Sharp, keen eyes always scan, protecting
Her eggs are safe, awaiting hatching
Alone watching the river flowing
Jet air planes and speeding cars go by
As she watches from her perch on high
Then with stunning grace, she leaps to fly
Gliding, soaring, master of the sky
From her perch on high, she leaps to fly
The bald eagle impressed me that day
While watching her majestic display
As her kingdom there, she did survey
Turning, circling, choosing her way
Choosing her way, impressed me that day
©Donna Jones...an attempt at Eileen's form for her.....:-) :-)
*we have bald eagles winter here along our rivers and build nests..it is awesome to go watch them..
Jet stream shoots
Between two mountains cliffs
A breeze of honeysuckles I smell
Jet between two mountains
Cliffs of honeysuckles to enrich
A stream jets a breeze felt
Honeysuckles smelt and landscape blooms
Mountain parts water pours
A course emerge a spring to love
Poet: Verlena S. Walker
Date: Penned October 26, 2014!
Contest Name: SOME FORM OF CRYSTALLINE
Walking threw the mist of the night,
on the path that lead deep into the forest, in absence of sound;
from one whom was bought, no body shell be found,
of those who might be lost, homeward bound,
as we raven through this hollow ground.
Cross sentences that are incomplete, fractions that make you weak,
threw words that you learned so well, life is a living hell,
don't front and pull back, end of line, number check,
in the story and on track, blank page,