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Best Virginia Muller Poems

Below are the all-time best Virginia Muller poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Ocean (Hybridanelle)

Moving ridges - blue, green salty de-bree
Lightly, sweep the beach;
As inland rolls the sea

All species, shapes shells' species,
Tumble to shore, scoured by wind, by sand
Frothed, hi-lo crests, toss, create odd creases

Ocean sounds, subdued to loud
Galaxies twinkling, twinkling, over sandy shore
Moving ridges - blue, green, salty de-bree

Limicoline birds probe of tiny beaks
Cerripedes cling - of rock jetty walls
Tumble to shore, scoured by wind, by sand

Dephinidae family-play, chirrups avow
Perceived near silted edge
As inland rolls the sea

Blessed - this Shangri-la
Peace, quiet soul
Creation, presented us

Euphony, miles around
Tunes linger over moist earth
Moving ridges - blue, green salty de-bree

Humility - our
Ever-so-ever thankful
Peace, quiet soul

Waves' tumble, night does endow
Loose sand - wet clay
As inland rolls the sea

Visons 'cross vast waters
Ruffles of promise dapple there
Ever-so-ever thankful

Righteous melodies heard
Moon casts it's shadow
Moving ridges - blue, green salty de-bree
As inland rolls the sea

Placidity drowns fears
All shells, shapes, species
Ruffles of promise dapple there
Frothed, hi-lo white caps, toss, creates odd creases

Copyright © Virginia Muller | Year Posted 2008

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Before & After the Lull

Amber-brown sea oats stand tall -
whistling as ocean breezes gently 
blow them in unchartered directions
Voluminous waves impact into jetty rocks
inducing sea urchins to lose their tight grip
from a place of safeness 

Watercraft rock recklessly in
turbulent waters.  Fishing lines
snap as hopes of a good day's 
catch are quickly diminished,
while winds grow intensly
& skies darken to an eerie black

Fears of a possible funnel cloud
now begin to form in reality 
Anchors are regained as boat captains'
gear themselves towards safety upon
these waters, aspiring towards
safer havens as ferocity passes

As quickly as darkness has appeared,
radiant rays of sunlight penetrate greyness
of clouds, cutting into glistening waters
like a silver bladed knife cuts thru many 
layers of a wedding cake

Life  returns to slower pace of normalcy
as a large sea turtle surfaces catching
a bit of solar warmth cast upon this
magnificant world of azure water

Sea oats now stand erect, like small 
soldiers protecting their beach, 
restrengthening -
for the next tumultous reign
of inclement weather

Copyright © Virginia Muller | Year Posted 2009

Details | Virginia Muller Poem |

A Window Shuts

An intense aroma from Mother's lilac bushes
satiate the air through our open kitchen window
Robins perched on the rusty downspout
falling from our old front porch,
whistling their sound of peek, tut, peek, tut

Melancholy music is perceived faintly
in the very near distance
as my mother's fingers effortlessly
surf the ivory keys of the piano,
decades old and perfectly tuned

Daddy reclines, comfortable
in his easy chiar, listening.  He smokes
cherry blend tobacco in a hand-carved pipe
creating an intithetic, lincering aroma
as he sips his after dinner drink

Too many whisley laden drinks
change the focus of events
as my Father stands up, curses
his dislike of a tune being played

He stumbles, raises an empty
bottle of Jim Beam Whiskey,
throwing it against the wall,
shattering it into small jagged pieces

Quicly, Mother's music ceases,
as the open window slams
shut, breaking the stained glass
that she loved so dearly

Soothing sounds and aromas of flowering
spring bushes no longer hover
but a repugnant smell of tobacco
and hard liquor remain

Sometimes I try and remember
the flowery smells, soft musical sounds -
but abruptly, I hear that colorful window
quickly close

Oh, how rapidly a serene mood is erased,
replaced by one of uneasiness, sadness

Copyright © Virginia Muller | Year Posted 2009

Details | Virginia Muller Poem |

No Conscience

N eurotic are they
O blivious to what others say

C allous at heart
O bnoxious to most
N arcotics could be the host
S acred to oneself
C onscience left on a shelf
I  ndiscretion as an act of variance
E goism a total annoyance
N arcissism that is unbreakable
E stranged until they become humble

Copyright © Virginia Muller | Year Posted 2009

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Special Moments

A secluded cabin
fail-safe  into a mountain side -
Oh, so high, one feels
they can attain and adjoin the clouds

A pallet of goose-down feathers, veiled
by a hand sewn comfortor
and a spiderlike, dusty canopy - 
a paradise for lovers

A perfect weekend -
paired with a bubbly jacuzzi
awaiting after a mile  
rambling up, then down, this 
lofty snow covered rock

A babbling brook and glossy
chestnut stallions trail along an
old gravel road, leading to a 
dilapidated barn, now masking
wet hay, squirrels and wild rabbits

Snakes have shed their skins, 
like elongated strands of silk
dangling from beams of rotten wood 
and imperfect slate shingles - 
Leaving their past in the present
for countryside tourists to enjoy

Bluegrass music is heard faintly
in the wilderness background
A rustic, but elegant
way to spend time, enabling
a soul to touch one's inner self

Tomorrow beckons way too soon --
reality returns, this dream weekend
now a fond memory,
as we take our leave of that
little creekside cabin on a
snow covered mountain crest

Copyright © Virginia Muller | Year Posted 2009

Details | Virginia Muller Poem |

An Old Pickle Jar

A dusty, wooden table, painted a vibrant
red, stands alone in a vacant ole'
farmhouse kitchen.  Nearby is a
window sporting many panes of 
broken glass, allowing vivid sunlight 
to filter throughout this rotting structure.

A large jar adorns this wobbly 
legged piece of furniture.
A brown wilted vine drapes itself over 
the edge, meeting a dry, splintered wooden
floor, covered of mud, dead grass
and murky colored yellow weeds.

As I canvass this grim place, a vision
of sunniness glinting from old
glasswork fills my mind of what this room
may have once contained.  Light, airy
happy memories of a mother's
home baked cookies for her children, 
holidays and family gatherings.

Indeed, an empty pickle jar filled
with lustrous sunshine can put a
smile within one's heart.

Copyright © Virginia Muller | Year Posted 2010

Details | Virginia Muller Poem |

Grandfather Clock

An Antique Clock, a familiar place
Gathers dust -
and rust
But three gold chimes which hang lo' face
As Its hands go 'round
Familiar sound repeats
The pendulum, "to -fro, to - fro"
of-time, out-of-rhyme
Honestly - slo'!
ten minutes?
A top o'clock, a world of stars         
Continues tickin', like an old pro
Ne'er been moved, of fear, to break
Age- two hundred years?
Many Times, might've sold
Yes priceless, to behold
Any replicate, fake
Singin' - ringin' steady tune makes   
Tick-Ding - Tick-Ding
Agnize it's noon
A few minutes, give or take
Envision the hours spent
As Time-keeper - Grandpa King

The years pass -
minutes, sent, spent -
from high
generations -
Happily observe, some with disdain
Hundreds passed, a handsome piece
Nephews, a niece
children-Grand, great ones, too
Sons, daughters, lovers, and well
A place to dwell
If only we knew - 
what this "Granddad" would tell
Memories, millions are they
As seconds continue to play
and Centuries travel...
Endless, where has it been, where...

Copyright © Virginia Muller | Year Posted 2008

Details | Virginia Muller Poem |


From the beginning of time,
some souls are paired from their origin
Though two life's separately led,
like twins, a supernatural event
caused by destiny

The feeling of one another's pain, health,
goodness and accomplishments
A soulfulness of realness, 
a confidence never to be broken

Divine grace has brought two mortals
together as angelic friends;
bestowing an awareness
of a heavenly being

as they watch over one another
without speaking - 
yet knowing
of the others quandary

A kind, quiet 
love of graciousness
and serenity

Copyright © Virginia Muller | Year Posted 2009

Details | Virginia Muller Poem |


Traveling across a countryfied road.
Large hollows furbished of  loose
pebbles and twisted roots ascend
from a prominent blue spruce.

Rotting posts, a barbed wired
fence, and pair of Mustangs
racing 'cross a
green pasture toward 
ole' woebegone stable,
as  a rusted John Deere tractor 
pulls away from structure.

Fragmented bottles strewn 
along shoulder of roadway, as
I swerve to avoid broken glass
hidden under the sludge.

As  lake appears, ducks,
scraggly wildflowers, 
clover and yellow milkweeds
bloom with sounds of chortling.
Pods split, 
releasing fluffy seeds
like tiny white clouds 
stray across a field.

A few scenic miles yet to drive
before arriving at an old lumber mill
for kin's annual festivities
Just one more hill -
should arrive 'bout five.
A long eve lies ahead -
not certain I know any of these families.

Thunder begins rolling 'round.
That's not what  weatherman 
said!   Clouds grow tenebrous, 
shadows overlay ground.
Celebration  post-poned!
Awe, a pity,
long drive back to city,
but no one has phoned.

Posing near other cars,
Uncle John is leaving 
with his cigar,
nodding to me, 
as he drives away.
Others begin to follow.
Aunt Milly, her covered dish.
shrugs shoulders, "Not today"

Overhead, barn swallows fly,
finding cover 'neath the eaves,
as rain begins to pour -
a year's reprieve!

Facing the storm with valor -
that rusty tractor in 
the rear-view mirror, 
slowly vanishes.

Copyright © Virginia Muller | Year Posted 2009

Details | Virginia Muller Poem |

Just an Old Attic

As we ransack Grandma's jumbled attic 
in her  blatant old house,
numerous ladybugs and even a mouse 
snared in yellow dust, layered thick.

A rusty dress form displays only a hat
and a distant wall sports a battered ole'  bat.
Boxes of antique shoes are
staged in a perfect row.

Scads of newsworthy magazines, 
records of years past,
pictures, fashions of Victorian times
in frames, made of wood to last.

From a rickety stairwell
it's an effort to  sneak a peek.
There's little chance to run around,
no space for hide and seek.

Large lofty windows appear to leak
as the floor feels unsound.
A passé leather trunk
full of winter scarves and such
sits on a mattress, once a GI's bunk.

Ah, there's a large Webster's lexicon
next to pieces of broken glass
from a battered kitchen hutch

A brass rack holds a faded quilt
draped in a heaped mass.
There's a wheel chair, a crutch -
wonder where those have been?

There's Grandpa's old uniform
with many medals, somewhat torn.
An empty silver flask that once held his Gin.

A child's rockin' horse sits alone
beside an honest-to-God telly 
with a cradle & faded numbers 
from overuse of long ago.

A recipe file in a dark corner, 
at least that's what the label says.
I wonder how often Grandma sat up here
after Granddad passed away?

Many old treasures, to her so dear,
as well as her Bible & an old rug
upon which she would kneel to pray.

Copyright © Virginia Muller | Year Posted 2009