The sight of open flowers
Spectacular from towers
Tender petals that amuse
With kaleidoscopic hues
Landscapes in several tints
Resemble modern art prints
The brows of pellucid lakes
Glittering glossy snowflakes
Beautiful divine sunrise
Scintillating brilliant skies
Burning yellow tinged twilight
Sprinkling moonlight as fluorite
Swaying panicles with blooms
Exotic whiffs of perfumes
Originate from one womb
In vivid shades they illume
The lush green blooming valleys
Active fauna with rallies
The alighting garden sprite
Relaxes with much delight
An expo of July dyes
Mellifluous tunes of flies
Nature's astonishing fete
Offers a visual treat
Place: Honourable Mention
My whirligigs are spinning;
The trees are all a’sway.
The dafs, with blooms beginning,
Bow their heads in mock dismay.
The windsock strips are dancing;
The bushes are a’bounce,
The dogs on leashes prancing,
Swishing tails an added flounce.
As I sit here with my writing,
While the sunshine’s all a’peek,
Rhyming words have been alighting
To allow my thought to speak.
The night before Christmas my 6-year-old grandson was elated,
for he knew Santa would bring him bagful of gorgeous gifts
and he would come at night alighting through the chimney.
So, if there was one in the new house he wanted to see.
He ran upstairs to look at the roof top, but couldn't find one,
in tears, he said Santa's visit his fate had surely undone.
I assured, Santa would come through the window of his room
that he kept wide open to the freezing wind blowing at night.
At morn, seeing all the gifts by his side he tried to shout in joy,
but his voice was choked, gripped by the biting bout of cold.
It's funny, the random things that remind you
of what a lovely place the world can sometimes be.
Like two little birds alighting on a wire,
as you emerge from the underground
just at dusk on a Thursday:
two weightless silhouettes,
suspended in the pre-star sky.
I wonder what journeys they've seen;
if they are recounting the day's adventures,
or merely resting in companionable silence
as the sun takes its final bow.
When will the summer come, the fields be ripe again,
The sun down-shining power, the clouds reducing rain.
When will the poplars be releasing, millions of seeds,
And outside be snowing fuzz-balls, carried on the breeze.
When will the maple tree, release its helicopters,
And send them down in twirling spirals, alighting on the flowers.
When will it stop this raining, this downpour from above,
The sky be blue, serene, and birds be singing love.
Why won’t it stop, why won’t it clear, why is it always so gray,
I wish that only the summer be here, to clear this dreadful day.
Grant me a peaceful afternoon
with hums alighting on nodding blooms,
butterfly wings and a soothing
lullaby whispered by washing
hanging on a line.
Let life be settled by a calm
with pleasant talk and camomile tea
and overhead, the soundless
drift of clouds across a placid sky
and leaves weaved in patterns
to print a cooling shade
upon a table set with scones,
cream and raspberry jam,
and above all,
birdsong sweet enough
to camouflage the sound
of screams and falling bombs.
The fog delays alighting;
Suddenly I appear in that street.
the moon tries to peep out of the well
The wind chases a song all over the street.
As if some stranger I am watched uneasily.
A bunch of dogs come swimming
and get buried in the gaps of fence.
Losing consciousness
chaos escape the memory.
Rain that went past me
reaching the street-corner where I stood
was returning.
Despite closing skilfully
dog’s tail wags outside imagination.
The eyes of some passing across
hang me, who they had carried away,
upon a tree.
Slipping off the hands of those dragging me
Night has fallen down.
Better to lose even those things carefully guarded
and go searching for them in his company.
With many a moment of imagination turning blurred
I am left in a dense jungle directionless.
Behind the staircase, cowardly feet were stealthily
Climbing.
I am forcibly evicted from
the Night of few minutes.
These do not take place in just one night.
oh, black butterfly...
you're the epitome of grace in air.
poetry in constant motion;
how gracefully captivating!
floating about a peaceful spring meadow
you couldn't be more carefree.
oh, black butterfly...
you brighten up the gloomiest of days!
no matter where you show up,
all are glad that you came.
you're quite a sight to behold!
you bring time to a standstill.
oh, black butterfly...
how delightfully erratic you flutter
from one flower to the next;
hovering above them before alighting.
you're as beautiful as you are fragile.
please, do pay a visit to my garden!
Date written: 03/07/2023
Blind to the words she heard
The written song he spoke
And though he spoke it candidly
The notes about her broke
The words were formed as music
They crooned, and sought the air
Alighting briefly by her ear
– They caught her unaware
The song he sang was breathless
Tumultuous, yet calm
Beneath the earnest candor
The truth a swirling storm
The message it delivered
Would satisfy a life
Did not her answer thunder
And – like lightning – strike!
So like the wave that crashes
Against the rocky shore
Whose churning sound is buried
Beneath the next one’s roar
His message fell unbidden
Without acknowledgement
And back into the ocean went
The bottle he had sent
"Rapido"
walks on water fast
salty trinity
soul heeling
a pearl reflects wisdom
on indigo see, the mirror mapped
dancing with diamonds
the light shows
characters
rippling mirages
compasses peppered
rapt in black
and blue velvet
soon arrives the Morning
like a twin, golden apple
rolling before us
Apollo
alighting upon a floating chariot
racing white horses
a storm
is approaching
harnessing the tornado
petulant Horseman
Apollyon, hit lists,
in raised fist
riding a magic carpet
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
heeling.
healing.
list (nautical).
list (enumerate).
Rapido 60.
Look as the fire licks what it needs
Oxygenated air it breathes in the breeze
Needing the same thing that we all need
It burns red the same color that we bleed
The Flames are alive as their own entity
Embers in the wind is how fire breeds
Jumping across paths, streets, and trees
Alighting it's journey nights shine brightly
A once raging inferno now down to ashes
The winds died down so goes the flashes
Down to a wisp slowly the smoke rises
Burnt paths dressed in charcoal disguises
bmdavey@11/21/2022
I felt a probe of feline eyes
While Merlin stretched on sun-drenched sill;
He mentioned he dislikes cat-guise
And yearned to be a wizard still,
Then, thanking for adopting him,
He scratched his bell-and-collared neck,
Admitting it was not a whim
That brought him on this cross-time-trek.
From sun-filled spot he gave a hop
But clang and tumbled to his face--
I jump, he laughed, but cannot stop,
So wish to be a hawk with grace;
Now come, dear Wart, let's rise and soar
Look down and watch clogged traffic snake,
Behold man's plight: crime, hate, and war,
Don't let this be the world you make …
Alighting in a foggy wood,
Smudged, angry faces chided me:
Pull sword from stone, lad, if you could
And king to us you'll ever be!
How lonely this, my providence,
Gruff crowd, where's Merlin? … tell me how!
Cold hilt in hand, new confidence:
That hawk just swooped and squawked "meow".
October 18, 2022
Merlin The Magic Cat Poetry Contest
Mystic Rose Rose, Sponsor
FIGURATIVE FINGERTIPS
a talent
to dabble
with
profligacy
in different styles
brilliant&
fluent
subtle&
muted palette
phase
of the
immediate
liberated
in a
suggestive
genre
an attractive
template
flitting between
subjects
never alighting
with a
tendency to
marginalise
artistic
encounters
&
to manipulate
scenery
of substance
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Alighting the train, it began to rain
I won't let go of the flowers held tightly in my hand
While running, the road was slippery.
With every determination,
I'm running towards my lover.
Choice of picture :A
Word count : 40 words
Short verse inspired by pictures poetry contest
Quote: Don't let the lilacs die without a touch of sweet perfume
send forth, from life to grave
She scented her wings with a powdery substance of lilac
then parachuted to earth tipping her scissions
with utmost precision;
Stardust fell across his cupid cheek but he did not rouse
talcum scent of baby powder mingled with sweet sachets
alighting gently like the moon when discerning the sky;
With whispering wings wrapped snuggly
she leaned over his tiny body then whispered,
" go ahead,... live "
January 14, 2022
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