Bedewed Poems | Examples

roses

a rapture of bloom
bedewed kiss
sleepy lover's moon

The Tree

I remember the tree verdant in spring
Those years stretched out could be filled with anything

I had dreams of strong limbs and plenitude
Thoughtfully give limbs for nest and bedewed

I saw you change in fall to colors rare
The frost touched your leaves and limbs unaware

I saw winds swoop from the north stripping pride
Then run its course, your fears you tried to hide

I wonder what will happen to the tree
Though life issues idiosyncrasy     

Written: 8-26-22
Contest: Dot Your i's and Cross Your t's
Sponsor: Hilo Poet

When Nature Comes Alive

Rejuvenating flowers are blooming
Connecting to earth as life is renewed
A kaleidoscope of colours booming

Spring is the time for some garden grooming
Squirrels jump up and down in search of food
Rejuvenating flowers are blooming

Carnations, crocus, lilies are looming
With roses, red bells, jasmines all bedewed
A kaleidoscope of colours booming

Sunshiny weather is now resuming
Joyful energy, nature does exude
Rejuvenating flowers are blooming

Songbirds tweet tweet and spend their time pluming
Lush verdure enhances everyone's mood
A kaleidoscope of colours booming

The zephyr has a pleasant perfuming
With vivacity, bright skies are imbued
Rejuvenating flowers are blooming
A kaleidoscope of colours booming




12th April, 2022



For Sotto Poet's "Springtime villanelle" contest

After Violins, Buoyant Triangles On Red Horizon

Morning brews sunrise colors-
yolk yellow seeping over 

edges; light sterling silver 
strung; rubbed linens ironed 

across the rim. The creatural
world-a lime olive, sea blue 

cup- has a view from space:
mottled tints- mud grey, green. Deep.

Sienna red flames bedewed.
Aged worn cotton tinctures-

the crumpled fabrics' wrinkles
are mountains, hills, cliffs ingrained.

Threads netted- the indigenous 
lives captive-evolution.

They tat the stretched skies, royal.
From beats the animus- birth;

sprouting; feathery gardens
open to the sun. Roots plow.

Volcanic lands thrust- beryl 
hues are the telluric gloss 

of... diamonds. Hope. Pearl flushes- 
scents of the wash of Summers. 

Peach -brown malts- inebriation 
of puissance. Grains reaped, ablaze

in Autumn afternoons. Stoked, 
ground into mealy givings.

Marl nectare, fertility. 
Corollas of heaven- O'Keefe.

Bells

bells

from edges of my dreams
a morning chorus 
begins softly. 

in the forest meadow
a slow plodding rhythm
sways closer, 
brings
recognition.

cow bell’s, 
their tinny clunk made more  melodious,
all harshness trapped 
among the evergreen branches
on bedewed trees.

Hick’s cows, their udders full,
seek relief from the soft handed girl
who waits at the gate

their music is joined
by the bell from 
the old Anglican church tower
perched on the hill behind the barn,
it shyly peel’s out a message.

both sounds intertwine, ascend 
flow over still somnolent water,
not even the fish are jumping yet,
the heavenly praise loses it self
in the primeval woods.

Sunday bells 
early summer morning 
Inglesby Bay.

I Am a Brook of Blood

I am a brook of blood
Drawn from the veins of the tender bud;
My drift is bedewed with homicide,
Stabbed with furry killed with pride.

Flowing by the might of a flood
And disappearing into the mud
And earth cradles me
Unto a motionless sea

Bearing the pain of paradise
And roaming in azure skies
And then whispering tear sped
To infuse life again into the dead


I’m the scent of smiling dawn
And eddy of Afzal and Burhan;
I’m Maqbool’s tidy clan
And I’m going on and on…

I’m essence of the beauty
And healer of fading misery;
It is the begning of the new day 
And the forecast of a cheerful ray

And again sun will rise
In our ravaged paradise;
And again moon will rise
In the calmness of skies

Picnics At the Park

Picnics at the Park

I wished that I had stopped
The hands of Mother Clock
From ticking on its tac
As time flew by steadfast.

Bye, bye my toddler sweet
Hello there little princess
New adventures you'll seek
Words small and big you'll speak.

You're so confident at three
A daredevil I could see
Climbing, jumping, hopping
In every closet, hiding.

First time I saw you biked
With training wheels unlatched
Made your Grandma so proud
Love tears bedewed her eyes.

At four you got bolder
Your bike rides went farther
Your hollers were like fireflies
Which I chased them from afar.

Though dusk had already fallen
You're still roamin' in the gloamin'
A guard brought you back alone
Told him 3324 Park St., was your home.

You loved picnics at age five
On the grass, we laid our mat
Admiringly I watched you biked
With your cool sunglasses and hat.

One day when you're past five
Moved miles away I couldn't drive
How I wished that I had stopped
Before. The tic tacs of Mother Clock!

I Am a Brook of Blood

I am a brook of blood
Drawn from the veins of the tender bud;
My drift is bedewed with homicide,
Stabbed with furry killed with pride.

Flowing by the might of a flood
And disappearing into the mud
And earth cradles me
Unto a motionless sea

I’m the scent of smiling dawn
And eddy of Afzal and Burhan;
I’m Maqbool’s tidy clan
And I’m going on and on…

And again sun will rise
In our ravaged paradise;
And again moon will rise
In the calmness of skies

Blossoms

Behold colors galore
 Beneath azure spring skies
 Blooming with beauty's grace
 Bestowed with many hues
 Burgeoning sweet bouquets
 Blushing buds then glisten
 Bedewed by gentle rain
                ----
 8/15/16

A Simple Happy

Adrift, a-meadow in spring color,
Daisy, daffodil, dandelion, 
A signal flag wrinkles and flaps with motion;
Awash, a-drizzle dazzle of rain. 
A girl floats to the tides current
Happy to hale the freedom of her new skirt
Happy to wave in high air, so pretty. 
Cotton dyed, swishing to and fro to rise
With fall and jump jump each skip 

The streetlight beacon beckons:
Twilight light approaches, roars
To subdue the bright colors. 
She rounds the sound, the curbside corner
And runs down the street, 
Smiles line porches as “happy sailing”
affirms kind porch-side mothers

Twilight meadows become bedewed
Not by Marching drizzle but rather
Drain down streets to storm-drains in April fashion
Thunder cracks and the skirt 
Safely ties herself down to the home-harbor
Breeze billowing flapping skirt: 
A-ruffling akin to spinning in a springy summer field

Embraced By Her Lovely Face

Gracious folds as satin, silky dunes waft
Undulating curves; frothy waves tossed

Seamless grooves filter subconscious dreams
Pallid contours emit hypnotizing streams

From her chiseled, sculpted mold congruent beams stretch
In well-rounded center, a sharp, cerebral image doth sketch

From smooth surface glides an effervescent glow
In the glistening radiance a sultry wind doth bellow

From high cheek bones swaggers a dignified tone
Beneath, ingratiating shadows mystique doth chaperon

Cheeks blushed with rosy hue bedewed garlands strew
Cupped in ivory fount from which bubbling streams flow

Getting It Together

Hate bedewed with youth
power to impair one’s kin,
grace in growing old
a time to regret, lament...
grandson, reflection of time.

© Harry J Horsman 2012

April

sun rays caught bedewed glint topaz,
weeds of temperate light
expanding promise-buds of summer joys,
and almond blossom memories
pass in favor of new life;
should ever there be blessings in the air
they are birthed from the warming spring breath
      of April
and a charm of hummingbirds
in a field of lupine

A Lament With Glass of Whiskey

I devour the time I came by -
By divine grace the twilight glinted
With the bedewed lips I felt mine
As I took the sip from my glass of whiskey 
Blended with soda and ice.
The wind passed by the solstice time
I greeted the solitude that I took pride
With my nerves resting at peace
Yet I revived my soul to see her clearly in my mind's eye.
Drops fell upon my sour cheeks
Yet I veiled those with an ethereal smile
As I poured another sip  from my glass of whiskey
I moaned with her fading memoirs 
As my senses were getting confined.
I tried to speak but I couldn't whisper even
As I saw her going away with someone
I tried to stop but I couldn't walk even
When I realized I lost my nerves, I lost my senses
And I let her go, pouring another to my whiskey glass. 
For once I feared and I shivered
And to honor my soul I tried to cheer
Neither I was drunk, nor it was cold
I opined my soul among the mortals of solitude
And I inhered with her memoirs by the twilight
That shone - as I poured a drop of my tears
in my whiskey glass.

Sprites Do Dwell

'Neath the Willows, now cloaked in brume,
as streams the night time deepening.
Enshrouding all in shadows womb,
I espy true loves awakening.

Evetide slumber did find a youth,
within the mead, where I do dwell.
Wont was I, to bespell, forsooth,
tis truly, one thing I do well.

Mazed, stands young swain, aside his bay,
embracing nymph, of flaxen hair.
Bedewed, were eyes, by impish fay,
for it be a swine, he holds there.

Of deep laughter, I do partake.
As disenthralled, young swain awakes.



For:  Shakespearian or English Sonnet contest
Host:  John Freeman
Placement: 7th

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