Best Abouts Poems
O glorious Autumn of melancholic
Gold -
All abouts the brightly lit
Woodlands
Your wonderful artistry behold!
Tinted bronzes,
Darting between awkward firs
Of sobering Evergreen,
Loiter inside mauve havens
Splashed with palest yellows -
And dappled with many differing
Limes
Throughout this variegated Theme;
A myriad of rustling contentment,
Sweetest contrasting charms,
Complimentary...
Softly whispering leafy hues...
Hushed...most elegantly serene.
Bursting into the swelling copses
And invading between the
Dwindling fields:
Auburn, primrose and lilac views -
Abundant with seasons
Celebrations
That so magnificently infuse!
Glowering in simmering sunset,
And spluttering in misty dawn:
Afire with all the orbs oozing
Revelry,
That upon barkened furniture,
To thus gild - and resplendently
Adorn!
Now is the time
That dry tinkling leaves
Give musical resonance
To a breath exhaled from
A breeze...
Fanning the boughs roaring flames
That each out-stretched branch
does eagerly seize,
Fired from the eternal torch
That immortal Ceridwen tirelessly
Sought;
Whilst I hang upon evocative
Memories
That this arresting moment briefly
Caught.
Blazing with a consummate passion
Ignited from a poets grappling
Thoughts:
The Muses to this joyous splendour
Were summarily summoned
And brought;
But as elusive as the enchanting
Notes
From the intoxicating pipes of
Evasive Pan...
So as elusive the words of the
Unwritten verse
That so evade this singular man.
So burn! You gaily painted colours,
Within abandoned restrain,
Your dizzying carousel
A whirling kaleidoscope
Upon an artists ever changing frame.
Soft ochres and dappled browns
Mixed with vivid orange and crimson
Red...
Applied lavishly from the palette
Of Artemis
Over which the vibrant pastes
Are thinly spread.
A riot of pastel shades
All exploding forth -
With the raging power of a
Supernova
Of an immense, dazzling force!
All hail to the almighty:
From the devout to the Divine...
And all hail to the Grandeur
And Majesty -
Of his awe-inspiring design!
Categories:
abouts, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
Twas darkness upon the quietly residing heath...
And deathly was the sullen red sandstone tower...
Standing gloomily inside the masons dry-stone walls
Amidst toppling granite slabs and the faded, wilting flower.
Solemn was the chime of the hollow, mournful bell
When tolling out on midnights grimly sombre hour;
And thinly the swirling, unearthly mist
Did so wend abouts her silent, melancholic bower.
Where from a fronded yew of venerable years,
Besides ancient trunks of ivy-entwined gnarly oak,
A chilling screech from a sudden ghostly apparition...
Summoning upon waking resident souls - did thus invoke!
For pale his form in soft white downy flight...
But none paler than that of me...
As across from the stream, held by an unblinking stare -
My shaky fears are transfixed so unnervingly!
Oh wise old feathered sage of long owl-lived age,
Unctuous incumbent of learned perch within black night,
Allow this the moment to calm my pounding heart...
And catch upon my fleeing thoughts - after such a wicked fright!!
Categories:
abouts, environment,
Form:
Rhyme
Chaste and more graceful
Than the white canvassed Dhow:
Reclines sweet Nefertiti
Upon a Blue Nile breeze.
Fabled entity more whiter
Than the purest white snow
That thickly blankets
And folds over the wide Pyrenees.
Dipped is thy beak
Into a harvesters August sunset;
A Bohun proper,
Gorged and chained with a crown;
Tipped Argent quills
Thus scrawl across royal warrants:
Plodding, punctilious creature -
Of high born renown!
Proudly thy trumpet Lancastrian ascension,
Emblazoned on a Heraldic shield;
Pomp and indignation
Paddling alongside contemptuous scorn;
Sinuous neck of Serpentine undulations
Tensioned as if a Longbow -
On whose plaited strings
The sturdy Yeomans Bodkins were drawn!
And did Columbines mask
Ever hold such indignant eyes
For whose feathered heart
The diligent cob did attend?
His sedulous efforts
To court within impassioned grunts
When intertwining throats
Do abouts and lovingly wend.
O, Cygnus olor!
En monde bosse - glittering Dunstable jewel;
Pen and immortal verse
Chart beside heavens gilded streams.
For under old mariners discarded stars
And above silvered byways:
Whoop the beat of dusted wings
Inside slumbering clouds wandering dreams.
Categories:
abouts, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
The Burning
It was seven days and seven nights
Or there abouts, I was not so sure
Life was shrouded in the darkness not at all pure
I lost track of dawn, of dusk, of realities fight
To keep me conscious
To keep me right
Comatose, delirious, unmoving slumber
In this dream like state
My desires still existed
Thirsts to be quenched
Passions flared
She was seductively dressed
I, with the eye of a tiger
Wishing to devour her being
To be with her, in her, be her
To taste her very soul
I smelled her nectars inviting scent
The bed sheets become drenched in sweat
The heat of the night ensconced me
A thousand candles and yet one more burned
The heat of passion mixed with the heat of the night
Flames rose from the desires within and without
My subconscious has played evil tricks and fooled me again
Lighting the candles that shall bring me to the beyond
The sheets became brimstone, the fire engulfed me
My mind in hazy confusion smelled roast flock of some sort
A meal after the passions was a succulent dessert
I became dizzy with the lust and the love intermixed
Somehow I am sleepy, dreamy, so very tired
The heat blankets me and I feel a strange foreboding
The reaper is grinning, staring down on my face
I try to wake, but I haven’t the wherewithal
I feel the burning
Painful for but a moment as the smokey flames take me
For one last dance
Burning, burning, searing heat
Blackened and burnt
Dreams
No more
Sunday, at 24 minutes past midnight, firetrucks arrived at an apartment in Dublin, Ireland 24 O’Connell street, and above Murrays pub, a lone tenant was found burnt to a crisp, apparently by a fire cause by candles, the remains have not been identified, and the building is a total loss.
Arthur’s Day in Dublin
Posted on September 24, 2009
To celebrate Arthur’s Day, From 17:59 to 22:00 All Pints of draft beers were €2.50
Categories:
abouts, angel, angst, goodbye, suicide,
Form:
Verse
It is thy wanton gestures that contrive inside long auburn
curls -
Wherefore to diminish the pleas of a warm, lustful
breeze!
For though gilded rays shall grace all thy sunlit days
Tis Moonstrucks cast beams, your mischiefs,
That did so deceive.
Happily ye wander through Midnights velvet vales...
Thus to bathe in the still of deep glades shimmering pools;
Gently smile as the White Hart confuses at the Nightjar,
Laugh joyfully as he gleefully barks within a Huntresses
muse.
Whence, entwining abouts your lithe-liken limbs,
Enchanting currents that confound upon like curvaceous
streams:-
Flawlessly proportioned, highbred, temperate form
Of palest earthborn Athenian figurine.
And ere those coy sighs should but just once countenance
Mortal compromise
Through your countless ages of fair queens and fabled kings -
Then, at some singular point in trickling sands spatial time,
If my heart beat against thine...wouldst thy charge me astride
Great Pegasusus wings?
So recline thou, betwixt sharp earth and Heavens eternal
skies,
Thoust art serenaded by forlorn winds that forsakenly
Beseech upon your divine name -
For the raging fires of burning stars were lit to blaze
In thine eyes
By thee fearful architect who moulded immortal clay
To thy perfectly sculptured frame!
Categories:
abouts, love, mythology,
Form:
Rhyme
A man disappears where abouts unknown
Not at his work not at his home
Days pass as a passer by finds
His right leg in a country wind
Days later his left arm in a ditch
All is quiet, enquiries have hit a hitch
News comes in of a Torso being found
Beside the river on common waste ground
What posses a person to maim this way
As every dog has its day
Policing, forensics in this modern age
Will endeavour to capture this killer of rage
But what do we do when we capture them
Send them to prison as they live like men
A lethal injection, a fair way to put them down
To cleanse rightfully our cities and towns
Through out the world many families have suffered
These crimes of killers and sadistic cowards
We are taxed for our efforts in life as we work
They may never get out, but living is their perk.
Categories:
abouts, death, husband, loss, sad
Form:
Rhyme
A close connection to each other
Valued time is spent each day,
A young boy and his father
Its ment to be this way.
What will happen to this
When the mother decides to go,
The child is taken away now
New where abouts he dont know.
A father's heart is now shattered
For what is there left to do,
Without his precious son there
His life is meaningless and blue.
Wanting only to be the best ever
He sits in a cell thinking what he had,
Missing his son and new memories
His son is missing more....his dad.
Even the miles between them
Can't take what is in the heart,
Knowing they will soon reunite
Will help them while their apart.
Categories:
abouts, sonson, son,
Form:
Rhyme
Diminishing virtues stripped away
From the flesh
By the fierce brined rods that freely
Course thy hot crimson blood;
Dry cracked lips attempting to
Fashion broken words of compliance
That so must needs to be spoken...
But...Ohhh, Meretrix...
My foolish and innocent child -
If you but only could!
Consider, Meretrix,..humility!
To which pleasure one thus
Submitted
Guiltily discovers:-
The joy in the act or posture of
Lowering oneself in relation to
Others.
For in your anguished dis-repair
You will find strength to endure and
Embrace:-
The acceptance of all your defects
And ultimate seduction
In the power of your:-
"Submission to Divine Grace"!
I will adorn you in the yellow Toga
Of the Vestal virgins,
They whom wise Augusta did abhor;
Burden upon you with an Imperial
Tax
Imposed by perverted Caligula:
Whither all Matronly protestations he
Didst dismissively ignore;
My Tribune forcefully exact -
When employing you in the
Degenerated role
Of my most reluctant Whore!
Clasp jeweled anklets abouts your
Shapely bones,
Decorate upon you like fired and
Painted porcelain figurines;
Whilst all the while, as your lost mind
Bemoans,
Choking between involuntary gurgles
And low-pained, stifled screams,
The gagged mouth bites down
Amidst salivating sounds
Borrowed from the hurtling
Nightmares
Of your darkest dreams!
For I will lift you higher than the
Tallest mountain peak...
So you may gaze with awe over all
The innumerable Kingdoms and their
Proud tyrant Kings;
Of the many differing species of all
Mankind type things...
And of the immeasurable riches
They so endlessly seek.
Lower you to the solitudes of the
Grassed floors
That sweep across the sunken
Valleys deep;
Where, besides enchanted streams,
Violated Nymphs quietly weep
For Abels broken schemes;
Now, tragically, all taken apart;
And for the wicked callousness
Of fallen man...
Whose desperate greeds ripped out
His live brothers still beating heart -
Then tore at the living throat of
The one true Gods Holy Lamb!
TO BE CONTINUED...
Categories:
abouts, philosophy,
Form:
Rhyme
Tha lil ugh-gy duckin...
...Waa-uh-uh...a BAT lookin baby!
An somMO (I don mean jus maybe!)
Growt up in a house-boat shack
Way downt-ere in ole MAN-chac
Ain lyin!! (An I AIN hat no toke)
Ugh-gy baby make BU-tam-ous foke
All LAFIN an bubbly an-DIN!
Dat black hair and daak Creo-skin!
Guess who I be TALKIN abouts??
Wha-uh SWAN dat de LORD dun turnt out!!
For my beautiful black-haired Bayou Manchac granddaughter - DIXIE!!
This is rural southern African American dialect. It is used in the present-day Delta and central Mississippi regions...I tried to state exactly how a good friend of mine from that area might describe my grandaughter, who was am ugly baby but turned out to be beautiful both inside and out...
Categories:
abouts, funny, granddaughter, people,
Form:
Rhyme
For those who wonder where I am
or where I can be found
I'm in the mid west of my country
in a well known college town
How I got here or purpose being
might be easily explained
but looking at this thing called providence
a street just one block away
The hand of God is mighty strong
much stronger than we'll ever know
but trusting God with unseen faith
Is always the next place to grow
My newest job I tried to avoid
all these long years
but being humbled by my God
I no longer have that fear
I applied my art at being the best
and going beyond my duty
but really it was simple
just do what my conscious told me
Life has connections
and sometimes they are people
but making the right connections
may not always be someone we know
I have yet to see the end of this journey
somewhat still possessed by the middle
I think I see where this is going
and the miracle just started showing
But in my imagination
I have this budding dream
I'm in the right place and at the right time
What's this showing in my mind?
Perhaps what God has made me will finally come to life
I am so much more different than what I was in life
But I do posses things that God gave to people I like
Now that most of them are dead, I must continue the fight
I don't know how this story ends
I think I'm just in the middle
Of Gods plans for me I know very little
But if what should happen, happens.
And if life takes off with me
if dreams came true for me and you
I wonder where I'll be.
Categories:
abouts, future,
Form:
Free verse
I stand where the sunset hugely spills
Out upon subdued but still hotly
Glowering plains...
Now, perhaps, I should wistfully
Recall my own homelands; her
Diminished and flattened hills,
Stretched and sleeping, far from yonder
Adjacent wolfen domains.
Vast plains, which, although of
Unmatched grandeur, neither embolden
To embrace upon mine passions...
Or impart the reinforcement of
Heartening succour...which the comfort
Of those broken hills so pleasingly fulfils!
For such is the pressing need to once
More imbibe the contriteness that is
The poor substance of this natives air;
Whilst, under cacophonous arrangement
Of timeless and haranguing bars,
Casting off all gaudy encumberment -
Thee imposition of these finely stitched
Robes,
To wander through uninhibited
Fields: rudely revealed whence left
Fallow and bare!
And, humbling myself, but ne'er as
Bold as Endymion, before vigilant
Selene's disdainful glare,
I would'st endeavour, rightly or not to
Thusly suppose,
To re-invent a lofty purpose beneath
The hurtling rails of screaming stars;
Here, in happy destitution, to wrap
Abouts in tattered remnants of
Ragged moonlight...thrown aside
When callously abandoned there.
Inspired by the "Pure" genius that was William Butler Yeats!
Categories:
abouts, celebration, fate, hope,
Form:
Rhyme
Pile drivers have replaced gandy dancers
And Mayflower trucks the circus, open-cage parades
Horse drawn down Main Street U.S.A.,
But overnight canvas bosses still command
Roust abouts to raise big top sails,
Over decks of prairie dogs and tumbleweeds.
There are gaudily painted juggernaut ride machines.
Smells of grease, heated white from oozing knuckle joints,
Calliopian music and rounds of happy screams.
A carney operator offers two a Scrambler car,
Teases riders with the tip of his bitten off cigar
A flick on your nose and ash that crashes to the circus grounds.
Jukebox music by Wurlitzer gets tinny with distance
On both sides of musty tented, kid show exhibitions
Mushrooming quiet translucent, sideshow shadow lands.
One sign says:
A WOMAN’S LIVING HEAD!
And inside there is a severed head up on a tabletop.
She answers questions easily, smiles and winks.
A kid shill says she’s doubled up
Inside a box affixed with mirrors.
Our cheeks redden more for her
Than the fact that we are led astray ourselves.
We leave to let more unenlightened in.
That day, I left forever past free throws
To win erstwhile girlfriends
By shooting hoops too narrow to be made. (4/4/21)
Categories:
abouts, america, growing up, humanity,
Form:
Free verse
Listen my children and ye shall hear,
A tale to make ye quake with fear.
'Tis a scarey tale I tell ye no lie,
Of a man who was told he had to die,
For a crime he committed in the dead of night,
And on each Hallow's Eve he returns to the site,
Where his body was hung on an old oak tree.
Steer clear of the place or he'll come after thee.
He searches for them who hung him there,
'Thout proof save the voice of the golden hair.
'Twas she who belied his where-abouts,
So he searches for her within and without;
So if ye be fair with hair of gold,
He'll carry ye off where it's dark and cold.
Keep ye by the hearth on All Hallow's Eve,
Now I've said my piece and be taken' my leave.
Judy Ball
Categories:
abouts, fantasy, imagination, seasons,
Form:
Couplet
Nestle in deep slumber the mighty Kublai dreams
of lapping cold milk, eating fresh meat, running wild
with hundreds of his doggie friends
Little Genghis shoots up from bed and darts out
running to room to room to sniff and search for what abouts
finding Kublai asleep on his fluffy pillow bed
He sniffs him gingerly and retreats under the adjoining chair
Peeking through the curtains a stream of sunlight
embraces the mighty Kublai and he stretches in place
sits himself up and has a good long yawn
He steps off his bed as if he was sleep walking
and within an blink of an eye
A snarl a flash a quick ten yaps, the little Genghis
is on the attack, he jumps he jives on Kublai hide
then just as quick he runs away and hides
Kublai stumbles back on his rump, shakes his sleepy heavy head
looks confused and tries again to stumble up-BUT
BOOM! the attack resumes happy growls awake you pal
as Genghis barks and snaps won't shut his trap
then just as sudden disappears
Kublai shakes it off, softly coughs and nudges his way back to bed
lies himself down with an irritable frown and lays down his sleepy head
Genghis purrs into a growl getting ready to pounce his pal
But I open a bag of doggie jerky treats
Kublai immediately stands on his four feet
Eyes wide open nose in the air, he zooms so fast without a care
Genghis planning another attack but with Kublai barging
gets slapped back, flipped over and rolls under the chair like a cat
Kublai will have no more of that
He greedily grabs his doggie treat
the taste of morning now so sweet
Little Genghis finally got it back
no more of his morning guerrilla attacks
Genghis gets his jerky treat runs and hides in defeat
Mighty Kublai licks his lips savors the flavor of treat he gets
What a way to begin my day nothing really left to say
no TV shows could bring me the joys
of the silly antics of my little morning boys
Categories:
abouts, dog, fun, pets,
Form:
Free verse
Solace in solitude is not solace,
Yet solitude drapes around me as fog.
It backs up against the yellowing pale of democracy,
falling to cries of ism.
Ism builds the bridge
but passes nothing across.
Ism makes us all equally nothing.
It fills no gaps.
It eases no pain.
Everyone has so many rights, that no one has any.
Enough postulations.
Enough whining in the vernacular of drag abouts.
Enough hoping and cursing for the good old day, lost forever.
Infused in false hope and pseudo dreams
lying ever on the edge of tomorrow,
Swirling mists of anxiety
float on the tongue of every asker,
of every question.
who, what, where, when, why?
Burying answers in a vault of hypocrisy,
those who answer preening their social feathers
puffed in pompous indignation
of politically correct double talk.
Words are expounded, hearts are lifted. You hear trumpets sound,
only the small child utters, “What did he say”.
And a child shall lead them.
“What did he say?”
And they all ask “What did he say”?
he dares not say it again.
Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free.
Not: your poor tired huddled masses, yearning for all that is free.
© 16 Dec 2010 For Gareth's "inspirational"contest
Categories:
abouts, inspirationalchild, me,
Form:
Free verse