Best Acreage Poems
Azure blue skies weep in rent glacial torrents,
iridescent earth sun trap poised to garner sympathy,
dark red cloud’s indignant float might yet rumble,
toxic deluge drenches mudbank plot as toilers whine,
thunderstruck I gaze at wild indigo sea mist on brine-fleck shore
Edge of seat terra firma species orange alert mere bluster,
grim altitude apocalypse for amber moon orb,
rampant shower pockmark with visual scar as trenchant plague,
vapour trail from lachrymose horizon now a shrunken haze,
alarm bell’s doleful peal across an impact cratered expanse once sumptuous mint green
Stream of gurgling silken brook upon reciprocal bright cadence,
otherworldly pine from volatile nebulae’s damp swathe,
vapid biome acreage a gaunt reflection though surreal,
despite magenta stardust twinkle whose infant phase corralled
by wayward drizzle
Hemisphere by half redolent of sombre devastation,
yet exotic visual haunt is that vaunted shadow zone,
sweet maple leaf ether bound refuge from monsoon rife,
pot of gold opal strewn paradise escape hatch,
from lesion blight topsoil or open sore empyrean
Purple leaf and bell pepper cascade swirling o'er panic stricken globe,
perfume clad hillock under hawk-eye squint,
denizens idyllic foster atmospheric canny urban vault,
they hobble gingerly on salmon pink stone bridge en route to harried terrain rescue
freshly mowed backyard
like a farmer's acreage
during summer's heat
An evening stroll, on Midsummer Night's Eve ,
under the silver light of the horizon moon.
Life that burst among a small acreage,
of old-growth forests, flourished.
A delightful flurry of fireflies, drifting,
twinkle among the foliage, an amazing sight.
Echoing sounds moan through bough
and leaves disturbed the night grew cold and grim.
A sudden quiet came, not a whisper,
of leaf or waving bough, not a breath of wind.
The forest was swathed in gloomy shadow.
As I come upon an old museum adorned
with monolith standing stones.
Dim shadows obscured the eerie dark opening,
which formed a prelude to rivalries between evil and light.
Curiosity reeled me in, as my freighted body trembles.
What horrors wait inside? Annoying pride!
Please! Don't patronize me.", I told myself.
And awful, clenching nauseous feeling came over me,
with every step into the dark gruesome cavernous hall.
I didn't' want to walk any farther.
The moonlight sunk in casting shadows onto the walls.
Hideous, vicious grins sneered from carvings against the walls.
A sanctuary once filled with strange world treasures, gold and jade idols,
scepters, swords and masks embellished in jewels.
Finding, on a marble pedestal sat a crystal oval jar ,
with a picturesque opaque lid with a two inch statue of the goddess Athena,
in a long flowing gown, she held a spear on her right,
and a golden shield on the left .
An alcove on the far end of the wall sat a fiery red hair maiden,
wearing a flowing emerald green gown plucking the strings on a harp.
The musical sounds capturing the attention of whimsical creatures,
as a shimmering white Unicorn sat by her side.
Aromatic fragrance drifted within the room
with scent of blossoms and the cool sea filled the air.
I found it beautiful, warm, and embracing.
Not vindictive, but a smitten angel from heaven subduing nature.
An exciting victorious and fortunate feeling
flowed through my body, as I stared at her angelic sight.
7/17/2016
Athena is the goddess of wisdom, courage, inspiration, civilization, law and justice, mathematics, strength, war strategy, the arts, crafts, and skill in ancient Greek religion and mythology.
A sunny fall day. The landscape rises and falls in a cacophony of passing hills, trees, and road work. Hanging in the air, the smell curls the nostrils to protect from the odor of skunk.
The sign passes by too quickly. I assumed the familiar old estate was for sale! But no! It’s an election sign, as more and more homes seem to tout the small pictures of candidates mounted on stakes driven into the ground.
Clouds billow, all slightly leaning to the left. They seem slightly black where covering the four o’clock sun.
A blue tractor moves slowly around the huge field on the right. Mowing the grass, the huge beast has already drawn and quartered the acreage and will surely be resting peacefully back in its barn come nightfall.
My truck wheels, suddenly make the whirring sound as I move to the alert marks to the right of the white line. Thank goodness, that didn’t last long.
I see a new police car. They must be proud of that as tight as the county is with it’s money. Oh, we are entering that small town! So, now the county has another source of income, I think as I rationalize the new police car.
I stay exactly within the posted speed limits. I have donated once the that new car and do not want to continue my support. Just as the zone changes so I can resume my speed, I fall behind a church bus. You would think after five stops he would be through for the day, but no, he made five more before turning down a lane. I Look at my watch. Gosh, I thought! “Thirty minutes of this”, and it is still twelve miles to the interstate. O well, the country side was nice while it lasted.
A slight mist of fog is caught in the act of being by the light of the early morning
sun. Sometime during the dark of night it crept along from whence it came to the base of
the hundreds of cabbage palms spread out over the acreage of the brown grassy pastures across the county road where we reside. It slowly lifts
and dissipates as the earth turns her face to the ancient sun.
The new morn shows the Spanish moss dripping from grandfather Oaks and any other
trees close enough to share their hanging tattered ponchos of silvery moss.
This new light of 1/o1/11 reveals a faded blue sky with wisps of Cirrus clouds
forming above our little pond. Turtles raise their heads from the protection of their
shells to watch the flock of Sand hill Cranes flying to their planned feeding destinations
for this glorious day. A family of three land by the big pond across the road and begin
their long legged, leisurely patient hunt for the present day’s vittles. The rest of the
flock separates and all call to each other from different locations as they settle in for
the day as if to let each family know where they are and to reinforce that though they are
separated by distance: they are still of one flock and together.
This evening of 1/o1/11 these huge majestic birds will call each other back together
with loud raucous voices into one flock and parade back over and around our little house,
palms, palmettos and pastures in a grand and glorious flight, announcing their strength of
togetherness with the triumphant sounds of their staccato bugling for all of nature to
stand in awe of. And as part of this nature: I do. And it lifts me in faith, hope and
wonder of God and His creation.
Let this little message be our bugle call to you all. Happy New Year everyone, from
your fellow Humans in the natural wonderland of Okeechobee, Florida. God bless us all!
Wasted Energy
Darkness descends like a ribbon unfurling
As astronauts in space orbit the churning Earth
And observe the lit orb that is the world below.
Likened to a planet on fire in sulphurous yellow,
Though impressive to see, it is a waste of energy
To watch as photons flow at the flick of a switch
In the night when people should be sleeping.
Light pollution! Conservation is sorely lacking.
(The First Law of Thermodynamics states that energy is constant;
it is neither created nor destroyed but can be converted.)
Dams constructed flood lands to create reservoirs;
Waterfalls are shut down, and rivers diverted,
Destroying land use and animal habitat.
Fossil fuel stations and nuclear reactors are built,
Which pollute the air and swell waste dump sites
With radioactive and other toxic materials.
Fields are littered with windmills, solar panels, and mirrors
Consuming yield acreage and resources and killing birds
To generate electricity so that humans can live comfortably
In an electronic, surreal, guiltless, controlled environment.
Coral and lime stones
You can take the country out of me
However, not the trace of acid lime out of my blood
Growing up on the island has its advantages
Everybody was related to each other: and everyone knew
each other real names.
My grandmother was known as Nana to every little boy or girl
We all were well mannered bare feet rug rats
It was never about sparing the rod, and spoiling the brats
It was slap and several back slaps
No bad behave child were never reward back in those days
What I cherish most was the sense of freedom
playing in the open fields; running wild in the prickly grass
and chasing rainbow butterflies in the hot sun until dinner time
I remember lot of sunshine and weeks of rain
Plenty of fresh air, and poor folks who always care
about the welfare of each other
Somehow, the earth tasted like lime,
My cousin would take chunks of square dirt
And chew on it: Nana scolds her each time
However, every other weekend
It was a dose of castor oil or cod-liver oil
This made our little bodies tremble
She called it cleansing your little souls
And building strong bone and teeth
My little Island was all coral and lime stones
acres and acreage of sugarcane fields to roam
With made the earth more sweet and rich
Tropical; rainy season
Petroleum, fish, natural gas
on the tropical island of Barbados
what more could any child asked for?
besides being happy and safe
Looking back with a warm feeling
for the love of the island winds that blew
Over the hills on windy days
How can I not give back to the Island?
My heart would always remains
On the coral and lime stones earth.
Where Pride and Industry of the little Island is our motto
Let me……….Let me … Let me in….. Let me in,
I want you, I miss you…… Mum!
Let me... Let me... Let me... Mum Lead me!
As something inside me is burning,
Let me be, let me! Be me,
Face of Stella get in and be with me!
I want you tell me everything is gona be okay,
Now let me write the spectrum between death and life of my mother,
I’m clement about my mum even when deceased and vanished.
I always heed to her spirits even when I know it’s a myth.
Mum without you, no me, no words, I would have transcribed,
Nothing is synonymous to you, mother
Because the love I feel for you is eternal.
I’m one lucky guy, my mum is in heaven, I, am still in haven.
There’re flashes I remember,
I remember talking to my mum when I’m a sleep,
And then, when dawn ruptured, indeed I recollected everything she had told me,
She told me, “When you start from nadir, you can glimpse zenith.”
My mum holds my hand and fills the gaps in between my fingers, when no one else can,
Gad dam it, that was just a hallucination but I fondle it.
My mother played her position,
I’m playing my cards and My numbers are bingo!
I perceive and heed to her voice every nightfall,
My mum whispers to my ears saying, “Cling on to ecstasy my son.” I’m with you.
She may be gone,
But her soul is wiggling with God, mine mingles with hers!
Let me accolade my mum,
Even when evil always wheels from North to south, my aegis is my mum,
My mum is my afflatus in my acreage.
My mum left me callow,
She vanished during my juvenile stint,
But I’m pursuing and so far opened new leaflets and lucrative I am now,
The canons suggest that the dead are not dead,
They just switched to the phantom zone,
So her soul is mythical in my presence,
But In the back of my mind, my mum is animate.
Face of Stella is me.
Mother, these are my words to you.
In loving memory of my Queen Mother #Stella
©Bryan De poet
©Tsi
-Once upon a time II-
In a separate realm
Where cloud rains
Where dreams
Are dream
And due
To come true,
Where lives and lots
Are valued
Where chattels
And acreage
Are own
Love, fuddle,
Pamper, behold
And hold.
The most
Incredible deal
In this hectare
At this epoch
Is the way
Of their
Stewardship-
Ancestors are
Alive and
Still rule
The living
Land and humans.
Another bond
Is that of
To bide
Dumb and deaf.
No ruler;
Hail Kings.
And most
Essentially
The beauty
Armed queens
Are to
Be eulogized.
They are
Milestones of
These kindred
Kingdoms.
Food for thought
“This realm is majestic”
The news reaches
The Mighty helm-
The leader
Of the faraway cloud
And his ready
To journey and seek
Elsewhere like this realm
He just heard of.
“May you tell my mother
And my true people
That I, their lord…
Ready to cruise
Away and
To return
With answers
And panaceas
To the seemingly
Unruly
State of
Our land” ……
7/2/2014
Revived to pop out as an empty nester
To accompany a newfangled life
Maneuvered all the way for a change of state
I dropped my bags and willed at country’s metropolis.
The heirloom edifices occupying moiety of acreage
Glossy crisscross roads and extended overpass
Spic-and-span subway and the rushy blue line coaches
Voguish three wheeled fares and snuggled DDA flats
Yet an open blue sky and extreme deuce climate.
The forenoon snarl – up and the crowded massed bus
The traffic and the driver’s clapper claw
The border red signal and the busy CP
College bunkers to gates of malls
Unitedly a fussy horologe.
Where educatees hitting lectures and employes cogitating
Schemers contriving at the parliament
Few couples could be sighted antithetic though
And rest chewing the fat.
Republic march at the red fort
And the day break Jama Masjid prayer,
Incised India Gate boswell and
The eventide light show at akshardham.
Elementses unidentified at Qutub Minar
And the muteness dwelled at the lotus temple,
Savaged kingdom at Tuglakabad
And exquisite ambiance of Humayun tomb,
Concisely a grand metropolis
Envied world-wide.
Revived to pop out as an empty nester
To accompany this newfangled life
Maneuvered all the way for a change of state
I dropped my bags and willed at country’s metropolis.
Darkness seeps through stately pines,
outside this home-made, tar-paper shack.
It’s two AM, and I cannot sleep again,
so I gaze out into the black.
I feel a relaxing sense of peace,
and while it may be no normal thing,
I’ve always found the embrace of night
to be strangely comforting.
Came up with my brother and a mutual friend,
tomorrow is this year’s opening day.
The tree-stands have long been built,
waiting for deer to come their way.
My family’s owned the land fifty years,
grandpa built this three-room hut,
and he chose well because this land
has yielded some monster bucks.
I know every inch of the acreage,
all one hundred eighty-nine,
but night’s stillness brings me back
to a different place and time.
Starring into the darkness,
familiar landmarks shaded and gone,
makes you wonder what hides behind
every single leaf and frond.
Is Bigfoot lurking in the dim,
staring with almost-human eyes?
Is the ghost of a murdered pioneer
still haunting where he died?
Is a trapper dressed in furs about
to step out and hail the house?
Will an Indian come in to trade,
wanting blankets for fresh-killed grouse?
Will spirits of an ancient time
let loose with unearthly wails?
Will a forgotten hermit soon emerge
to tell us the old forest tales?
Does Wendigo stalk amongst the trees,
desperate for a taste of flesh?
Do skin-walkers wander endlessly,
unable to gain a needed rest?
These things were once very real,
when my eyes were only young.
Now they’re impossible to envision
after the rising of the sun.
But sometimes in the still of night,
when I come up to this place,
the legends and monsters walk again,
and it puts a smile upon my face.
Once at dawn upon a wandered mind when day had dwelled within a dream,
I stood afore a forest's edge and gazed upon its refulgent grassy gleams.
Home alone on a house's deck perched before the acreage of the backyard's lawn,
I watched what grew on the ground drizzled in dew from the early drip of dawn.
A ring hath rounded about the lawn betwixt the kudzu-choked sycamore,
Wherethrough which viridian visions float in the verdure's effervescing floor.
Rising steam of the sunlit green trapped in the photons' saffron streams,
Hung in the stick of the humid thick, bubbling before the blazing beams.
I beheld lo brilliant ethereal bubbles, who're broken, buoyant, and brickle,
And sweat from trees whose sipping leaves suck from the sun's spilled trickle.
Suddenly, terror took me in its icicle shackles and caught me in its freeze,
As I saw something staring back at me from within the limbs of a willow tree.
The creature stirred beside the backyard's circle and wore which sinister stare,
Of the maniacal resplendence in ricocheted screams echoing inside a waking nightmare.
It was whispering hushed words in the wind that lilted the tree's whipped cirrus twists,
Of languid hung branches whose white flowers hid that which spoke behind their wisps.
I could not tell if it was hidden in the dark of a shadow or in the shine of the light,
As I stood there unmoving watching it watch me as my body filled with heavy fright.
Fear of the dark is but a worry of what the mind can make,
Out of a lack of light where what perchance from nothing can awake.
Yet fear of the light is but a fear of what outside the mind can find,
Outside two eyes whose sight doth sought that which is beyond the mind.
As I listened to the susurrous voice slithering in tendrils across the air,
I heard what it said with listening ears tucked 'neath my raising tuffs of hair.
An evening stroll, on a chill night,
under the silver light of the horizon moon.
Life that burst among a small acreage,
of old-growth forests, flourished.
A delightful flurry of fireflies, drifting,
twinkle among the foliage, an amazing sight.
Echoing sounds moaned through boughs and leaves,
disturbing the night.
The air grew cold and grim.
A sudden quiet came, not a whisper,
of leaf or waving bough, not a breath of wind.
The forest was swathed in gloomy shadows.
Dim shadows obscured the eerie dark.
Curiosity reeled me in, as my freighted body trembles
and an awful, clenching nauseous feeling came over me.
I didn't want to walk any farther.
The moonlight sunk casting shadows.
Fragrance drift within, with the scent of blossoms
and the cool filled the air.
I found myself embracing;
my arms around me.
Roots moved around me, subduing nature.
An exciting feeling flowed through my body,
as I stood and stared at the tall trees around me.
They swayed as their leave's sing.
Don't be afraid as the sun is starting to fade
a smile to honor you with my dappled shade;
they all whispered unison.
If hungry, we offer the taste of my fruit,
as I do for my friends that scurry round my roots.
As it ought to be done.
I protect the area from erosion, beneath
and give them some oxygen to breathe.
As it has been done since time begun
And through the sacrifice of my life
the need of lumber or paper, make such a strife
In which of course, no discussion of mine, human won.
A joy to hear at first a passionate compassion,
then turn to heartache to a true deep reverberating message they convey.
5/19/2022
Wisdom From Trees Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
God loves trees
Other than people and God, trees are the most mentioned living thing in the Bible. There are trees in the first chapter of Genesis (verses 11–12), in the first psalm (Psam 1:3), and on the last page of Revelation (22:2). As if to underscore all these trees, the Bible refers to wisdom as a tree (Proverbs 3:18).
A phenomena misinformed is a mispronunciation of a garbled gargled juice. Only released once. Not twice. Nor three times. In fact the catchment period for enticing a cake is relative only to atmospheric pressure conditions. Obviously whirling! Cantankerous hound on a motorbike with no helmet. How rather silly. But he is a general arch. But not an archway. That would be too clever. And he is a simple general who knows only a sanctified sauce. Like glue it has stuck since birth and like glue he adheres to the codes norms and the values of this region. In a generalistic sense. Whilst resembling a dark chocolate biscuit. With a pointed nose. At a slight left angle.
Fish tail dance then with a wobble wibble wobble. WOW.
Now look at all the colours.
Clicking clocking heels denote the time. Detonation. But not in a bra. In a child's suit. Plastic wearing earinged chef of chefs. Boiling then cooling and then colouring in an acre tall colouring book on a view on a balcony. Supping. Shimmering fabric of spouse dress. Simmering.
Pimple pocked pample moose often needs pampering. Just like an overgrown toddler. Stamp stomp stamp then. Cheery cream pie...CHERRY CREAM PIE....In skirts...whirling...Then squashed on top of the delivered cake. In panic and anger at such outrage delivered by the prominent one. In fact the prominent bull in the planetary field often bellowed so loud that the fries delivered upon request and tantrum were blown across the balcony at such haste that they burned little holes in the woodwork and ceramic surround.
To write is to relate and to relate is not to be late or to relay.
It is the opinion of an onion that induces tears to some.
It is the integrity of a small suited potted plant packing a suit case.
Rapidly
WOW
And just how intelligent is an underwear drawer, a walk in wardrobe or an acreage of scarves?
Answer that and multiply by a threshold?
Equals what then? = ?
Z decipherment Z – at 3336 spoons to 17,000,000,000,000 pickles in skirts.
clear cinnamon and pumpkin spice
bringing October into view
fall’s sweet presence is very nice
oranges and yellows in autumn’s hues
spider creates intricate web
clear cinnamon and pumpkin spice
produce in garden grown by Jeb
apple cobbler give me a slice
quick leaf movers – squirrels and mice
oaks let down their hair all around
clear cinnamon and pumpkin spice
acreage of leaves duly found
air is calm, mornings are cooler
Can school wait a year? No dice.
Jimmy needs his brand-new ruler
clear cinnamon and pumpkin spice
Written 8-11-2022
Contest: Hint of Autumn – Quartern
Contest Host: Regina McIntosh