Best Alfresco Poems
NO WINTER THIS YEAR! NO NONE AT ALL!
no winter this year, no! none at all!
the ducks dilly dally, honeybees in the fall!
my dry cleaners said "no need for your coat!
I'll get to it when, I dock my sailboat!"
anthills getting bigger, their soldiers don't hurry!
I checked the forecast, no chance of a flurry!
the blueberry tea, I've been served alfresco,
stays quite piping hot! thank you Ernesto!
my finest snow angel, about to appear,
must take a raincheck! with Santa's Reindeer!
the heavens above, must surely have reasons,
postponing ice fishing, and blurring the seasons!
I'll wait two more weeks, before I declare!
"remove thin-ice signs! steep drop-off beware!"
Born on March 26th 1874 in San Francisco
Where the streets are filled with dining alfresco
At age eleven his father passed
Then relocated to Lawrence Mass.
From the hills and the pastures blowing free
His words ran so deep and scrupulously dreamy
In the 1900’s he began forward to Derry New Hampshire
Where the broken apple limbs made fair bushfire
Sweet fields swayed and the autumn sighed
Robert was devoted to nature and the great outside
Blooming vivid colors in the musty breeze
Burnt amber firewood rests in columns and is seized
Frozen grounds and lanterns aglow
Heaps of clad earth dancing around the spruce in a row
Where impulsive minds were left to wander
A glorious view of the silvery birch around yonder
There a hunger grew like no other, and emerged
In the myths of his seclusion inspiration ran with an urge
So there he traveled the courses
On posed dapple-grey horses
Spent time in his teaching
Always in hopes of reaching
Though suffered many a personal tragedy in succession
He later settled in Ripton Vermont and continued his profession
Frost received the Pulitzer Prize for poetry four times in his life
Having succeeding many children and a wife
Robert Frost died on January 29, 1963, having had four children
And six grandchildren, and eleven great-grandchildren
He is and will always be regarded a master-poet and writer
Leaving piles of verse for all to read thus making life brighter
Eating alfresco
A beautiful autumn day
Feel we could touch clouds.
Tartan blanket spread
Food consumed, leisurely ease
Taste a gentle kiss
Last sight of summer
Leaves are slowly turning gold
Nature's wedding band.
Slight smell of autumn
Through rays of late summer sun
A benediction.
Musical notes sound
Waterfall draped with green moss
Listening with pleasure.
The climbing earth meets the alighting sky ,
Trying tirelessly to douse its ball of fire ,
But only dims it ,
As it shrivels with a secretive ***** whisper ,
only heard ,
and known by tens of trailing nomadic birds .
It is their calling to their destiny ,
embedded in the horizon .
They shall fade together in alfresco .
But for the eyes of many ,
it is a flower ,
denuded of its petals .
But not forever ;
Tomorrow like a bud it shall blossom.
For Didds
Four tankards found at the foot of the hill
Bet someone got w*nkered, and now they feel ill
Bet it went down so easy that no one resisted
And now they’ve forgotten the tankards existed
But down at the pub there are rumours of scandals
Of boisterousness, and the theft of four candles
And a gap on the shelf where the tankards once sat
And out on the roof someone’s comedy hat
Maybe barred from the pub and a walk out of town?
With enough beer in tow to conceivably drown
As they woke up the town with their loud shouty glee
And blessed all the hedges with vomit and pee
“Here’s bashin’ yer metal” and “Cheers, me old china”
Drinking alfresco, well, what could be finer
Well, ale, I suppose, for it goes down a treat
Not that one cares when one’s drunk on the street
The next day the tankards just sat by the road
All hopeful and waiting, but nobody showed
Until round the corner a giant appeared
Wearing a rugby shirt, smile and beard
“I’ll tell you what, lads, all back to mine”
Four trusting tankards all followed in line
Expressing their heartfelt and infinite thanks
With tinkles, and clatters, and resonant clanks
There followed a search, and some transient glory
And some vain attempt to uncover their story
So brightly they shone in their moment of fame
Then they just disappeared, in the way that they came
‘Tis said, down in Rowde, that the veil is thin
That mischievous fairies throw stuff in the bin
That strange things do happen, when folk have been drinking
All myth mixed with moonshine and magical thinking
Whatever, wherever, they’re not coming back
So; whose were the tankards, and what was the crack?
by Gail
I said, do you fancy a drink, Tom?
He said where the hell is that stink from?
My dog cocked his leg
We smelt rotten egg
Because he had eaten my stink bomb
*
My cat swallowed my whoopy cushion
He can’t get it out but keeps pushin’
But each time he squeezes
He makes noisy breezes
My mum holds her nose and keeps shushin’
*
They stroll the prom in their best finery
Some stop for alfresco China tea
Silly, not brave
With one big wave...
They look like they’ve come from a winery
*
She gracefully ambled the prom
I’m sure somewhere posh she was from
She patted my dog
Who ‘issued a log’
She left with a lot less aplomb
His new wife proclaimed, ‘Oh my God’
I think I’ve just wed a tripod
I now understand
Your steps in the sand
You left a third trail where you trod
Those newlyweds lay hand in hand
Their union sealed on the sand
The sand made her sore
But she wanted more
And, oh boy, did he make a stand
Abstaining so long was a drag
She can’t think why he didn’t brag
Their first time: alfresco
By moonlight they let go
She thought it a pole for a flag
She cried and she started to beg
Please fertilise my willing egg
As she grabbed his member
He begged please remember
Go gentle with my middle leg
Sitting alfresco, with a screen open to the Daily
On a fashionable stretch of street
Lined with expensive everything where
Scents of coffee roast, mingled with vanity
Shiny hair flicking insults and smiles, as waiters
Danced between tables of note
Such is life, he wrote with a grin
Beneath the image he sent to his wife
Of himself and his morning café
His last morning, as it was, of the way he saw life
Looking back that moment quantified
That life isn’t such isn’t that
For some…
The image captured a smug well-dressed executive
In a comfortable life, enjoying the successes
Enjoying a coffee and the freedom
Enjoying life
The image also captured a boy
A boy in a chair
A special chair, with wheels and gadgets and
Controls just in reach
Of a life just such
Or perhaps just out of reach
Melancholy swept over him in that moment
Like witnessing the lowering of a casket of a loved one
He wasn’t sure if it were the tears that
Tendered an offer of concern from the waiter
Or, the fact that he’d spilled his coffee
He looked at the image again
Cherish the such…
Such is life he thought…
For some
Judy Konos Poetry Contest: C’est la vie
Mark Trichet
6 Nov. 2014
Hot Child In The Urban Summer Dwelling
A Poem by Debbie_Philly
" Poem about the heat in the city ....;) "
Hot Child In the Summer Urban Dwelling
The city streets are buckling under the sticky smoldering heat.
Urban life at this moment can be so draining while tensions are
high. People stop,wipe the sweat from their brow as they attempt
to inhale and breathe. "Hey I heard that wheeze from across the street Tony".
Heat choking the life out of us like a looming marauding monster.
Beads drip from angry faces while tempers flare, sirens roar in a city
of despair. Yes Will Smith's song "Summer Time" and the spark of
nostalgia from BBQ's help but its still Spring.
If you have the money you can take a drive down the Jersey shore
or to the Poconos cooling peaks.
A place to breath without choking pollution, heat advisory's and the smells of
unidentified unknown origins. Don't get me wrong there are allot of redeeming
qualities of summer in the city too.
Dinning alfresco, summer concerts, water ice, open fire plugs, Mister Softy
and block parties. Small reliefs of the constant three wheelers screeching
down the Blvd, fighting neighbors, and relentless dripping humidity.
As they say here on the east coast "If it weren't for the humidity I
wouldn't mind the heat". Sure you wouldn't ( wink)
Windows opened as the baby across the alley way cries and the guy
next door yells at his girlfriend while she fires back screaming
like a fish wife. The poor are getting their relief from a rubber hose
spraying water and the rich are relaxing in the Hamptons. Well I guess
if I had it like that I would enjoy it as well, then again I more
likely would open a home for battered women and children, build the
pool there. **** how I wish I had it like that.
I suppose theres no sense in complaining about the heat, just write
it out the best way I know how to deal. So excuse me while I leave
you now to step onto cool tiles of the tub, turn on the crystal clear
water and wash the clammy sticky heat down the drain. Into the Delaware
river of redemption as I take my sixth shower of the day (wink) .
By : Debbie Mills Kelly
BIASED
THE LIFE HAS BEEN RUINED
LIKE AN OLD MANOR,
THE ALFRESCO HAD TURNED
INTO SIRROCO OF LIFE.
IT HAS GIVEN ME THE
MASOCHISH OF LIFE.
IT HAS BEEN RUINED LIKE
GHATS OF GANGES
BY PREACHERS WHO ARE
FAKE TO THE WORLD.
THE LIFE HAS ANGINA
WITH BOULEVARD OF
NO FUTURE.
THE BELL LOST ITS RING,
AMETHYST LOST ITS
COLOR,
I HAVE BAD PIEANO NOTES
ON MY FINGER.
THE COLOR OF RAINBOW
IS BIASED,
LIKE ME.
WHICH HAS NO REASON
TO CHANGE.
THE FEEL IS GIVING
ME COUP DE GRACE
EVERY MOMENT OF LIFE
AGAIN N AGAIN.
Within a lush verdant meadow, meanders a lazy river
Where wildflowers bloom beneath the warm breath of the sun
They sway upon a gypsy wind on this early morning in June
Stems of purple heather rise above the carpeted earth,
Emerald green as any Irish hillside or garden near the shore
Their saccharine scented plumes attract the pollen seekers
Bursts of color can be seen in shades of scarlet and white
For growing on the river's bank is a plethora of anemone
Not the variety that resides in the depths of a sea
Yellow iris mingle with daisies in this alfresco arboretum
Untouched by the hand of man, it's an immaculate bouquet
Resplendent in perfumed glory and pristine perfection
There's the mellifluous sound of a cascading waterfall
singing a soft melody as it spills from crevices of granite rock
Nourishing the serpentine river flowing through the glade
This haven appears as an Elysian Field, as Eden must have been
A sanctuary to remain inviolate and reverenced by the gods
Perceived to be hallowed ground, too sublime for mortal man
September 29, 2021
Your Best Sijo Poetry Contest
Sponsored by William Kekaula
*VIDEO of San Francisco by Scott McKenzie, Cheers to Tony Bennett.
City of Hearts and Home by the Bay
Day star's mist yields to its grip of a bridge,
Span steel strands, harp-like, golden tags a smidge,
Light drapes the streetcars, up and down the hills,
Chimes, mass speeches, music, and painted stills,
Juggling pantomimes, street fair atmosphere,
Haight and Ashbury crossing yesteryear,
Fisherman's Wharf nearby Pier 39,
Seafood platters and fine dining with wine,
Downtown Union Square, lunching alfresco,
Market Street, Tiffany's, a Broadway show,
San Franciscans, whenever we're in Rome,
Ideal for some, but we call this home.
2022 December 31
*2nd Place*
Take Me There
~~Margarita Lillico: Judged 2023 January 21
*RZ & HMS.
Emergence
Alfresco
Prison
Labelled
Numbered
Indoctrinated
Jobbed
Subliminally
Terrorised
Politically
Corrected
Chemically
Fed
Laboratory
Medicated
Damned
alfresco picnics
fresh cucumber sandwiches
crisp linen on grass
5/ 18/ 2018.
Climbing
up the wall-
an alfresco
living expressionist
abstract
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lichen