Best Ambles Poems
One of my favorite poets here is Craig Cornish. He made me fall in love with the sonnet. :) He coached me in getting the meter right. It has become my favorite form to write in. This is a poem Craig wrote for me. I'm so honored! :)
Menina que Passa for Eileen
She saunters along the boardwalk
more confident than in her youth,
when young men would swoon
and older men were wishing to be
young again.
She meanders next to the surf laughing
at the sea's efforts to catch her toes
in a rush of briny bubbles tickling
the grains of sand hurry away.
She strolls and as the sea
eddies and pools in her footsteps
like the memories that wash her mind
tosses her hair face to the sun and
embraces the day
She wanders near the smooth stones
polished by the relentless tides
like days and years they come and are gone
come and are gone
but with each a blessing
she ambles among those blessings
with a flair and an aire
she has that "Something"
that "Je ne se qua" and she is beautiful
Craig Cornish
To me, a gift of words is one of the most treasured gifts I could ever receive. Thanks, Craig, for making me feel beautiful today. :) Hugs
Edited to include "creatures of the night"
They wait for shadows
to rush and fill their forest home.
Then ushered in by the hoot of the owl
or the whip-poor-will’s call,
they appear as silently as the black of night itself.
A fawn in hiding ambles over to a pebbled pool.
Its family follows.
Fireflies flicker about like tiny lanterns
and the incessant murmur of insects
fills the air.
Somewhere – cloaked in darkness – a frog croaks.
Soft splashes in the pool
reveal ducklings paddling along.
Creatures of the night -
badgers, raccoons, and other tiny furry creatures -
scurry through bushes
foraging for prey smaller than themselves.
Ears prick at the sound
of a lone wolf’s howl.
June 12, 2022
Snowflakes adorn blurry morn, gently, gently trickling down
As salted streets are turning brown across this weary town
While tilting trees blow wheeze of breeze in throe of snow
In aerial dance of wintry woe, as tips of twigs sun rays glow.
Driving slowly, traffic is moving, blinkers brightly turning on
As somber day, bearing yawn, is awakening bleak and drawn
When kids thrilled, frolic and build, a snowman on their lawn
Celebrating school closings on this messy, dampened dawn.
Peering scenes tinted gold, hushed romantic gazes behold
Fixating on meadows bold, where pristine paintings unfold
Delighting in the glowing blaze that brightens daze of malaise
Appealing to zeal of morning, blushing haze in emergent rays.
A deer ambles besides her fawn, exiting her quiet hideout
Curious to scout how leisurely strollers are sauntering about,
Ruminating sunshine while darkened clouds are phasing out
As bluing skies, sparkle eyes, illuminating zest of astral clout.
Beyond foothills, tall cliffs sigh, scintillating in sapphire sky
When far from here, climbing up high, cerulean motifs vie
As cobalt imprints horizons amplify, where birds merrily fly
Announcing to the receding storm: it’s time to say goodbye.
When daylight quivers on melting mound of thawing ground
Amidst whispers swirling around, muffled wind’s hissing sound;
Golden glints thrill, glistening hill, tinting the landscapes blue
Refracting puddles in ornate view of glinted beams’ opal hue.
November 16, 2020
Poem of the day on November 18, 2020
Placed 1st: In rhymes sublime poetry contest--by Joseph May
A tender discourse of artistic thoughts
Ambles my mind searching for prologue
Aiming to become a poetic dialogue,
Striving for words that elicit a response.
And you enter with an aiding portrayal
Letting my words live and breathe,
To evolve into lines of synchronic rhythm
And emanate sounds of lyrical music.
And you tell me words must be set free
To hear as I hear, and feel as I do:
Joy of romance or sorrow of heartbreak,
Elation of birth, or anguish of death.
Words set free weave a cohesive likeness
Choosing a dawn or night of darkness,
Painting a world full of cheer or fear
Upon shiny meadows or wispy pastures.
Shedding limitations of form and syllables,
Guided only by poetic aspirations
You awaken me with a wondrous theme,
You think so big, poem of my dream!
October 27, 2017
Placed first in standard contest #138 by Brian Strand
Along roads where mistral sweeps
Loneliness within ambles on
Every other step falling, keeps isolation
While, happiness continues out of sync
She wanders to a dream, a place
Where weeping willows brush her face
Beneath the branches bending low
She's walking where a garden grows
Grass gently sways, as cool as glass
And timid blows the warming breeze,
That fetches shining hair with ease
With wisps of gold, which fly astray,
Like meadow flowers, in yellow maize
A melody of larks, that sing
Of promised spring....of pastel things
An amber sun, a basking glow,
Who ambles by and whispers low
Of meadows green and rainbows too
How much she longs to bask again
To warm a face so pale of skin
But then, once more the threat of chill
Upon a cheek, a breath of ice
And snowflakes land upon on her lash
They startle cold, like morning ash,
A northern wind that stings her eyes
A thief will snatch her scarf away,
And thus her dream has gone astray
And once again her dream has died
Yet distantly, there lies in wait,
A springtime place, a promised fate
A path beneath the willow tree,
Where sun peeks through the velvet haze
Where flowers bloom and meadows grow,
And larks sing lovely lullabies
The earth will wake, to be a dream
A dream with sweet reality
____________________________________________________________
For Francine's Contest: "Winter Begone" 1/23/12
He prepares for a carefree day,
for jovial conversations,
for cheerful smiles and lively faces.
He’s a young boy. Just like me.
My mind swells with ceaseless terror.
I plead in my prayers
that our lives shall prolong further than this day.
I prepare for the grand attack.
He ambles through the village.
Laughter escapes the vivid frames
of him and his companions.
Not an ache in his limbs.
Not a burden in his heart.
I move anxiously ahead.
My feet without ease omit swarms of bodies.
Some still emit shallow breaths.
Inadequate sounds escape their mouths
and their eyes writhe.
For him, time passes swiftly
and a late train is the crisis of the day.
In that day, not a thought does he spare
for his fellow human beings.
For our sacrifice he doesn’t care.
As for me, time stays almost still.
I’m imprisoned in a time warp of pain.
My best friend clings off the un-cut wire
and blazing bullets glide through
the torn flesh of his chest.
He lies in his bed.
Wrapped around him a soft blanket,
under his head a warm pillow.
He’s a young boy. Just like me.
But only the moist earth serves me as a cushion,
and only the bodies of my lifeless friends
serve me as heat.
I lie in a shell-hole; I lie in my grave.
Autumn chilly days will soon be over,
There will be no bees over the clover.
The last vermillion leaves some red some gold
The breeze blows and my heart is much too cold.
I walk aimlessly in an unknown path,
My heart is like a sea with ugly waves.
How dare she, aloof. look away from me?
Has she forgotten those lambent days free?
Days spent in love and full of happy glee,
Whispering sweet nothings neath the oak tree.
Now she would not even acknowledge me
As she ambles the busy town, feeling free.
I do not love you anymore, she said.
Love is fickle, as autumn leaves fell dead.
It was just an old ravish smile
that caused me alarm,
when all those years ago you first
resonated within my chronic confusion.
I thought you were my father
back from the dead,
remembering he was never slow in
creating lattices of fabrication either.
After what seems an eon it is
so strange meeting you again,
the wallpaper as changed
yet here you are,
with your haunting ravish smile
invading my affliction, which
just ambles on, till once more I feel
the warmth of wellness.
© Harry J Horsman 2020
"The velvet veins running through my deep-coloured wings sing blues, remembering the non-existent maple memories, lighting up my heart's frosty rays."
~ Deepali Singhvi
The soft folds of velvet enclose
her slim body as she ambles
across the woods in tearful throes;
Wrapped in velvet, on she rambles
in whispers of ache that perturb
her feelings that are in shambles;
Her saunter's like a healing herb
that relieves her from her sorrow,
Here, there's no one else to disturb;
She follows a path that's narrow,
sits beside a well-worn headstone,
cries as if there is no morrow;
Slowly, she sighs sitting alone,
Unlocks a velvet box and takes
a black velvet rose to bemoan;
Places it there, her body shakes
with deep anguish for whom she lost,
"I'll love you always", her voice breaks;
Walking back, she's like velvet frost,
Wishing their love were not star-crossed.
He speaks for the uprooted.
A man of sorts, a twiggy Buddha.
He who interprets
the conferences of frogs,
the unpublished works
of kestrels and voles.
He’s an advocate for the underbelly
of a microbial heaven, for every kind
of uncouth animalcule.
Ancient is he, yet as fresh as tomorrow,
in green ponds he fishes for sunlight.
He plumps grassy pillows,
quilts nests for the slumbering and slippery,
gardens all dewy meadows.
He speaks for the bulldozed,
the displaced. The native and
the nomadic.
He tracks the sins
of the truculent muckrakers,
the yellow iron caterpillars.
He glides over bogs with the frogs.
Slips between the stringy and tall,
if there are no forested ways
he ambles where the wind ruffles.
He talks to the bears - they tell him
how things are going in the suburbs.
Swimming pools and trash cans,
have still to be negotiated. There must be a treaty.
He is leafy, kits and coyote love him,
Whistle-Pigs chirp like sparrows; blow their noses
to trumpet his approach.
When ducks quack his many sermons
shotguns misfire.
He is a preacher, a teacher to tics and turtles.
He is the bosky bedfellow, not a straw man,
or a hollow man – he is variegated and verdant,
a green man for me and thee
at least for now.
An illusion a mirage
Ethereal she glides
Most graceful nymph
Our Lady of the Lake
Appears surreal at twilight
Tends to her waterlily garden
Converses with the butterflies
A lost soul she ambles and meanders
She haunts the silence of the night
Then disappears dreamy as the mist
AP: 2nd place 2022, Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2020
In streets of solitude...
A societal ghost ambles through
A bustling concrete jungle unnoticed.
A lost soul with sartorial handicap,
Carrying life inside his overstuffed backpack.
His face is weather-beaten;
Reflecting wasted years,
Loneliness and pain.
His hungry, pleading eyes
Dart from one passerby to the next.
No one cares enough to approach,
To find out his name. It's Jack.
A few stop by to toss pennies
Into his Styrofoam cup.
No one sticks around to talk to him.
His stomach often grumbles
With hunger;
The world blind to his plight.
He wants more than a friendly wave
At those waiting out a stop light
Half of those don't even look in Jack's direction
Because of pride, he doesn't
Knock at car windows and ask...
"Can you kindly spare a dollar?"
A forgotten citizen left to fend for himself.
He might as well be locked away
In prison; out of sight, out of mind.
Who searches, cries, and prays for this lost soul?
America unwilling
To bring this outsider in from the cold.
She looks past him like cellophane.
Campaigning politicians release
A laundry list of plans that don't include
Helping him to rise above his dismal circumstances.
None of their promises include
Sheltering this poor folk roaming about
Like a stray dog, living under a bridge
And sleeping in a makeshift tent.
Sadly, it will always be this way
In streets of solitude.
INFATUATION – romance tweeting
It seemed the inevitable co-incidence.
Noticing each other, that two second too-long gaze,
False hopes meeting reality
Allowing for the possibility of more.
Temptation’s jubilant expectations
Unleashed in furtive thoughts,
Attended by passion’s penchants.
Thermal reverie ablaze in the
Idealistic realm of fancy,
One heart breaking as the
Next inevitable interlude ambles past.
submitted to Romantic Acrostic – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Regina Riddle
10/4/2014
E nchanted by the elements, Goddess Earth excitedly
A rises, anticipating all her awe-inspiring artistry;
R eveling in the rapture of the rivers’ ripples or roses’ rare redolence;
T antalizing us with her talent for turning out utter transformations.
H er heart holds hues of happiness!
R obust and rosy-cheeked, she rambles,
A dorning arms of trees with amethysts in spring and apples in autumn.
D ancing from dawn to dusk and back to dawn,
I nstinctively and impulsively, she illuminates with imagery - in
A nd out and all about, she ambles ardently.
N ever endingly, this nimble nymph
C apriciously creates - combing sky with clouds and coaxing colors onto canyons,
E xuberantly and effortlessly embracing all of earth’s expanse effulgently.
R iding rainbows or rapids; rending rocks when riled, she regulates and replenishes.
I nherently and impressively imaginative, she is invaluable in
D auntlessly and dulcetly delighting with dazzling display.
E arth, who exhales exquisite breath, may your radiance ride be everlasting!
An Anagram poem!