Best Awakening Poems
Abigail’s Spring
Beneath the shelter of winter’s barren arbor
My winter abused heart
Watches the day’s light linger in the sky resisting darkness -
Begging to play a little longer every day –
Pushing twilight away at arm’s length with pink and brilliant orange
Leaving wispy trails of color in the sky;
Urging empty branches and shivering wheat
Lift up their eyes from bruising rains
And crushing chill of wilderness storms;
Seeing here howling tirades of blizzards
Trade places with long sunbeams stretching slowly
Across my sun starved shadow, warming the winter’s wildness -
Coaxing pale green shoots to peek timidly at meadows
Covered with patchwork quilts of blue and yellow -
Orange scattered across arching hills –
Welcoming the face of spring with arms spread wide;
Listening for the bleating of black faced sheep
When they shed their fleecy coats;
Not looking back into the breath of moaning winds,
Longing sighs transformed into shouts of laughter
Chase themselves across the plains in children’s games;
My spirit, once wrapped in hibernation, feels the changing of the wind
Running up the road – knocking on the gate -
With a moveable feast born of abundance;
Stone cold frozen heart beats again in rhythm with gracious blessings
As the simple sparrow teaches
Her young to fly with the morning light
Rejoicing on warm nights filled with songs of mourning doves –
My face turns - embracing this greening valley -
As spring sprints breathlessly up the path.
April, 2020
Contest: Personal Favorite No. 2
Sponsor: L. Milton Hankins
5/16/20
Contest: Poetry Marathon Mile 13
Sponsor: Mark Toney
30 Lines
First place - Brian Strand Your Choice B - 5/17/20
Number 1 Best New Poem - 6/13-20
Poem of the Week - 6/20/20
First place - Brian's Choice G 6-21-20 - Brian Strand
First place Your Best Poem of 2020 - John Hamilton
Top Ten, #10, Poet Destroyer 11/7/20
Chosen for publication in PS It's Poetry
Springtime rain brings fresh array
of flowers east to west.
The Rockies’ red and purple tufts
of mountain pride are best.
And mats of foliage named moss pink face south to get the sun
while buttercups put forth large blooms
so not to be outdone.
Then comes the rain to bleak terrain
where gloriously unfolds
alongside barren roads - in patches -
desert marigolds.
Mojave yucca, blue lupines,
and sego lily whites
with Indian prairie fire flowers
paint the deserts bright.
And common flowers of the fields
in every place abound.
Sweet Joe-Pye weed; Black-eyed Susan
push up from the ground.
The California poppy makes
a patchwork orange and blue
while dandelions most unloved
will countless seedlings spew.
In southern marshes blossom too
the water hyacinths,
making of the waterways
pesky labyrinths.
In northern streams grow pussy willows
naked with no petals,
and somewhere on a touch-me-not
a bumblebee now settles.
Blossoming in woodlands now
are flowers in the shade,
but most prefer the sunlight of
an open forest glade.
The wild columbine dressed blue
and handsome in the breeze,
fragrant like the violet,
gives nectar to the bees
All across the country
there awaken everywhere,
each in their appointed region,
wild flowers fair.
Daisies, clover, daffodils
and lovely Queen Anne’s lace.
They briefly stay, but we can see
more fully nature’s grace!
(now for PD's Contest on Best Flower Poem)
For Constance La France's mini-contest: Wild Flowers
II. Nature's Cyclical Dance
End is not death. Changing into something new is good.
A leaf falls, then goes back into the dark soil.
Next year's flowers sleep under winter's quiet.
We fear the end, but nature shows us it's not bad.
Death is a new start.
My Anishinaabe mentor Little Deer laughed at my wide eyes.
That first forest walk, as he plucked a bright trillium —
"Cherish her fleeting beauty, but mourn her not, my friend.
This flower's death will birth a thousand more to come."
His people know life dances on; death is rebirth.
I hear them now. Those ancient voices riding wind's breath.
They speak through birch and pine... calling me back to the way —
Honoring and not fearing, the seasons' turning tides.
Each dawn's first birdsong and each brook's gentle murmuring
Echoing the rhythm pulsing through this wild...
and wondrous earth.
Let me join this cycle, rooted but free.
I'll welcome death and the return of life.
Like the forest floor, decay and new growth mix.
With every breath, I'll connect with the source.
This cycle of life, death, and being born again is a gift.
----
"The Sacred Forest, a Nurturing Mother, never lets life die, / But reclaims, recycles, and rebirths in her eternal lullaby." - Daniel Henry Rodgers
if you follow borealis,
you might hear children's laughter
innocence brings us closer,
our darkest corners can find light
the laws of man have not changed
do not travel into the valley of the snakes
do not travel into the valley
of the snakes
your brothers before you
.......saw the scorched earth
the laws of man have not changed
love waits until the bird with
the broken wing can fly
step away from the shadows,
your brother needs you now!
do not wait for the sun to rise,
cast your light upon My children!
it's never too late-
to show the way!
if you follow borealis.
you might hear children's laughter
might hear
children's
laughter
Upon Awakening
I see you morning,
curling down into
my front yard
like a big golden cat
come to play.
your paws ruffle the trees
but they are only bones
clacking noisily like
.geese squabbling
making your ears twitch.
you snuffle the dried beds
wanting to rub against the lilacs
but they are sleeping within
the grey hard branches
and will not answer you.
ah but there is a rose,
sheltered from rude November
by the cottage in a quiet spot,
one last hurrah as red as berries
you curl around it and purr.
Kiss by the Passing Breeze of Awakening
Dust of divine whimsy
Flutters softly on unconscious cheeks
With ephemeral dawning
Fleeting like the flash of silver sandals
In moonlight - here then hidden -
Stepping out of the opaque
Soul stirring from oblivious daydreams
Stepping into moments of classical
Lavender-rose moments.
The leaven of breezes in stardust essence
Flares in lambent clarity
Caches of chimera, that drain the heartbeat,
Shrivel in bursts of cheeky shooting stars.
Aroused from the depths of sleepwalking,
Grace notes float on rose scents
Harvested in potpourris for strangled screams
Scrambling through midnight fogs,
Sentience revisits in soft swirls
Awareness, roused by reveille,
Stirs caressed codas in soft preludes,
Awakes in fresh mindful raptures
Nurtured by a passing angel kiss.
Another impoverished evening
draped so strangely harsh, the moon weeps
for one more burning a soul must retain....
And she clings among lost stars
with frozen heartbeat thawing minutes
weighed on jagged sounds of owl's play.
Yet, an intercepted light begins to kindle
as she gazes at an old man by a lamp post,
seemingly collecting crumbs of reminiscences--
The tick of hours mirroring her own disquiet
while couples pause to catch a flurry of mist:
She quivers, turns away from the glass pane
listening to the teapot ... her meditative chant for now--
Till a discovery of self-awakening lifts gently
Where a tiny place in her bosom invites calmness
yet to be born ...
through growing roots of spirit- fire.
First Prize Premier
As the snow melts and winter passes away.
On bare twigs, emerald buds start to display.
Set on trees with gem-glazed blooms evincing through.
A sight to behold, a promise of something true.
With each passing day, signs of life grow stronger.
Birds chirp and sing; their melodies are longer.
The sun shines brighter, warming the earth.
Nature awakens in a joyous rebirth.
The air is filled with the scent of fresh flowers.
Butterflies flutter, dancing for hours.
Bees buzz around, collecting nectar sweet
All God's creatures, in harmony, meet.
The dawn of spring offers hope and wellness.
Taking time to ponder life awareness
In this time of expansion, let us rejoice.
And be glad for the blessings of birds' voices.
Written: June 07, 2023
A lone candle light in the abyss of darkness
Yet words are woven in creations of your smile,
The sweetest words are those not said intense timeless
When in your embrace one melts to your unique style.
Your flame renewed kindle in sweet resurrection
Emerald eyes that glow in lust of perfection,
Can but dowse puritan thoughts with insurrection
Rebellion is kindled in this new affection
Fires of passion the candle lit the abyss
To burn forever more in the flame of true love
To melt in your arms with the promise of a kiss
The iron hand now firmly in the velvet glove
Love like this has never before been given birth
My life my love this is your awakened loving worth
© Harry J Horsman & Mandy Tams 2013
The inn of my Heart
has many rooms;
I thought I knew them all.
They were peopled with
husband, children,
family and friends.
Even God had a room,
and I visited them all frequently.
I really didn't think
there were any more rooms;
Until one day,
while walking through my Inn,
I discovered a suite of rooms
unoccupied.
"Who is this for?"
I loudly asked,
"And why have not these rooms
been used?"
No one could tell me who,
and no one could tell me why.
So I stumbled around the rooms
exclaiming over the things
that I found there.
But as surely as day must dawn
the realization slowly came,
and with such a sense of discovery,
I stood there in awe
wondering what I would do.
For I had entered the rooms
filled with the essence of me.
There were all the hopes,
and dreams,
and feelings,
of one human soul.
And when I looked with understanding,
I saw that even the ugly things
had not been forgotten here.
It was a fearful thing
to be confronted with myself,
to see so clearly all the things
I had long ignored.
You see, the things we ignore,
hoping they'll go away,
simply move into our rooms
and wait for rediscovery.
Your turn will come,
if it hasn't already,
to enter your suite of rooms
and be confronted
with all the essence of you.
What will you do?
And, what am I going to do now?
Escape and close the door?
Lock it?
Build a wall in front of it?
Try to forget the things I found
in my suite of rooms?
Put my blinders back on?
Or will I have the courage
to move into my rooms;
to become familiar with those intangibles
that exist in all of us;
To learn to live with
the ugly things,
and not be defeated by them;
To sort out the useable
from all the rest,
and use it with enthusiasm;
To know that what I found here
won't always suit those around me,
But acknowledge it anyway.
I stand now in the doorway,
looking out, looking in,
wondering . . .
Submitted 17 Sept 2016
To Contest: What Might They Find There
Awakened by the creaking of the dying trees
In this barren land devoid of a breeze
Imprisoned dreams in a land of unpicked seams
Endless chasms of regrets in which no sunlight beams
Broken chords strumming tunelessly in solitude
Of songs of praises by an adoring multitude
Intruding reflections oppress thoughts that soar
Waltzing through his mind she invades once more
Time when they were darlings of virtuosic impression
Dancing in wild abandon to a public adoration
Truly enamoured in each other, their love did blossom
Though, in Life’s carousel sadly far too often
Pursuing perfection whatever may befall
One loses focus in the fluster of a fall
Adorning false crowns in high esteem
Ego soars and plummets and shatters the dream
In the drop of a pin - displeasure he perceives
past idolising could not now appease
the icy cold rejection she projects as she flees
leaving a broken man - who has failed to please
For many long years he lays wishing death’s end
Dwelling on memories of his so-called friends
Friends he thought steadfast who chose to ignore
his whispered words ‘forgive me I implore’
Shunned he was before his knees hit the floor
After long years of solitude one day he awakens
Finding his dark soulless days have been forsaken
Terrors of the night have been released - set free
From an unsuspecting sky all dark clouds flee
Dark night of the soul heralds White Light of the Self
Perceptions of enlightenment an awakening of himself
From the corner of his eye a movement he detects
A woman of the White Light he strongly suspects
In her iridescent persona to her task she ascends
His vulnerability she sees and her hand she extends
And in a confetti of star showers his heart she mends
Copyright © Nov 2020 Maria Williams
In loving warm tenderness
outside crystalised dew
reflecting rainbow colors shine
shining frosted glitter sparkling love
beautiful upon the ground
Looking towards a blue sky
brushed with pearl white clouds
Dreaming in a plane's vapor trail
destiny calling within a path
golden sun warm smiles touching deep
mixed with bird songs magic appears
A fresh cool December breeze blowing
caressing the brow, thoughts baby
whispering winds sings out in one union
rising up from the chimneys, smoke signals
Silver dancing wisps in warm turf fire
trailing down the valley
Captive
Grinning coyly
She feigns timidity
Cunningly knowing fools become
Ensnared
The Key Is Love
"Humanity can regain its dignity if it accedes that love is the key to
attaining unity and redefining visions in achieving lasting harmony"
08/19/2023
10:59 a.m.
Aboard Vision of the Seas
Cruising towards Bermuda
Such close relationship with death we keep,
As we embrace the nothingness of sleep.
Not careful enough for a fall so steep -
One moment awake, the next fast asleep.
A Goddess of forgotten time therein,
Who donned a crown of stars upon her head,
Constellations engraved on midnight skin,
The land of sleep, the land of halfway dead.
While some embrace the empress we call night
The mass extinguisher of any light,
Unhappy beings relish in their plight
Until the deep abyss swallows their fight.
Does this unexplored boundary exist
If this pull none remember nor resist?