Best Awnings Poems
Thoughts of Two Dimensions
Yesterday, I loved your courtyards
bathed in moonlight's shadows and smiles,
smitten by wavering stars,
lanterns of my youth,
that are reflected as coins,
in the quiet waters of your fountains.
Those are my reminiscences
arabesque creatures of an old chest,
sanctified by the lavender,
and left on the bottom of my wardrobe.
Today, I love your crowded streets,
pebbled alleyways that breathe
with aromas of kitchens,
shouts of children quarreling,
and nagging of older women
behind those awnings and windows of life well known.
Tomorrow, I will love your hot paved squares
that open to the harbors and promising high seas
while cypresses will send regards to far away winds,
and seagulls will sing nostalgia cries
of wandering merchants and sailors.
Categories:
awnings, sea, seasonslove,
Form:
Free verse
Powdered Sugar Daydreams
Time becomes invisible, ceasing to matter
as this place in all its magic and wonder
blooms upon the gardens of our imagination,
playing like birds on a sky of opal blue, wandering streets of old
Where rising suns on aqua horizons shift,
singing of a new day which is happily part of the prior,
extending beyond any view offered along this rocky shoreline,
as we stroll by delta desires and riverboat reveries
Brick paved streets, uneven but smoothly polished greet us,
a sidewalk table, warm cuppa, green on white awnings,
sweet treats beneath Café Du Monde shadows and tender kisses
within the eyes of all passing, and we without a care
Music fills the square in harmony with our heart beats,
a three piece jazz ensemble plays melodic romance
while your hand, your fingers, tightly hold mine
and I feel your pulse tap out the rhythm of our day
We dance upon wrought iron balconies
above French Quarter bead laced branches,
glistening in purples and greens
of past parades and tomorrow rendezvous’
While jasmine covered arbors bound by geranium breezes
invite us to be one, our love springs forth
in cool waters from passion’s fountain and we find
ourselves lost in powdered sugar daydreams again
Categories:
awnings, day, dream,
Form:
Free verse
A descension of value bows night scenes,
the purple canopy edges its hoist,
spirits cool Platte River to lose its sheen,
Nebraskans wake to clarion fields voiced.
A loyal guest calls, it's the Sandhill Cranes,
dancing lessons, fields fattening corn orts,
pecking and choosing established campaigns.
Last state, go afoul, -- a date with the courts.
Locals aid their tally, most from afar,
It is nature's clock, all good things must end,
fly north to breed, and brood, and up to par,
A month's here, till next year, that's how the trend.
Awnings grey, triumphant stirs, the tension,
inspiring, crescendo ... the ascension.
Categories:
awnings, allusion, analogy, animal, appreciation,
Form:
Crown of Sonnets
Sunset Awnings
She sits
on a park bench
sharing
her wisdom
with pigeons.
He walks
slowly
one old dog
conversing
with another.
They walk
blindly seeking
“friends”
“screenbound”.
The sun sets
on life’s
experiences.
John G. Lawless
©8/20/2017
Categories:
awnings, age, life, youth,
Form:
Free verse
Walked six years, that way,
And watched this new suburb’s trend.
Near Mysore Highway,
Close to Bengaluru’s end.
Three storeys tall, stood,
This awesome tree-spread, so pretty.
Blue blossoms, good wood,
Half acre’s canopy.
‘Neath with sun-warmings,
Faded blue a carpet rose.
Of fallen, dried awnings,
Nature’s cycle, as it goes.
Hanging Traffic Lights,
Often, brushed by its branches.
Red light, hid from sights,
Officials, took no chances.
The machinery,
Was then set into motion.
People versus tree,
Few friends, one odd emotion.
The huge saws came in,
Chopping through, the whole, big tree,
Adding noise and din,
Workmen yelled, ‘Timber!’ in glee.
The earthmovers filled,
The gaping hole with rubble.
The tree was thus killed,
At great cost and much trouble.
The decorators,
Carted leaves to weddings halls.
Such deft creators,
Blooms to florists’ stalls.
The carpet-pile, twigs and chips,
All collected, swept,
Offals for funeral trips,
Departed unwept.
Their nests and hives gone,
The birds and the bees hovered,
Twittered , buzzed, flew on,
Their losses unrecovered.
The tree’s life on earth,
Cut short, for sale by auction.
Fetched a pittance’s worth,
The wood went for a fraction.
Traffic lights are safe now,
No mix-up of colour red.
Strange.. Green light, some how,
Blinks. Reminder of the dead.
Jacaranda tree,
God dressed your kind soul in wood.
You would have lived free,
You would have, lived, If you could.
Note: Offals: (OE for small twigs, straws etc used for lighting fire) Please Note:this poem (my original) is already entered in with Voices.net.com earlier...and i hope there is no objections to entering it here.
Categories:
awnings, happiness, introspection,
Form:
Day by day, passing that sign
piqued my interest. Curiosity
grew stronger . . . had to check it out.
I drove down Green House Road.
The gravel spread on asphalt dinged
a symphony underneath.
I drove slowly, looking . . .
searching for the green house.
I saw pines, cedars, elm trees
and firewood, ricked and tarped
beside a vacant lot.
Old cars were hidden behind
an eight foot picket fence.
Lettered signs read:
Private - KEEP OUT
DEAD END - No Outlet
I did not drive down the side road,
marked by 15 mailboxes.
Swing sets and metal awnings
adorned white houses.
But no green house.
Categories:
awnings, confusion, culture,
Form:
Narrative
On a corner one day
And another the next
I pay a high price
Just to be in debt
As awnings sway
And angels pray
Keep me safe another day
I owe you not now or then
But my pain is forgotten
Your spoils displayed
Decayed and rotten.
Categories:
awnings, betrayal, corruption, discrimination, grief,
Form:
Rhyme
Don Johnson’s Heart Attack fix
Oh he drank and he smoked and lived through a war,
His arteries were blocked so they said,
Massive heart attack got him, almost for sure,
Chest tromping horses , walking the more,
Almost crushed him to death,
Driven by ambulance hundreds of miles,
A truck sideswiped it, a pest,
Up onto the footpath under awnings with style,
We aint got to the hospital just yet.
Doctor he said “stay in your bed,”
“You know them big bloody stop signs,”
So he went to bed for 2 years or so Fred,
His heart was a thumping those lines,
A book did appear that altered his fear,
Vitamin E and the heart,
It was around 1973, oh dear,
Grabbing at straws from the start,
Two thousand milligrams did he take,
The daily dose fixed him,
Went opal gouging at Lightening Ridge,
Almost buried, death by whim?
The side effect was energy bent,
You now felt so alive,
Your little friend beat you out of bed,
Pre viagra’s sexual drive.
Don Johnson
ANTIOXIDANTS ARE GOOD FOR YOU AT THE CELL LEVEL REPAIR...
I was amazed in the improvement in my Dad he got another 20 years out of that
worn out heart, his hardening of the arteries improved. He was always one for doublng treatments for best effect, the Book should still be in production in the US. "Vitamin E and the heart" The book got you back on your feet and sent you back to work:)
My mum is annoyed that she cant take vitam E with her wolfren medications,
she was on Vitamin E almost 40 years.
Seems the arteries improve the flow of blood and it thins the blood too like asparin.
Ask you doctor can you do it?
I worked with a guy in the eighties who had a heart attack, I told him of Vitamin E,
he was rejuvenated by the vitamin, and very pleased with himself!
Categories:
awnings, adventure, heart, heart, mum,
Form:
Ballad
I hear the rush of cars rushing by in the rain
outside
from my place in the fabled Lower east Side
Staying dry indoors
I sit down and write this ode
Just attended a short story discussion group
We discussed tales of war and murder
But now I feel peaceful
as the sky opens up
on the Lower East Side
I hear the rain falling on the LES
The Latino domino players
are so into the game they play under awnings when it rains
The rain won't stop the Talmudists
at the hose of Sages
form studying
holy works
Grey sky above
Yesterday was bright and sunny
Today is so wet that I skipped my volunteer work
at Poet's House
and skipped my friend's concert
Maybe I'll flip on the television
Relaxing with the "cool fire" is sometimes
quite nice
I live next to the FDR drive
where cars are rushing by in the downfall
Where are they going?
Where are we all going?
I have time to ponder such questions today
As I relax on a reclining chair
Here on the Lower East Side
Where so many American stories have begun
Categories:
awnings, rain, urban,
Form:
Ballad
Six weeks have flown by
With many beautiful hours together.
This morn we sat under the awnings
Sipping hot frothy cappuccino
Watching the first monsoon showers
Overflowing from the potted flowers
Drenching my thirsty listless garden.
My octogenarian mother smiled
With moist eyes held my hand and
Chokingly whispered, ' I've never been
Pampered so much as in this break.
It's like revisiting my parental home!
My heart is here, free and happy,
But your dad's memories pull me back.
God willing I will return soon and
May my last breath be in your arms'.
She opens her prayer book,
Takes out a huge hundred rupee note
Folded neatly in its pages and tells me
That it is more than sixty years old.
A memory when she and dad had learnt
To live within limited resources.
The frame workers may find it strange
But I will be cradling the moment in a frame
Insinuating timeless love of mother-daughter
July 3, 2016
For Julia Ward
Contest-Cradling The Moment
Categories:
awnings, appreciation, beautiful, father, money,
Form:
Free verse
the Yanerbie Highway
The Yanerbie Highway
Is paved with white silken sands
Stretched between water’s lapping fingers
And the feet of towering dunes
The Yanerbie Highway
Runs at Southern Ocean’s side
Forever exposed to her turbulent moods
And the ebbing, flowing tides
Choose a spot
Under broad blue sky
And pull over beside
The precession of surfboards
Fishing rods, and bathers
Dogs with wagging tongues
Some chasing four wheel drives
Cruising the highway at a leisurely speed
Against a back drop
Of rolling waves and distant red cliffs
Four wheel drives with awnings
Awnings that shade smiling faces
A friendly wave, passing traffic
Possibly stop for a chat
Sometimes between friends old
Sometimes new
The Yanerbie Highway
Its silken white sands
Run along Southern Ocean’s side
Stretching into adventure
Categories:
awnings, beach,
Form:
Free verse
Riotous revellers' laughter drifts up from their apricot lit late night haunts, four cafes are notoriously avoided venues for overindulgent consumption of alcohol.
Across the street, from my thirtieth floor apartment window, remote portrait of bodies bent enthralled over their beers,
toads on stools at mushroom stem tables.
Flicker of forbidden recognition crosses my cortex,
- I'm a resident of Broadwater Tower now.
Unstated policy prohibits proximity with riff raff.
Our bar ensures we wear careful attire,
floor gleams mirror marble.
Chrome and cracked leather oud absorbs expensive scents.
Ladies laughter upscale conflicts the low fading mens' vocal.
Tipsy sensation enhanced by deck docked
rolling prestigious flagpole chiming yachts.
Over the road, neolithic neon signs post grotesque cafe names,
Salivate, Green Grotto among them.
Customers come from squat squashed suburbs,
five minute drive away.
Dive bar dark sparks alcoholic amphibians unremarkable bravado.
January holiday season sees sardines huddled heartily under awnings, abandoning next morning necessity.
24th February 2023
151 words
Written for Contest: Four Cafes
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Categories:
awnings, character, fashion,
Form:
Prose
I dream of magic lines but they elude me.
Chapbook on acrylic tube palette, janus-faced cave in
at the crack of dawn,
crescent moonlight awnings turn to circus of the soul,
images that colour dullard pages leave furrow on my
hayrick haggard brow.
Backwater sonnet form leaning towards some meadow compost rot.
Ghost written silhouettes, shatter fragile eggs on
loop pile Berber carpets,
yolk stain and pale brown chicken hash tags.
Tight rope knot escarpment found in tripod camera verse,
cliff edge heart-stop paen is just another
blue-sky canon over billed by birds of prey.
Poetic licence pointer to a learner permit doggerel,
aspiring metre patchwork but a tapered column
lost in grey day whimper.
Guangdong province text in lychee pink for window glaze.
Fleeting notions dangle at the sparrow hawk crossroads,
while grazing skinny red ballon formations overhead.
Mother of invention please shine your convex beam
upon this wellspring drought abandonment I swim in.
Sudden brain cell drafts a Jack-o’-lantern of disjointed phases,
stretcher bear the legless phrases that leave me
wheelchaired and infirmed in woolly states.
Timeline mainstream woofer whose lagging jacket hemline falls apart,
areole reduced branch slowly bleeds its cactus juice of inspiration.
A rush, a fever, quotidian fever,
no greater longing can us writers have.
Categories:
awnings, change, creation, dedication, deep,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Brewing my morning coffee I drew aside the half curtains
Behind the gas stove to view the peaceful morn
Silence all around, the doors of neighbours still locked
My eyes settled with admiration on their glass panes
Reflecting my flowery creeper of bursting flaming trumpets
Hanging down my kitchen awnings glorifying the viewers eyes
Sipping my steaming hot coffee it made me ponder over the beauty of twining
The flaming trumpet had entwined itself around a thick rope till the roof
While the ivy had greened my kitchen side wall, its strongest silent support
My sweet peas, allamanda, yellow and pink rose creepers and jasmine
Had been trained to entwine around trellises, poles, rocks and walls-
all strong in themselves and whispering to the twines to thoroughly rely on them-
Thereby, each trumpeting his own beauty and empowering his partner's strength
February 12, 2016
Categories:
awnings, flower, silence,
Form:
Free verse
A dear friend says I'm brave to go it solo in the city…
she has a husband - seven kids - two dogs - and a neurotic cat
yet she dubs me brave!
I'm not brave, I'm transparent amidst glass and steel…
night lights the tower windows - eyes watching, winking
lobby doors gobble people only to spit them out again.
At a sidewalk café I'm the superintendent of this concrete esplanade…
watching women in heels, men in suits (some in heels)
poop scooping dog owners - who's the bulldog here?
In sublime heat, under threatening sky, a dry Chardonnay wets my lips…
the paved people mover hosts a carnival of characters
rushing to their next scene - to the burbs' trimmed lawns
where wifey waits, hoping the train's on time,
that the roast isn't dry - that he's in a good mood
hubby, stopping in for a spirited lift, is in the mood for pasta.
Puffy-cheeked clouds let out a thunderous roar…
howling gusts of wind send spittle in sideways sheets
inverted umbrellas rage their angry teeth skyward
drenching the women's trendy doos while dogs pull masters to shelter
waiters scurry to tie down awnings against swirling winds
must keep the patrons dry!
As the subsiding torrent sends steam rising from hot pavement
my reasons for choosing the city are clear…
inhaling the energy of these brume ensconced streets
cast in this impromptu street opera
playing my part in the faceless crowd
braving the amusing summer storms.
6/11/2013
Categories:
awnings, city, summer,
Form:
Blank verse