Best Bare(A) Poems
Through frayed seams a rosy dream bleeds
needled and re-stitched
with threads of time and love and hope..
and still — a rosy dream bleeds
the miscarriage of a promised rose garden
leaving me bereft but for entwined bands of gold –
contemplative thorns tempt my angst
moony moody barbs bristle twigs of tenderness
sigh— it’s not a laurel wreath worn atop my brow
as I sit alone with a squeamish friend
my blue-sky-to-storm-cloud introspection —
as your distant eyes deserted mine long ago
Winter's beast laid bare a cerebral graveyard
lost you wander amongst laid-to-rest neurons
worn headstones of thoughts and laughter and memories…
you wonder why they hide — why they died
the crackle of cognitive circuitry quiets
branched-lightning fades from unwitting clouds
and aged roots of reality perish
our red rose finished fallen to pieces
you-and-me-petals a messy heap like old potpourri —
yet in dark’s hush love’s scent lingers on our dream pillow
Oh nostalgic sepals embrace me!
my heart yearns to return to the bud
to the fullness of our June bloom —
instead, I bury desires beneath life’s litterfall;
amid pollenless stamens and leaves of one-sided reveries
and cage my fear my despair behind purple thistle facing the light
as I free a smile for you, my love —
you my sun that still parts the rain-bearing nimbus
Autumn teases the last cinnamon leaves
clinging to branches with amber fingers.
Seasonal change awakens Nature's thieves,
a wafting breeze that doggedly lingers,
stripping trees bare; a scene that sadly grieves.
Fall sings in a rhythmic glissando voice
announcing it's time that she takes the helm.
We acquiesce, given no other choice.
She reigns over Indian Summer's realm,
painting meadows and vales as we rejoice.
Acorns are gathered by hoarding squirrels
who scurry to find the tasty jewels,
cherishing them as valuable pearls.
As north winds blow, the temperature cools.
Chimney smoke drifts in white ribbons and curls.
Time for harvesting ripe apples for pies.
Halloween pumpkins are put on display.
Carefully, we watch Autumn's sullen skies
Clouds grow heavy, in shades of nimbus gray.
A gaggle of geese in migration, flies.
Autumn dresses herself in wrinkled gown.
Ruffled skirt in hues of crimson and gold.
Bodice in ochre, trimmed in walnut brown,
a russet cloak worn when a chill takes hold,
woven from wizened leaves that tumbled down.
July 13, 2022
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 1 Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Originally posted in September 2021
A poet exposes scenes to explore new horizons
unfolding under expansive or confining domes
We slow it down, decelerate, discern
unveiling are a fable's morals and concerns
taking pause to commune with fauna and elm
serenely does nature speak throughout her realm
our phrases linger with new colors
hues vibrant encompass as skylines
our dimensions broaden anew
sentences chosen carefully carry more import
with words nuanced, renewed
with a more sentient bite
with emotions more candid
abashedly bare, a despair founded
with paroxysm of catharsis we quill
weeping of our dormant essence shaken to life
confessions deepening, plunging in thought
letting the afflatus of passion flow
I Am Anaya
quill & inkwell love
11/14/25
You are so much more than your hips or your thighs.
More than the stares and the glares, or some young man’s lies
BUT YOU HAVE TO KNOW YOUR WORTH
More stunning than the Mona Lisa
Your likeness can’t be molded into sculpture
you are living, breathing art.
You are not defined by your body,
Only your soul and your heart
BUT YOU HAVE TO KNOW YOUR WORTH
When you look in the mirror, please see more than your reflection.
See the essence of beauty
a work of perfection.
You are the inheritance of the promise.
You are the covenant unbroken,
You are cries unheard
and words unspoken
BUT YOU HAVE TO KNOW YOUR WORTH.
You are much more radiant than the stars
you are breathtaking constellations
You are a valley of virtue.
A Lady in waiting
You are shores of compassion surrounding oceans of faith
You are the much needed cool, caressing breeze, on a hot summer’s day.
You are the eighth, ninth, and tenth wonder of the world
Much more precious than diamonds and pearls
BUT YOU HAVE TO KNOW YOUR WORTH
You are more mystifying than the pyramids of Egypt,
More spectacular than snow caped peeks of Sweden
Your presence was predestined in the Garden of Eden.
BUT YOU HAVE TO KNOW YOUR WORTH
You are the silver lining stretching across the sky,
Broadened with truth, both gentle and meek
You are the earth’s horizon where land and sky meet.
You are a Queen, and upon your head you bare a crown
Adorned in wisdom, courage and strength
A most magnificent gift of GOD,
you are truly heaven-sent
But you have to know your worth
Dead men tell no tails, or so the winds of
Destiny’s say.
On judgment hill from on high,
Voices do echo downwards, as the
Noose does sway, back and forth, on the
Hangman's tree.
These gallows, of oaken branches, act as tethers,
Shackles, holding the forsaken, souls prisoner.
Ghost phantoms cling, to it's rotten limbs,
That break beneath times endless rampage.
Regrets fallen horsemen, of the old west,
Stand guard, sentinels on horse back,
Wearing a tarnished tin star.
God's law keepers, are branded, sworn,
By their honor, to protect even after death,
The gates of heaven, from this spawn of hell.
Beware evil desperadoes, no mercy will
This the lord's posses show unto you,
For these riders bare a different mark.
A silver cross of justice, given by
The Almighty’s hand himself.
Say thy prayers, all lawless men,
For on this day, does the rope tighten,
Around your neck, there is no reprieve,
No salvation for evils deceit.
Hell bound are thou, the devils breed.
But beware, there is no escape,
From this grave site.
At dawns first light, as it spreads
Across the western horizon.
Know that yee, are one of many spirits
Doomed, to be weaved within the
Tangled limbs, called the hang
Mans tree.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Winter is a deadly companion to those of us
who stay behind. Spring is not guaranteed, only
a lonesome song, frozen on the lips of my
fellow crusaders.
The tip of the spear belongs to the "Ice Warrior"
Camouflaged under a dusting of snow, ink black
like the night or mind bending off sun glare,
always eager to send cars sailing and people
falling. I was one of the lucky ones...I fell
on ice and broke my arm.
I knew I would see Spring...first paying a
painful
toll. Political insanity mostly fills the front
page in Winter, the truth of those lost forever
to its treachery only whispered in the "B"
section.
Those of us who survive for one more Spring
and Summer bare a different attitude than our
fellow snow birds.
You'll see us standing alone among forest
wildflowers...or sitting quietly on a dolomite
boulder overlooking Lake Superior.
Oblivious to all but our grateful senses,
humbled
by
our
fragile
existence.
Minnesota Winter 2017
“If only, if only, the woodpecker sighs, / The bark on the tree was as soft as the skies. / The wolf waits below, hungry and lonely, / And cries to the moon, / if only, if only.”
i would die for my Family,
take a bullet for my Mother, Father, or Siblings.
i would die for my Closest Friends,
curl over a grenade for Peers or Acquaintances.
i would die for past Mentors,
repay Professors and Trainers for their priceless wisdom.
i would die for Myself,
if only to preserve my Memory and Accomplishments
if only the opportunity could arise,
if only They were not already dying beside me, for me,
if only my wrist wasn’t tethered to IV’s, shackled by Chemo,
if only there was enough life in me to die, i would. For Them, i would.
i would live so My Mom never cries,
i will live because a daughter never dies,
i would live so My kid Brother has an anchor,
i will live because a sister never lies,
i would live so My Best Friend has a partner,
i will live because a best friend is always there to empathize,
i would live so My Teacher’s teachings do not die,
i will live because a student is always there to learn and return the favor,
if only if only my wood pecker sighs,
if only if only i would live for their tears,
if only if only i would live through their tears,
if only if only my harsh, little seed would bare a soft, weak tree,
if only if only for a lonely wolf to sit under,
if only if only so a hungry wolf does not have to eat,
if only if only so a wolf can bare my burden forever if it so chooses,
if only if only so a wolf can watch my wood pecker peck to its heart’s content. Who’s?
When the life support comes they won’t need to pull the chord; if only if only they knew how long i’ve been dead.
After we're gone.....
do we turn out the light -----
or will we hear our names whispered upon the wind?
After we're gone.....
does the midnite moon still stir the soul,
or the seasons still invite us to never be alone;
Do the birds still sing in the trees.....
Do harmonies of life seize to be.....
Can I feel her love still in a quiet breeze,
assured that I am?
For can history bare a great book -----
with all our names,
a record, a final log -----
that we were,
(at all) ?
My sister left her smile
at my house...
I found it and put it on...
Her smile laden with many memories
full of warmth joy through embattled
laughter...and song...
Her courage outright distinguished...
Like a rested storm...finally free...
...As I stood in the mirror...
Her smile smiled back at me...
for this is what it said...
I wear this smile with pride...
I wear this smile with pride...
For this smile leads me into a new day...
This smile ignores me not...
It reminds me - of the fun I
have at play...
It has seen me through many battles...
...and reminds me of the ones I've won...
But it helps to remember the
beautiful person I have today become...
From a child once abandoned...
to bare a daughter of my own...
My smile understands the feelings...
and with spirit I have grown...
My life is full and rich...and my love
for the world I have declared...
With my all...dressed in my smile
I stand before you...
...From within my smile I do share...
And today I ask that you return me
to my owner...
...and here it is my sister...
For my beautiful sister Jay...
You are so much more than your hips or your thighs.
More than the stares and the glares
or some young man’s lies
More stunning than the Mona Lisa
Your likeness can’t be molded into sculpture
you are living, breathing art.
Not to be defined by your body,
Only your soul and your heart
When you look in the mirror,
please see more than your reflection.
See the essence of beauty
a work of perfection.
You are the inheritance of the promise.
You are the covenant unbroken,
You are cries unheard
and words unspoken
You are much more radiant than the stars
you are breathtaking constellations
You are a valley of virtue.
A Lady in waiting
You are shores of compassion surrounding oceans of faith
You are the much needed cool, caressing breeze, on a hot summer’s day.
You are the eighth, ninth, and tenth wonder of the world
Much more precious than diamonds and pearls
You are more mystifying than the pyramids of Egypt,
More spectacular than snow caped peeks of Sweden
Your presence was predestined in the Garden of Eden.
You are the silver lining stretching across the sky,
Broadened with truth, both gentle and meek
You are the earth’s horizon where land and sky meet.
You are a Queen, and upon your head you bare a crown
Adorned in wisdom, courage and strength
A most magnificent gift of GOD,
you are truly heaven-sent
But you have to know your worth
I was first picked up
In a cast-off shop in Liverpool;
Surrounded by racks of seasoned shirts
Bearing names of old soldiers.
“Draper” draped on an immature frame
In a collage of brown and green,
Overlapping and enveloping
Any semblance of a past self.
Baby-faced and militant,
The paradoxical camo in an urban warzone.
Slogans painted from shoulder to shoulder
In pungent, nuclear-white bathroom paint.
The smell is burned to memory,
Singeing nose hairs with chemical vigour,
Of dance-generated sweat, upturned pints,
A lover’s aftershave, the sting of cigarette smoke.
Washed once, maybe twice,
But anxious eyes watched the spin cycle,
Fearing specks of dislodged paint
Covering my muddy canvas.
Now “Draper” drapes a matured frame,
The only scent that lingers is
The petrichor of Northern summer
Tie-dyed deep into my fibres.
I bare a name that isn’t mine,
Memories of a life I did not live,
Scars from battles I never saw,
And honours that aren’t mine to claim.
Summer sunshine in her hair
The Autumn moon in her eyes
Winter’s promise buried there
Hints of Spring therein lies
The Autumn moon in her eyes
Winter’s snow upon her skin
The seeds of Spring wait to rise
To field the Summer once again
Winter’s snow upon her skin
Spring flowers to grace her face
Summer’s vow to come again
Until Autumn takes its place
Spring flowers to grace her face
Summer’s sunshine in her hair
Autumn hints leave bare a trace
That Winter’s cold will follow there
Leanne loves milking her cows
Everyday she dreams of those cows when she is away
A noise she hears
Nay says the horse, Nay says the cows
Nay says Linda, Nay says James
Everyday she hears voices
LEANne on me.....
Please bare a moment to pray and have thought for the dairy farmers in the world :-(
In the boxed gilded frame exists the residue of
A painter’s vision, of his nightmare placed upon
Canvas.
Locked within the cells of four square,
Lies a view into the ethereal world beyond our
Conscious mind.
A heckling demon does laugh, as she the white
Gowned maiden of innocence lies slain, as her bloods
Warmth slips silently away, and life's flash memory,
Closes around her for the last time.
Hear the thundering sounding. From the heavy laden hooves,
As hell's white steed, claims the vanquished heart of
The innocent, and riding unto the gates of black ebony,
He does so bare a rare prize, the soul of purist beauty.
Oh so do the angels cry in heaven, weeping in tandem's chorus.
For death's fallen will know the torments hidden in
The mighty halls of hell's keep, for dark has over come
The light, and at its flickering the last hope of mankind,
Has become one of the shunned.
Seductions father of evil, takes the white hands of
The maiden of innocence, for one last waltz, as life leaves
Her damaged shell, behind a phantom spirit of betrayal,
Is left at the threshold of the forgotten, and salvation's door
Slams shut unto her; she is suicide's victim of the broken
Hearted, never to know the taste of Eden, or to see the glory
Of Gods kingdom beyond.
Nipping beneath the ladies gown of white, the demon
Chastises her, belittling a life so sacrificed for what
He does so scold; it is a minor thing, this emotion called love.
Tears fall, be you so quiet, demon, I've suffered enough, but he
Is the hell's jackal, and is her greatest tormentor.
Awaken painter, she pleads from the ethereal realm,
In sweats uneasy slumber, but the artist shields his eyes to late,
And he has seen too much, for a mortal to so easily forget.
Upon the canvas is a dreams vision,
And trapped within, is she the soul of innocence,
Forever encased within this prison, a
Painter's revelation, called the portrait of a
Nightmare.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
I love you
mi princesa
much like Henry VIII
should have loved Catherine...
I will never forsake you
or betray you
as he did to she
one day you shall bare a son...
God is on our side
no need of Pope
there will be no divorce
No Anne Boleyn...
We are secure in our castle
we declare, "we are."
between roses I am born
with you I am alive...
Never will you be forgotten
together we grow old
you will always be my queen
in threads of silver and gold...