Best Beclouded Poems
A coloratura rises
from the suede-edged shape
as the gnarled grande dame
comes to light.. a vision
draped in sweeping evergreen
and a pale cape of kidskin haze -
a beguiling soprano in soft-
focus fools the guileless sunrise
with a diva’s deception --
for in the vaporous golden hour
she can still be breathtaking
the age of change
is beclouded - softened
in gray’s cashmere atmosphere
where blending and bending of
over-ripened perceptions
are smoothed with a dewy smudge..
roughened boughs
and litter-fall is obscured --
unless, you get up close
harsh lines become artfully coy
in the bosom of the pearl mist;
a bedimmed dreamy blur of
Impressionism masks her reality
with the sleight of hand and a mockingbird’s aria
Susan Ashley
March 8, 2020
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: Brian Strand Contest No 1183
Sponsor: Brian Strand
N/A
Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 6
Sponsor: Mark Toney
*coloratura: runs, trills, and other florid decorations in vocal music.
A lyric soprano of high range who specializes in such music*
*aria: an elaborate melody sung solo*
Categories:
beclouded, age, autumn, life, nature,
Form:
Free verse
there are no stars in these beclouded skies
to linger on the edge of darkened nights
no reflections to shine within your eyes
nor moonbeams to gather within my sights
as january's wind encircles me
i lose myself in the depths of my dreams
where breathless sighs fall within whispered pleas
and your fingers brush against my soul's seams
i feel your lips tenderly touching mine
in blushed little strokes of passionate sighs
that send soft quivers up and down my spine
as you pull me closer hands against thighs
soft whispers of your breath fall upon me
as darkened night erupts in ecstasy
Written January 7, 2020
Contest judged 02/07/2020
Na-rerun contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Categories:
beclouded, lust, moon, night, star,
Form:
Sonnet
I grope through forest misted by my pain
Unearthly feel of gloom enshrouding me
Like wispy ghosts the memories a bane
Their hazy fingers keep from breaking free
Beclouded are my thoughts with foggy stain
Obscured is reason; gone is sanity
Unclear my way, for mist is laden thick
Your insubstantial love has left me sick
Eileen Manassian
For Nette’s Through the Mist Contest
August 24, 2014
Categories:
beclouded, confusion, heartbroken,
Form:
Ottava rima
Some things are lost along the line
Some things, beautiful and fine
Driving down the lone road to the stream in my hamlet
It’s like yesterday; like catching birds from their nest
I giggled as I drove by
Mothers breast feeding babies and singing lullaby
Naked boys rolling condemned tires, and
Ripped virgins with little cloths coverings, as attires
I giggled as I drove by. It’s just like yesterday
I remember Jerome and others as we gathered to play
There was the moonlight rendezvous
Where we all gathered, boys, and girls, all of us
There was the tales by the moonlight,
Ancestral heritages, sacrifices and the Lion’s might
The Lion’s might, yet he falls beneath the crafty tortoise
I still can hear the choruses; I hear my youthful voice
I loved folklore songs. Wars songs for strong sons
Let me try seeing if I can still sing one more;
Yes! I still can sing “Omalingwo”
Omalingwo, Omalingwo tee …… Omalingwo
Omalingwo, Omalingwo nwam…… Omalingwo
Omalingwo, Omalingwo dia …… Omalingwo
Nne nei di na Otutu-aja-o………..Omalingwo
Elikwue ma yu atuna ngwo ji ……Omalingwo
Ngwo, ngwo onye oma………….Omalingwo
My God, I feel new!
I can still sing it! Oh God I knew!
Omalingwo! Story of the child of a deprived mother
Jealous king’s wives over ready for murder
Murder and deprivation if that will give them a son
To sit on the king’s throne and shine forth like the sun
Story of good over evil. Omalingwo!
A deprived mother’s son.
I giggled as I drove along,
Remembering my tiny breasts, when they formed
And more fortunate girls laughing me to scorn
I remember these things till sadness beclouded me
I am fully grown now; nostalgia overshadow me
My age mates, plus me, all gone to the cities
We can’t assemble again, just like broken pot in pieces
Oh! The Eve’s tempting apple of white collar jobs
I heard Jerome lived and then died in Jos
Killed by religious rioters with missions unjust.
I heard Nwasombia is a head dresser is Lagos
At 52 and still searching? Celibacy is obvious
I heard Nosike is in aviation, head of pilots
Even Chima is now in parliament in Cyprus
Chima, who spoke big English like “opprobrious”
My age mates, plus me, all gone to the cities
No more gatherings, just like broken pot in pieces
Still driving along the lone road to the hamlet stream
Still thinking of beautiful things
The beautiful hamlet serene things.
Categories:
beclouded, black african american, childhood,
Form:
Prose Poetry
I flow like the river and fall like a spring
Dazzling many like a pugilist on a ring,
Interact with many people and classes,
Making young men to raise their glasses.
Racism and apartheid are not in my book,
Even though I`m finer than a brook,
Making beautiful girls to dance like stars,
And dealers and entertainers ride in posh cars.
I make sorrow varnish like faint smile
Making sportmen to go the extra mile,
Causing the rise and fall of thermometers,
Brains beclouded for moving on few meters.
To help men solve their problems this I crave,
Yet I`ve led many into crime and the grave,
Scientists plan to wed me with gasoline,
Which makes me better than formalin.
So,what am I?
Categories:
beclouded, fun, life,
Form:
Quatrain
Genuine love is loveless
Whereof the heart is beclouded
With mystic, monastic and metaphysical aura
Only minds as deep as the Congo river can contain.
'Tis when fair love subsist
That spiritual, ethical and philosophical
Transcend all mundane forms and allures
That are subject to the acid test of time and change.
'Tis to disdain honeycombs
To find relish in bitter herbs is rare
And have wants and longings lay in catacombs
Beside the sweet amusing bed of roses it is but to dare.
'Tis to know what it is
Love dwells in spirit and not physique
And its form is literal but not imaginative
And its essence not naive but rather philosophical!
Categories:
beclouded, emotions, feelings, heart, inspiration,
Form:
Verse
Grumbling,rumbling and Wobbling my pen moves on the white paper,staggering as it strides onthe line Gush!it belches as horrible sound comes out from its tip,the lines are blur and twinkle stars appear.I am drunk No!not me its my pen,different thoughts flow into the mind beclouded by mundane things repelled by celestial beings Why!why am I here grumbling;I need to write to my glover or lover to join me in this journey to the peak of mount Everest where I`m at the top of my write,did I say write,Oh no!right yes!right now,Think of singing lovely vibes to your sweet g~~lover on the top of the tower with all your power for her to pick a drawer,Yes a drawer Stop interrupting pen...Am I confusing you no! not me it`s my drunken pen Not drunk just being funky eventhough I`m not pinky,My pen sip~sip more brandy so as to be more randy and not candyd.....avalanche of words pouring like tsunami hurricane and tornado Enough! enough I need to be free from this possessive pen spirit~of al~~co~~hol~~Blank~~blank~~blank...Black out~~back down...P~O~a~r~~inks spreading all over my paper Oh no!stench,stench of vomits~What a quagmire
CONTEST:"Drink drunken pen drink!!!" sponsored by Elliott Bowe
Categories:
beclouded, funny, life, me, me,
Form:
Narrative
I was a comely damsel
Made of fragile fair clay,
Pregnant with unhatched rebellion,
Beclouded with the mist of youthhood,
And on the broad path
Dreaming of butterflies.
I heard a still voice calling;
It was the Prince of Peace,
Oh, how sweet the sound!
So I followed closely.
But the sword in his mouth
Pierced my flesh and bones,
Caused my timely abortion,
And shaped me into fit -
A precious pearl for him.
What else can I say?
O Man of Calvary!
Your love has captured me.
You are my king forever!
(Read 1Timothy 1:12-15)
Categories:
beclouded, cheer up, christian, forgiveness,
Form:
Ballad
I didn't take my umbrella, assuming
the weather wouldn't respond with a whiplash,
and on coarse sand I trudge, not thinking
of a cloudburst to induce fear and suddenly bash.
My grip on this balloon string has the strength of a cord,
in case those clouds belch and belie...
luckily its rapid ascent is not beclouded,
and the flight's climax holds my attention to excite me.
Floating balloon, don't let me off this cloud nine,
keep going further up until you are set free,
and that cloudburst, drunken with sunshine,
will not hinder your enthusiasm and make you bleary.
Slowly come down, and I will catch you blithely,
as you bob, boasting a new win with a deflating burp,
crashing in my folded arms, to snuggle you contentedly...
here's a blue ribbon, weary balloon, for all the mirth.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
beclouded, adventure, funny, happiness, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
Struck by lightning…
Just like the Iroko tree is struck in the
rain forest during summer,
And consumed by fire,
With great inferno ,
Panic in the forest ,
As animals run…
Same is his music ,
Its sound reverberates and
struck many hearts ,
And burn with great desire ,
Creatures-great and small are
Lured by this ;Infatuation!
Infatuation unlimited !,
It lightens the soul, bringing comfort
to the lost and dejected mind ,
Harden hearts become soft ,
Beclouded minds become clear ,
Dead souls come alive again ;
Desert turns to marsh or swamp .
This lyrics and sounds are purely divine,
From the magic fingers of a great player ,
His touch on the strings makes
many creatures to live their abode ,
His strings that have saved many
Couldn’t safe his own-
Oh! Eurydice!, where lieth thy ear?.
10-7-2017
CONTEST:Paint me a picture by Silent One
Categories:
beclouded, emotions, feelings,
Form:
Free verse
Love my once loved
mistress
I must now there
forego
a cauldron of such a
lawless love
the spring of
friendship with the
filth of
concupiscence
I beclouded its
brightness with the
hell of lustfulness.
emotion gone but
still remains there
the lovely sextress
Categories:
beclouded, love,
Form:
Free verse
Beyond the Heart, the Head and the Soul reigns unsulleable Belief
How he blurted in a moment of self-lacerating glory-be pique
Who will in a thousand years retrieve my poems from digital rot
A thousand years grind grim in fermenting ocean-filth freak
Rather think in terms of a hundred or two twisted tight in knot
By then no scales may balance conflicting efforts set adrift
Wild tsunamis would have raged over lands and cities lying low
And the mighty and the rich abandon ports to set up amont aloft
And none will seek to extend meaning beyond the beclouded glow
None will batter brains split hairs over words poets proudly sow
No conniving committees allocate prizes as at musical-chairs play
Past the highest achievements scientific excellence on us bestow
For neither love nor purity of soul will be Man’s cultural mainstay
For the stunted Psyché still wallows in the Doldrums of Belief
By what we impute to holy Prophets Popes and Poets’ mischief
© T. Wignesan – Paris, November 7, 2019
Categories:
beclouded, philosophy, religion, science,
Form:
Sonnet
Lamentations of a proletariat
Loaded to the brim, withouted in a pack of "obersver-non participants"
folded like a wrap, yet forced to lack in the ranks of "server-run-anticipants"
dare to pass a comment and... a knife to your jugular
they claim to pass, yet, your life was the formulae
all work and no play
work work work and no pay
take home pay? No way
oh! how they dread our own payday!
Bourgeoisies, yes! They ply overseas
their remnants, our works, they oversee.
We build the roads, yet can't posses the cars that ply same.
Decyphering the codes, the confessors, the liars...we've been long in this game
Suffering, yet been forced to smile -"all is well -my foot!"
Oh! My root! My precedence...their loot!...my antecedence
their brute, they rule...when they loot....we mute
we've been stripped of our patience - robbed of our conscience.
we've been hit, smite, spite, ...despite, we still fit
they've been well bred, well fed, yet still got a lot to mend
even when we miss, they don't give a poo!
Though we do the roughs, their signatures they append.
Oh! This road i ply, puts food on my table, shows me the bills and ...i babble
Yes! It puts coin in my pocket
girds my loins with debts "a regal quarter"
"heads will roll"...let mine not be included
lest my judgement became beclouded
i've been spent, feeble is my might and...
Last time i checked, ain't no other option in sight
the unfortunante me
i found myself in...
we seem to be tied up!...
but i know we will triumph
a song been loaned,
without a collateral
A seed been sown
Via the lamentations of a proletariat
Categories:
beclouded, anger, betrayal, discrimination,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Yesterday we cried, we wept for the loss of peace
Last night, we both mourned the demise of tranquility
We yearned in futility for that quietude
That made our spirits flutter
We bemoaned the annihilation of that calmness
That gave life to our souls
We clustered, finding solace in each other
Looking up to the skies for console and comfort
Finding nothing but the glitter of the stars
And the half smile of the moon
As right down at us it starred
Offering nothing but its shiny and piercing light
Amadi, yesterday you heard it first
You singled out the sound of the gong
Amidst the cacophony of juggling and music and noise
You told me that you hear the gong sounding
You held my head still to make me hear
But like the woodpecker, I refused to listen,
I let my revelry drown my sense of listening
Last night, that time when we snuggled up together
When we turned to each other for security none could provide
When joy burned low like the embers of half-charred coal
I swore I'll find my eyes even in the darkness
I vowed to wake the sleeping sun
To make it shine again for you and for me
Amadi, listen, I hear that gong sounding again
It's not the same with yesterday
This morning, it sounds with gaiety
Encompassed by the serenity that yesterday was beclouded by anxiety
Yesterday, when the gong sounded,
It bore the echo of uncertainty and the fear of the unknown
Today, it sounds again heralding the onset of hope
And ushering the light of a fresh dawn
Categories:
beclouded, art, change, confidence, motivation,
Form:
Blank verse
Taken inside the bowels
of bassoons,
tropical heat from
swelling bows.
Sweat labors the brow,
full with carnal dissonance.
The throat is lunged
by a beast
veiled in foliage.
Spewed in a mass of
broken pickaxes!
Kicked again into the
thunder of claws!
In flames of foundries
lost.
Becoming Roman Candles
opening across the night.
But drinking cool women
in the thaw of glaciers,
smoothing their oblong stones,
clear cleansed lemon lime oboes.
Naked bodies bloom.
Raced around a corner
at top speed,
the pounding of industry,
a worker in goggles
forging metal.
Without notice,
still mesmerized by fire,
in the belly of percussion,
paused
by a dawning pond of sullen fog,
a brief dream
shrouded in ungrasped riddles.
Sudden conductor realized
in the grass of tones,
using his baton as a machete.
On a distant hill
A shepherd beckons.
Animated, beclouded,
a restless crow in search,
a cinematic fade-out.
Categories:
beclouded, analogy, birth, creation, desire,
Form:
Personification