Best Bejewel Poems
“When from nowhere gloomy clouds veer,
from nature’s scenery I get gems of cheer.”- By Poet
As the air ripples with the rhythmic joy of spring,
the melodic whisper of the southern wind
serenades with the tune of rhapsody.
The sinking sun sets ablaze
the sedate skyline on the cold fire of color,
as the hued flimsy fleet of clumps of cloud sail.
Pearls of opalescent dew bejewel the meadow,
the bent blades of green grass shimmer,
wearing the sparkling crown of splendor.
The mist drifts away from the spotless lucent sky,
turning into silken canvas of shining sapphire,
as in the barren boughs the satin leaves sprout.
The buds burst with colors from the winter freeze,
pristine petals unfurl on the fresco of flowers,
gleam of grandeur envelopes the mesmeric garden,
where the fluorescent butterflies flitter
in the scented aura through the sunshine shower.
My window frames the beautiful spring scenery.
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April 10, 2023
Word Chosen : Scenery
Contest : Writing Challenge - "S" Words
Sponsored by : Constance La France
She opened her eyes and she stretched in her bed, then she rose up just like a skylark
and her eyes still glowed softly ,for she had spent dreams just dancing in the dark,
immersed in the beauty of what she had dreamed, she drifted just like an illusion
that somehow had risen from dreamland with her, in magical dancing confusion,
lace curtained light lit her soft elfin face, then lifted her eyes from the evening gloom
that brought her arising from yesterday’s arms, a cameo Princess alone in her room,
she wove herself onto the loom of the day like a tapestry waiting for rainbows to glow
then she wandered alone through a greenwood lit walk, where kiss soft breezes blow.
She meandered so gently, lost in her song, her whole world seemed just like a stage
her melody soared she felt sorrows depart, then she slowly turned over life’s page,
as she sighed to the sea, the sea whispered back of everything one day would bring
she thought of a time that was festooned in rhyme painted reasons that held her again
although all she had known after being alone gave her no thought of happiness yet
she dreamed in the sunrise of beginnings again, and smiled to the dying sunset,
to the transit of Venus she raised up her heart as she felt her dream nearing her door
she had given so much to so many in pain, and yet she still deserved so much more.
Then under her gazebo she sat by her fish pond and watched all the whirlygigs dance
and her heart skipped a beat as she pondered again upon such an endearing romance,
then she felt a soft kiss blown from so far away touch her cheek and bejewel her eyes
she knew as he neared she’d replace all her fears with such a deep loving sunrise,
Then she drifted away on a year and a day to that place where lovers often do
she was sure of their love and the good times to come, before their lives were through,
So many moments she’d spent all alone, before all she had wished for came true
But no longer she thought there would be just a me, but now both a me and a you…
In the indifferent desiccated wasteland
obscure tender tufts of slender grass
struggle to rise through the cleavage of ruthless rocks,
their tips holding the pearls of dew drops,
sparkling in the shine of the rising sun.
I see in them the faces of the children of fate
lighted by the waning smile of residual innocence,
although regrettably for them the sun rises
with no rays of hope, no tinge of dream,
for it has already set in the dark horizon of future.
The infirm dew drops don’t bejewel the grass,
they’re tarnished by the dirt of our times.
In the harsh winds of servitude
they toil, uncared and soiled,
they dry and disappear, ignored and abandoned.
In the glare of the blazing sun
the dreams of dew die premature.
It pains me, it hurts me
to see their blank colorless faces,
carrying the vestiges of joy of juvenile splendor,
flowing in tears, drowning in the depth of obscurity,
Nobody helps, doesn’t hold their hands,
nobody cares, doesn’t take them to the shore of wellbeing.
In my twilight hours
I wish to give the last rays of my setting sun
to the hue-less dew drops, so they can glow,
I wish to drip the last drop of empathy,
so their innocent smile doesn’t dry,
I wish to show the children of deprivation
the dreams of dew that would never die.
In the depravity of the neglected wasteland
obscure tufts of subdued slender grass
struggle to rise through the cleavage of stony destiny,
the frail faces shaping the artifacts of cruel fate,
flicker with the fading smile of residual innocence,
borrowed from the remains of the sun,
already sunk in the depth of yonder horizon dark.
In the harsh squall of servitude,
uprooted, they stray to nowhere, uncared and soiled.
Under the blue freedom of the open sky
dew drops no longer bejewel the juvenile grass,
tarnished by the dirt of our spiteful times,
the dreams of their dew dry premature.
In the twilight hours walking the last few miles,
I wish to give the last rays of my twilight sun
to the relics of dewdrops so they can glow awhile.
I wish to drip the last drop of empathy from my oasis,
so their innocent smile doesn’t desiccate in desert.
I wish to show the children of a lesser God
the dreams of dew that would never die.
April 12, 2020
I bejewel dying elephants.
Scrape the mire from tired pillar feet.
Wash away the gray.
Reveal the pink satin soul...again.
I rub their tired tusks.
Scrub away the stained grooves.
Shade their great wild eyes from scavenger sun.
I have no use for the strong at their peak.
Nor haughty in its prime.
It's futile sparring with Mr. Jones.
Because he'll always have more time than I.
Time to kiss the hedges and keep his trim in line.
Yes, I'm a good down friend. But those days are at an end.
Because down people mostly bring you down.
I need to get up before my eyes pearl with death...
I bejewel dying elephants.
Shut your eyes and picture
a fun-filled, wacky world.
Where stars bejewel night,
and reality's blurred.
Imagine a blue sky;
with billowing white clouds.
And allow that image;
to supplant city crowds.
Think of when you last smiled:
focus upon that thought.
And relive the feelings
that remembered smile, brought.
Let your mind consider
life's possibilities.
And don't limit your wants
or capabilities.
Dream about tomorrow
if you don't like today.
Cut loose by happy thoughts,
depression drifts away.
Open your eyes, and see
reality anew.
Life bristles with wonders:
and one of them is you.
O, Mother Earth,
you’re so rich, with butterflies’ songs
and full of olden lullabies,
sung by mountains and valleys
while rivers keep flowing through
the ever-changing seasons of life.
You speak the language
I hardly know,
but your silver touch
sends me a tingle,
that great joy and laughter
bejewel the lake of green.
Your yellow orb scattered
sparkly gems on the blue water
of a mesmerizing sea;
as for your majestic sky,
it wraps, gently, its arm around me
whilst I gaze, at-night, at the stars.
O, Mother Earth,
take me to the fortress,
where kings and queens meet
and teach me…
the graceful dance
of the wind.
The ides of March are upon us.
The air is crisp and cold,
And I set out with my two dogs,
To see what the night enfolds.
I love my nightly walks with them,
Just me and God and them.
It's how I set my heart to rest.
It soothes me once again.
My walks with them do calm me,
They soothe and heal my spirit.
This time with Him is like a balm,
Against the things that sear it.
The air is cold and sweet tonight,
It's overcast and dark.
No stars bejewel the sky this night,
As we walk through the park.
The night bird's call is sweet tonight,
Upon my weary ear.
I look for him in vain, I know,
For he will not appear.
Here and there are sparkles,
By my feet amid the grass,
Like fairies flitting to and fro,
Twinkling as we pass.
His touch is everywhere it seems,
We only have to look.
His promise never to forsake,
Is written in The Book.
There is one thing only,
That our God just cannot do,
He cannot lie, for He is Truth.
He's here, I tell you true.
Thus reassured I start for home,
My heart no longer heavy.
My step is light for He is here,
To lift my tax and levy.
"Faint not, for I am here for you."
He speaks to my lonely spirit.
I just have to take the time,
And listen so I'll hear it.
He's here for me, I know He is,
And He will never leave.
I just have to do my part,
So there's no need to grieve.
The road is long and rough, I know,
It's filled with twists and turns,
But if I lift my hands to Him,
My spirit soon returns;
For He will catch me up to Him,
In His strong arms I'm safe.
My Father's here, no need to fear,
I'm covered by His Grace.
"BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD. I WILL BE EXALTED AMONG THE NATIONS.
I WILL BE EXALTED IN THE EARTH.'
THE LORD OF HOSTS IS WITH US, THE GOD OF JACOB IS OUR STRONG HOLD. SELAH."
Psalm 46:10-11
In the terrane of deplorable deprivation manifested
in the wasteland of wretched desertion,
the obscure tufts of the subdued slender grass
struggle to rise through the cleavage of stony destiny.
The frail faces shaping the artifacts of spiteful fate,
flicker with the fading smile of residual innocence,
borrowed from the remnant rays of the forsaken sun,
already sunk in the depth of desolate dark horizon.
The children when they should be blooming like flowers,
stray to nowhere, uncared and soiled
in the harsh squall of the juvenile servile servitude.
Under the fair freedom spread by the unbound sky
the infantile dewdrops devoid of pristine patina
no longer bejewel the puerile grass of our meadow.
Tarnished by the muck of our malevolent times,
the deranged dreams of the dew dry premature.
In the twilight hour on the penultimate journey,
I wish I could give the last rays of my setting sun
to the relics of the dewdrops so they can glow awhile.
I wish I could drip the last drop of empathy from my oasis,
so their innocent smile doesn’t desiccate in inimical desert.
Just one thing I’d like to change is to stop child labor,
show the children of the lesser God
the dreams of dew that would never die.
January was feeling sad
For February is much better
Less chance of deep snow
Although the weather is wetter.
February was unhappy
For in March spring would start
Causing sweet thoughts
Of love to flow from the heart.
March was so upset
As April brings blue skies
And showers that pour
Like tears from sad eyes.
April was a little troubled
As May approached nearby
She couldn’t coax like her
A tear of joy from any eye.
May was so anxious
Knowing June was to bloom
And adorn the World with colour
Making May seem a tomb.
June was truly concerned
As July was hot on her heels
About to warm all the beaches
And cause children’s delightful squeals.
July was so worried
As August was getting near
For sultry days and evenings
Would leave most in good cheer.
August was apprehensive
That September would soon
Weave her enchantment
Of a misty harvest moon.
September was perturbed
As October’s hundred hues
Would paint each decaying leaf
In colours that will amuse.
October was in a panic
Now that November was near
For frost would bejewel each web
Making smiles from ear to ear.
November was nervous
As December’s winds would blow
Bringing cheery clear blue skies
Or a deep blanket of snow.
December was full of dread
As on the calendar she came last
Fretful that January wouldn’t come
And thus always felt downcast.
Intoxication
The heady intoxication
Of new love ventured
Buds that blossom
Fed by warm waves
Of sweet euphoric sensation
The sun captured
Smiles within ones heart
Radiating in abundant glory
Taming the savage beast
Invigorating ones soul
First chapter of a never ending story
An adventurous journey
Travelled together
Overcoming obstacles
Of vale and hill
Finding beauty in hidden places
As refreshing as a clear sparkling
Mountain stream never stagnant
Never still
A leisurely stroll through a bejewel garden
A vibrant technicolour dream
Sewn together with the finest silk
Made of purity of heart soul and mind eclipsed
Sall ignited by a sinle lingering blissful kiss
Upon receptive soft warm lips
A strong friendship firmly rooted
As a tree underground
A home built brick by brick
With mortar of kindness and tenderness
An open fire that remains aglow
A private feathered nest
Where appreciation and giving
That only two kindred lovers know.
Peter Dome©2019.
The poor are lazy, languid, and loafing – the rich rut,
Is this why many people of my nation have no hut?
Isn't the concept: every rich is industrious, a myth?
Isn't there a great gulf betwixt a blacksmith and a goldsmith...?
I know my rickshaw-puller neighbor, born in penury,
His ancestors were poor too for many a century;
Can I judge his hardships his sin or the sin of his dad?
Or the transgression of a system that has gone so bad...?
I have seen the rich climbing the ladder of life briskly,
The branches of trees of mammon, they catch hold so quickly;
Hard work and calculative effort, no doubt, are in them,
Don't cells of dishonesty occupy their root and stem...?
By tilling the earth and breaking rocks pennies the poor earn,
In torn rags they shiver in cold; in summer sun they burn;
Is begging a fashion that the poor bejewel them with?
Doesn't shame cut them to pieces, within, like grass in a scythe?
Poverty is a curse and not a blessing, the world knows,
Hunger, thirst, homelessness, and illnesses paucity sows;
Undernourished children, like cattle, are pushed to labor,
The poor are, often, abhorred and loathed by each rich neighbor...!
Isn't fighting poverty a duty of every person?
Doesn't, by the vile of inequality, crises worsen?
God has made the mammon for all - this fact each one should know,
The concept of living and letting live, each should follow...!!!
28 March 2023
Writing Challenge - 'P' Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Syllables Checked At: How Many Syllables
1.
I have invited Shauna Allebach to a date to my table to drink wine,
She picks my flagon of rare ales and pours herself a glassful of wine,
Sweet lips hanging from her wine's glass's tip ,I'm so confined,
I see her creativity in a new design,
To my thoughts i resign,
Seeing intelligence in display on her every storyline,
"For iron sharpeneth iron" a true sign,
So true as "Saxon" eating swine;
2.
My arms akimbo,
My salient mind in limbo,
Anthony Edmond John picks up his quail, ink and this page,not a stumble;
Two sheets have I crumbled,
Still piecing together words to qualify M.Shauna Allebach,
For its for this genius i organise this praise rumble,
Our minds entwined making me humble,
My hands on this page see them fumble;
3.
I see you at the top no wonder,
Never let naive minds put your creativity asunder,
Nor let negative souls your inner you they plunder,
I give it up you! let the world feel your creative touch as a peel of thunder,
My darling, never forget Man with his blunders,
Be focused never look yonder,
Remember your pact as a literary saint,
In shades of gold do I adorn and bejewel you,
My crowned POETIC QUEEN.
blades of grass adorned in morning dew
bejewel my thoughts at break of dawn
silver beads will fall on cue
as sunlight warms this silvery spawn
my thoughts then fade when they are gone
The slender blades of upright grass look up
To the unfurled sky dawning the day
Over the unmowed meadow
Their tips holding the pearly drops of dew
Sparkling in the glow of the rising sun
I see in them the faces of the children of fate
Lighted by the smile of residual innocence
Although for them their sun rises
With no promise of purpose
For it has already set in the dark horizon of future.
The drops of dew don’t bejewel the grass
They wash the dirt of our times
Trampled they fall uncared and soiled
Disappear ignored and abandoned
In the glare of the blazing day
The dreams of dew die premature.
It pains me it hurts me
To see their blank colorless hearts
Losing the hue of joy of youthful splendor
Flowing in tears to the drowning shadow of obscurity
Nobody helps to hold the hands
Nobody cares to show the shore.
Before my sun finally sets
I want to give its remaining rays
To the sunless dews for them to glow in their time
I want to drip the last drop of fluid empathy
From my heart so their innocent smile doesn’t dry
I want to show the children of deprivation
The dreams of dew
The dreams that never die.
June 5, 2018
(This is in protest against child labor)