Best Bevy Poems
>>>
cavorted about as elfin brides
under a saffron maple tree^^^^
Dressed in prism-hued layers
of chiffon in ethereal shimmers
and delicate silken gossamers
They having their group wedding in the fall
And fairy folk bustled about all round
as flimsy and flighty as they could be
while henna leaves fell upon the brides,
>>>>> in ceremonial nuptial
An autumn's breezy ritual>>>Branches denuded
Yet autumn's august>>>
in honey fallen maple leaves as well
>>>>Playing hide'n' seek
with browny brownie grooms
also camouflaged in the heap...>>>
( beautiful quote 7)
CELESTE
A bevy of wavelets rushes to the shore
while on peach coastline, this quietude I feel,
Under the alloy of rocks not seen before
A hidden water-world encrypts its frothed zeal.
The dolphin in tungsten leaps, and then again
With a belly raised to a marmalade sky;
And another whirl...free like a rust-toned crane
Breaths in awe, an enchantment is my reply.
To be fed by April’s torches, amber- lit
when lazy boats sail on coral of Celeste…
and coiled tides gather a fragrant melon quilt
exulting my Sunday’s pause… my hours’ fine rest.
Silent One's united Colors, Orange
Optimistic orange--uplifting, rejuvenating
3/4/2016
11 syls per line
Waking up, in a light gray four poster bed.
With flowers and ribbons, painted
on the ceiling above my head.
.
Satin slippers and a robe, so soft.
A young girl, I feel when I do recall......
Those decades ago, those tender memories
that are never lost!
.
The walk down the soft, rose-colored,
carpeted stairs,
I honestly felt as a princess belonging to a
great monarchy somewhere.
Each time I glided down those circular stairs,
so rare!
.
I ate in the breakfast nook, on the most elegant
ivory wood table, I ever saw.
With a maple hutch with priceless nic nacs
and family photographs.
.
The milk was delivered to the back door.
In glass! No wax, faux de raul.
The tablecloth was always clean.
And heavenly pressed. Mom had fresh
flowers on it, or seasonal decor.
Outside, the grass was soft like God's
carpet, so green,so summer fresh!
I loved my bare feet, running through it.
An gigantic umbrella, was there in a table
of course.
Bright golden yellow outside, inside of it a
veritable bevy of flowers.
That table so outstandingly white~
It so reflected the innocence of my very
blessed days and full starlit nights.
I did my homework in the dining room
on a polished mahogany dining room table.
Above me a sparkling crystal chandelier.
Below me, i rested on dark, thick,green
velvet cushions.
Yes, life was more than good to me.
To recall these young girlish days
with you, ah!
I do so quite happily, through a
poetic lens of time.
With you, my beloved, new poetry
family.
January 21, 2020
6:30am PST
Special acknowledgement to Robert Lindley, who
had the kindness to inform me by Soupmail of
typo errors, I had missed! Gratefully, PR xx
I could feel a connection, right here from the start
From the heart of a stranger, around every bend
What was stranger than that, was they would soon be my friends
A blending of souls, though from vast worlds apart
I could hear every song, I could feel every wrong,
all the cries, all the whispers
all the heart-filled expression, every soul searching question
They reached out to touch me, and I was enthralled
So many with voices, I would want to recall
I have visited places, I wouldn't have known
They lend me an ear and a kindly embrace
The faces are tiny, some never appear
But the journey has been one that has helped me to grow
Here from the archives that clutter my mind
They listen so patiently, time after time
To words I have stuttered, words that have rhymed
To all my joys and all my sorrows
All of my wishes and hopes for tomorrow
They reach out to touch me, and I am enthralled
So many voices, I want to recall
You offer a page for all of my stories
I listen to yours, the joys and the worries
And when hearts are heavy, you offer your hand
With a bevy of troubles that may weigh me down
I will scatter my tears, right here on the page
Finding the comfort that comes to my aid
You share all your words, I show you my heart
You show how you care....and did from the start
As I scatter my poems and you share your own
A bond has united, until we have grown
I can click a small mouse, and once again know
Friend touching friend, is behind every poem
You have reached out to touch me, and I am enthralled
So many friendships, I will want to recall
__________________________________________________
My favorite sanctuary is the side porch where I would screen the horizon and
amble around to feel the wonder of this place--- robins trill in the morning ;a garden path leads to rows of flowers and plants. At any given day, the round table and brass chairs act as a breakfast nook, night party lounge ( with its cobblestone floor and collage of lights), and wide-open painting /writing room. Transparent glass hinged on French-style frames hangs above my porch with a bevy of orchids trailing below it.
My alone time to gather my thoughts and awaken all senses refreshes my soul in this abode.
Soft lights glitter through bench on porch
As moon carves a flossed line;
Words gather to arc hands’ torch
On brown pages, reclined.
Floral thoughts climb through patio doors
Where language reels around
The way mist floats like raindrops’ pour
Dipping odes wet, I drown.
My Quiet Place Contest of Sara Kendrick
You clipped my wings
You cured my flirt
You blinded my sight
From bevy of beauties.
I'm a toy in your palm
Administered unto your wish
And, like powerful Samson
I'm doomed!
Love,
Sweet bait
Covering a naked hook
The cemetary of my life.
Welcome April as a roulette of wildflowers
enchants my breath like nightfall's ambrosia,
flaming the delicacy of charmed kisses
and wine...how springtime breeze pirouettes
to refresh a tingle of laughter, of lusty abandon ;
then to caress me with your adorned gown
as early dawn unfurls a bevy of laced trees :
Inimitable goddess of fertility you are;
whistling tunes from awakened bird-chimes
and to return with an exuberant hello;
youthful as a voice stirred by flake’s departure--
this parade lavishing my earthy bosom
rises along a decorated courtyard--
those hands spilling reds, tangerines, pinks
on varnished lattice...and the way you strut
into a waltz, a face draped by moon, sunshine...
April of Child-Spring, linger on way beyond hello.
Hello Contest: For Silent One
1/16/2019
A pond quivers in demure gusts,
cygnets of morning light undulate
with lithe ripples. Winter thaws,
the sun arcs over feathered rainbows
as ice sculptures bevy like water lilies
on April's frigid cobalt.
In abrupt squall webbed feet prance
on a mirror, capturing saffron exhalations
of rapt poppies, a wild umbrella splayed
like tumultuous cumulus, ending a reflection
of snow angels promenading
in boundless cerulean.
From the smallest of handbells to bells that are heavy,
bells of all types make a large bevy.
Small bells are often the tinkling kind
like decorative ones in some stores we find.
There are ring-a-ling bells and bells that jingle
like jingle bells ringing when merry folks mingle.
Sleigh bells on horses evoke for me
lovely white wonderland imagery.
Other small bells women wear round their ankles.
An alarm bell that wakens me, oh, how it rankles.
There are waist bells the belly dancers often will wear
while big bells on churches call people to prayer.
Some bells sound randomly; others on queue.
There are bike bells, school bells, and cow bells too.
Of bells that chime melodies, there's more than a few.
That's what the bells called Carillon do.
Bell bottom jeans were used back in my day
and Hell's bells is an expletive some say.
The most famous bell, what might it be?
I think it's the one that's called Liberty!
Dear Diary
Do you have room in here…room to spare?
Within the archives of my thoughts and desires
To listen patiently once more
Are you too weary or tired
To lend an ear today?
To all my joys and all my sorrows
All my wishes for tomorrow?
Each day I beg you please to hear me…
Spare a page for secrets, nonsense, funny stories
Perhaps I will write about a kiss
Or pensive words of someone missing…
And when my heart is heavy
With a bevy of troubles that weigh me down
I will scatter tears among your leaves
Your dated pages that chronicle stages
Of my troubled world, whether big or small
And when all of the heartache falls upon my brow
As I toss and turn when bedtime rings
With pitch black thoughts that nighttime brings
I have a page within your bindings,
So patient, kind and understanding
Who listens, while I sit and write, and pray and cope
My every thought, my dreams, my hopes
I sit beside my bedside lamp
And pour out my heart, and you drink it up
I will lock it in, and once again
Can feel the ease of comforting peace
I will shut my eyes and go to sleep ~
_______________________________________________________________
To run with daybreak’s ambient wind,
sliding past a legion of balmy trees
while fragrant vapor meets the dew;
like a satin ribbon twirling ‘round
fresh dawn, awakened: and it playfully
ruffles my dress through mild whispers
brushing my air-tossed hair:
~One more soft roulette
of tangy draft pats my flesh
gentle as hushed kiss!~
Morning's gust speaks in lilts to play
among a bevy of flowers, oh invisible
yet felt ever lightly while it chants afar,
only to glide back and enfold me
with a brighter touch of a symphony.
Strand No 800 Finale
~ Second stanza: senryu form DH
Live Life To The Fullest, Dare To Be Brave
Live life to the fullest, dare to be brave
Birth destines us unto the lonely grave
Between that moment that first gasping breath
Comes a bevy of gasps until our death
Shall we seek much more, stirring well life's stew
From heart and soul, ask for wisdom anew.
In that dance, upon sweeter seas set sail
Knowing knights never find the Holy Grail
In that knowledge accept Hope and its glow
Measure your true worth, live not just for show
Fight the world, attack its savage decrees
Speak, write, and plead your prayers on bended knees.
Wake to morn, rejoice in the break of day
If lost, strive to proceed another way.
Robert J. Lindley, 11-05- 2020
Sonnet
There In Morning Sun, Hope Circled Enticing Dreams
From inside gaping jaws, golden honey slow drips
its taste as if bitter hell came with deadly judgment
life turned into a bevy of sunken ships
with the dried up bones below a sadden statement.
With solid granite illuminating moon 's glow
ironclad hills buried secrets sadder mysteries
impropriety ran in and melted wicked snow
starving for more people ate from empty granaries.
The wicked angels flew about on leaden wings
watching for the innocence of the golden truth
dawn's light erupted brought the small songbirds that sing
for hot romance and the vanities of our youth.
There in morning sun, hope circled enticing dreams.
Father time gave its fruit to fill the icy streams.
Robert J. Lindley, Sonnet,
Feb 25th, 1971
A poison cascades
As moonlight serenades
A heart left rendered
A love left tendered
Sail the lonely trails
Of pale faces and ails
Listen to my voice
Let it not be white noise
A gift delivered
A romance slivered
Just take me home
To oblivion I might roam
I greet the solitude
With gracious gratitude
I may walk alone
For a bevy of sins I must atone
Take me home...
To oblivion I roam...
Take me home...
To oblivion I roam...
She slips in late, almost every day,
begins her work, though it’s mostly play,
first catches up with her office mates---
every detail, her loves and her hates;
each story repeated several times or more,
to everyone passing her wide-open door;
after some minutes, she grabs up the phone,
most often personal, frequent calls home,
how many messages can one woman take?
Guinness should be called, for heaven’s sake.
Some little tragedy and the drama begins,
so many times, taking all different spins,
each little event spun for more sympathy
in grand scheme to move up the company.
Then acting begins, depending on need
as she maneuvers for additional leave.
How can that be? Can there be more time
left over on this generous company’s dime?
So by morning meeting, is anything done?
Likely not, but she hoodwinks everyone.
“Oh my. I’m so busy. I think I must ask---
someone else here to take over this task.”
Then down comes the boss, and up in a flash,
she’s amazingly quick in the three-meter dash,
“Look here old man, see what I did for the job?”
And in response his weary head starts to bob,
“such a good girl, keep up the great work,”
and we all know she’s angling for a new perk.
“I worked hard at home, for at least two hours,”
she tells the guy who holds all of the powers,
while under their breath her coworkers sneer,
“she doesn’t even work when she’s stuck here.”
After morn meeting she’s back on the horn---
to mother, brother, broker, lovelorn,
not to mention her bevy of needy friends,
to whom her ear she willingly lends.
Now---perhaps---she’ll get some work in,
unless it is time for her daily luncheon.
Scheduled an hour for her time to eat,
but ninety-five minutes she seldom will beat.
And then for three hours in the afternoon,
if she works even one, it will make her head swoon,
although she’ll get up for the middle-day break,
she never misses it, don’t make that mistake.
Finally the day reaches five on the clock,
but somehow she slipped out---with earlier flock!