Best Blanches Poems
The atmosphere rings with the bell like calls
of the plover flock, long before they are spotted.
The flight herringbones a grey fedora sky.
Markings of white and coal black weave,
wing-stitched, a blanket maker’s dream.
Sigh makers they close on the beach
at high tide, the horizon shivers the
sand blanches. These ravishing scavengers
light on the tattered edge of wet to dry,
dawdling with the dead.
Plovers are diminutive scroungers, one-legged
dancers, hopping to the pull of tide, dining on
crab-eggs in black-tie and feathered tails, their
gray skull caps lined with a black brow.
Sparrow-small birds dress to the nines.
A feast for the birds, fall crisps, crab moltings,
go on for endless miles. September is beginning
and soon winged ones will fly to sunny shores.
The cold Atlantic will moan for the loss of music,
the unstitched sky will part. The avian choir is off
to the mud flats of Carolina.
First Published Eunoia Review January 2015
Categories:
blanches, beach, beauty, bird, ocean,
Form:
Free verse
Her crimson heart blanches,
broken, her soul aches
never to numb her loss.
When songbirds silently retreat
to tallest treetops, shaken
she lights her solitary restlessness.
On the windowsill, it flickers and flirts
with dusk's sifted air.
Constant burning, I could never imagine this
insatiable, impatient yearning -
for one candle to beacon to one more chance.
She falls, spills over, slumps
into ebony night -
she, steadfast, stifles sobs performing
like in a Shakespearean play,
pretending to want for rise of day.
And I wonder why
does her lone candle shine
for him? Who deserves her heart sworn
to love despite a deceptive guise -
no intent to return, only rumors of his lies?
And I wonder why
I feel a kinship with her shadows,
(not yet hopeless or ready to resign),
they swing, lilting light,
lifting prayers into angelic paths
beyond, and I wonder.
Her blanched heart,
broken soul aches,
and I, a passerby,
wonder why I bleed her loss
and still feel the warmth of her candle.
written 2/15/17
Categories:
blanches, hope, loneliness, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
Waterlilies brighten black
ripples, reeds, and rocks below.
An even flow, bane and blight
recedes to bare raven’s bones.
A grave of darkness blanches
In austere light on bloodless
banks, but blue eyes cannot flood
its once watery coffin.
Dew on the waterlilies
reflect these absurdities -
the woeful bones glistening
alone near floral beauty.
Written 5/23/20
N/A in
Genuine Englyns Contest
Categories:
blanches, beauty, death, nature, raven,
Form:
Englyn
Nancy Pelosi
Listening closely,
Blanches at Senator shouting "You lie!"
Glares at the outrageous nerve of the guy.
Categories:
blanches, funny, political
Form:
Clerihew
(Haikus from my short poetry collection in Greek: Se ?????? st????? ??????asµ????, Perched on a few verses,
translated by me.)
A broken light bulb.
It’s dawning. The naked street.
A butterfly.
---
Upon the branches
of dawn, the day’s rustling
silk dreams.
Categories:
blanches, allegory, dream,
Form:
Haiku
My love departs whence the waves tumble
to and fro o’er timeless grains of sand.
Mottled depths of sea drown out restless rumble
as fallen tears slip through my trembling hands.
Say my name, enchanting moon of lore.
I shall not fault you lest my love return.
Beckon tides to well and light restore.
Grant me this before my heart doth spurn.
Full moon cast reflections bittersweet
‘til sunrise blanches all my thoughts of yore.
If I fall prey to waking dawn’s deceit,
Please rise anew to carry love ashore.
Waiting heart shan’t drown in moonlit tide.
In raging surge, for love I shall abide.
For POETESS DARKLY's Blame it on the Moon Contest
10/23/13
Categories:
blanches, lost love, moon, sea,
Form:
Sonnet
We're having a white Halloween
as it snows to the brim.
Where the pumpkins lie buried.
Their candles going dim.
There's a cold spell upon us.
White frost on the vines.
Their stems peeking out
to ceasing our spines.
With sheets of white cotton
torn between branches.
Ghosts with black eyes.
Spirits in blanches.
Webs of white cotton
stretching the trees.
Home for a spider.
A place on the breeze.
Blankets of snow
covering the ground.
Spirits lay dormant
when evil is crowned.
Categories:
blanches, allusion, color, halloween,
Form:
Quatrain
Why is there anything, anything at all?
It’s a question that blanches the brain.
A question that holds thinkers in thrall.
And the answer is by no means plain.
What are we to make of endless space
With its billions of light-studded stars?
Is even one inhabited by a human race?
Do they know about Earth, Pluto, Mars?
It’s humbling to scan the skies at night
And to understand we are but a blot.
It casts earthly challenges in a new light,
Making us wonder what God has wrought
Categories:
blanches, heaven, philosophy, perspective,
Form:
Rhyme
Red to Black
Pink?
Pinkish!
The first flush of youth on the face at the gate.
Who? Pat Bouwer.
Then she’s maturer
And peach is the more appropriate word.
Whilst Red and Black are sep-a-rate.
A life-time of years
One of love not tears.
When out of the blue
There’s a transitional cell.
Bottom line? Please tell!
Cut to the chase.
Cut! Cut? Cut!
The knife excises the renal invader and its cancerous bower.
(Oh my Pat, it’s a fearful pun.)
One organ is gone
Still with poisons and rays they smack her in case.
Then hope flares up like a flame
But the crab bites deep
And begins to creep
Ever on, and silently on, like a veritable ghoul.
Peach fades to pallor and blanches like powder the beautiful face.
Now days are Black
And the western horizon is increasingly Red.
But Red inside her is read as life.
Something to grasp and hold very tight
Albeit only a straw.
Then in a twinkling Red switches to Black
And the dreaded Black blood gushes upward and out
Filling the dish she, yes she, holds alone in her hands.
A stainless-steel dish with a renal shape.
What bitter irony is that?
Worse still, she’s all alone;
A nurse without a nurse.
The ultimate curse.
What’s a vocation it’s only a ‘jop’
In any event the bell does n’t ring.
‘Bloken ?’ Oh yes it certainly is.
So move out, move out to where there’s love,
Care, and compassion but void of hope.
Now it’s gentle Black hands and Red epaulettes.
Calm are the days and gentle the nights
As warmly wrapped in her morphine cocoon
She wanders content with ghosts of her past.
And the Black is contained as she slips gently away
But there is time for a final whispered exchange
And a tender last brush of our lips
“I love you lots”,
“And I love you too.”
Then with a sigh and smile she is gone
As one of her own softly squeezes her hand.
Now Black is the hole that is left behind
And Red is the grief consuming my mind.
Categories:
blanches, dark, death, goodbye, ,
Form:
Blank verse
Over rolling hills, it tiptoes in on bobcat feet
With Lynx-like eyes, and billowing clouds of gray
And turns the hush of twilight's blood red sky
Into a witches brew, alive with piercing cries
A wind that coils in the breast of dunes
Gliding in from distant lands, Saguaro sands
Eerie sounds whistle through window sills
The chill of what was peaceful and still
Has turned to anger, fear and dread
Wildness arrives on chariots with mighty steeds
The monsoon thrives, while a desert blanches dead
It gnashes teeth with biting winds
Shaking shingles, tree trunks bend
The pouring thunder, lightning peels
Rain gushes down as strong as steel
We wait until the wrath is spent
At last with gusto,....a final vent
Like spoiled child it takes a bow
There's nothing but a murmur now
The wretched carpet left behind
Broken wings from dark of night
Trees and limbs are battered hosts
Cacti lift their arms to toast
The remnant of a monsoon's ghost
.................................
Inspired by Paula's Monsoon Contest
Categories:
blanches, nature,
Form:
Free verse
So full of empty between the ears;
void breeze reasoning,
zero thoughts a-blowing
Banished to the barren cornfields,
multi-grain years of accumulated wisdom
bear no pleasant, golden-age yield
Black sky intellectual famine
was lost cause shuttered-in,
by a blight of self-centered locust feed
Constant dry spells of self-absorption: Attic dust
sparked a bewitchingly vague eclipse acceleration ...
a covering blindness of gross darkness
No candlelight activity ~ no emotional fertility
Ancient bones of moist contention
randomly doused by fiery forgetfulness
Addled gestures
buried
beneath facial dry ground,
blanches
the ash fallow soil
with expressionless sterility
Immense nothingness ... bountiful emptiness
A vacuous mental sheaf
bending to the hollow wind whisperings heard less and less
Cranial cracked cistern,
watercolors of compassion spilling
New cretin observations ...
conversation water table on the dwindle
Kaleidoscope personalities
that are always chameleon changing
Dawn memories fading, thoughts diffusing
Never able again to see
things quite right upstairs mirror prism bent improperly,
casting past reflections mnemonic shadowy
Where did a neural immeasurable,
liquid electric muse
evaporate to?
How did an oasis of joyous rumination
disappear,
without a serene memory dip
to refresh anew?
A once beautiful, fertile mind
is now
banished to the barren cornfields
A formerly wondrous field of dreams,
now listens to the Alzheimer wind
silently mind-blowing
There’s nothing between the autumn ears,
yet the summer fears springing above the chest,
keeps winter growing
A once beautiful mind
is forever
banished to the barren cornfields
To listen, agitatedly,
for the turbulent winds
to silently come a-blowing
Having nothing between the ears;
only the never-ebbing, night falling fears ...
and crashing waves of misty morning tears
A tsunami loss of knowing
Empty tidal thoughts above the chest,
which keeps on daily rising
Categories:
blanches, dark, perspective, sad, sick,
Form:
Free verse
Aux lacs italiens
Douce l'italie, ca n'est pas moi qui raillerai jamais tes
amants, méme quand la passion les emportant Bien au contraire,
les exces m'enchantent. Je me rapelle l'enthousiasme de Goethe, qui saluait
j'usqu' è la poussiere qui couvrait sa voiture. Et J'airavi, été ravi l'autre jour,
en relisant les dèrnieres pages de son “Voyage en Suisse”, de voir le vieux
Dumas presque divaguer dès que, sur la route du Simplon, les il sent les prèmieres
blouffées du vent de Lombardie, dès qu'il apercoit, come cygnes se réchauffant
au soleil, des groupes de maisons blanches, aux toit plats. A meaure qu'il se
rapproche des rives du lac Majeur, son romantisme déborde.
Il salue L'italie, la vicelle reine, la coquette éternelle qui envoi au devant
des voyageurs ses femmes et les fleurs.
“Au lieu s'ecrie-t-il, des paysannes gui treuses du Valais, on recontre
a chaque pas de jolies vendangeuses, au teint pale, aux yeux véloutes,
au parler rapide et doux; le ceil est pur, l'air est tiède, st l'on reconnait,
come dit Plutarque, la terre aimèe des dieux, la terre sainte, la terre beureuse
qui les invasions barbares, les discordes civiles n'ont pu dépoullier des dons
qu'elle avait recus du ciel”
D'ailleurs, exalter l'italie n'est pas denigrer la France; et je pous rai répondre,
comme le déclare si finement De la Lande, dans la préface de son célebre
“Voyage en Italie” que ce voyage est = le plus agréable et le plus beaux
de tout ceux qu'un Francais pent faire hors de chez lui.
Categories:
blanches, appreciation, heart, uplifting,
Form:
Romanticism
I am a chameleon with a colour-changing skin
It matches every mood that I am ever in.
When I’ve acted strangely, or said something stupid
I am so embarrassed, my face turns to red
And if I scream out loud, when I have had a fright
My body starts to tremble, and blanches to white.
When I am cold and shivering, it takes a different hue
My skin goes all goosey, it turns to blue
I am a chameleon with a colour-changing mind
It matches every mood that you could ever find.
When I am filled with envy of something that I have seen
My mind succumbs to jealousy, and changes to green
If I am flushed with anger, about something that’s been said
My temper starts to flame a bright and burning red.
Sometimes, I’m sad and lonely, when I’m missing you
I feel so dejected, I go a gloomy blue.
I am a chameleon with many colours to show
They reflect my every mood, as feelings come and go
Though all are not as bright as I would like them to be
They fill my life with thanks for their diversity.
I am a chameleon with many colours to show
And everywhere I go, I have a Rainbow glow
Categories:
blanches, people,
Form:
Verse
paint me a dark picture from black and white
bind me by the enrichments of this life
tear my pale skin with the blade of this knife
take my enduced coma to a new height
break my endless darkness with a new light
connect this heartache to a new found strife
conjour a new way to destroy my blithe
in which i struggle with through the dark nite
a lack of judgement will be your last note
letting the words of others take your mind
poisoned beyound means with no antidote
to my heart, you have been very unkind
wearing their lies like your sheltering coat
now to the venom they feed you , you bind
Categories:
blanches, depressiondark, dark, me,
Form:
Italian Sonnet
Je vois partout de beaux bouquets
de clochettes blanches à l’air fragile ;
Ces petites fleurs aux têtes courbées
feuilles vert-foncé et tiges graciles.
Sur une pelouse forestière
un tapis blanc resplendissant
de têtes, inclinées en prière
annonce l’arrivée du printemps.
Sous les doux rayons du soleil
j’apprécie ce paysage si pur,
ces clochettes de l’espoir éveillent
la somnolence de la nature.
28.03.2022
Categories:
blanches, appreciation, flower,
Form:
Rhyme