Best Blanketed Poems
Like no one before, nor since
you painted that starry night in oils
superimposing your life story.
I feel I know this idyllic village
blanketed by tranquil rolling hills
embraced by calming olive trees
their very branches a symbol of peace
the steadfast church steeple
a sacred echo of the stalwart cypress.
But never have I witnessed
hills so inflamed - burning to tell the world their history
a moon so agitated - suffering from an incurable insanity
the night sky so frenzied - seeking answers to life's suffering
such undulating indigo eddies of despondency and confusion
or stars radiating with such feverish beauty - concentric circles of passion.
That starry night
you painted stars that, like you, are light years away from anyone else
looking on the serene village scene from an insurmountable distance
for you saw things, Vincent,
like no one before, nor since.
[free verse ekphrasis of the painting "The Starry Night" by Vincent Van Gogh]
Written 5 Jul 2020
In November I write of winter
for I am weary of the old year and tired bones
I visualize all hardships blanketed with fresh snowfall
geese in a "V" as they flee on trade winds to the south
season's celebrations, toasting in the new year
senior couples delighting in a luminous sunset
knowing it might be their last together
In February I write of spring
for I am weary of the bone-chilling cold
I envision the circle of life resurrecting dormant earth and tired souls
zephyr winds teasing nascent flower petals and young hummingbirds
mayday flower crowns adorning laughing children
young lovers sharing kisses, dreaming dreams of
infinite possibilities
In May I write of summer
for I am weary of the bone-soaking rain
I forecast cloudless skies and longer days
Santa Ana winds dismissing every chill
a lark's lilting lullaby lulling loons on the lake
vacationing families basking in the warm outdoors
brides and grooms viewing limitless horizons
In August I write of autumn
for I am weary of the bone-dry heat
I anticipate bewitching fall winds tantalizing neon maple leaves
turkeys gobbling, ducks wobbling, thrushes warbling
harvest home throbbing with the aroma of fresh pie
middle age couples cuddling by the fireplace
giving thanks for all that lies behind and ahead
Lord, help me to view the past with grace,
the future with hope,
the present with contentment,
and to write of November
in November.
written 25 October 2021
Traveling through the doorway in my heart
I emerge
Gently closing it
I place my palms on the worn hinges of time
I lay my ear near its surface
As I let my lips hover close
Grazing the wood with a gentle kiss
I turn and walk down a few steps
The mist ~ the moisture ~ the fragrance
Of a million greens
Grass so tall and lush
Beckoning me
The ancient pines and redwoods
Towering above me on both sides
Whispering their secrets
I make my way
Stopping to press my nose
Against their soft bark...inhaling
Tickling my face
Bringing me back...back in time
I breathe in love
I breathe out gratitude
Opening my eyes, I see you in the distance
As shadow puppets dance and frolic
Upon rugged steep rock walls
The inner cave glows
The smell of mesquite
Rising sparks of pain and happiness
Leap from the flames
Your quiet silhouette calls to me
“Come little one...come”
I crouch down timidly at first
It is dark and I feel alone
In my nakedness
I slither along smooth stones
My belly brushing their surface
I make my way close to you
The fire alive with its dancing shadows
Sitting in silence
I gently embrace your blanketed form
You are me as an old woman
You are my lover
You are my friend
You are all of humanity
I kiss your weathered cheek
Tasting salty tears
Embracing you allows me to let go
To fully surrender to the moment
Hoo-hoo-hooooo
Crackle
Owls above
The sky illuminated through
The exposed top of the cave
Surrounded by whisps of fables and folklore
We rotate and spin
Slowly rising upward
Higher and higher
As ashes in the night
Reaching the lip of the cave
We are greeted by moonlight
Cold crisp air
A burst of light
As I spread feathered wings
Gliding towards treetops
My heart opens
My eyes open
I am here
To laugh ~ to cry
To give ~ to receive
To rejoice
To break bread with others
To love
Another day
When the first glimpse
of silver crescent
sprinkles citrine dust,
sparkling pink brooks
spring forth,
flowing through
emerald green forests.
Moss covered Pine
trees spread their branches,
reaching towards
the setting amber sun.
Cherry blossom clouds
coat the dusky horizon,
unfurling lilac lavender
hues amidst the
paper-cut skyline,
and the last beam
of light starts to
fade into nocturnal bliss.
The twilight nightingale
can be heard,
comforting us
in the distance.
Lulling us to a
restful slumber
under the star
blanketed stratosphere.
And something
about the way
warm marshmallow
threads entwine
with mulberry tints,
reminds me that
every ending
is a synonym
to new beginnings.
Yet, I tell the
caviar smeared sunsets
about our
secret collaborations,
questioning the glowing
gold of Swarovski
rings splattered across
the evening sky,
incensed with
the fragrance of jasmine
that lingers on
the summer breeze.
Will blushing
sangria streaks,
stretch their feathers,
paint my blazing
heart of hurt in
vermilion stars?
or is this love,
another passing
phase, like the waning
sighs of moonrise?
What's not to love about a summer day?
Kissed by the sun, the warmth of its embrace
To feel the cleanse from sweat at work and play
While honeysuckle breezes cool my face
With hillsides blanketed in purple vetch
Magenta morning glories and light blues
Imagine all the butterflies they fetch
A scene to romance any poet's muse
But when it gets too hot, I seek the shade
Barefoot in clover 'neath tall sycamores
Or take a watermelon down to wade
A spring fed creek, to cool, while I explore
That evening, in the swing, I watch fireflies
Then pray I wake to see one more sunrise
May 9 - 2018
Daniel Turner
I walked home alone in the dampening mist
as the pastel colored sky blanketed the sun
His rays sank into the sea for their daily tryst
Resting among the waves, his work was done
And now the moon will rise in splendid glory
bringing lovers together in her lustrous light
while the mist hides the tears of my sad story
My heart is broken and my spirit is contrite
My cottage hearth will hold no warming fire
It's to darkness that I'll open my creaking door
No smiling face or welcome words will transpire
Twilight's become the time of day I most abhor
She would run and greet me when I neared home
But no longer do her laughing eyes meet mine
Her eyes now shine where she chose to roam
Bitter on my tongue is the taste of finest wine
Pity is not an emotion in which I choose to wallow
One day when the sun no longer drowns in the sea
perhaps then my wine will be pleasant to swallow
and memories of lost love will no longer torture me
Twin, silver cathedral bells, sway and chime.
As every note peals out, clear and sublime.
No winds blow through the sky, this silent night.
The peaceful heavens, filled with a celestial light.
Arm in arm, down the icy lane we do walk.
Heart to heart, our souls they seem to talk.
A pair of happy cardinals, one red, one gold.
Go bobbing through the snow, so white, so cold.
Along the hillside, stands rows of frosted pine.
The fields, blanketed in diamonds, a vision divine.
Couples, young and old, seated in horse-drawn sleighs.
Making new memories, and reminiscing their by-gone days.
Nestled so close together, like two turtledoves.
All bundled up, with warm scarves and gloves.
Amongst white winter lands, we two do wander.
While our light hearts, are growing ever fonder.
Written for Isaiah Zerbst's contest - "Let It Snow-12 Paintings of Winter"
This poem was inspired by the painting-"Christmas Day" by John Ritchie
"Slipping into a coma, the emptiness of a dreamless sleep.
Nightmares filling your head, where nothing is what it seems.
You're underground, desperately tryna' find your way out,
tunnels all around, but doors are no where to be found.
The ground has no traction, and you're floating above air.
Tryna' hold on to something, but there's nothing there.
And then you fall, and all you can hear,
is the rippling of your clothes, and the wind in your ear.
And just before you hit the ground,
you feel something grip you, without making a sound.
The next thing you know you're looking into a Man's eyes.
You feel safe but afraid, all at the same time.
That's when you wake, but you were never asleep.
And you're lying in a bed, with the Man at your feet.
He welcomes you to His kingdom, and into His heart,
and He finishes his drawing, another of piece of God's art."
*****************************************************
This poem is about one's struggle to find God. About having to search, and feeling hopeless. Like we aren't really traveling through Hell, but we are searching with no idea which way we are going, blanketed in a coat of black. Like an infinitely deep hole with a small stream at the bottom, and you've just got to hope to find that stream. Then when you think all hope is lost, you realize that He has been sitting there, waiting for you, pulling you out of the darkness Himself, knowing you would look for Him. He accepts us into His kingdom. It's as if we are a piece of art, and he is adding on to us everyday..
You waited for this moment,
As if you were an incomplete salutation
You waited for confessional breaths to alleviate this finite evening
Missing its constellations
You wept for their sunflower touch.
A touch to engorge the gaps of your imprinted thumb
With honeysuckle madness
Dry
Another cashmere moistened parable
Hungering for ink-plated resolutions
You waited for their Haiku smile.
A smile condoning resilient waterfalls
Unto ocean’s distant memory
Aching for risky walks above coal-ridden tomorrows
No forest green pupils observing
The hindrance of time
You wished upon wishes
For blanketed convenance to warm aspiring, French kiss upon promised morn
You wrestled with downward spirals,
Uplifting loneliness from Heaven’s chasm
Lost
Enough
Regurgitated sobs reserved under no-name invitations
But, I...
…I was h e r e.
All along
©Drake J. Eszes
Raging fires roared, yet nothing could hold her back;
she was born in flames...
Sadly, that which helps forge vitality, indubitably, burns.
Embers soon seek refuge in blanketed debris,
praying to fade as apathy attempts to nurture injury.
Mercy, I beg, draw near and peel back ashen veil;
enable compassion, tenderness, and understanding to elicit
tears of gratitude, for they are certain to ignite abandoned flames!
Let passion's fire forever radiate deeply within this and every soul.
May all come to know her warmth, be guided by her light,
feel her rapture in righteous endeavors, and
nevermore become singed nor devoured
by her eternal blaze.
PEACE, LOVE & JOY TO ALL
2020
Darkest Of Days, When His Ship Finally Came Home
A wicked chill, even her house could feel its creep
Tho' silence would not hear its horrific demands.
A dark dream, had awakened her from her deep sleep,
With it, she felt blight and doom had come to her lands.
Day's first somber hour, her heart felt its evil threats,
As old clock ticked away with a deafening roar.
She recited morning prayers, to hedge all her bets,
Went into dirty streets to give aid to the poor.
An angel waiting for ship to arrive in port,
Heart and soul knew, he had been away far too long.
Homecoming, one she prayed weather could not abort,
Time flew by, to docks she raced, love singing its song.
Faith, love and hope filled all her lonesome, aching heart,
With such promises, her wanting nights had been spent.
Sun shown bright, her heart suddenly felt a new start
With merriest of thoughts, onto the docks she went.
Crowd hovering around a blanketed body there
Suddenly her heart felt greatest of her dark fears
Please she prayed,"If its him, tis more than I can bear"
Then she saw, her feet felt wet of her falling tears.
She had ran away, falling down to cry and pray
Looking back, at his ship's flag wave, in wafting wind.
Yet no answer came, Fate had had its dark death way
Answering her cries," Please Lord, let this nightmare end".
A wicked chill, even her house could feel its creep
Tho' silence would not hear its horrific demands.
A dark dream, had awakened her from her deep sleep,
With it, she felt blight and doom had come to her lands.
Day's first somber hour, her heart felt its evil threats,
As old clock ticked away with a deafening roar.
She recited morning prayers, to hedge all her bets,
Went into dirty streets to give aid to the poor.
An angel waiting for ship to arrive in port,
Heart and soul knew he had been away far too long.
Homecoming, one she prayed weather could not abort,
Time flew by, to docks she raced, love singing its song.
Robert J. Lindley, 2-19-2018
Rhyme 12/12,(When Fate Speaks)
NOTE- This was completed this morn, written from an old poem fragment from back in , April 2001. I am trying to finish many of my great many old poem fragments , before my time arrives , as Fate waits for no man!!
Freezing in the midst of hostile ice monsoon
triggering aching woes beneath blood and bones,
I search for a quilt woven in sanguine rune
silken feathers of clementine and gold tones-
body ails, yet spirit soars, sings to the moon,
beyond clouds obscured in kohl sleets of hailstones
whilst rhapsodies of nature serve light to calm-
scattered scars in the air, like cosmic mint balm
But as skies swing heavy, and coldness seeps in,
hope breathes from sapphire dews of rain waltzing free,
for when mists of nature envelopes my skin,
I find traces of peace from roots of my tree
amidst the piercing pain pulsating within-
fields of eagle ferns, the tranquilizing key,
sets a serene scene with silver sequined lines,
sprinkling zests of zen from inner sun that shines.
Sometimes mind gets blanketed in confusion,
sinking behind steel walls sculpted in distress
although shadowed stars swirl like an illusion,
faith is the thread for thin needles to redress
and restitch fragmented frames of vague vision.
So let suppressed agony slowly digress
in pearl pages of cathartic tomorrows-
now my ink abandons yesterday's sorrows.
Quote by: Tom Woody Poem by: Mystic Rose
Every sunset closes the door on a day of pain and sorrow. And each sunrise opens a window to a fresh, new start. What will you do with yours?
A sunrise yawns and suddenly I'm born again, to hope and joy
within the windows of my soul a shutter opens and I slide
glad that the sunset has blanketed my body with marrows of dark
From blush of night to pink of day, I dance upon God's open sky
enclosed inside a heaven where even Angels sigh
happy to be part of a Universe I sit enfolded tween' the stars
Surrounded by God's love it matters not the time of day or night
as I shift from dark to light with eyes wide open true
I know that Mother Earth will open wide her arms to me and you
A chasmal moment of grace appears on the horizon to break the morn
encircled by flowers, trees and rivers, I know that life is good
no matter how many hours night throws at me feet
no matter how much pain or sorrow I feel, I will never be defeated.
"A woodland path in the dappled sun, hushed and quiet "
~A Rambling Poet~
A canopy of trees
filters the sun for me,
and I am grateful...
For I do not feel like
having the rays glare
in my eyes today,
in a brooding mood I am.
The earth is damp,
drunken with dew,
seemingly commiserating
with me
I lay myself down,
jagged rocks beneath me
--cutting, rough--
and I welcome it
For it grounds me,
a reminder
that not everything
is sunlight and blooms
I sink in my darkness
and close my eyes
to dwell in it and drown,
just sighing
For an eternity,
I am mired with
muck and moss in my mind,
thoughts eroding
to nothingness
...until I open my eyes
to Wonderment
The trees above me
stand tall and proud
in their radial glory,
the sun just
breaking through,
shimmering, dappling
my cold being
Leaves gilt with light
blink back in awe
and I am floored,
blanketed by warmth
of hushed spirits
surrounding me
These trees
tell their tales
of growth and survival,
of yearning for
that light,
of their struggle
to catch a glimpse
of heaven...
of capturing
its light,
using it,
feeding off from it,
in order to
give back to others
some of them stumble
yet most of them
succeed
I am humbled.
I am awed.
Yes, the canopy
gave me shade,
temporary darkness
from the light,
I look up again
and realize
that the tiniest
pinholes of hope exist,
reaching deep within...
little sparks
that set off
a chain reaction
of life
--June 11-12 (2011)
The Fall of The Winter King
He had risen to power
fueled by a vicious and ruthless determination
to reclaim a lost throne.
His tactics had stunned the unsuspecting,
laid barren the fields,
blanketed the forest,
silenced the sounds of life itself.
A dictator, seeking no counsel,
accepting no offers of surrender,
driven by the desire to destroy
the kingdom that had usurped his throne.
Rumors spread of a daring bud – sprouting -
a tune hummed by the imprisoned trees
adrift on the whipping winds of war
in defiance of the heartless king.
A call to arms sounded
by the most gentle, the most delicate.
The first acts of open rebellion,
The resounding crack of the ice jamb
the aching roar of the river’s rage
surging over its banks
awakening those still held captive.
Slowly the insurrection took root
buds gathered in hidden clusters,
trees quietly bloomed
muffling the screeching gales,
offering safety to bands of rebels.
Flocks of warblers met -
feathered archers - hurling their
darting arrows against the glare
of a cold king’s horror.
Sweet grasses spread across
the brown, despoiled fields -
a verdant gauntlet tossed in the face of dread.
Flowers crept from thawing dungeons
waving their colors,
swarms of banished pollinators
followed the call to duty.
The ebb and flow of battle -
frosted retreats,
clandestine sunrise maneuvers.
The resurgence of heart,
the growing hope of warmth.
As memory of the chilled repression
faded preparation was made
to receive the beauty and bounty
of a new and peaceful King.
John G. Lawless
1/11/2015
For SKAT’s Winter’s End – Poetry Contest