Best Bloom Poems
A transparent melody paints the walls
in the coloured scent of fresh linen.
The changing of sheets in the morning air
can not erase our dance from evening last.
Outside a late spring asleep too long
with no blooms until June, awakens.
Fully opened September flowers
perfume late night conversations.
Looking outside reveals
only one set of footsteps in both directions.
The days when I would watch you walk,
lagging behind with a smile.
The moss grows wild in the forest...
trees surrounded by families of mushrooms.
The word "family"
so I...
An I for an I
and soon the whole world will be in love.
How I long your hug,
your body encompassing mine.
God exists
no greater proof...
With a single tear I
lay flowers where you bloom...and I
i think of you.
March 20 2015
Armand
Beyond the sun's celestial dominion,
past purple shimmers of twilight,
I delve far beyond moonlight's golden glow
into the darkness of pilloried memories,
continually searching for answers but fail to find
those that keep my heart fettered in chains.
Within my restless sleep reveries trespass,
flowing through saturnine channels of my mind,
flooding my heart until only sorrow remains
with pensive images I thought I'd left behind.
I'm blinded, not by the bloom of starlight,
but by bewildering moments in time.
Dismal are the murky shadows looming
in the corners of these cavernous hollows.
They hover over my drubbing heart,
whispering taunts in descending echoes.
I grow impatient to end their clamor.
High is the morning's rushing tide,
reaching its frothy fingers out for me.
I rest on grains of moist ochre sand,
winnowing far beyond the limits
of disconsolate bereavement.
It's here that Autumn's demise
wears a shroud of withered leaves.
I lie quietly, waiting to close my eyes,
my tormented heart lingering in grief
that has haunted me since long ago.
As the sun begins its ascent from the sea,
dawn disturbs my quest for eternal peace.
October 8, 2022
2022 Marathon Mile 16 Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
~~~~~~~~~
Originally posted on 10~20~2016
Underneath all the layers
Of tradition
Of religion
Of philosophy
Of reason and understanding
I smolder
In passion's pleasure bed of red
Paroxysms of pleasure
Emanate from my core
Searing the shroud
Flames of fantasy's feast burn
Yearning I yearn and lie in wait
In my ambuscade
with the relish to ravish ravaging
every fiber
Conceived in the throes of passion
My conception is my perception of life
Woven into my being
I’m prisoner to pleasure monomania
Obsession of desire hysteria
My cacoethes: gratification gratified
Thus, I scintillate sparks
Riding on my satin flares
They captivate your stare
You see me
Feeling the heat of sultry flame
You want to play scorch torch game
So your reach out to touch
Mere kindling in my blazing wake
You quake as I slake your florid fantasy awake
Convulsing in temptation’s torment
You combust to lust
Consummating till consumed
Eliciting my passion flower bloom
In opulent oriental room
You swoon
Exertion exhausted
Gratification’s glory gained
Having tasted my reign
Revived, you leave
Yet…
My image I’ve seared
On your flesh and mind
Branded, you’ll find
Your way back to me
Slave to my passion's decree
You’ll come to me
And I retreat
Enshrouded once more
In virgin layers
Of tradition
Of religion
Of philosophy
of reason and understanding
Biding my time
when sensuality sublime
calls me
to bloom in her red flame
~*~*~*~again~*~*~*~
Eileen Manassian
This is a repost that has over a thousand views. Just trying to remind myself of the glory days. I seem to be unable to write at the moment....and poets can be a strange lot. If you don't post...you're forgotten, at least by most. The feeding frenzy is for words..and if you're empty, you are neglected. I'm glad I have friends who visit my older works even when I'm not around. I need to cultivate this spirit in my life because I know what it's like not to be visited....
Underneath all the layers
Of tradition
Of religion
Of philosophy
Of reason and understanding
I smolder
In passion's pleasure bed of red
Paroxysms of pleasure
Emanate from my core
Searing the shroud
Flames of fantasy's feast burn
Yearning I yearn and lie in wait
In my ambuscade
with the relish to ravish ravaging
every fiber
Conceived in the throes of passion
My conception is my perception of life
Woven into my being
I’m prisoner to pleasure monomania
Obsession of desire hysteria
My cacoethes: gratification gratified
Thus, I scintillate sparks
Riding on my satin flares
They captivate your stare
You see me
Feeling the heat of sultry flame
You want to play scorch torch game
So your reach out to touch
Mere kindling in my blazing wake
You quake as I slake your florid fantasy awake
Convulsing in temptation’s torment
You combust to lust
Consummating till consumed
Eliciting my passion flower bloom
In opulent oriental room
You swoon
Exertion exhausted
Gratification’s glory gained
Having tasted my reign
Revived your leave
Yet…
My image I’ve seared
On your flesh and mind
Branded, you’ll find
Your way back to me
Slave to my passion's decree
You’ll come to me
And I retreat
Enshrouded once more
In virgin layers
Of tradition
Of religion
Of philosophy
of reason and understanding
Biding my time
when sensuality sublime
calls me
to bloom in her red flame
Eileen
Take me to the place where the aromatic fragrance
threatens to envelop our obelisks glorifying death;
to the place where the seraphim of old long to steal your breath
only to resurrect you again,
because they adore your shell-shocked epiphany.
The twinkle of wisteria eyes that say star-struck goodbyes to winters long overdue.
Take me to some place new, yet still lingers with the scent of timeless truths.
Can you whisper epigrams in my ears yet still retain your sunflower youth?
And can such a place even exist ...
where I am me and you are you.
Is this dream of ours only a selfish wish?
Where our heart's desires
will never transpire,
but only take cues from Lazarus,
coming into our own like lilac lust.
I am told there is a beautiful gate
that leads to this tomb of ancient bloom.
Will you let me nourish this timid trust
and receive this skeleton key that dreams of wearing skin -
and if not now, of this would-be genesis ... when?
Please don't tease with someday soon,
but let these tumblers unhinge like zealous zephyr.
I know it will be all that you asked.
I know it will be, for my soul spoke so earnestly: give it a chance.
So won't you carve upon this granite heart
that longs for the easy rain of your embrace.
Etch upon these alabaster walls with love's italic hand,
the seven lettered splendor known unabashedly as FREEDOM.
Let it be the only thing
the angels care to dream,
when imagining eternity.
Let none atone
the only thing
set in stone.
Written February 15th, 2016.
Entered in the contest A Tomb of Ancient Bloom hosted by Justin Bordner.
Chosen Poem of the Day on February 17th, 2016
Placed First
Bloom not, cruel wolfsbane
In this forward spirit of mine
Let the moon dim and wane
For love has diseased my kind
The girl was luscious in the wake
Rising at break of dawn
If only she knew I was a mistake
Before we made the bond
I grew fond of her everyday
And night gave me loathe and dread
My heart was weak, I couldn’t send her away
But fed in her desires instead
I kissed her in the forest of green
I had forgotten what I am
I gazed into those eyes, so keen!
A smooth and gentle lamb
One day I stopped to think a bit
My stomach wrenched and twirled
Through love I had lost my sense and wit
To a pitiful village girl!
Avoiding her best I could
I hid from beauty’s caresses
But again she found me in the wood
And so grew the obsession
But so grew the moon
And the waning was abstaining
Good night, wonders of the noon
With memories remaining
Alone I wandered in the cold
Knowing it was coming
The sky grew dark, the sun was sold
Behind the madness blooming
Transforming! Changing!
My mind went all a blur
Rage deforming! Madness deranging!
I couldn’t think of her…
The time was gone!
The night had come!
I thought I was alone
But then I saw her standing there
Pale and stiff as stone
I woke up that dawn sitting there
On the forest floor
And there lay she all bloodied and bare
The lamb that I adore!
The wounds I found were like a gift
I know they were from my girl
I’m glad she fought her will to live
As I blindly devoured her
An honorable lamb with bloodied hooves
She’ll never leave my vision
Sacrificed for ravenous wolves
And no cry for jurisdiction
Bloom not cruel wolfsbane
In this forward spirit of mine
Let the moon dim and wane
For love has diseased my kind
-an oldie , hehe
For Pd's Contest : )
Hoping the flowers bloom
Sifting through my day,
withered masses of an old heart
searching in the wrong corner,
dreaming in muted grays on a white background,
wandering through the garden
of my every lost dream,
hoping the flowers bloom . . .
and I get to see them
Long hours only offer relief
when I look past the walls
formed around my smile so long ago,
they are now only a faded memory
flickering in and out,
losing clarity
Then out of nowhere comes a light,
so brilliant, beautiful, electrifying
I can only stare and wonder,
is this for me to keep,
or dare I say . . . to love?
Love, now that’s a laugh
Love only finds those who deserve it
and those signs have long since
pointed a different direction
But a voice speaks otherwise
a soft tone, a sweet noise I’ve not heard
or imagined . . .
When whispers of affection from her
fall upon my ears . . . my ears?
Like I am something, somebody, and it feels good
even if it is still hard to believe
And I feel tears forming, could this be happiness
I ask, when there before my misted eyes
The flowers are blooming . . .
and I can see them
Bloom Road
Wherefore be this heavenly place?
Untouched by the metropolis'
inhumane demands?
Tis in your heart, dear friend, such
a place be.
Free of political buffoonery.
One must be a bold discoverer of
the heart.
For if not, Bloom Road is naught!
In the sweetest dwelling of your wishes,
Lies Bloom Road, and warm, delicious,
awaiting kisses.
Life is not an accident for those
with drreams.
It's an actuality that's both planned
and deftly carved and schemed.
Be off now, and the hunter be....
Bloom Road and thy keenest lover,
Are at the ready, just for thee.
August 17, 2020
I heard my name from shadows spoke,
beyond the place called time
where thoughts begin, from deep within
where names have never been
It's there I found the driftless peace
upon the sunlit glen
far from the distant cloudless nights
where hope has never been
I felt the tears of morning dew
the Angels left for you
I'll shine a light upon your path
that sunrise never knew
Dark Earth Folds In The Heart's Red Bloom
You and I and all we do
Know not, til our hearts are through
The press of life, what things we be
Root or leaves or shade of tree.
You and I and all we seem
May be but as a drift of dream
In the eyes of One who gave
Self to love and love to save,-
Yea, all the deeds that men have wrought
Mere flower of dream, flame of thought,
Break of waves on a drear shore,
Scent of the wild rose on the moor.
Yet we have seen, and hold it sure,
That out of shame come forth the pure;
Dark earth folds in the heart's red bloom;
In vain, we build the soul a tomb.
R.J. Lindley
1976 or 77 ?
Rose petals floated in the dusty air.
A few landed at my feet as I sat weeping,
remembering the playful way she teased me
on the day she painted the old picket fence.
"It needs to be painted," she chided.
Fingers of a brisk March wind
brushed through her hair. All I could do
was stare at her beauty, the blush of cheeks
much more lovely then her roses.
"My climbing roses are much too pretty
to rest upon this dreary old faded fence,
but I can do it all by myself."
She smiled and plucked one of her pink roses,
tipped it in white wash and presented it to me
with the most graceful curtsey I'd ever seen.
That rose had been drying on the mantle
since that day, now brittle, gathering dust
and as hard as I tried not to touch,
when I held it, the petals fell, one by one.
She's been gone for too many years,
and through each one of them I've cried.
Today I white washed that fence again,
and when her roses come in to bloom
my heart will be consumed with the vision
of her smiling face and the gift of a rose,
white washed by her gentle hand.
Into the woods, soft leaves fondle the nape
*
Along a walk bathed in frost of moon pail
I bare myself before night goddess’ cape
And lay upon the edge where grasses sail ~ ~
While sacred rite bestows a holy grail.
*
Now, free is my body, my life compass
Where stars connect with skin on raw canvas
Tracing birthmarks from navel ripe as womb
• ~
In pure silence, light meets joy unsurpassed
One with birth’s flesh, Soul washes covered plume
~
My aorta beats in golden poppies,
pulsing down slopes to pool
in a bruise of purple sage.
Though my eyes gleam
with lemon marigolds
snow caps of porcelain lupine
melt on my lashes,
undulating in a quiet tempest
of periwinkle asters.
Beneath a bluebell sky
the sun colors my cheeks
with the blush of primroses
as monarchs lilt
like birds of paradise
among velvet morning glories
and a shy alyssum breeze
caresses my emerald cloak.
3/26/19
Marathon Qualifiers Contest
Mark Toney
luscious light, lingering in a world of delight- sweet serenade
perfect place, set with grace, tender thoughts embrace me
there is magic in the air, beyond compare
fragrance of love, i am swept above
- - oh sweet perfume, welcome me soon - -
to where the wildflowers bloom
my heart does swoon
in moments true
lost in
you
__________________
* Just a little scribble *
Form of poetry: 10 words to 1
~ Sleeping Beauty ~
An island so captivating
I hear it calling me
Lady sea embraces her land
Where daffodils grow by the sea
Winding roads ,stone buildings
History and charm are aplenty
An island abundant with character
Where daffodils grow by the sea
An island abound with rugged beauty
Untouched to just be
A little slice of heaven
Where daffodils grow by the sea