Best Blue Air Poems
the raspy whisper
finally
gets my full attention -
wistfully I smile
..for its persistence reminds me of you..
the crisp red leaf
scuttles scrapingly
across the gray pavement
to and fro
like a dancing crab
moving with the whims of the winds
chasing me
as it seemed like I had once chased my dreams;
blown in directions left up to chance
..until I met you..
..is it now, as it was then
Destiny?
for in this instant, my sense of direction
seems predestined..
a smoky scent
spices the chilled blue air
reminding me of our cozy nights
curled with the fire
..entranced
as we were
with our warmth
and our flame..
could it be
love signals from the hearth
calling me home..?
..my soul
feels akin to the red leaf,
the wafting smoke
and I am ready to follow..
Would the cold atmosphere be so cruel
as to play capricious tricks upon my eyes... or
..is that really
YOU
standing there..?
Oh!
my beloved,
how my broken spirit
has suffered
in my pining desire to be with you -
I run to you!
years of yearning prayers answered
fingertips straining - stretching further
reaching out to touch you,
the whole of my being aching
to hold you and enfold you
..ah, I feel your heat
so very close to me..
Alas!
I fall to my knees,
my arms empty
but for the loss I carry..
your warm breath
on the nape of my neck
only my hot want
brewed with a cool wisp of the breeze
..Oh, God! Please!
just let it be
let me go..!
my forsaken flame less than a dying ember;
I but ashes in my grief
withered
in my autumn season
without you
still...
I’m slow to realize...
that your fading glow just the sun slanting low
blurring wicked whimsy with my wild sorrow
in the burning of these bitter tears.
Susan Ashley
December 2, 2018
~ First Place ~
Contest: NA the day away
Sponsor: Lu Loo
*N/A’d: Best Free Verse 2019 Poetry Contest*
~ Honorable Mention ~
Contest: Your Choice (2) Any Theme, Form
Sponsor: Brian Strand
~ Poem Of The Day ~
December 4, 2018
When butterflies float downward like a leaf
As air of Autumn dances everywhere
Whispers of wings become a bright motif
Floating, drifting, wandering on blue air.
Scents of cinnamon whisper treats to come
As wondrous woodsmoke warms us from within
At entry doors are straw and flowering mums
Every shape and size of gourd and pumpkin
Fall promises us all its bright enchantment
A whirling, orange world of wind and leaves
Known as a season of mad derangement
Yet of all- it is the one that most appeals
If I were to choose one season to be
I'd sleep until Autumn whispered to me
R a i n ~ a misted mirror
coated in petrichor pain ~
fused with memories
pirouetting through the
veiled salt of the earth,
caressing the Pina Colada dreams
adrift in the icy-blue air,
amidst clouds soaked
in prismatic hues ~
arching like opalescent canopies,
to hide the despair I’ve draped
in dragonfly hues that no one knows
but the moon and his
merciful silver, forever stroking
the silken surface of s i l e n c e ~
homed within my
heart that aches…
And along with the thunder ~
came confetti of scars,
a piercing flash of metallic truth
revealing midnight rays
of how I’ve long been the storm ~
a murky sky of cracked constellations,
a rush of roaring torrents,
driving my thoughts to the honed
borderline of tremors and torture ~
teetering on forsaken fragility.
O dahlia dawn ~
I am the splitting tempest,
the spectral outline of
electrified lightning.
I taste the bittersweet flavors
of opaline stars ~
trembling in angst,
as fleeting sparks of the buried past,
too, feel the hurt beneath
the pansies of paradise,
where angels unfurl their
wings, sprinkling tears of hope
upon the battlefield of
shattered dreams,
lamenting the endless war
that burns in the olive-green
orchard of the grief-struck mind,
where fairy-lights
flicker neon hints of
prejudice through broken twigs ~
a pitiful perception,
amplifying the echoing embers
floating above puddles
of weathered lilies,
stained with dust and powder,
weaving a requiem for the
f a l l e n jewels,
walking through the trails
of bruises and tilted tulips,
bleeding poetry ~
beautified with
polychromatic phrases
and falcon ink that cuts
through paper promises,
leaving nothing but a restless reverie,
breathing in the quivering
warmth of quietude…
My basket lifts from ground; I, eager, stand
inside it as I drift into blue air.
I see below - the slowly shrinking land,
above my head, a giant yellow pear.
She takes me high, and as I’m looking down,
I view the checkered rows of each green lawn
around the center of my little town
and tiny houses. . . Soon they all are gone.
I breathe the clouds. . . then happiness-immersed,
I skim tall mountain peaks; I’m sailing wind.
And if my big balloon should tear or burst,
my soul will not forget. Death can’t rescind
the flush of living. My! What fills the sky?
A flock of snow white geese comes rushing by.
For Brian Strand's
YOUR PICK any theme/form max 14 lines Poetry Contest
Heaven's furry sheep
Grazing the light atmosphere
Bares blue the sky's bloom
Clouds were made to weep
Not paint portraits on blue air
Trees without perfume
The virtual sea
These Jason's sail, hides nothing
Except death's surprise
The eyes graze the deep
Visions of the mind, what fear
Like frosty waves leap
From the hearts dark sea
The wind of thoughts in rags bring
Logic's cold demise
Love should not regret
The fancy of the heart, wing
It, denying death
For clouds' sheep are dreams
Dream's love are clouds, the blue air
With new magic teems
Fairy kings, dryads
in the labyrinths of nightfall
fill children’s heads with dread.
They walk hushed, their pockets full of bread
Bewitched these children bring
elusive, unthinkable thoughts,
of wings that flitter in aqua tints,
perch a silver instant on nodding fronds
tumble into violet, dew- drop flowers.
Spirits of the blue air,
fragments of a baby’s first laugh
travel to us over centuries of sky
in a boat of glass
On rainbow wings that flutter
among flowered garlands,
sparkle in waterfalls,
shimmer in twisted vedigris woods.
haunting moonlit narratives. Awaken
imagination in ethereal meadow-pinks
Arise from lakes on a pure white horse.
Hide their gold in blossoms of gorse
Reign over deep earth, intervolve,
spells from midnight 'til the cock’s first crow.
Glorious gladness and frivolity.
In the shadowed hours of indigo,
dance in a secret ring.
Spin star shine into fairy dust and sing
nature’s magic.
This is perhaps the most powerful day,
early spring giving way to the main course,
the trees hastily bursting their buds,
blooming in reds, oranges and yellows -
the reflection of the opposite season,
now with the addition of white,
white as the clouds above,
which can't bring themselves to look like winter clouds anymore -
they lie in the blue air
watching the nymphs and pixies flit through the flowering trees,
they ride high above lawn and pasture;
clouds are the smiling souls of sheep,
sheep from far off and long ago,
remembering when they were lambs at play,
now looking down upon the new fields,
fields that bear witness to the raging torrent of unleashed energy -
this is Mother Nature going all in,
both her feet upon the accelerator of change,
lighting the afterburners with one hand while making a fist with the other,
shaking it at Old Man Winter,
just daring him to give it one more try before October,
that next October when the grass will be tired,
when the tone of light and the shade of sound slow down,
when the clouds will remember how to look like they're in cold air.
For now, the grass shines into your mind -
that's what tells you it's that powerful day of spring,
that special green color,
deeper, fuller, richer, vibrant and electrifying,
it races to your eye and fills you.
Mother Nature twirls in the upsurge of growth -
she can hear it, and you can see it and smell it -
and if you get close enough you can touch it,
blade of grass, leaf of clover,
and you're there with all the wee beasties of the yard and garden,
feeling what spring really is -
all life turning its face to the sun and jumping up and down.
Fall is getting prompt for its chilly main part.
Spread each leaf until the forest floor is strewn.
Joined by bright leaves waving to the summer's past.
Differing old layouts, and not a trice too soon!
Spread each leaf until the forest floor is strewn.
And the heron shriek out above the clear blue air
Differing old layouts, and not a trice too soon!
While the white clouds emerge to shout "beware!"
And the heron shriek out above the clear blue air
The swollen creek has no time to fade away.
While the white clouds emerge to shout "beware!"
The Fall charm waits for our parent's offer lay.
The swollen creek has no time to fade away.
A woodpecker beats on a tree searching food.
The Fall charm waits for our parent's offer lay.
Mixed together, they make for a timing, good.
A woodpecker beats on a tree searching food.
A parade of old thoughts walks within new sense.
Mixed together, they make for a timing, good.
And nothing is lost when the mood is intense!
A woodpecker beats on a tree searching food.
A parade of old thoughts walks within new sense.
Mixed together, they make for a timing, good.
And nothing is lost when the mood is intense!
A parade of old thoughts walks within new sense.
My heart is racing as I latch on to beat.
And nothing is lost when the mood is intense!
The kernel of Autumn's singing is so sweet.
My heart is racing as I latch on to beat.
Joined by bright leaves waving to the summer's past.
The kernel of Autumn's singing is so sweet.
Fall is getting prompt for its chilly main part.
Written: September 02, 2022
Autumn Pantoum Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
A fresh aroma of the winter roses bore upon
The break of the day light, the first ray hold upon
By the droplets beaded over the floral leaf
Mulled over by the sight so mimetic
The life glazed over the mist filled by the charismatic.
An ecstatic jubilation bided by the Christmas carol
The gala affair of the sunset, the last ray hold upon
By the beloved savored over the time cajole
Relived over by the chorus so balmy
The rendezvous solemnization blended by the carmine patty.
A warm welcome of the edging resolutions blessed upon
The solemnity of Mary, the first greet hold upon
By the wishes ordained over the coming élan
Pleased over by the time so worth
The time of the year met with the springtime growth.
Anew Sun brought upon the garden, bore upon
The green of the array, the first ray hold upon
By the moving moraine over the frost melted -
Drifted over by the season so pledged
The aroma suspired over the blue air, warmth blended.
Pooled by affections over the day choired by love, relived upon
Betrothals belonged forever, the first kiss hold upon
By the destiny manana over the time so limn -
Touched by the amity so dear
The warmth over the ardor met with sweetness so fair.
They held back for the bathe in the colour so motleyed, poured upon
The meme prevailed over decades across the east, the last ray hold upon
By the field blazed over the harvests so sear
Turned over by the air so brut
The time of the year met with the season so hot.
Note: Continued from Fragrance - II
Christmas Hope
I was sitting and thinking how love would be nice
considering this world cold and callous as ice.
Then quite suddenly out of the crystal blue air
came a feeling of warmth as if someone did care.
Someplace down in my heart burned a fire to believe
ignited by embers fueled on joy Christmas Eve.
Beyond all of the doubts folks hold on to their hope
and the promise of Christmas just brightens the scope.
There once was a holy child born in a manger,
who came to a world full of hurt, harm and danger.
As a man he taught us to love one another.
Each one is important. Each one is your brother.
This love is the reason for the season today
not material things and diamonds on display.
Joy and happiness are contagious from their start.
So, let’s try to keep fondness and peace in our hearts.
12/17/17
Without words, I wanted
to write a poem. Would you
read it from the moist eyes ?
*
It was a strange thing.
Finding the darkness of whitemoon
in blue air.
*
The wolf was there
in the house, to
molest the moonlight.
Satish Verma
lush blue syringes
filled with caked on pus
she is not a mannequin
nor a living doll
nor dead space ajar.
She likes to stare
at the backs of her hands
as if at any moment
they would mutate into dust.
She can still feel
their presence
as she reaches out for air
one cup of blue air.
An empty yearning,
an empty gesture,
withheld alone.
Ink black liquid shadows
pour across the lawn.
In blue air
cats glide in and out of moonbeams,
slip into pools of darkness –
disappear.
Barn owl
ghostly white night angel
swoops –
plummets – soars
and in its claws –
a captured mouse.
Somewhere a baby cries
dogs bark
trains pass.
Overhead
a plane,
lights bright,
comes in to land.
Shadows reclaim
the silence.
Cats and owls
depopulate
the suburbs
of mice,
and the unseen
milky way
spills its light
across the night sky.
Summer is a different artwork to paint
Lush berries line the pathway
Passion thrives in blue air.
Over the fruitful forests, I saw the trees
I hoofed over sleet, slush, ice, rain n' snow
On my any which way journeys
Wandering kookily at the yearn of heaven's glow
I bear on my back a bodily spirit flow
Whilst traveling in tracks undreamed of
In vasty wind depth visits, so
To kiss the creator's old sod of soil ruff
Many I saw, rip current ocean shores
Sunny and clear, potshot rain sprees
Great stones and rock on steepy cliff floors
Umpteen alpine in the deep forest trees
More than that, wild geese in clean blue air
In elevation over n' under
Heading home across the landscape fair
Hasteningly, avoiding hunter and thunder
In all my travels, I found no answers. Only wonder!