Best Blurs Poems
The air is thick with memory -
A fog of reminiscence.
Or is it simply mist
Rolling through the window?
I feel the wind and taste the salt,
Hear the distant pulse of waves
Keeping time, skipping beats
With my haunted heart.
The wind chimes sway and croon
From their place above the sill,
Where sand dollars still form a row
Among crumbs of sand.
And there, on the bedside table -
Speckled stones arranged just so.
And if I lift them, I know
I'll find dustless circles,
Halos from the past.
My vision blurs.
Then I see her in the doorway -
The ghost of childhood,
Twirling in a cloud of skirts,
Strings of seashells draped like gems
Around her fragile neck.
I blink -
And she's gone.
But through the mist I hear
The patter of bare feet
Down the empty hallway.
By Heather Ober
Submitted to Nette's "Mixed Senses" contest
*This is an old poem I wrote on March 7, 2012
"In my fragile little ship, I sail, sail
In the tempestuous sea of life
Dodging life's pressures, to doldrums outlast"~ by poet
Breathing in and out the notes of life,
from first cry to last sigh, you sing
you sing.... unbeknownst
unbeknownst to you as to
what tunes and notes of life
you will be singing..
but you keep singing... taking cues
taking cues from the
rhythm of the twirl of time.
As you warble to the ticking of time
sometimes...
a melody is created
and the moment becomes lovely -
when your hum is harmonious to
the rhythm, tempo, and dynamics of life.
Listening to that melody - so sweet,
buds of love and peace bloom straightaway
in vibrant colours
to savour and celebrate
the beautiful moment:
a moment as beautiful
as the sweet smile of a child
and as peaceful as the
stillness of a meditation hall.
At times, your voice cracks
you sing outside the range
hitting the wrong note...
and.........oh........
you slip down the stairs
the last step extending down to
the hassles and hard times of life...
like a banana peel
in an already slippery road,
like a dust in the eye
that blurs your vision,
like that of a Wordle game
that leaves you totally clueless.
Such wrong notes
in your song of life
leave you in dismay
like a torn page in a book:
you get dejected, dispirited, and disheartened
and a confused state of mind follows.
But you know you should not stop
you need to ignore the wrong note you struck
not a wince, blink or a pause..
you have to just move
on and on...
and get your mojo back
to continue carolling
the rest of your notes of life
in accordance to the
rhythm of time...
Date: 02/24/2022
'F' form - Free verse - New - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme Chosen: Life
First Place
Poem Of The Day on 02/24/2022
When midnight flames flicker aesthetic reveries,
releasing ashes of rainbow petals,
upon the canvas of undressed seasons,
I delve into blue blurs of butterflies,
framed in floating colors of nostalgia,
aching for dried dyes to home this scraped heart~
hanging loose, within smoky imagery,
as if every pigment will sprout from lilies of longing.
But can memories thaw frozen zeal,
illustrating steamy sunsets with liquefied rubies,
to unveil a timeless era, retouched and restored,
from the dust of dusks composed in surrealism?
And I, the splattering of an ink-blot,
persist as a dramatized kiss of tongue-stroked silence,
like a portrait, isolated in artistic utopia,
as love is more than a metaphor that speaks to the moon;
a pastel palette textured with melted roses~
saturated stars can interpret…
Suspended like a lemon drop
on the tongue of night
the moon melts—
there was a child who eyed the sky
through his black lashes crows did fly
Haze, ever present,
on this humid September eve,
blurs the edges of reality
calling forth images
sweet beginnings
the howls of wolf—
the warmth of blood.
a teddy bear he held to him
Ma said the wolf cried—let me in
Fireflies fly near the
sparkler’s
spinning
lamplight
bathes his white blanket in blue.
under the cover he runs boohoo
after all he was only two!
*2 rhythms- free verse & rhyming couplets
She's a halo of hope,
fulfilled by fireflies, shedding her soul in sage seas ~
stars elope...
roaring wolf rife,
a forest flutter of rose seeds ~
she's life...
heart stirs
fairy floss dreams,
b l u r s
she's a halo of hope,
a forest flutter of rose seeds ~
blurs...
A gentle tickle belies the sadness
as the corner of my eye swells and my vision blurs.
The beauty and the joy fading from my mind,
the "what was" and "what could be"
but longing memories and lost dreams,
like fading shadows, of a wasted life,
and all that is left is the loneliness.
Lying alone lost in somber reverie,
the welling in my eye inches ever closer
to flooding past the impenetrable fortress
created by my, now, tightly shut lids,
the specters of my past slowly filling my unseeing eyes
with visions of all of the special moments
and the caring caresses that we once shared.
My lashes quiver and moisten as I breathe in deeply.
The words of love we breathlessly whispered
now only wisps of meaningless expiration
hidden among icy, broken emotional shards,
a million pieces of sharp frozen feelings
piercing so deeply inside of me, freezing what remains
of you in the deep crevices of my broken heart.
The tingle sharpens as the dam breaks,
one forlorn drop escaping slowly down my cheek,
meandering, lost, in the creases of my aged face.
I reach up to wipe it away, but can't
for everything I am, everything that is me,
everything that we were and could ever be,
I've set adrift inside of that tiny, tickling, forsaken tear.
06/19/2017
Life is music that drifts in open spaces
sometimes a brash crescendo
that brims with the fullness of now
when stories break from narrow, rigid scripts
stifling random routine
Life is free wheeling inventiveness
peacockish
a feathered tapestry
parading like a wedding dress down the aisle
Sometimes life is a ping pong bounce of sorrow
giant ball
that blurs the sky
that covers our eyes
a fog creeping into ruined places
Life is a tumble of forces
a counterpoint of malice and joy
that goes in an unexpected direction
like the connective chords of love
an airy drift
amplified
in the ringing rush of time
Poem composed: July 2/2022
Caustic memories dissolve on my tongue
Lingering tastes of battery acid and nicotine
Cause me to choke on putrid saliva.
Staring at melting walls, clocks tick in unison.
Distorted birdsong hums outside of jagged windows
Under the warped sun, an unrepentant landscape blurs.
Freshly budding peonies liquefy;
Veils thin, evaporating the delusion of reality.
Why must I mould to the edges at your bidding,
Contort to the point of my own dysfunction?
For such fleeting worship, this devastation lingers -
Devours and disconnects my inner workings.
I lie highlighted in shadow, a beacon of quiet distress;
A dislodged scapula desperate to be labelled angelic.
Grounded, wingless, and forever out of time -
Wearing the last face you cared for as a comforter.
Neon venom warming twisted arteries,
Sinister patches stitched upon a breaking back.
A narcissist's crown digging into my head
Like rusted nails plunged into worm-infested wood—
Permanent disconnection, frayed cerebral cortex.
Blurred vision obscures insidious figures hiding in hushed corners,
Whispering in Babylonian tongue. Hallucinatory illusions haunt
What was a once-pristine sanctuary,
Now morphing into a surrealistic asylum.
Revelation exists above shadow in temporal machination,
I'm consciousness not yet swept up with sand;
Closed eyes cleanse my corneas - I rest in a balm of clarity.
Your power superficial, a cankerous cataract peeled clean off.
It is you who is bereft, washed up with the shell you created.
All the walls of your empty room fallen flat,
As I unfurl in the mirror beyond the shoreline,
I realise - it was never me you couldn't stomach.
I'm an estuary of ivy-furs,
sleeping in monsoonal moonglades of love~
as the savannah sun of sunset blurs,
slowly unveiling stars with golden glove.
When russet- fairies twirl in a bronze lake,
singing with springs of watermelon wand,
an untouched summer unfurls behind ache,
lacing twilights with lush wishes, so fond.
Garden of grapefruit, doesn't forbid faith,
exotic eyes paint life with a rare art,
where hilly hues drape seashores ~ daisy-bathe,
my muse weaves magic on the 'bay of heart'.
A steady hum vibrating one constant low
Surrounding me in tiny hummingbird beats
The two giant fans warm and hot breezes blow
The fuzzy sound vibrates on pulsed in it’s drones
All vision blurs dimly in dark shadowed heat
A steady hum vibrating one constant low
The yellow window’s shade drawn down indigo
Gaze at it’s outline, with my hands on my feet
The two giant fans warm and hot breezes blow
My round Papasan chair of plush wicker holds
My languid form as I relax there complete
A steady hum vibrating one constant low
Within the dark, my lap cat’s bright green eyes glow
I’m clothed only in my silhouette’s repeat
The two giant fans warm and hot breezes blow
Reflect in beta waves of calm peace I know
On blue walls, my fairy outline shifts and beats
A steady hum vibrating one constant low
The two giant fans warm and hot breezes blow
Twigs
Flowers bloom
And flowers wilt.
Flowers blush
And flowers fade.
The eternity is only in me-
The twig that bears the flowers.
Sparrows are born
And sparrows die.
Sparrows fly
And brighten the sky.
That who nurtures sparrows is me-
A cozy make of a twig upon a twig.
The sun fades
And moon is born.
The twilight blurs
And moonlight spreads.
All the soothing moonlight beams are me-
A crisscross of unfathomed twigs.
Whether in its birth
Or in its death;
In the heart
Of its heart;
The entire beauty is none but one-
A design of mysterious twigs.
I weave through the rocks of a rough winding trail
Up through the boulders and sage
Following a ridge to the top of the hill
I'm a young girl, who's coming of age
I am sitting astride a strawberry roan
My Dad rides ahead in the haze
Climbing the crest, they're sure-footed, and know
of a place to take rest, where the horses can graze
The clouds pass over, like ships setting sail
Casting shadows on the valleys below
The sky wears a palette of rose colored, pale
Our pace resumes, quiet and slow
Our voices are silent, all our words have been said
Just a whisper of bird wings, and a wisp of the chill
Our thoughts take our eyes, to a sun, scarlet red
Where it soon disappears, far over the hills
My Dad goes ahead, and has taken the lead
Lost in a mist, my eyes try to see
My mare tries to follow, and everything blurs
We continue our climb, to reach forest timber
Are those voices I hear, or just birds in the air?
Up he goes on the trail, on his faithful old steed, like a dream fading into the clouds..
He is smiling, my Dad,.. on his red sorrel mare,
.......while I stay behind to remember
_________________________________________________
6/19/2009
brushed by the blushing Fontainebleau,
blooming with rainless foliage,
like a poem kissed by the green…
I sigh as thoughts wander
in saffron silence,
in the echoing warmth
of your breathing silhouette...
we are beyond wraiths of wildflowers,
waltzing through the wilderness,
sipping honeyed drops of sunlight,
whilst specks of citrine
soar above olives~
merging in mystical mists of magnetic gold,
oblivious to the spectral leaves
thriving within inner forests,
veiling the vindictive vines
painted with ice-corpse colors of life.
O time, cloaked in cryptic clouds~
in a world that cares not for the forgotten,
let the fields of fervent petals
dress the untouched trees
with butterfly-blue blurs,
as peace is more than a mere noun,
nestled between framed figs…
and to heal is to heed the harmonized~
hymns mirroring soft springs of Eden,
where l o v e is an aesthetic array
ribboned with amorous emeralds~
scattered across meadows
lost in redolent reveries.
I speak to the breeze,
cradling the balmy boulevard
in hushed tones~
to unfreeze the wintry thistles,
to untangle complex chords of woes
piercing the pained canvas
aching within my mind..
for in the layered heart
of external pleasures,
there I’ve found the palette~
that homes not regrets and troubles
but elevates the m a g i c
of sketched solace…
the verdant of swirling hope
fine-tuned strokes of sage~
sun-soaked distraction,
a memory of soulmates
tied
to the timeless roots
infused with trust ...
I rise from the white-wine siesta,
letting go of the serpentine songs,
like a crimson-winged dragonfly
lost in the poppy prairies of Persephone,
untangling my prisoned heart
chained by the churning
deceit of Hades’s immortal chains,
savoring pomegranate promises,
pirouetting through petrichor nirvana,
as the sky smells like a saffron rose
above the castle of emperors
dressed in fallen flowers.
Yet the diamonds sometimes are
engraved with ominous omens
and remorseless remnants,
while I return to cinnamon seclusion,
dancing to the mood of my moon.
O divine dandelion,
in your eyes I see suppressed sighs
of a splintered sunrise,
flickering balmy zephyrs of paradise,
as my soul is tied to the softness
of your delicate dusk~
like a faithful disciple,
forever following your footprints~
while velvety roots of florals
face the glows of alchemy,
amidst the array of arrows,
left as ashes of gold gone cold,
and the gracious gusts of gloaming
devouring the unscrupulous wounds
of a fragranced dawn.
I am the aching pigment
in your palette of purples,
longing for butterfly blurs
to bring me back to a
kingdom of kindness,
where I’ll forever breathe tender lilies
rinsed with wind-swept wishes.
But amidst the clusters of jewels
and raining sakura,
tonight I choose to walk with
specters of scorching stars,
allowing curves of my scarred skin
to burn from the blazing breeze
that bleeds nefarious narratives
upon the bleached borders.
So watch me waltz into the
infernal waters of the deep, bruised bay.
There I’ll write an elegy,
for the sorrow that swallowed your spirit.
I will find an anchor to pull
you back to the land of paper lanterns
as I surrender to the
haunting hues of the horizon;
the sweet sacrifice of a beloved blackbird
singing farewell in silence
to save you from the devilish underworld.
As dandelion dreams
are designed in lucid lies,
carving my essence into wintry wires
of woes and verdicts
from the
growing vines of a
villainous valley.
I feel the blackbird weep, it’s everything
I see the blackbird quiver, it’s what you bring
dreary
d a n d e l i o n
I d r
e a
m away
from the golden-laced drapes,
tracing smoke-veiled cloudscapes,
reminiscing rainbow reveries,
raining with musical laughter,
mirroring the sun within
my maternal spirit,
drawing cerulean smiles
across the kaleidoscopic sky
with initials of my
beloved June child.
As in acrylics, I find happiness,
and in palettes of pastels
I feel the twilight twinkles of time,
revealing rosemary reasons to rhyme
in rhinestone radiance,
releasing runes ~
ricocheting colors
of my hibiscus heartbeat…
O kismet constellations,
I breathe glitters of gratitude
to the sapphire stars
and swirling sparks
drifting through shifting monsoons,
cradled in the
blissful sighs of my son.
For in his presence,
murky mists of melancholy
fade into neon nothingness;
in his words,
a thousand gardens glisten and glow;
in his eyes,
I see hues of hope ~
ballad of a seraphic summer.
Perhaps, the voice of this
unconditional love remains
the synonym of happiness,
the syllables of zen,
and the metaphors of euphoria,
bound to the skin ~
of rooted truth,
truth of a mother
dressed in the dulcet dews
seized from the dawn
when he learned the light of life…
So let me rephrase,
in redundant dialects,
to write in coherent cadence,
of the warmth I weave,
of the peace I paint,
within jeweled lines of lavender…
I smile not because I see no sorrow,
but because my existence
is a mere iron-arched
gateway to guide astral rays
above the island shores
where his footprints echo,
porcelain patterns,
erasing fringes from
the blemished blurs
of grieving moonlight
caressing the sanguine sea
rippling with turquoise tranquility ~
a tale of teal tomorrow...