Best Brims Poems
When you are
an agonizing
echo from a
benevolent voice,
life exhales in
mahogany haze,
spreading across the
lachrymose meadows as
scarred rivulets of
sandalwood scents,
where ceramic
rhymes slumber in
watercolor coffins
with opaque metaphors,
weaving hoaxed
hymns of the nascent
heavens within these
mortal hues.
I'm a bronze brushstroke
of origami colours,
pinned to the weary
wall as the state
of forsaken art,
splattered in acrylic-
resembling sombre
diamonds that
knit ebony pixels
of my onyx heart,
scattered across the
blistered brims,
framed from
fate crossed palms;
doused in poisoned
henna depicted
in dismay, to portray
the painting of despair
within my splitting mind.
Isn't the monochromatic
shade of an aesthetic
mural a clementine
symmetry, where ruby psalms
stained with black peonies,
bleed thistle-ribboned
tales from an orchid's silence?
Not every artist
can mold
peace from a
pastel palette
filled with poignant
petals engrossed
in purple pain,
but poetic fingers
can sculpt an evergreen
masterpiece through
crisp flakes of
tumbling torment,
carried through
arctic mists.
But is there a
teal-azure texture
to create a
timeless tapestry
interlaced with
lavender musings?
As melancholy soars
beyond roseate realms
like a moon-winged butterfly,
fluttering across
cantaloupe sunsets,
etching heartbeats of
hope in harp's periwinkle pigments,
when twinkling jewels
lose their shine,
leaving tales untold
to waltz with
forlorn silhouettes-
dwelling in a gallery of grief.
For, in the calligraphic
corners of chaos,
I’ve found healing,
between ethereal pages
within a cathartic labyrinth.
Categories:
brims, muse,
Form:
Free verse
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
Categories:
brims, appreciation, encouraging, growth, life,
Form:
Free verse
within the parting of titian stained skies
a wisp of crimson elapses from sight
as a gossamery wind amplifies
lullabies falling limpid in hushed night
beneath the willow, i watch as it weeps
then cradle myself in its fragile limbs
'tis there that most forgotten memories seep
as the salty spray of loneliness brims
you reach out...a shadow in lambent light
i feel death's touch upon you through night's air
with wings wide open you take off in flight
unable to free me of this nightmare
this willow tree, though once my childhood crutch
tucks me in its folds, like a mother's touch
December 27, 2019
Best Sonnet of 2019 Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Categories:
brims, death, mother, night, tree,
Form:
Sonnet
My dearest love oft' pledged her soul,
For life, though life then took its toll,
My heart, the thread-bare casualty
Of her regrets, (though ne'er of me),
Now she breathes not, my name ...
While this fool yearns her all the same.
Her eyes recalled the burnished brown -
The choc'late lace that crimped her gown,
That frock that, for my sake, she'd worn,
And 'midst our throes of passions, torn,
Soft-daubed with moonlight blue ...
Her china skin, thus moonlit, too.
Her locks were tawny, plat'num streaked,
And framed her visage, crimson-cheeked,
They swirled those eyes - one dark abyss,
So spilled their strands to spice each kiss,
With dappled hints of fruit ...
As fingers weaved their attribute.
Her mouth, twin bows of plums, divine,
That drew their perfect match to mine,
Those pearly whites and sugar tongue,
The pride of heav'nly strains, unsung -
As moist as highland mist ...
The kind designed to find them kissed.
Her flesh bloomed as the warmest May,
Those soft-twined corners of the day
That beguile you with their fairest frill,
The sweet, veiled places, warmer still,
With treasures hidden, deep ...
Wild wonders 'midst her carnal keep.
Still, all these traits found fairer, yet,
That charming calm her arms beget -
Sweet languor of her love and limbs,
To fill my heart and hopes to brims -
Thus lost within her grace ...
The drowning depths of her embrace.
There's some who muse why I still pine
For sweet love, lost, no longer mine ...
Despite these traits and those between
It's more the things that CAN'T be seen
That I miss, dear as life ...
That cut my soul, deep as a knife ...
And wend my mem'ries, raw and rife.
Categories:
brims, lost love, memory,
Form:
Rhyme
As genial cheers weave spells in your presence
To enchant our eyes with jubilant scenes;
For conservative ways do kindle wonders
Though few will say, all is not what it seems.
Yet the stars beam in joyful contentment
Crowning eighty years of Elizabeth’s time,
Guided by old rules yet loved by her people
Who offer flowers and wishes sublime.
For London today brims with warm faces
A moment in June while voices bellow;
“Long may you reign for England, may you reign!”
Till history peals of decades that glow.
Dear Majesty, when hours entice you back
Remember your dreams will always be steered;
For this kingdom is blessed by life’s devotion
While endless fjords whisper your name, revered.
6/5/2015
Judy Konos' Long Live The Queen
Categories:
brims, birthday, celebration,
Form:
Rhyme
As I step on the threshold through a dense cloud of dust
there's a moment I'm swept back,
walking deep into trust
To the arms of a childhood that never grows old
and where the cold of an attic, is warmed by the past
I remember the sun, and the man in the moon
and the sandman who comes on a hot afternoon
I remember small teeth, tucked under pillows, a dime and a wish,
and a doll by the window
There's a world under oils, and a friend to play house
What brims with contentment, and worries are few
a delicate balance of color and hue
The old man, the child,… whoever they are
in a moment so charming, of sweet tapestry
A bewildering childhood, beguiling, the view
on the doorstep of daydreams, with a small cup of tea
A flight of the fancy, in ginger-ale eyes
unfolds all the flowers, of 'let's pretend' rhymes
I navigate hallways, and warm afternoons
for I am the grandchild, and he is the moon
The dance of the tea-cups, the fairyland shelves
I've entered a time-warp in spite of myself
The love of all love, is an old man who shares
a small cup of tea, filled of vaporized air
As light as a feather, the world in our arms
sipping on tea in a world without harm
~
The Painting :
"If Wrinkles Must Be Written On Our Brow
Let Them Not Be Written"
Painting By Morgan Weistling
5/6/16
Contest: Within A Gilded Frame
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Categories:
brims, art, child, childhood, fantasy,
Form:
Ekphrasis
AFTER HOURS
Dudes in duds broken down brims
cocked and bent creases in trousers
when thugs were gents
People with attitude women too
demeanor and outfits like
Ebony's front pages
Dudes in duds broken down brims
Money on backs eyes watching
the eye's of watchers
Entrances and exits.
Wink or nod jazz in smoky
rooms groomed and manicured.
sashay across the room stepping off in
Bally's shoes shined no scuff
after hours.
high profile.. Dudes in duds
broken down brims.
Men creating temporary illusions
Clean to the bone
deliberate sashay tempo exaggerated
tempting and teasing pleasing the eye
karat's on fingers scents linger
Exquisite cologne clean to the bone
faded edges -role playing no script
Dudes in duds
Broken down brims cocked and bent.
Attitude in threads
We wait to be called in that back room
Where they'd spit "Gangsta Wit".
before videos
Was dudes in duds with sweet tongues
making their points in after hour joints.
Live and direct we upstarts
learning our parts we'd sit
internalizing gangsta wit
like understudies to a movie script
In after hours joints........... delighted...
Categories:
brims, culture, father, nostalgia,
Form:
Ballad
My fashionista muse has many styles from which to choose,
and how she feels determines the colors she will use.
If she brims with silliness, it’s orange she could wear,
for couplets can be quirky heels, and heels come in a pair!
Also when lighthearted or simply wanting fun,
she dresses in a limerick, often yellow like the sun.
If she feels dramatic, she wears a long red gown.
However, she has yet to try a sonnet with a crown!
In a sonnet that’s traditional she is often seen.
When she’s feeling earthy, it might even be green.
Yet she more prefers to green - a heavenly cool blue
while simply dressed in kyrielle, tanka or haiku.
Quatrains and quaterns are styles she likes a lot.
In her closet you can see how many that she’s got.
Romance often suits my muse, for which are many hues:
from flirty pink to lavender. She’s even got some “blues.”
The terzanelle or villanelle she wears once in a while,
especially for moments when they are quite in style.
She can’t dance as easily when she wears free verse.
That style for her can either be a blessing or a curse.
Poems of the spiritual nature require that she wear white
even though she’s more inclined to wear hues that are bright.
The color black can suit my muse if serious is her mood
or if she’s feeling some “dark humor” in her attitude.
My muse wears many styles but she hates the color brown,
so if you see her dressed in it, she’s sure to show a frown!
Jan. 4, 2023
for Regina McIntosh's "My Muse" poetry contest
Categories:
brims, writing,
Form:
Couplet
The bitterness brims and bubbles away
As the heart that once felt love over-spills.
Leaving only burnt ashes left to stay
Betrayal hurts more, as vengeance distills.
As the heart that once felt love over-spills
Venomous asps bite down on softest flesh.
Betrayal hurts more, as vengeance distills
The surface punctures are now simply etched.
Venomous asps bite down on softest flesh
Deception manifests into such hate.
The surface punctures are now simply etched
Veins filled with poison, it's maybe too late.
Deception manifests into such hate
No antidote, only suffering pride.
Veins filled with poison, it maybe too late
Fighting the toxin that's built up inside.
No antidote, only suffering pride
Water disperses as, bloods thickening.
Fighting the toxin that's built up inside
So lay down and die, or wake up and win.
Water disperses as, bloods thickening
Leaving only burnt ashes left to stay.
Don’t lay down and die, just wake up and win
As bitterness brims and bubbles away.
Categories:
brims, corruption, emotions, jealousy,
Form:
Pantoum
the pulse of night i fear it not today
it comes to me in silent beats that fade
a claim it stakes upon a heart of staid
in rhythmic strikes of somber time to splay
i clasp my hands on bend of knee and pray
to walk away from death's own hopeless shade
and find the path beyond the live's it slayed
then blush again beyond the skies of gray
i see the past as darkness lifts its veil
it bids itself farewell in leaps of hope
then brims within this heart i give to you
a love so deep it speaks with great avail
my heart i lay upon this endless scope
but mere a wish is all that i can do
December 29,2019
Categories:
brims, heart, hope, love,
Form:
Italian Sonnet
Curled up on the floor. In the middle of the day. I dream.
Images of hats and pills come out of nowhere.
“I visit my garden each morning
searching the ground to see
if the unused pills I found
in my mother’s pill boxes,
and planted, had produced
a rose or purple Phlox.
I buried her tablet boxes,
buried them, like tiny coffins.
I lined the miniature graves
with crushed blue velvet,
(like the cases that stored
her elegant forks used only
on special occasions,
at four o’clock tea-time,
the cake served primly
on gold-rimmed plates).
Treading through the wet grass,
rootling through the fertile soil,
I saw, without surprise,
blue hats growing wild,
velvet and tulle,
pills and sequins
scattered and whimsical,
my mother decorating
their botanical brims
with silver cake forks
tied with ribbons”.
I wake up,
eyes blurred,
I can barely see.
I make a cup of tea,
cut a slice of currant cake,
and eat it with a small,
antique English fork.
Categories:
brims, blue, death, dream, garden,
Form:
Free verse
Cool breeze swept into the room
Sound of trees rustling and hustling
Birds were silent, winds singing
Fright walked in ghostly gloom
Here stood a bloody evil-like monster
A deadly giant of about seven feet tall
Crouched in the dark of the house wall
Crouching slowly, a mortal master
I held my breath behind the door
A bang sounded from behind me
Door locked and safe was the key
He banged the door the more
Baam! Baam!! Baam!!!
The bloody monster prowls like a lion
Its desire is to devour, thirsty for blood
Its heart brims in a boiling flood
“Be On Guard! Be tough as an iron!”
Had wished this monster will stay away
And not crouched behind the door
I have prayed to my Lord the more
Yet this monster prowls till day
At my doorstep is this bloodily beast
Haunted I go tainted
Life's made men darkly painted
Life has taken a turn and none knows the twist
Be on guard!
Categories:
brims, bible, evil, jesus, lust,
Form:
Quatrain
A bee came buzzing too soon, too soon
The season is not yet in its June
The sap must rise to the breast of the moon
And roots must lust for the earth in ruin
I am planting in September rain
When the ice winds come shall this remain
Shall sow my love to earth in vain
Shall the winter's cross bring me pain
The bee does not hesitate, in faith
It buzzes to find the flower, and wait
Enshrine in dazzling dance, in spate
With the autumn's fruitful date
O but the barren glade is bare, is bare
Except for concrete everywhere
Shall bowers green brim again here
And the bee brims with honey from my darling dear?
Categories:
brims, hope, natureearth,
Form:
Verse
Spring speaks of promise beginning anew,
While winter winds whistle of being true.
Summer shouts like ferocious violins,
Buzzing warmth of Sun delivers up-chins.
Fall's voice is favoured, it's song's not of loss,
Her trust is heard as though hallowed glass-gloss,
Her breathing, laboured, is suggestion-filled.
Taste of her drink from the farmed rows, distilled,
Her season of the cultured cup, it brims,
And sounds of fingers circling wine glass rims,
For such delicate ring's language of choice,
It sings, it is Autumn's breathe given voice.
Categories:
brims, autumn, loss, seasons,
Form:
Rhyme
Today one more page is shorn off from the book of my life.
On this day of humble rejoicing, my heart brims with gratitude,
For I am granted one more year and the priceless gift of life,
When many young ones are destined to drop off from life unexpected.
Under the shroud of darkness while many falter and flounder,
God has been guiding me all along, never letting me down with,
Hardships I can’t tide over or challenges I can’t confront.
Besides, the love of my family and dear ones keeps me in good stead.
God has been my strength and my guide through all these years.
Though grown older now, He fills me with the fuel to move on
He keeps my cup full with his grace that I enjoy a serene peace
And each new morning to me is a fresh awakening.
I have lost the sheen of my eyes and the suppleness of my limbs.
My brittle bones ache, I can’t move as brisk as before.
But beneath the shell of my withering body and wrinkling skin
I still have a heart that sings, young as ever, not yet shrivelled.
With my sweet family and children around and the lovely people,
With whom I share my life, immensely blessed is how I feel.
I wish to move on in life sharing the gifts of my heart and mind,
Making myself convinced that I haven’t lived my life in vain.
Categories:
brims, birthday, celebration, joy,
Form:
Free verse