Best Bronze Poems
Once a bronze blossom shone so sophisticatedly.
Flourishing in an oasis of tropical butterflies.
Its aura would emanate from enigmatic auroras.
Its roots nourished from the scents of petrichor.
Admirers would gather to gaze at such grandeur,
oblivious of poppies among common roses,
so the jealous sun in its narcissistic loneliness,
blazed with hell like rays, creating a drought.
In the inhuman illusion of synthetic flowers,
its petals withered like rustic wicker wreaths.
I stood helpless, as the wind left it exposed,
as lifeless buds began swirling in the air.
Only evergreen textures remain timeless.
An empty garden has no worth to birds or bees.
In the silence between seasons, so much is lost,
yet unique anomalies always leave memories behind.
My schooner eases
into the tiger claw
that an umber peninsula
juts seaward.
The carnelian bay
beckons like honey
as I aim
for twilight's tangerine
and sun's waning citrine
in amber haze.
Papaya clouds whipped
by solar winds
breathe the siren lure
of bronze oceans
in the scriptural future
to my restless golden heart.
6/30/2018
She rises from bronze-soft wire,
a sepia silhouette spun
from roses and quiet rhythms,
her tutu stitched with petal-notes
that q u i v e r when she breathes.
Balanced on a bar of music,
she leans into the lift of lyric,
letting each note u
n
f
u
r
l
like warm wind from a hidden harp.
The page beneath her pulses~
a paper stage where sound
becomes softened gravity.
I watch her ballet through stillness,
her wire limbs c u r v i n g
with a grace that feels borrowed
from some gentle cosmos
where dancers drift
and melody makes the air move.
Her roses r u s t l e lightly,
as if remembering the garden
they once belonged to~
as if each petal keeps
a quiet chord of longing.
When the notes finally rise
from her feet
s
p
i
r
a
l
i
n
g,
and s h i m m e r i n g,
lifting like lanterns
into the sepia sky~
I feel the faintest f l u t t e r
in my own ribs.
She’s a reminder
that even a figure
fashioned from wire and wilted roses
can teach the body
how to bend toward beauty,
how to listen
for the music that moves us,
how to dance
on the fragile page
of whatever comes next.
Bronze, silver and gold
Caught in the sun so light
The momentous reveal of every fight
Wishes we are never told
Caught in the sun so light
Bronze faces contrite
Wishes we are never told
Faces much too bold
Bronze faces contrite
Compared to crinkled green notes
Wishes we are never told
Survival’s fight
Compared to crinkled green notes
The momentous reveal of every fight
Survival’s fight
Bronze, silver and gold
The Old Straight Track climbs up towards the ridge,
A tangent to this ancient burial ground
Where Bronze Age bodies slumber under mounds;
In number, nine, each barrow with a ditch.
Who were these folk that lie beneath this field –
Hunter-gatherer, warrior, father, son ?
Side by side in death – was it a violent one ?
And those events by which their fate was sealed,
Are they recorded here in artefact ?
The warrior’s sword or chieftain’s sash;
The Leyman’s poles for sighting work, exact,
Along the ley via beacon, stone and flash.
These rolling Lambourne downs are drenched in history,
Come, take the track with me and share the mystery.
Rusted and Busted Contest
Sponsor: Casarah Nance
BRONZE BEAUTY
Blighted inside the eyes of the ones who are blind
Rusted and marred but remarkable in my mind
Obliterated beyond repair, but extreme charm I find
No one can see the potential I see while inclined
Zesty and raggedy with a strange history behind
Exhausted vehicle holding such elegance refined
Bronzed full of memoirs from accounts of transportation
Embarked on a journey since the original assimilation
A standard modern example of weathered oxidation
Utterly surprised from the ol’ days of junkyard compilation
Throughout time scraps become an art of the generation
Yard-fills of old automobiles carry exquisite rustication
Date Written: June 22, 2016
Tired and giving way
Seasonal beauty still seen
Drifting, drifting down...
For Raul's latest...
From Heaven's height there was lucent light
Spectacular skies in a sanguine sunrise
Where peace prevails and men set sails
Upon swirling seas with a balmy breeze
Dawn displays these dappled days
With a florid flush of soft bronze blush
A splendid scene, stunningly serene
November 10, 2021
Alliterisen - 7 Lines Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
Syllable count checked with Howmanysyllbles
Sequence #2:
1st line- 9 syllables
2nd line- 11 syllables
3rd line- 8 syllables
4th line- 10 syllables
5th line- 7 syllables
6th line- 9 syllables
7th line- 9 syllables
The siren wailed
The time for killing
Had begun
Let us board our choppers
Go to war
Finish it
Until it is done
I cannot hide
My dread
For, I knew the odds
So many of my friends...
Are dead
Will this be me?
I can, only survive
My training
Carries me through
To manage fear
To stay alive...
I learnt of bravery
Of men
Who were wasted away
Lost for eternity
I learnt of men
Whose actions, I cannot compete
I cocked my FN
The enemy to defeat
I cannot digest
This lust for killing
I have a job to do
Like so many others
They felt this, too
I could not leave
Bob, in all his pain
I carried him
So far
I would do it
In a heartbeat
Again
I would never leave
Any of our men
So, under heavy fire
I carried Bob
I released my fear
I carried him clear
It is all won or lost
On the toss
My circumstances
My training
My comradeship
Carried me
As I carried Bob
For this
They gave me...
The Bronze Cross
Copyright 2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
POETIC LYRICS BY THOMAS LAM HSI ANDRESS
(Chinese, Vietnamese, French, German, Italian, Russian and Lithuanian...
'Three-DNA' Tests Show!)(Currently...Six Feet and Two Inches Tall...on my
way to Six Feet and Four Inches Tall & 250 lbs., AND, eight-and-one-half inches
'Down-Under' THICK TOO!)
Long legs make NO SENSE...when the MUSIC is OFF BASE!
And when the RAT RACE...doesn't see RIGHT or WRONG!
'Cuz the RAT RACE...is THE WRONG RACE...!
If the WHIRL and TWIRL...is OFF BASE...!
GET ON BASE!
ROLLING TO THE LEFT...AND ROLLING TO THE RIGHT!
GET ON BASE!
Unroll that parchment...to see A DIFFER-ENT FACE!
DAMN THAT RAT RACE...get onto FIRST BASE!
ROLLING TO THE LEFT...AND ROLLING TO THE RIGHT!
GET ON BASE!
WEREN'T you meant to be FIRST PLACE!
DAMN THE RAT RACE!
WHIRL AND TWIRL...or go OFF BASE!
ANOTHER RAT RACE...tounges and LIES!
'NOTHER...F'ing...RAT RACE!
GREAT-NESS AND DESTIN-Y...F-THAT-RAT-RACE!
GREAT-NESS AND DESTIN-Y...F-THAT-RAT-RACE!
ROLLING TO THE LEFT...AND ROLLING TO THE RIGHT!
GET ON BASE!
PITCHED-RIGHT...DOWN-AND-OUT...KNEE-TO-HEEL!
PETAL-TO-THE-METAL...DOWN-'N'-DIRTY-'N-HOT!
TOO-HOT-FOR-YOU...TO-HANDLE!
I'M-TOO-HOT...FOR-YOU-TO-HANDLE!
PITCHED-RIGHT...DOWN-AND-OUT...KNEE-TO-HEEL!
PETAL-TO-THE-METAL...DOWN-'N-DIRTY-'N-HOT!
TOO-HOT-FOR-YOU...TO-HANDLE!
I'M-TOO-HOT...FOR-YOU-TO-HANDLE!
It's My Flight...and Crystalean Visors...Bronze to Blue!
My Flight...and Crystalean Visors...Bronze to Blue!
PITCH IT RIGHT!
PITCH IT RIGHT!
I did not know that my color bled
Into each word drenched in red
Not from blood that runs in my veins
From the white power death forever reigns
My lips move with desperate pleas
Only to soothe your team of trustees
You create my story in your mind
Comfort in ignorance that keeps you blind
I scream louder in effort to be heard
Wrapping my emotions in every single word
Condemned for my angry cries
Fingers pointed at my broken eyes
I am stripped naked and exposed
Opposition has me enclosed
Freedoms door never opened for me
On the other side you all sip on your cups of tea
I knock harder until my knuckles bleed
My vocal cords tear, my hope recedes
In exhaustion I drop to my knees
Hearing you whisper “you pay the fees”
My life was no longer in my control
When my number appeared on your dice roll
I lost long before your game began
A bronze game piece that differed from your iron clan
tethered sky of bronze
holding the sun as ransom
showers are coming
Russell Sivey
Olympic Medals
I dislike bragging
But once I won a Bronze medal
For running
Sixty metre
I wore the medal
Every day
And when going to bed
Put it under
My pillow.
One day it was not there
I think my brother
Took it
It was found behind the bookshelf
Yes, we only had one
10 years later
By then I had become blaze
Gold was the goal
But I had never won a thing
Since my day
Of copper coloured brilliance
I hate bronze
Do not bosa nosa with silver
Win the gold
The neglected stone
And my heart forever
fine, faintly flickering face,
a goddess' gilded grimace;
eyes sharp, slightly squinting,
lips pursed, concentrating;
arms strained, straight, steady,
inch by inch, pulling in the cord,
pushing away at the sturdy bow
that bends so slowly in, arched.
deft fingers firmly clasp,
but ever so lithely guide
the lethal arrow's feather
past her cheek near the ear;
pulls hard, stretches taut
and tense the bare bowstring,
impatiently anticipating,
savoring the inner, aching thrill;
waiting for just the right time,
but waiting forever, it seems;
the prized prey, still out there
feeding freely on freedom still;
her destiny, chiseled, shaped
by her sculptor's whiffling whim,
is to forever take a careful aim,
but never to make the final kill!