Best Brumal Poems
In Spring there’s friendship that’s lasted through the Winter,
all those cold nights of salted drops and quilts of snow.
The obsidian plague of midnights, melancholic drapes,
but all the while the candlelight of friendship did glow.
you’d think she’s the sun -
i wax and wane in restraints
having lost my way
The flickering of her tongue as she wet our weep with wine.
O how the shadows flickered on the walls as if in mirth.
The slow burn lasted as the wind howled, the chimney choked.
Her wrinkled, waxy skin, a kin to suffering and pain.
each deep etched line spoke
a sticky web of knowing
lips barely moving
That Spring, she showed up with an armful of daffodils,
and silliness, tears stinging her neck, this honeybee.
She understood madness, and the brumal sun. Outliers
could not drink our elixir nor interlope upon our phoenix rising.
cascade of the moon
no longer afraid of dark -
white lacy curtains
Wan is the hiemal world outdoors,
The biting breeze blows bitter,
like a blizzard building in momentum,
Cold creeps in through the closed windows,
But his harmonic heart is happy and warm,
touched by tantalizing tingles of tender tunes.
~ silent violins play violet symphonies ~
The mystery of mauve melodies mesmerise his mind,
as he is lost within his mellifluous macrocosm;
Intoxicated with invigorating inspirations,
he experiences euphonious euphoria,
Forgetting the frost and frozen fingertips,
he hums sweet sonatas in the making.
~ soothing arias arouse amethyst emotions ~
A string of soft heliotrope strains
brush away the brumal brutality,
And even as the notes swell, they quell the chill,
The warbling waves wind up in a waltz,
resonating sizzling rhythms all around the room;
Content with cantatas serenading magenta Maestoso.
~ lilac lyrics light up lavender legacies ~
Oh haste, brumal mists, that twilight kisses
on hollyhocks, meadow-born,
Sweet tears resurrected on petals neglected,
collect 'midst the early morn.
The dew-christened flowers parading the hours,
sing hope to the callow hearts,
Then rises the moon, while it saunters to swoon
and the ballet of eventide starts.
Tall grasses that thrive with new life, come alive
with a shimmer of luminous lights,
A slow-spinning dance of glowing romance,
that July has thus gifted its nights.
A heavens' breast lighted by stars, unrequited,
sets stage on the vault, above -
Night's magic, gone viral, as fireflies spiral ...
in a whimsical waltz ... of love!
~ 8th Place ~ in the "Spiral" Poetry Contest, Kai Michael Neumann, Judge & Sponsor.
bluesy blurbs
of
brumal
blackness
its
crawling
clasps
of
silvery
gnawing
below
shriveled
shades
of
oxidized
&
deep
haze
immure
&
wait
awakening
cold winter
warm soul
&
henceforth
will hear
pearly
chants
from
Birdie
Green
with neon
embers
swirling
fractals
of
gemmed
hues
in
spirit
for
soft
knock
of
spring
on
frozen
shell
of
withered
dreams
Written: January 15, 2023
3rd place contest winner
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Brian Strand Contest No 1170 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
A Nature Ninette 2-26-26 Brumal = Wintry
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Winter -Spring
Spring
Rouses
Crocus bulbs,
Iris rhizomes,
From their brumal naps ~
As shoots scoot through
Thawing soil
Winter
Burps
I round a bend in the trail ...
And gasp, literally ...
The scene before me takes my breath away
And I stop, transfixed by the sheer breadth of the panorama
The shimmering span of Crater Lake ...
Clear, crystalline ...
Pure as the tears of Heaven
Translucent fathoms of water, waiting ...
Glassy, tranquil, yet the depths shroud an inky secret
A brumal dragon, ages old, slumbers in the blackened abyss
Its fiery, flaming breath is calm, but its breast still slowly rises and falls
The wings of thunder that once battered the air to ruin
Are tucked close and quiet, but they tremble yet
The snorting nostrils that choked the sky, and earth-tearing claws
Are still and cold, but they shiver with an energy, relentless
The molten rock that is its lifeblood, ever flows deep in its bowels
Sleeping, dreaming, biding its time and virility
Above, nature attends to its own
The remnants of Mount Mazama paint the reach
Crimped in white and green, the edges of snow-dusted foliage
Creatures dance, unknowing, upon the beast's back
Life goes on-and-on, in all its guises
Struggle, tragedy, the feral judgements of existence and mortality
Predator and prey, birth and growth, changing seasons
The ceaseless spin of survival, continues on ...
This exquisite glade and the providence that surrounds me
Thrums with vitality, oblivious to the danger and heat stirring earthward
Bloating in the gut of the burning basilisk ... far, far below
Waiting for when the time is right ...
And it once again ... scorches the sky.
Written and submitted on January 15, 2019
For the "Sleeping Volcano" Poetry Contest
Eve Roper, Judge & Sponsor.
Oh, if I could quickly bare witness to God's perfect hand in life renew.
Oh, if I now could bare witness to his wondrous seasonal debut.
Oh if spring would come and release my body from the frigid fingers of winter.
The touch of it is not tender.
Let not my stiff joints bark and weep no more.
I called to God and said, Holy Father I am miserable to the core.
I am spent with the deathly view of winter.
Oh, if I could bare witness again the wide white blooms of magnolia, the bursting bulbs of the cherry blossom, and all their splendor.
With God's loving healing grace and the sight of them, I will gladly surrender.
I am in despair of this shivering brumal blast.
My heart grows anxious for the unsympathetic brittleness of winter to pass.
Oh, let my wanting eyes settle on the flowing James River.
Let the array of hungry geese do thither.
Oh, if I could dance on fields of tulips and daffodils.
Oh, if my fever mind could make the spring season to appear at will.
I would walk barefooted on the cool green grass that is freed from the rich Virginia soil.
I would let the cool spring breeze wrap around my body like it was plastic foil.
I would sit on my porch and wait for the return of the cardinal to come back and retrieve his wooden bungalow on the thick crooked limb of the old oak tree.
I would be comforted by the sight of him and his songs of love to a great degree.
I would bathe my aged body in the sunshine.
I would sing of God's glorious divine.
The circadian rhythms of my brain set aflame memories of a past affair.
They were hot and steamy memories of hot and steamy moments that I would not openly declare.
If only spring were here it would satiate my soul.
It would obliterate this disabling toll.
January 27, 2023
inspired by the musical composition of Summer of 42, composed by Michel Legrand and Andr'e Hossein.
* For Jessica Alba ... and the splendor of her smile. *
Oh, the enigma of her face ...
Its melting mysteries and moody veneers
When sad, like a brumal, aching, mist-muddled beach
Wild tresses framing it like surf-swept seaweed
Sandy spindrift, left by her squall ...
Then, the smaze lifts ...
The irises spark like dark fire opals
Glistening as the wild wash of the Milky Way
Her smile blooms forth - a dazzling midday meadow
Splashed thick with heather and promise ...
Oh, and all the mad magic ...
The cinematic surprises from there-to-here
Rages of rouge, bawdy blushes, and pale complexions, moony
The multitude of transitions and tones - all divine ...
And all ... my undoing.
~ 8th Place ~ in the "My Upcoming Birthday (09-03) Celebrity - Any Form Cash Prize" Poetry Contest, William Kekaula, Judge & Sponsor.
the cold front lingers
causes a great blast of wind
in the chilly night
3-9-2016
Dawn is not yet rested upon the tree tops.
The ancient night of our souls lingers
protracted in the adamantine winter.
Dew buds are unmelted;
the road is swallowed up by dark.
Yet this time above all others is Apollo’s, for he returns!
Even now he grips the horizon with strong hands,
dragging it back a great distance.
The morning shouts of brumal crows are gladdened.
A blur of purple spreads into violet efflorescence.
Birds wheeling high above like fine specks first see his new chariot.
Our souls long drear are new lit by his arrival.
Hope springs anew.
Chickadees sing their spring song in warming rays!
After the Ice Rain.
The woods outside look like a glazed forest preserved in an arboreal museum. Each tree is candied over in clear icing, the pines stand like tall fluffy blondes, the willow tree is composed of tinkling screens of string ice, a fragile chandelier of spun glass. A young maple in the backyard looks like a free-form composition of ice artwork, the long lithe branches are finely garnished in serried combs of tiny icicles like some a vaunt guarde drip art. The magnolia tree out front is vast glaze of teal pottery; each porcelain leaf ornamentally fringed in fingerling icicles. Here and there barren bushes look like brumal porcupines blooming in glass quills. The houses are all guarded by crystal palisades, and huddled close in the artic freeze, warmly rubbing their hands within, the widows frosted in big smiles.
After the Ice Rain x 2.
The outside world transforms into wilderness of candied trees and glassine ornaments; storybook houses are made of fondant and glaze, with frosted marchpane windows and thick icing shingles, and contentedly puffing their pipes.
An Ice-Onamented World Touched in a Clean and Radiant Light.
A resplendently luminous world of glass trees a’flame in fire and ice.
Ice Trees Touched by First Morning Light.
Crystal-clad cathedrals coruscating in crystal conflagration.
Bulbs
bulging,
bloating - burst,
braving brumal
bite ...
Bloom
brings buds
branching bold,
blessed by blossoms,
bright.
Written and submitted on March 13, 2019
For the "Light Up The Page 2" Poetry Contest
Joseph May, Sponsor.
(Syllables counted at HowManySyllables.com)
Winter ~
Dormant Dead season
Snow winds
challenging climate changes bearing
trees and grounds
Brumal
1/15/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
oh, heaven …
the enigma of her face ...
its melting mysteries and moody veneers -
when shadowy and despondent
like a brumal, aching, mist-muddled beach
wild tresses framing it
like a surf-swept seaweed
sandy spindrift
left tossed by her squall
then …
the haze lifts -
irises - star sapphires, shimmering
glistening like the wash of the Milky Way
her smile blooms forth
as a dazzling midday meadow
splashed thick with bluebells and promise
and all that manic magic ...
cinematic surprises from there-to-here
rages of rouge, bawdy blushes
and pale complexions, pitiful
the multitude of transitions and tones -
all my undoing
and all divine …
oh heaven.
( this is a simple form I created called “Bookend Free Verse - I hope you enjoyed it )
On silent lonely nights
When the moon is shining bright,
your thoughts fly stealthily by.
Must accept the truth, though with a sigh,
we're poles apart, better savor the times
we had, both good and bad.
You've touched my life in so many ways,
try explaining but just can't say why.
The laughter we shared and fun we had.
What went wrong I have no clue.
But so long as it lasted I know it was true.
You say that you are over me
My heart skips and sinks.
I feel so much grief.
I never wanted to lose you.
You've moved on, but why can't I
stuck in this brumal voyage.
Time heals all wounds, except this one,
like memories to be treasured --
pain vibrating deep inside your heart
is still a vital sign of living!
Love cleans the debris from your dust.
My world is shattered,
I don't know what to do.