Best Brumal Poems
There lies my heart,
Quite ragged, torn -
My father passed
This brumal morn ...
How ruthless came
This face of death,
Warm on my cheek,
His last, soft breath ...
Yet blessed, was I,
Thru grand design,
To walk him home,
His hand ... in mine ...
Oh treasure, sweet,
The folks you love -
Too brief the flame,
Burns life, thereof.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Strand Select 8, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
* This was read at Dad's service on December 10, 2019, and published in the local paper. He and I were never close, and he had never held my hand until the photo above, (though he was unconscious and never again awake). It is the last picture taken of him. Despite our distance, I was honored to be the one with him when he passed. *
( I love you, Dad ... I'll never know a better man, in every sense of the word ).
Categories:
brumal, appreciation, bereavement, death, eulogy,
Form:
Quatrain
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
Categories:
brumal, friend, grief,
Form:
Haibun
swift, swift, the rills do run
swift, from high the mountain
swifter, tho', the running years
flowing through life's fountain
creep, creep, the brumal mists
creep 'midst fells and highlands
creeping 'round the peaks and years
mem'ries drowned like islands
drift, drift, my dreams to sea
drift, like thought and feather
drifting toward a mortal bloom
thick with highland heather
sleep, sleep, at last to dream
sleep, bides blessed and meek
sleep, come press a kiss goodbye...
so sweet, now... 'pon my cheek.
Categories:
brumal, analogy, appreciation, death, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Alone and weary ...
she dangled toes o'er the mountain ledge -
the late-October night was clear
and bitter cold, yet as still as death ...
rare were such even-tides
when not a breath of keen altitude
moved among the peaks.
Far below, thru brumal wisps
the tribal lights shimmered in warmth
drums of ceremony echoing
like All-Hallows heartbeats ...
a lone conch-shell horn
moaned woefully, and somewhere
a wolf answered.
The harvest moon
swam thru the bright Milky Way wash
like a silver doubloon ...
swallowing stars in its wan gullet
and transfiguring the sharp-shard ridges
to proud porcelain gods
arms stretching heavenward.
She had made this
calm-but-keen sojourn countless times
each late fall, in careful anticipation
of this very night ...
but never before had an evening
trembled so tenderly
or shone as bright and bloodless.
Life had been full ...
with loves and adventures and aches
but she longed for rest and sleep ...
the bare, lonely mountains of ancient autumn
and crisp, dead leaves hushed it to her -
the prayer of welcome ... the prayer
of poignant endings.
She smiled at the thought
of those she loved, now left behind
her heart swelling with a sad, soulful contentment.
As her people's farewell chant rose faint
sweet with the smoke from campfires, far below
she breathed, deep and dear
the magnificent night ...
And stepped softly ... off the edge.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Fall Into Fall" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
brumal, adventure, appreciation, autumn, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
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 ~
Categories:
brumal, inspirational, music, purple, winter,
Form:
Verse
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.
Categories:
brumal, appreciation, insect, magic, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
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
Categories:
brumal, allusion, analogy, blue,
Form:
Other
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.
Categories:
brumal, imagery, metaphor, nature,
Form:
Free verse
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.
Categories:
brumal, spring,
Form:
Rhyme
* 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.
Categories:
brumal, appreciation, beauty, celebrity, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
the cold front lingers
causes a great blast of wind
in the chilly night
3-9-2016
Categories:
brumal, weather,
Form:
Haiku
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!
Categories:
brumal, nature,
Form:
Blank verse
dark wonder through a mist
the evening, brumal, kissed
with gloaming’s glowing fires
the breaths of hearts’ desires
a spot where magic schemes
to shape the meat of dreams
and mold from common flesh
what wands alone can thresh
this realm from make-believe
that only words could weave.
(For Jo - sweet life’s reprieve)
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, December 4, 2022
Categories:
brumal, books, fantasy, film, magic,
Form:
Rhyme
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.
Categories:
brumal, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
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)
Categories:
brumal, analogy, courage, flower, life,
Form:
Lanterne