Best Burgeons Poems
The sun shines in perfect darkness, twirling relentlessly ...
as do a trillion trillion other stars, daubed on the blackest black.
Still, life itself seeds and burgeons in the warmth of its precious light,
its particles, the core of an exquisite balance that brings each heart to thrum,
that breaches hard soil in spring, sings the haunting silence of the wilderness,
and bats lashes like butterflies in the wee hours of the dawning.
Some say, a laugh is just a laugh is just a laugh, thus ... and on,
yet, like Great Sol it can plunge any void, dive the deepest sorrows,
wound the twilight, mortal, and pierce the trembling rib of nightmares.
The shimmering joy it dances upon, is the true essence of ALL ...
nothing else so fills a heart or wakens a soul from mourning,
as crucial as breath and sustenance and affection.
Yes, a laugh is a simple thing, a seemingly trivial and mundane expression,
but it is an arrow sent forth from the bow of joyous reality,
a dart of delight, with the capacity to rend the thickest of shadowy veils.
Yet, like the sun again, it is dependent upon its alter-ego -
It is the shadows and dark realms and agonies and regrets
that make joy so exceptionally precious, and so amazingly sweet ...
you can NOT find one without the other, that is unmitigated, absolute.
Feel your pain - your sorrow, embrace the darkness with all you are,
but do so in the mind that until you HAVE, you won't know true JOY ...
or how splendid, cathartic and giggly wonderful ... it can be.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "The Smile At The Foot Of The Ladder" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
burgeons, analogy, appreciation, dark, joy,
Form:
Free verse
Santa, I have an important request.
Please don't embarrass me with ho ho hos.
If you'd looked at my face you might have guessed.
I'm serious about fixing my nose.
I can sense you are stifling your laughter.
Your bowl full of jello, nicely restrained.
Proboscis happily ever after,
Would not appear that it's been candy caned.
Hire a team of rhinoplasty surgeons.
I create damaging winds with this thing.
Like the limb of an oak tree it burgeons.
Just yesterday a blue jay perched to sing.
Hurry, Dear Santa, its growth won't abate.
Go talk to Rudolph, as he can relate.
***********************************
There may be some problems I must address.
Lies emitted from hole under my snout.
Pains me Santa, I readily confess.
Please be patient as I utter these out.
I lied to Sonya about her red dress.
Made her butt dwarf a Volkswagen fender.
I lied to the postman, my home address.
Marked the water bill "Return To Sender".
I fibbed a little to co-worker, Sue.
Her peanut butter cookies smelled like feet.
But tell me, what the heck was I to do?
I wrapped and hid it in a slice of meat.
Santa, I am a serial liar.
Instead of my pants, set my nose on fire.
***********************************
I'll do better if button nose gifted.
I promise to be more a straight shooter.
A smaller nose, my spirits be lifted.
Seriously, would you want this hooter?
The fibs I told did no permanent harm,
But if you would like I can change all that.
Who "nose"? I may lose my personal charm.
If I tell my friend Sonya she is fat.
If you leave money in an envelope,
I'll pay the water bill before it's due.
I can rub Sue's cookies with fragrant soap.
For a nose job, I will eat one or two.
Santa, I know you smell something is rot.
But I am here to assure you, it's snot.
Written 12/12/2017
"From My Lips to Santa's Ears"
Contest
Hosted by Phillip Garcia
Categories:
burgeons, christmas, holiday, humor, humorous,
Form:
Sonnet
The time of growth and change is done and past.
From thaw to frost activity prevailed,
And change came often, often coming fast,
Till finalizing Fall all toil curtailed.
With wintertime’s quiescence, come at last,
The old year’s final breath has been exhaled.
And now all nature’s quiet, all now still,
All bedding down, preparing for the chill.
The other seasons garner all the praise:
From sprouting Spring, through Summer’s fruiting fields,
To Autumn’s vibrant hues and bracing days,
Each one its own unique enchantment wields.
But Winter’s coming oftentimes dismays,
So cryptic are the blessings that it yields--
Yet unexpected beauty will abound
In many forms both subtle and profound.
Then gales gust frore as frigid flakes bespeak
The wintry depths which grip both heath and grange:
The rime-bound land is frozen hard, and bleak—
Yet bleakness has its beauty, harsh and strange.
And what seems dead or dormant soon will wreak
What surely counts as nature’s deepest change:
The imminence of warmth’s returning breath…
The immanence of life in seeming death.
For springtime’s semelparity is fate,
As sure as tide or twilight, and as strict.
It burgeons and it blooms, but soon or late
It goes to seed and dies. The clock has ticked
And knelled the midnight hour — but don’t berate
The seed for its mortality -- predict
Instead the miracle which will ensue:
That out of silence, life is born anew.
Categories:
burgeons, autumn, change, mystery, nature,
Form:
Ottava rima
Was my life just a wish
I hid between the pages of survival
And even though the Universal source of all
Granted me this gift
This singular precious life
Did I search instead to be the worthiness of heaven
Did I judge all my actions
By the prison bars of hell
And see in your eyes and the eyes of others
The handiwork of demons
Have I written on the chalkboard of my soul
The dark inks of my submissions
I see that in our innocence
We have been duped and confused
Into leading a less than innocent life
And the greatest tragedy of this Earth
Is the ignorance of our denial
We do not see the collage of injustice
Their bodies scattered on our path
And all the bright and shining electronic objects
Are limply hanging from the sign posts of our children’s future
Their bodies dried and bloodless
Skeletal in their silence
Point the way to our decent
Into the depths of the untouchable and the soulless
Where and how have we been brought to this
To feel so very comfortable
While the price we count in money
Is the cost
Of human life
Did we eat too much
Did we want too much
Did we suckle so much in frenzy
Upon the teat of propaganda
Did I believe too readily
Did we swallow all our pride
Has conscience become a mouthful
A swallowed panacea of pharmaceuticals
When did we agree to be
So confused
Did you accept that all this luxury
Must be paid by the suffering of someone else
Or did I just close my heart
Close my mind and close your soul
And even though the nagging is persistent
The denial of truth haunts all of you
Did we bury ourselves in the infatuation
Of all this passing momentary thrill
Bought and sold from the instance of our birth
And it is not our part to carry the guilt or the fault
But each one of us in time
Must wake up
To the complicity that we play
In the slavery inflicted on this world
A part of innocence and ignorance
In the suffering of our brothers and our sisters
A peculiar gift is the insight burgeons a new light within the soul
Far more humane it is than burden of its curse
To live amongst these human chains
But still see all that we are worth
Categories:
burgeons, faith
Form:
Free verse
If mine heart should speak, let it speak so well;
For I may not have another time to tell.
Let me say it straight; let me say it clear,
It may not be so loud but the deaf can hear.
It's for the sane to commend me of my views
And for the fools to take me as a foe;
For my word shall either be sweet or foul
But it bears the frankness of my soul.
The sheer desire for wealth or fame
I apt no more for all is vain.
It's good enough for me to see
That I've lived a life in each passing day.
When a man is young he's at his best
And a merry soul has no time to rest.
But life's like hanging on a ledge
The soul is weakened at the ripe old age.
No amount of sleep shall recompense or mend
Of a good dream lost to awakening;
So as a speeding star in a tranquil gaze
That fell so sudden before a wish.
The time that flies and makes one old
Burgeons the burdens of an old man's load.
It shall be heavier when he departs
If he'll bear the laments of a shattered heart.
Life is doomed and to cease one day;
Not a single soul can choose to stay.
Better pave a way for the saints to stroll
So that bad old serpent could tempt no more.
Then for my own sake I'll pray with them
That my soul be freed from the hell's domain.
And my heart won't dare to sing again
Those mournful lines of life's refrain.
A blissful sunset shall start to thrive
Nocturnal solace upon my head.
Then it shall be on the day I die
When flowers bloom and birds do fly.
Author: Jecon B. Nadela
Date & Time of Writing:
10 May 2014 ; 2:03pm - 3:21pm
Thanks God I'm writing again.
Categories:
burgeons, flower, funeral, introspection, leaving,
Form:
Rhyme
Training in a classical sense
means looking at life through an
infinite hallway lined with the
statuesque but long not remembered
at least for vision or presence
but more likely only legend whether
by grace or by downfall
A hallway endlessly in need of revolution
yet never conscious that the movement
burgeons from within and underneath
and often in the least moral of places or
attitudes
This tutelage regarded as a ticket to
opine using tradition blindly as a substitute
for enlightenment and with little hope of
rotation For the religious mind-space craves
its settled location and scorns interruption
of the foolishly transcendent
Therefore to bed with the schooling whose
origin of mass itself beckons questioning for
the philosopher though no original retort is
to be found from the body that answers less
than completely
Categories:
burgeons, childhood, education, faith, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
Beauty burgeons
From the soul like a rose
Preparing to blossom
And give out
Its loving scent around
Without a thorn
Upon its stem
When you tear
Someone's heart apart
The soul is smeared
By the fear
Of what is to come
When it comes to blossom
There will be thorns
Upon its stem.
Free Verse © CarolineCecile - 04.06.12
Categories:
burgeons, allegory, life, parody,
Form:
Free verse
As is the generation of leaves
So is that of humanity
The wind scatters the leaves on the ground
But the live timber burgeons with leaves
Again in the season of spring returning
So one generation of men will grow while another dies
Adapted from The Iliad
Homer
Categories:
burgeons, life,
Form:
Classicism
Around the corner, the sun will show its new face after A
Well earned time of having endured through the cold of Winter.
Anticipation is felt as nature burgeons and animals wake Anew
Keenly sensing the coming of spring with all its love felt in its Kaleidoscopic
Emergence of colors everywhere and its fragrances brought by the Elements.
Nature at its youth, feeling the excitement throughout, that we all Naturally
Instinctively experience rebirth within the fiber of our hearts; yet still Intimidated,
Not having yet forgotten the frozen breath of the dying icy season. But Now
Gratitude moves into the soul from the lessons learned, and we thank God.
Sweetly, we turn our eyes to the heavens above for the blessing of its Smile
Pleasantly blowing to us in fragrant love with the breezes and the waters, Preparing
Rebirth of nature, and the birds sing us their songs of love while rigorously
Investing their all in the building of their nest for their offspring, so impatient,
Nagging at times to their loved ones, then making it all a fun game to play. Nature
Gathering their families and I remember my parents for whom I thank God.
By CarolineCecile
Copyright © 02.20.10
Categories:
burgeons, inspirational, nature, sea, seasons,
Form:
Acrostic
The Desperate Man
I burn in every title of want
Every collected obsession
That ever twinkled in an eye
Leaves its lush desire
In ardour on my hands
While the taste of her
Phantoms in the buds
With alphabetical sexual tongues
She rolls through me
A mounting storm of nuances
Which have me captivated
With satin spun threads
On every strand of love
Passing through all the hours
From dawn to dusk
Impatience is held in check
By will alone
Avalanches of her beauty
Bury me
Fighting for the air she breathes
The beating oscillations
Flounder, risen
In desperateness
My every sense craving
The press of holding her to me
In giant edged purple, pink, red
She floats
On a roses petal
And by all the strength
And what metal I have
To cradle her in my mi amour
“It’s ok baby”
I tell her
“Honey, it’s ok”
I am pulled and drawn from emptiness
Life it seems so utterly pointless
When all my being must stand
Beside her
Or die from the lack
Starving in this malnutrition of completion
I fail to save her
I crumple weakened by my promises
To forever dance in exultation
And take solace
In her words alone
“I am sorry my love
I just can’t do that
I need you more
Than I could have ever known”
I can no longer hold my own
In verses prose or Patience
This ever-igniting bonfire
Burgeons anew on each and every day
Stronger more virile
With such a sweet violence
Batters me to this submission
And only by blood and muscle
Do I stand
Pierced and encompassed
By this souls worship
“Baby; I don’t know how much longer I can withstand
The perfect need of the love
Laying constant in my empty arms”
Categories:
burgeons, life, loveme,
Form:
Free verse
The eyes opened
As withered leaves were strewn on the forest floor,
Alone and sad.
As creepy as silence
Smothering the subtle heart with its fumes
Engulfed in dust.
Looking around,
In the swarm of bees that it was -
None appealed to its love.
Insecure, afraid -
None to free it of its nightmare
That is eternal.
Pangs of hunger
Coveting acceptance as it exists,
Who helps survive?
Who helps nurture?
Born in the lap of serenity
It's sole world.
Curious but restricted
How far can it see, distinct and beautiful?
Desperate to relate?
Yes, somewhere
A similar world has come into being;
A curious eye.
While zooming those,
For a moment those meet, awestruck
And know it all.
As serenity conjoins
The beating warmth of life,
Warmth is evolved.
Then him and her stay
And those become they, for life burgeons
As friends do meet.
Categories:
burgeons, feelings, friend, life, lonely,
Form:
Free verse
As is the generation of leaves
So is that of humanity
The wind scatters the leaves on the ground
But the live timber burgeons with leaves
Again in the season of spring returning
So one generation of men will grow while another dies
Categories:
burgeons, allegory,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
An iron portal
as brittle as a tear
in memories
or moments
designate
a miscreant burgeons
from emotions
the graphic artistry
of expendable smiles
to bypass hope
and linger in a clause
of could be
Yet the thrust
has to wretched put you
a glinting steal bloodied
by your heart
leaves you wrenching on breath
the choke
the broken despair
can lay no claim
to comfort unwanted
for all of agonies penitence
and purgatory
swallows you whole
There is no God
no justice
bitterness stamps it’s mark on all those pages
this inundation desperate
devours all logic
searches
though devoid of any meaning
but the ghost of a reason is all that you want
You would so wish to lay blame
yet it is no-one and everyone
who stands at fault
you are no more
and if sorrow could write the words
it has written them
with embers
into your soul
And one more mothers child
dies unknown to the world.
Categories:
burgeons, racism,
Form:
Free verse
Like an avian roosting when his cawing has spilled,
I mourn in grief as this shadowed night grows cold
Crushed and grieving from promises unfulfilled
Sorrow burgeons my heart, in bitterness enfold
like unspun wool on a distaff or a poem not quilled
I am overwhelmed with fear; somberly weeping
beneath my rowan tree. In dour thoughts, I dwell
Wisps of silver moonlight cross the sky, sweeping,
signaling hope in darkness, as if it were a death knell
In my den, I feel protected; sanctuary of safe-keeping
My troubled eyes are in search of benevolence anew
For faith and courage instead of such dismal dread
How I long to take flight, trading grey skies for blue
to locate a paradise where happiness can be spread
sharing a drink of wassail; fruited ale of sweet brew
I shall swiftly soar among shining stars at great height
Fluttering my wings on journeyed path of poetic volition
Never again to be lost and alone on any mawkish night
No shadows holding me in their melancholy perdition
for I've learned how to ignite flames of lambent light
Categories:
burgeons, fear, feelings,
Form:
Rhyme
Tommorow
Tomorrow who knows we won't be together
Unlike yesterday's tomorrow might be separated forever
May not be holding hands beneath our happy skies
In future our love's river frazils of twined emotions shall not shine
Tommorow these deep valleys may not echo our names back
Frazile vase of our passion may develop a plummenting crack
The starry diamonds diadem's might not glisten with this alacrity
Deluged in their rays let's paint our heart with love's insanity
Dreamy moments spent might fly away to yonder
Never to return as passing day leaving trailed wonders
Our voices might not melt to fall deep in our hearts
Where a world burgeons serenading breeze are a part
This fading eventide sun might not rise with this splendour again
Shoreline of heart's horizon shall remain damp in our eyes rain
Tommorow we might be miles apart beyond vision's range
But our souls morphed as one can ever change
19/11/2018
Sponsor- Edward Ibeh
Categories:
burgeons, deep, farewell,
Form:
Lyric