Best Cabins Poems
Just as bees squeeze like watermelon seeds
Spit across apricot fields
My wife and I on Friday
Join the lines of highways up north
Pulled by hilltops to the Leelanau blue sky
Where lakes stir in the wind at the citrus rims
Of wine valleys below
And cherry orchards blossom in row after row
Like sheets of cupcakes spiraled with frosting.
Tonight we will sit tight around our lakeside fire
As petals closed upon this blaze of flower
With a Loon trilling her flute of bones
To the stars salted across the night
And voices bump from shore to shore
Murmurs softened beyond repair
The cabins flickering to a second life
In a fuse of fire lit around our lake
A tradition. We stop the car a ways away
From my mom and dad’s cabin
And let out our kids on the shoulder of road
To run like deer the final half mile.
Categories:
cabins, beauty, desire, destiny, inspirational
Form:
Free verse
As early dawns sunlight, of golden glass....
Now drips from the ambient forest of green
Showers of light reflected, from across the pond
Gazing amid the cabins threshold; these love laced thoughts
A nightingale lingering; singing atop the windows ledge
Faraway whispers, from the preludings winds of time....
Ushering these images, beyond the corridores of ones soul
Still waters resurgent; resplendent, upon the silverish blue
Alluvions resillence, painted in criterion before my eyes
Lavishly renewed colours, brushed gently this heart of mine....
Fireflies and butterflies, floating through the turquoise sky
Melodies atop this brilliant canvas', carousels of life ~
But, as the pendulums gravities of truth sway inside my mind
I find myself within a fortitude of ponder; fortified
By the realization that not all is fairytales and or, ice cream rides....
Pestilence of plights befalling millions and who's wrong or right?
Thus in the referendum of self, one must choose and decide
The ways of justice, balanced upon the scales of conscious
Betwixt the pabulums dividing lines of love and hate?
And a poet writes....
Peering across the pond unto the other side
Beautiful faces beautiful eyes, beautiful hearts and beautiful lives
Red Robins sing and White Swans they fly ~
Embracing them all; this knowing; these treasures inside!?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The forest green....
Categories:
cabins, hope, life, love, timebeautiful,
Form:
White dots on the hat
Small cabins where fairies live
Fairytale symbol
In mysterious forests
Past truths - become poisonous
23/09/2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
howmanysyllables.com
Tanka : 5-7-5-7-7 syllables
Categories:
cabins, autumn, myth, nature,
Form:
Tanka
For flowery words I have no gift
deep thoughts I'm rarely thinking
And when it comes to penmanship
my dear I fear I'm stinking
But none the less amid this mess
I'll sum up for your pleasure
Donations to our mutual fund
you've granted in full measure
In 'sixty-two who knew that you
would be my life-long buddy
We'd both tried once, struck out at love
our crystal ball was muddy
We'll make it work this time we said
but no one thought we meant it
The means it seems for life-long dreams
had not yet been invented
Of course I knew that you were who
I prayed would share my dreaming
Of mountain cabins babbling brooks
blue lakes with rainbows teeming
But you were from a Texas town
and I a guy from Brooklyn
So fat chance you and I would fly
where angels yearn to look in
Now reassessing all those years
of mutual indenture
The motorcycles horses boats
and trips of wild adventure
I know I owe it all to your
intrepid flexibility
That we hold these fond memories
to warm us through senility
Just another warrenpiece
Categories:
cabins, adventure, appreciation, best friend,
Form:
Rhyme
Jan Allison's - Fun Pyramid Cruise
Rolling shores of sugar form on crimsoned lands
Tan children run through cinnamon granules between their toes
Crunchy warm, doing soccer flips, glowing orange with the sun
Cascading sugar crystals wave good-byes
The yellow waves, light on honey oceans rise
Jan Allison's new Pyramid Cruise Lines launches
The flag ship, Gold Pyramid, to everyone’s delight
On honey sun and honey moon it sails
Glitters on golden Pyramid and sea
It lifts into the sky, one hundred floors high
Each deck with fewer cabins to form a shape
The ship is the first of its kind
Built in the perfect image of a pyramid with diamond top
To the top which rises to a clear crystalline ball room
Jan dances their at night
A dozen roses on center table in her room
Three white ones, 2 bright red and purple
And let’s not forget the brilliant yellow roses
Sent by every friend, from them to her
With warm wishes for a wondrous maiden voyage
Categories:
cabins, adventure, boat, celebration, celebrity,
Form:
Free verse
SENSITIVITY
They’re all ignored by us, but they have feelings too :
A black gravestone in New York, down in the world,
Recalling its halcyon days as a part of
The impressive strata at Palisades Park.
The statue in the museum of Androcles and the Lion
Daydreaming - oh, for the good old days just lying sunbaked
On the beach surrounded by
Fossil shells and shrimp at Sables d’ Olonne,
With the feet of the famous resting gently on you.
And the marble fireplace in our living room -
He can still see in his mind’s eye
The Carrara quarries in bygone days…..
Why, some of his great-grand-daddies were
Hacked out of there and taken to Rome for the Via Appia.
Oh yes, stones have feelings too.
My carved ship-of-the-line from Nelson’s navy
With her masts and spars and decks and cabins
Lies awake at night thinking of her days
In the pine forests of Norway; and next to her
This old cedar jewellery box, with intoxicating
Smells of the coast at Prince Rupert
Where she lay on the beach for weeks
Before the saw mill changed her shape and sent her to me.
The new sapele door in our hall spends hours
Wishing for his buddies in the jungles of Uganda
Where the ants would tickle you
Half to death with their constant scurrying
Up and down your branches, building this or that.
Listen closely and he’ll boast that some
of his relatives ended their days as propellers
on German zeppelins, I kid you not.
Everyone has to feel special.
And what about those unassuming steel forks in my drawer
who can still tell stories
Of their days as iron ore in Finland,
And how their brother Ernie became
A bumper on the President’s limo (supposedly).
Or my wife’s copper bracelets with their pathetic tales
Of being shipped from Cyprus
and remelted into ingots in Bimingham.
I have overheard the wings of a 747
Recollecting in the hangars at night
How their existence as bauxite in Jamaica was so idyllic,
“Wit all dat reggae and smokin’ and god knows what, man.”
They too have their memories.
And, man, de smell in dat hangar!
Categories:
cabins, funnynight, old, beach, feelings,
Form:
Free verse
Lightheaded I ambled
towards the lonely pub.
Liquor helps sometimes you know.
It burns the mind,
empties it
of niggling thoughts,
of subtle yearnings,
of ambitious aspirations.
There she was
redhead and flushed.
A companion in distress.
We drank together,
confessed together,
envied together.
Time's up.
Outwards we lurched
hugging each other
towards the beach
where empty cabins
gave us respite.
Morning arrived.
She was not there.
Pity!
I knew not her name.
Might as well call her
whisky.
Categories:
cabins, abuse, addiction,
Form:
Free verse
I went searching for-
that little child who cuddled in her mother's arms,
those tender feet that jumped in rain,
that little heart which melted for a kiss,
those twinkling eyes that gleamed in the moonlight.
I enquired the oak tree about-
one little nose that smelt the early morning jasmines,
an enthusiastic voice that sang the stories of the sky,
those tender fingers that brilliantly belted out the piano,
that curly hair which locked the light of life securely in it.
I kept on searching for those red ribbons, that blue tunic and those black shoes which accompanied the girl to her school
I walked all the way right from her study table to her office desk following her footprints to get some detail of her
I ran amidst the woods where she breathed the pure early morning air
I checked the cabins of the city metro that seated her comfortably when she choked for breath.
Her spectacles had no answer to any of my questions regarding her whereabouts
Her golden ring lied lifeless on the table having lost its royal glory
Her favorite shoes are still waiting for the mountain trekking event.
Her black bike had no answer when I asked why it's engine is never ignited.
Her friends still kept her number in their contact list pointlessly waiting for a text message from her.
Her boyfriend silently walked into his office cabin and seriously worked on his assignments - he'ld probably never smile again
Her mother sat on the dining table with two plates in front of her-she'ld probably never realise that the food remains untasted forever.
Categories:
cabins, absence, death, fate, goodbye,
Form:
Free verse
Close your eyes and imagine with me
Camps, cottages, cabins and trees
High in the mountains or beside rolling seas
Perhaps it’s chateaus and castles you see
Maybe cathedrals grand as they can be
It’s little white churches that I see
Comforting contentment I’m contemplating as we
Consider the many constructs of C
Categories:
cabins, celebration,
Form:
Rhyme
Cottage dreams, wooden cabins and the scent of burning campfires
Every July we would gather at Vince's cottage to see Santa in attire
Into the water he would go with his speed boat full of presents
all the kids would run to see the bearded man with a belly bent
There was no snow, no mistletoe, no hot toddy, just sweet lemonade
all the kids would line up straight just waiting for that gifted accolade
We had never heard of Christmas in July for us this was spanking new
at night we sat around at fire and sang carols until half past two
Today I reminisce about those days of Christmas in the summer heat
we wore flip flops and passed out freeze pops, oh it was all so neat
Now when winter holidays arrive with cold and winter storms abroad
we talk about Vince and his Xmas antics, before he left to be with God.
July 22, 2022
Sponsor Tania Kitchin
Contest Name Christmas in July
Categories:
cabins, memory,
Form:
Rhyme
I stand atop a mountain tall,
look down upon the land,
the forests clinging to the slopes,
green valleys long and grand.
Rivers carve torrents right through them,
can still hear them up here,
cabins scattered amongst the woods,
one such belongs to me.
Some wonder why I walk up peaks,
why I deal with that strain,
the only view that is better
would be from an airplane.
I am jammed in a window seat,
thirty thousand feet high,
the Great Lakes stretching below me,
almost as blue as sky.
There’s boats I see amongst the wave,
but they're actually ships,
trawlers and freighters loaded down,
doggedly make their trip.
The gray of cities on the shore,
suburbs encircle it,
the only view that could beat this
would be up in orbit.
I look out the capsule window,
five hundred miles high,
amazed by fringe of black and blue
where the great void meets sky.
The clouds a frosting, wispy white,
obscuring land and earth,
on the night side a web of lights,
the cities' yellow blur.
Beyond me a spangled starfield
stretches on endlessly,
to see greater you would have to
leave the dang galaxy.
I stare down on the spiral arms
of the grand Milky Way,
Bound loose around a brilliant core
where countless bright stars blaze.
Reaches of stars drifting about
in graceful, curving arcs,
billions of stars and their planets,
defy the endless dark.
The nova and the nebula,
so beautiful it hurts,
to see better you would have to
know the whole universe.
I gaze down on the great clusters,
light dots looks like a star,
but each is a whole galaxy,
Lord, how many there are!
Swinging around in massive groups,
too big to comprehend,
I can’t try to make sense of this,
it’s just too big for men.
My mind says that there’s nothing more,
I’ve reached the end, must quit;
but part of me thinks something else
must be bigger than this.
…and won’t that be cool to see.
Categories:
cabins, appreciation, beauty, earth, imagery,
Form:
Rhyme
Selected by the swift sound of hand to shoulder blade,
The bells upon their ankles sounded like seven trumpets
to me. I had been a chosen sheep among the Shepherd’s flock.
Lead me my Pharisees, I wish to see feel the glee in following
the Lamb within me.
The weight of my new necklace, crudely crafted of twine and timber,
swayed in a schism'd rhythm between my shins
bruises born from my steadfast faith. For I have never fasted
Before, all there was in my Ziploc bag was a single raw egg,
Two slices of wonderbread, three matches with no book.
I heard fireflies bounce in the air between my ears,
I could not see, you see I was blindfolded, but I felt no fear.
The marching sounds stopped, balsam trees surrounded me
and the rest of the chosen tribe.
Night befell the evening, the stars jumped and danced for me
For the Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty, His strength
flowed like the river Jordan in my veins. I had no chains.
Never had I felt grace like this before.
We awoke with gnats in our nose, centipedes between our toes
We arose, and our trials we must undergo.
Silence is the sound of our worship, broken by the
wood bashing between our bitten legs.
The kindling was wet, the bread was stale,
forging for food in the raspberry bushes, hunger flashed
in front of my eager eyes.
Memorize second Corinthians, some stories
I no longer care to remember. I felt the splinters
in my shins, the twine singed the hairs of my neck.
The breeze swung between the leaves and sung chants
that worshiped the King amongst kings.
The counselor crept out of the brush, and with
immense embarrassment I flushed
any of the chances of becoming one of the chosen few.
I could not immerse myself within the verses.
His eyes struck disappointment deep into my gut,
his knife drawn I knew I was cut.
The log crashed to the ground like lightning, the
twine left my skin red and raw. It felt like the
sting of a thousand roses thrust upon my nape.
My cross was no longer mine to bear, it was the end
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I descended from the shining hill, back to
the cabins and basketball nets. I had failed.
There is a creek I will never wade, never cross,
I drowned in my disdain, my faith may be lost.
Another camper, another kid, lost in the flock
of the Shepherd’s failed kin.
Categories:
cabins, childhood, christian, nostalgia, religion,
Form:
Free verse
CRASHING waves... SMASHING seas...
Bringing sailors to their knees.
As they struggle to save their lives
Hoping and praying, help arrives.
The stormy seas as dark as coal,
Preventing the sailors from reaching their goal.
Battered and bruised, but still they fight...
Staring ahead, into the dead of night.
Rocking and rolling as they try to stand...
Hoping against hope, that they soon reach land.
Bleary eyed from lack of sleep.
Down in their cabins, huddled like sheep.
As they're rocking and rolling down beneath
Weary sailors above, resist with gritted teeth.
hours later, as the storm starts to dissipate,
It leaves a calm tranquil sea in it wake.
The veteran sailors know the battle is over, and they have won...
As they contemplate, other storms yet to come...
Categories:
cabins, angst, encouraging, imagination, storm,
Form:
Imagism
My Monster
Every week on Good Friday I get restless
Palpitations rise for my week end disasters
A monster boldly barges into my silent abode
Depriving me of my peaceful slumber
Crash! Now which crockery has ended its life?
The moment I reach the dreaded site
Littered remnants of mugs and glasses
Sprayed on the kitchen floor
Having an afternoon nap is a crime indeed
The dining tablecloths are scrooped down
And I curse my heavy eyelids for drugging me
I wake up to run and my shoes are not there
The good Lord save me! My kitchen cabins
Are invaded, explored and ransacked
The bright packages are crushed and ripped
Salty and sweety snacks carpet the freshly scrubbed floor
I pads, mobile phones, remote controls vanish
I magically recover my drowning hopes
When their batteries are over
My heart beats louder than the speakers
Strumming the beats of nursery rhymes
Till tiny flakes start peeling off the quaky roof
The iridescent walls showcase
The world's finest art repertoire
Nothing short of an international gallery of art
The monster is finally trapped on the garden swing
Smiling gleefully with an outstretched arm
All frowns erase when the two year old
Bob cut tomboy dramatically wails
Granny! Granny! Granny! Granny!
Contest: My Monster
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Categories:
cabins, art, child, color, nursery
Form:
Light Verse
Deserted cabins
Trees gnarled by wailing winds
The sound of a bear
Categories:
cabins, adventure, animal, nature,
Form:
Haiku