Best Callow Poems
* This for is called Acrostic, but this particular one forms a phrase on BOTH ends - I hope you enjoy it! *
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Yesterdays, never tell me where they run to
Only the callow days that breathed with you
Utter those resplendent whispers to my ear
Why did you let her go?' It hushes me, still
Each silver moment since has been an echo
Reverberating midst passion's sweet improv
Every memory is filled with an aching divine
My faculties still recall your beguiling aroma
Your flavor, even now, speaks to my senses
Soft, the moonlit eves, we swam in a dream
Open, the hearts we shared with a rare love
Unconcerned with the courses of its delirium
Lost to the realms those passions took us to
Many years have passed, but I can still hear
All our promises like petals - a life potpourri
They're faded now between the pages of life
Each one, a wilted bloom of love's memories.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Double Double Words To Bubble" Poetry Contest, Joseph May, Judge & Sponsor.
~ Her love abloom fell blinded in the bliss
of one thought gentle in its callow prime,
and if she felt one inkling of amiss,
a thwarted tempest may have been in time.
As love became a storm within the boil,
her naïve virtue veered into his path,
those sweet delusions flailed within the toil,
encumbering the fault for wielded wrath.
Her timid screams, ensnared within his throes,
fell silent as a veil of hush adorns.
When petals wilt within the pallid rose,
its beauty dies upon a stem of thorns.
Bewildered tears fall from an angel’s eyes
when death becomes a lover in disguise.
Marred and minced remnants pile high in a storm’s swarm
Yesterdays, hardened-soft, surface where sea’s warm…
Flotsam found, lays tales around, in frayed traces
Another shattered shell whimpers of graces
vying with the sea-swept sands: gloss embossed fades…
Ocean’s dead! These are castaways of Hades,
rid of depth, stranded upon the dry shallow
Interred where the sun bleaches out the shadows
till whitened ivory fills cavern’s echo:
enmeshed lime, crunching upon errors callow
Jazz died - June’s sun sank into august abyss…
Undertow currents ceased their torments of bliss
Nipped life, silenced like frothing foam vacuum-sealed,
kept smothered in an opaque ocean congealed…
Yard junked, Neptune’s home’s now a derelict mess
and yet he clings to the crap amassed, crownless
Right always, up to the end --------- that no return.
Death will erase the un-sunk bones when they burn
(10/3/2019: '90 Sea Ray DA 350; Discovery Park; ‘my favorite junkyard’)
A boy lines up plastic soldiers
In straight rows across his floor.
He knocks them down with callow ease
In a naive game of war.
Far across the deepest ocean,
In between rich, well-known places,
Little boys become those soldiers -
Grow hard lines upon their faces.
Guns weigh down their frail frames,
As they march in groups like drones;
Passing by jumbles of bodies -
Messy piles of flesh and bones.
One cries softly in the corner,
Another cannot bear the sound.
He takes the blunt side of his gun
And beats the other to the ground.
In the streets they pass right over
Mothers murdered, sisters raped,
Countless men whose limbs are broken,
But whose empty eyes still gape.
Narrow roads become red rivers,
Neighbourhoods go up in flames,
Backyards turn into cold graveyards -
Still they play this twisted game.
Far across the deepest ocean,
In the richest, well-known places,
Boys line up their plastic soldiers
With blind smiles upon their faces.
The Tempest
Upon enchanted sands of shipbreached shores
Dethroned beggar of a borrowed callow mystery
Heaves a lightning staff into the waves -
Thunderous and raw clandestine secrecy
On luminous swirling ariels sheering the celestial –
Into the curfew of castaway souls as a hoary appeal
Where storm surges loot delirium in foreboding typhoons
As rioting angels brood in their search
For the orphaned heart in tattered rags of upheaval.
Hear the muted tempest of dark depths roar
As wintered tantrums rock the shores
Leasing waves with unseen spells and charms,
Harnessing the tidal astrals in purifying
Tsunamis of holy risk –
Storm watch night, for souls in cataclysmic squalls,
Reshape the shallow shoals infected by deceit
Refresh the tidal pools emptied by betrayal
Now calm the ruffled gales -the shattered glassy sea,
Return from shipwrecked isle to fury abandoned shores.
11/3/2020
Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 6
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Inspired by Shakespeare’s The Tempest
I lived ... once
I loved and laughed and ached from my marrow
I spoke my soul, and spun my mind to my innervation and impulse
Swam up spirits to the source of their dreams and passions
I moved and breathed and thrived
Slept and soared and savored the tang of carnality
Counted my chaos, and measured my occupations with desire
I danced with angels, dazzled and dark and unearthly
And I sang to the heavens in their wildest weeping
With a voice of callow intonation ... and melodious temper
ALL with a child's heart, and a saint's assumption
Yes, I lived ... once
Full and bright and joyous as a midday meadow
Yet, in the midst of a moment's suffering
A soft, stinging moment of false hope and agony
I pressed, tender, the lips of a curse ...
One deep, warm, melting kiss of a temptress
That turned to a coursing ... of poison
"You will write with such feeling," she whispered, eyes smiling
As the glass between us fogged with her bitter breath
A painted fingertip, shaped and pressed
Tracing my doom in the opaque mist
Oh, vile brutality - to gift me this insight and creativity
Only to shake it ALL from my grasp ...
And turn me ... to dust.
~ 10th Place ~ in the "Opaque" Poetry Contest, Anthony Slausin, Judge & Sponsor.
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.
Crisp ...
You lay like solemn ashes
'Neath glass ... spotless, sacred
Dried to bright hues ...
The shades of her lips in chill autumn air
(Winter, whisp'ring soft)
Edges crimped ...
Like the hems of her pleated tartan skirt
You are the vestige, precious
Of a moment ...
A final moment of love, true
Sweaty, sweet passion
That found its confluence under a vault of fire
A canopy of crumbling crimson
Wafting, weaving a rustling woodland blanket
The bed for a callow curiosity
Confusing, carnal, but perfectly imperfect
Numberless months have yet ceded to the wind
(As tender as the moons they bind)
Since I rescued you from the hood of a sweatshirt
Still, your color is unerring
And your scent is ...
Her.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand no 780, Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Select V Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Writing Challenge - December - Any Poem NA'd In November 2019" Poetry Contest, Dear Heart - Wishkobi Ode, Judge & Sponsor.
( This poem was written on November 14, 2019, and N/A'd on November 22, 2019 in the Scented Leaves Poetry Contest )
Upon the green hills of Cymru
I stand arrested by the veiw
of cryptic sea and ancient shore
that stood ten thousand years before
they met my callow eye
and will remain for many more
long after I die
I'm solemn above the briny stew
with thoughts of kin I never knew
fishing the sea, mining the coal
or mining the depths of a poet's soul
A nation's buried history
revived once more because it knows
the blood that flows through me
Blood that fed this fertile soil
with the Celtic tears and toil
of Warriors dead b'neath the peat
that pads the soles of anglish feet
the true Princes of Wales
rule no more upon this shore
except in children's tales
The epic song of Arthur's quest
or Madoc's journey somewhere west
stories of the Mabinogion
or family tales of distant kin
who fought so hard, but failed
to keep their ancient birthright
so to distant lands they sailed
Centuries pass, now here I stand
a stranger in this native land
welcomed by the foe of yore
that chased my people from this shore
leaving me a world apart
from the Cymru pulsing through my blood
and beating in my heart
hold still, eventide ...
I am a capricious cad among wraiths,
waltzing with a mop in
a Marrakesh courtyard - catching stars
as they drip with waxy and
wild wonder, into the braids of my maudlin
noose, tightening
jangling, dangling ...
rose gold anklets, (wrapped 'round leggy perfection),
shimmer their hammered facets,
kicking smoke into toroidal hoops with
raw regard
while they spin, table-top, to a
Chaabi chant
candles waving their
flames to beckon the darkness close ...
notes from a punji weave
mystery thru the heavy heat, Henna-striped hands
cradling a bottle, jade green, as the
white flowers gush their cold, gold bounty
down a curvy thigh
wetly wrapping an unblemished
capuccino calf, Perrier-Jouët trickles off tender
toes to plop, warm, on my
tantalized tongue
I kiss the fuchsia-daubed nails to
show proper veneration, then spin back to
the murky music, mop-handle
lover in tow
down to the spinning
tie-dyed rugs and pillows, I surrender all to the
callow flesh there, wanting ... willing
her hair and hide and ebon eyes
dark as delirium, while the brass-headed
snake-of-a-hookah waits
for a kiss
long draws bring dizzy
dreams and hypnotic swirls from the lamp,
aromas and an opiate nirvana coiling
around my cares
lost as a lamb, to soft skin ...
and sweet smoke.
( Jemaa el-Fnaa Square in Marrakesh is one of the most active and exciting places on earth, with exotic foods, snake-charmers, clothes and antique vendors, magicians, dancers, haqle or street theater, storytellers, acrobats, musicians, comedians, water sellers, tattoo artists, carnival acts, even organ-grinders with monkeys, and yes, opium and hashish traders. It has remained largely the same for over a thousand years, and is indeed an important part of history, declared by UNESCO as a "Masterpiece of World Heritage" - if you're ever in Morocco, it is a MUST-see! )
A gauzy haze rises from the flickering gas light,
revealing the face of a blushing coquette.
Stepping through time in voluminous dress, bustled and bowed,
a petite silhouette.
She offers her hand to the handsome uniformed, callow cadet.
She moves with eloquence, poise and grace;
He, smitten by her charming demeanor, peaceful, porcelain, angelic face.
Flustered at first, heart pounding accepting his advances,
a gentle kiss and lingering embraces.
The afternoon brought festivities of equestrian competition.
Young cadets, eager to advance, entered to raise their rank and position;
His prowess boasted by the charm of his lady admirer's recognition.
She arrives in a brimmed bonnet, settling in her seat, vying for clear view;
Awaiting her chivalrous cavalier,
preparing, taking position, for the race to ensue.
A shot is fired, she sees him from afar,
waving his silk flag of gold, green and blue.
Gallant and proud, spurring his steady steed without yield.
Thunderous hooves in a cloud of dust, neck and neck as he rounds the field;
Pursing only, the love of his lady, and winning the coveted, golden shield.
February 6, 2017 For Stepping Through Time Contest, February 22, 2017
there's something in the breath of fall, so dear
that churns the deepest province of my soul
once rooted in the start of each school year
mixed with that earthy crispness of the cold
the thrills of sports and studies, ivy-bound
esteemed traditions held amidst the eaves
more precious, still, that kindred heart I found
through crazy, callow love among the leaves
oh, how we drowned so eagerly each time
we swam that leafy ocean ‘neath the trees
yet, now it’s only mem’ries put to rhyme
though, still, these weary eyes can clearly see ...
there - deep within the fading autumn's mist …
a shadow of the sweetheart I once kissed.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, October 3, 2019 (rewrite 10/1/21); *original version featured in the anthology “154 By 16 Poets” by Craig Cornish
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Autumn Sonnet" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Strand Choice J, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
early morning …
as day blinked its eyes
I rowed the rickety little dory out -
smooth rivulets behind me in the mirror surface
slowly expired as I stopped in the middle
wrapping the misty silence around me
straining to remember the town
as it had been …
yes -
it would be about here -
the cemetery -
they moved all the graves they
could before the deluge
but many remained
for age or obscurity's sake …
it was there SHE first kissed me -
we went daily for the quietus and privacy
to do our homework after school
(and split the atom, of course)
there, friendship became ... more
like crocuses rushing to spring
we bloomed under the brooding arms
of a grumpy old elm
branches twisted
as if to keep our callow sins a secret …
so precious, those moments -
so ... distant …
thus …
a flood and three lifetimes later
it all decayed in the merciless murk -
an entire town given to the abyss
for the thirst of a metropolis
many miles away …
not a thought given to the sacrifice -
our dear town's tragedy
no laurel ever laid
upon these somber depths …
the feelings I pondered there in stillness
had no precedent -
half my life and countless memories
swimming far below in unforgiving darkness -
homes, streets, schools, churches
gardens of stone ...
drowned for progress and population …
and now,
I committed a like crime …
fishing my wallet from a corduroy pocket
I removed HER photo from its honored sheath
(where it had slept for years)
placed it ever-so-tenderly on the reservoir's surface
and watched it slowly lilt to the inky depths
with my youth ...
and her memory.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Strand Choice 10 Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "Free Verse Style Only" Poetry Contest, Emile Pinet, Judge & Sponsor.
I've courted luck, in countless ways
Against the ragged judgments and self-umbrage
I still draw breath, and the mirror has been charitable
Most I meet deem me forty, (I don't challenge)
My visage betrays very little of the darkness and damage within
Oh, it will one day chase me down, no doubt soon enough
But I feign my teens in bearing also, and perhaps 'tis a lack of maturity
I make no false assumptions of grandeur or wisdom
My child's heart thrives and bounds, a lad seeking truths yet proven
It yearns, still, for a soft meadow's callow passions
Or the blossom beams of a summer moon, daubing sweet skin
I hold no kinship to middle-age or frosted brows
'Tis a young man's mad marrow that moves my flesh
The ambitious vigor of a yearning heart that thrums my chest
There is NOTHING of my age but the years themselves
And the altered perspective of being nearer dusk than dawn
My eyes look abaft now more than onward, I must concede that
And all the myriad priorities of gain and dream and want
Have dissolved into the one meaningful prerogative of life itself
The only TRUE worthwhile endeavor that should be the foundation
The solid base that we learn and treasure and build upon from childhood
The ONLY thing that I've come, through all these years
Through all these countless lessons and struggles, to care about ...
That is, quite simply and purely and unmistakably, LOVE.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "A Contest On Aging" Poetry Contest, Emile Pinet, Judge & Sponsor.
Hell-and-gone, my dreams are the bane of angels
Crimped with light, yet ceded to swim in shadows
Darkened wings that tremble with aching portent
Yesterday's heaven
I'm the fool that wandered the Van Gogh grasses
Just a jest, with love made there in the meadow
Callow flesh, thus burning for more than sunlight
Merging in madness
Bright and light, on toe-shoes a girl came dancing
How she twirled, with tempo to set my heartbeats
Dark desires through waterfalls and the moonlight
Joined at the marrow
Life did cleave us, bound to a course its choosing
Washed and swept by fates to a distant shoreline
Breaths and death left nothing to us but distance
Partings, unspoken
'Leave them gone', those angels now softly whisper
Broken dreams are nightmares so left unspoken
Turn your head to sight your eyes on the moment
Wisdom's sweet burgeon.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Sapphic Stanza With A Jux" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.