Best Capes Poems
Oceana
Oceana flings her sequined petticoats
Upon the sands as if to toss the seaweed
From the swirling edges
While she dances with the wind
With each turn she swings her skirts
In thunder
As she passes – faster, faster -
Until her laughter foams upon the waves
And in the early midnight dawns
She turns to cover up
Her turquoise evening gown
With capes of fog so thick
The soaring gulls seem to carry
This her summer train
To quickly change into a dress of silver satin,
Bound with trims of frothy sprays,
Rising and swelling,
When morning reaches for windy afternoons,
She teases sudden lightning outbursts
Leaving behind upon the outstretched strands
A foaming lace of pearls
That decorate her new rippling dress
Of brilliant sapphire blue
Drawing it around the world in flowing currents
To follow, ever follow, the lilting music
Of her lover moon,
Softly singing enchanted melodies,
Ever beckoning his earthbound bride unto himself
To watch her gaily waltz upon the rolling seas
Circling to his rune.
8-22-25
3rd - Rob Carmack Premiere VIII
6-29-22 - N/A
Contest: Marathon Mile Five
Sponsor: Mark Toney
8-13-22 -
5th - Poetry Marathon Mile 12
Sponsor: Mark Toney
6/20/19
On Top 100 All Time Poems list
1st - Trophy Win - Juliet Lingon
1st - Julia Ward 11/29/20
1st - Brian Strand 1/14/20
Featured Poem 5/2/21
Included in Poetry Soup Anthology #2 - It's Still Poetry
Included in CWC Anthology - First Prize Winner Independent Publishers Award
Indie Press Awards
Snow falling—
Falling.
Feathers escaping from the pillow-heaven
Confusing the air
With the steadiness of a stampede
Advancing, clinging, smothering.
Snow falling—
Settling.
White fleecy lambs atop every protrusion
Sleek ermine boas
Draped upon the naked arms of nature
Bare of their green velvet capes.
Snow falling—
Drifting.
The spatula of wind
Smoothing mounds of marshmallow frosting
Billowy swirls
Of whipped immaculate splendor.
Snow falling—
Burying.
Obscuring the drab tired earth
Her deep wounds of time
Dissolving shadows of other seasons
That Spring may arise again.
fo'c·'sle /'fohksel/ noun deriv: forecastle
1. the forward part of a ship below the deck, traditionally used as the crew's living quarters.
2. historical: a raised deck at the front of a ship.
With the equinox illuminating a fortnight of recovery
On pelts spread like Ionian jars left askew,
My flame-keep sparked alight against the doldrums of
Greed. Stagnant and fetid.
My bark beats out a call stretched
Skin-tight over the sea’s virgin core
And sets trust aflame.
Ashes collected into the collated casks and
Corked with animus, Moon Girl pounded on.
Drumming a dirge on the tanner's own flesh.
Pounding the seed of echoing hope.
Pounding the corpus beat of life anew.
Those echoed my own harmony and emptied my ears.
My tunes would now be true and crisp.
My struggle to syncopate the middle eight
Was like on the saltchuck the time before.
Before we crossed the bar,
Breakers chasing, pounding aft of stern.
Now in the glow of the coal oil lamp
Sat The Dane who came to trade.
He mumbled a Chinookian curse and winced.
He sensed my mariner's cred, how I lit my smoke;
Muscle memory and addiction married in my subconscious.
But His eyes would never sense the venomous flow
Of the seabreak distant,
Like hounds baying to the highway of stars
And up to the dunes ran with phosphorescent faces
Fermenting the blackness.
Hell-hounds bounding.
Lungs pounding.
Driving on.
River may lick Disappointment’s shanks
But Drake’s gold remains unfound.
The cavities carved along the capes
Echo an emptied ethos and sapped spirit
Which salal and sage cannot clense.
Walk with me now Sister Ilchee.
Beat your dirge
Along the pock-marked ports of plunder
Laid before the flattened corpse of
Ebbing freedom found.
‘’twas all wild—All wind, All shores:
Seas were brewing savage storms;
Rambling clouds were moving thunder—
Thunder herself, did her chores…
With white, foaming, briny waters—
The fleet of men crossing them—
Howling Capes and crowing Bergs
That ever saw trespassing them,
Witnessed the lot being washed—
The visor of Mercy being cracked…
The howling, screaming, deathly Play
Waited the time Night approached
To aide—to rescue hacked and chopped
With farewell bid to the angered Day:
Time now when the Rivers—joining hands
(That had shrieked and showed their might)
No more chid the juvenile Bank—
Traveled course in faded light,
Whilst the strength of Fury lay
To tell Quiet of squandered Peace…
The world could end tomorrow
and here we sit writing filigree
stitching daisy loops loves me loves me not
torn lace like words to be removed
eventually, life felt melting in the silky grooves
to reveal what’s naked underneath
a last cry into the early morning hours
like a freed nightingale
the cardinals in their red capes
sit on the aloof shoulders of watching trees
come to collect for themselves
some Other’s sweet moment of release
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Dissolved Girl.
elder's spirit born
white fur roams among brown capes
pale face prophecies
trees with sprouting limbs
bathed by spring's April showers
don
their lacy green robes
trees with dense full limbs
swayed by warm summer breezes
spread
their green velvet capes
trees with brilliant limbs
whirled by the cool autumn winds
shed
their burnished gold gowns
trees with cold bare limbs
frozen by winter blizzards
drape
their white fluffy scarves
this enchantment
it cannot be measured
it cannot be weighed
it cannot be told in time
or days
yet here it is as i'll describe
tis in my riding
tis in my play
tis in my working
each and everyday
my worship has dwindled
my real prayers are sinful
and my god is a genie
who's bottle is covered with sand
my love is the maid
Dane Anne
and thousands of suitors
have ask for her hand
all dressed like princes
in gem's and furs
lined with red and purple silk
armed with jewel encrusted stilleto's
and gold belts
capes with gold and silver
tapestry all with original designs
of family crest
Noblemen and boys
riding every kind of fanciful horse
smooth, brushed and well feed
but their confidence
is all but drained
by shear number of similar suitors
but beauty and prize
will not let them leave
and such as i but in
much lesser degree
of nobility
a commoner, a peasant, a spoiler
one who would pluck the flower
before it was meant to be plucked
one who's eyes have been challenged
beyond lust
one who's faith has come to believe
that this fair maid Dane Anne
belongs to me alone
no man has suffered
as much as i
to be over looked as a suitor
a sore in one's eye
yet no one can care more
or even try
for her hand i give all
and perhaps i'll die
for all my waken moments
find her haunting still
this magic over me
it must be her will
can such beauty cast
such an evil spell
that if thinking for
myself; i cannot tell
or is there a cupid
a godly spell
one that takes my willingness
under his own will
perhaps possessed by a spirit
who through love
can only live
empowered by my weakness
demanding that all i give
but such this state
i am
and complain, i do not
for such a gift is love
that will never be forgot
super bloom
fall rains soak deserts
spring hills wear capes of bluebells ~
baby-blue-eyes quilts
poppy crucible
canyons cradle blue lupine ~
flowers paint deserts
golden sunflowers
super blooms like color wheels ~
arias in pink
pale primrose runs free
leaps like white popcorn flowers ~
dormant seed surprise
serendipity
spring epiphany
5-16-23
Every ten to fifteen years the Mojave Desert will produce a “super bloom” after heavy autumn rains. The desert and hills are covered with poppies, popcorn flowers, lupine, baby-blue-eyes, bluebells, sunflowers.
Silent One
Silent One rises with the solar system dawn
Drawn by solace in the quiet morning
Riding on the gravitational waves
Through numbered stars through dark matter there
Watching zeros mix, blend into the cosmic mist
Numerically correct seen whole among black holes disguises
Into tomorrow out there in themselves as distances
On the lip, inclining on their axis, universes eclipse then passes
Back at home, outside on roaming fields
Look up with them to take the solar system in
As it folds within a timeless bending scheme
Vast sky-capes emanating mostly quiet
Silent One remains intent, contemplative, waving
Stays out there for hours on a lounge chair tending day
Sipping tea beneath the harmless trees in shade
Sits serenely by, out of sight, time slipping by
Golden sun light streaming over day
Seen are the red and yellow flowers
Green grass peeks through abundant colors glow
Moved in a gentle wind to mesmerizing horizons end
Out there between the wilderness serenity and madness
Night comes on, explores the greater cause
Stars rain down, escapes the cosmic grip
Secrets kept, only to forget them when looking to the void
Lines traced in history, erased, once enjoyed
Silent One stands alone between a zero to the left
Two at the right numerically correct
True in place, quantified, residing
One and History rewind themselves, recite the story
Not to worry. There is always more to tell
A time fast forward quickens to the One original
One will always be the Silent One and not another
Fate will lead us off the silent planet
Earth is temporarily our home
Inevitably fading away into the silence black
Like Silent One, just that
Looking with hearts eyes we'll find
It doesn't take much to be kind
You don't need powers or capes
Helping a stranger escape
The torment their life is bringing
Or the pain that might be lingering
All around their hearts each day
There is such a brilliant way
To ease the troubles that they see
Making tears of misery
Fall each time new days begin
They just want to finally win
Living free from misery
A simple request to be
Made true if we all just
Give a little friendly trust
That everything will be alright
Letting them know a light
Of kindness can lead them past
All the hurt--it will not last
You never know how one small act
Can make the biggest huge impact
On someone who's really down
Their life can be turned around
If we all take one small minute
To release love--try to spin it
Towards others who need a lift
It would be the greatest gift
No money or wrapping paper
To do something good and taper
The wrong in the world and see
The caring humanity
Flowing and seeping into
Others who are sad and blue
6/8/17
A world full of different colors and shapes
As well as apes
Locations that do or don't sell crepes
Vines with or without grapes
Houses with dark or light drapes
That do or don't have cassettes and video tapes
Near and far from any capes
Surfaces continually getting more scrapes
Each having their own plate
A smile on everyone's face
While one said grace
By a fireplace
Flower vase
And curtains made of lace
Soon everyone took a taste
Then said it was a great
Especially the steak
Later on, all had dessert, which was home-made cake
It's all good if you can't relate
To anything I state
Or paint
A life that is quaint
Currently got no complaints
I ain't
No saint
A lot of things took restraint
Didn't want to let it go to waste
Couldn't always play it safe
Wasn't always worth the risk, and what I happened to make
I can't afford to take a break
Or flake and be late
That'd be more than a mistake
People being honest or fake and like a snake
There's always going to be love and hate
I do more than educate
But hold up wait
Let's get one thing straight
Drake
You were on Degrassi, and I'll put you into your place
See through, not opaque
Soft as a pancake
Grab, pull and throw you out your wraith
I don't care how much your being paid
You can catch a fade
Sleep with me under the afghan of stars
illuminary milk pouring out of heaven's jars
A storm of sliding satellites colliding can be ours
as we ribbon out our lives in whispered stories.
~Whisking up of ink in your eyes white peppered mint
while our breath entrances frost on the eve of night fall's wrist
We are still intangible, first here, but than a mist
as vagrant as sweet stars in their last glory.
Shoulders hug the trees with their limbs limp silhouette
while we strip translucent star capes to their bows with no regret
Moon beam pure explosions to beget and to beget
the light with which we pine for now in haste~
Sleep with me under the myriads of minds
which slept here before us and whispered in kind
We will be stardust ourselves you will find
as our wings of illusion unravel.
Where Has All The Beauty Gone?
There is no time like the now times,
The ever-present blood-swooshing times.
Time again to surrender as a smitten lover surrenders,
To the never-ending rhapsodies of erotic impulses,
Which exhale as a listless leviathan exhales,
Basking in the swishing waters off the windy capes,
Naked, but kept hidden, in the unknown anterior rooms,
Of a hundred dark mansions in the draping hollows,
Encased with ethereal atmospheres and essences,
In stony gold, glittering emeralds, and smooth diamonds,
All dazzling the senses with spurting explosions of light,
Of helpless exaltations and cooing astonishments;
Now they’re seeking the old nights and the old embraces
In the gaping moonlight, amid intense and timid arousals;
Their blinking black eyes squinting from behind the papered walls,
Of dustless airless rooms with drooping statues of dead poets,
Alive still as they rise again in mythic intonations,
Making suave movements with pointing soft fingers,
Upon the moist nape of blond submitting desires.
Watching in spirit now as they once peeped at lovers;
Peeping and prying and peering from behind infinitesimal holes,
Never seen before by the living or the bereaved,
Nor by the delirious or the unjustly defamed;
Now they just bite us, the souls of the dead boys in blue.
And they watch us from behind those bare walls,
Those breathing twitching snarling walls.
So, where has all the beauty gone?
I have a group of people
who are true heroes to me,
they don't wear capes or armor
so they’re not who you think they’d be,
there once was a moment in time
when I struggled to find my way,
with courage and conviction
they stepped in and saved the day,
without any ulterior motive
they sensed trouble and sprang into action,
but instead of swords or magic
they used kindness and compassion,
it would be easy for them to bail
while I was at my most demanding,
but in a selfless display of character
they showed loyalty and understanding,
it didn't matter they lacked in abilities
like x-ray vision or flight,
when they bring brightness to my days
to get me through my darkest nights,
you will not see their name in the news
saving the world before it ends,
so while most won’t see them as heroes
I’m just grateful to call them my friends.