Best Carpeted Poems
A child of four suffers recurring dreams,
disturbing parents and siblings with screams.
When she awoke, always sore in one knee;
next to a birthmark, it throbbed painfully.
Night after night she feared going to bed.
What caused these nightmares that raged in her head?
Even when grown, the torment persisted,
so a therapist’s aid she enlisted.
“Hypnosis,” said he, “might offer some clues.
Why not try it? You’ve just bad dreams to lose.”
Once under, he guided her to a room --
here people’s lifetimes in books were entombed.
“Find one that is yours,” her counselor said.
Quickly she did, but before it was read,
she felt an ache, saw just a faint title.
The words, she thought, said “Alister Bridle.”
The hypnotic trance now suddenly broke;
puzzling questions “Mr. Bridle” evoked.
For many years she thought that was her name;
perhaps a past life had been filled with pain.
Who was this man? She simply had to know!
Seasons passed, summer suns made way for snow.
In Florida now, 1998,
she thought all the nightmares she had escaped.
But strange dreams always catch us by surprise --
when the lights grow dim, our minds fantasize.
Cloaked in velvet, she left her parents’ farm,
stealing away on a late autumn morn’.
To meet her love, she climbed on the carriage,
knowing her folks would forbid their marriage.
Warm-hued leaves carpeted the hillside road,
and her pulse beat fast; she’d soon join her beau.
She thought only of him; joy cast its smile,
but that’s when he called, “Alice, the bridle!”
The leather band broke and wrapped ‘round her knee.
To the ground she was pulled; her horse ran free.
She met death, but past-life dreams recycle,
and she’d never been “Alister Bridle.”
Categories:
carpeted, autumn, mystery,
Form:
Narrative
one with the music
a vestibule for magic
love fills the night air
Let my aura deep red spill onto the page,
I an instrument in the name of poetic rage,
L
O
V
EVOL...VES
Into a voice deep and vibrating,
with words feathered and lulling.
We are love...
Love!,
nothing and everything.
With you in the serenity of nothing
that my love is everything.
scampers a bright moon
gifts liquid life a lit view
watch them rendezvous
i wrote you a star covered night
built you a sun with a dimmer light
i turned it down warm and low
called it a moon, made it glow
i rhymed you an early morning hush
so quiet you could hear a person blush
i sketched a fully carpeted globe
dressed it in a thick soft robe
i painted it in greens, blues and a palette full
your own flower garden with no weeds to pull
i sung some words, some harmonized notes
strummed you a new world, one that floats
...a pyramid each and every word, romance...
I
do know
my true love
it will make you
light headed but free.
Space is that way, you know
but you'll adjust. A small price
to pay these days for liberty.
A chance to live in a world of ours,
just us together and lives of all kinds.
Maurice Yvonne
Categories:
carpeted, i love you, love,
Form:
Free verse
The floor was carpeted with wonderful trees,
stomped and storm-clawed leaves
they arise again as specks of magic dust
fire starts from ash on the eyelashes
air-blazing amid the fall haze.
The flakes were light and shimmering
I delight on snow-covered roadways
leaf, branch, and body ripen in spring
now I can relax in the pristine snow
burying the wreckage after a fatal fall.
The snow was softly pelted by the rain
white crispy flakes gradually melted
below the softer, warmer raindrops
grass that had browned.
I spin heavenly songs in the universe
I am a classic song in the art
a tawny friend, lament for your sight
our blood's delight of rage
can you discern the flow?
Weaving our way through the mist,
we become gnawed trees
a smorgasbord of a busy spiritual realm
snowflakes are created when rolling
November's ice storm.
The breezes freeze in November
the cold seeps into the bones
as winter approached, the sky was dark
hollowed trees show the passage of time
the window shows a blank space
there is a man here, unnamed
when the window is shut, petals vanish
things will improve soon.
Written: November 05, 2022
1St Place Contest Winner
November Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
Categories:
carpeted, analogy, appreciation, autumn, dream,
Form:
Free verse
Travel with me and enter
into the flower carpeted mountain meadows
of my youth;
Lose yourself in the wild beauty which resides within
God's tinted skies of yellow and vermouth.
Vested memories held captive by eidetic moments,
"Oh blessed beating heart, "
enter the flowered thoughts of a poet's nest, delve into the
sanctuary of God's Grace,
for it is here that you belong.
Seen through the eyes, felt with the heart
ensconced with a soul your free to roam,
inside roads less traveled, where timeless voices
are heard, through the echoes of all time.
You belong to the One who has given you,
both shape and creed.
Categories:
carpeted, appreciation, christian, faith,
Form:
Free verse
murky pond water
carpeted by waterlily~
lotus explosion
Categories:
carpeted, flower, nature,
Form:
Haiku
Waking up, in a light gray four poster bed.
With flowers and ribbons, painted
on the ceiling above my head.
.
Satin slippers and a robe, so soft.
A young girl, I feel when I do recall......
Those decades ago, those tender memories
that are never lost!
.
The walk down the soft, rose-colored,
carpeted stairs,
I honestly felt as a princess belonging to a
great monarchy somewhere.
Each time I glided down those circular stairs,
so rare!
.
I ate in the breakfast nook, on the most elegant
ivory wood table, I ever saw.
With a maple hutch with priceless nic nacs
and family photographs.
.
The milk was delivered to the back door.
In glass! No wax, faux de raul.
The tablecloth was always clean.
And heavenly pressed. Mom had fresh
flowers on it, or seasonal decor.
Outside, the grass was soft like God's
carpet, so green,so summer fresh!
I loved my bare feet, running through it.
An gigantic umbrella, was there in a table
of course.
Bright golden yellow outside, inside of it a
veritable bevy of flowers.
That table so outstandingly white~
It so reflected the innocence of my very
blessed days and full starlit nights.
I did my homework in the dining room
on a polished mahogany dining room table.
Above me a sparkling crystal chandelier.
Below me, i rested on dark, thick,green
velvet cushions.
Yes, life was more than good to me.
To recall these young girlish days
with you, ah!
I do so quite happily, through a
poetic lens of time.
With you, my beloved, new poetry
family.
January 21, 2020
6:30am PST
Special acknowledgement to Robert Lindley, who
had the kindness to inform me by Soupmail of
typo errors, I had missed! Gratefully, PR xx
Categories:
carpeted, child, emotions, house, me,
Form:
Free verse
I looked through my prism
Still I could not see
Your colors
I wished for the beauty of a sunrise
Wild flowers blooming
Bright blue sky and emerald waters
The colors of fall leaves
I wanted a rainbow symphony
To hear and see your majesty
To walk along your red carpeted splendor
The magnificence of you
Hidden behind a wall of dark grey
A protective layer of granite
Cold to the touch
Unyielding
I chipped
Searching for cracks
Tapped out cryptic messages
Hoping you would understand
You guided me to the entry way
past the sentinels
Down the corridors
To your banquet hall
Where now I celebrate
Marvel at the brilliance of you
I see
I hear
I feel
Each note
My prism
Inadequate to the task
I see your colors
Oh so many colors
Rainbows cannot articulate
Butterfly's look anemic
Diamonds lack clarity
I see
I try to understand
The magnificence of you
The perfection
The power
The glory
Yet I cannot
You are
I am not
Yet because of you
I see
A glimpse of eternity
New poem for SKAT's "All Colors are in" contest
Categories:
carpeted, color,
Form:
Free verse
The sylvan landscape stretched for miles
reached across golden fields by stiles.
Leaves carpeted the ground like tiles
whilst branches lay in gathered woodpiles.
Ancient venerable trees lined the aisles
that wandered willy nilly like juveniles.
Along the river's banks were basking reptiles
with mouths that upturned in happy smiles.
In the midst of the rushing water were isles
that rose up high like big projectiles.
And trees marched up the hills in files
giving shelter to the fox and his wiles.
The peace of the woodlands beguiles
within its tranquillity there are no exiles.
Categories:
carpeted, nature, tree,
Form:
Monorhyme
I remember the very first day
I saw that teeny-tiny bare foot
When the nurses took her away
And pressed it with ink on the birth certificate
And I watched those tiny bare feet
Take their first steps on the carpeted floor
And the way she would squish her toes in the sand
Is a memory I just adore
Her shoes would never stay on long
And the socks would come off too
As she ran through fields of grass
And the years passed on through
She would splash in rain puddles
Walk through mud up to her calves
Being barefoot she was happiest
Muddy footprints would make her laugh
Now I walk with her in a white flowing gown
Her groom waiting in his tux so neat
The wedding dress covers them up
But I wouldn’t be surprised if she wore bare feet
And I watched my little girl
Walk away with another man
But always I will remember her
Dancing with bare feet on hot sand
Categories:
carpeted, daughter, father
Form:
Rhyme
Golden oak, the banister gleams,
its clean waxed surface lightly
touched by her soft, soft hand as she
descends the green carpeted stair,
tossing her lustrous, long blonde hair.
She is modishly dressed, in a casual way
(a green twill frock) and she is
eating an intense red, crisp apple,
which she carries aloft in her left hand,
left elbow resting on left hip.
The apple aroma precedes her to the door
and out, into the bright gold light.
She closes the door, engages the lock,
firmly bites into the crisp apple flesh,
flashing her strong white teeth;
her pink tongue licks a dribble
of juice from the left corner
of her red, red mouth. She shakes her head,
gold in the golden light, and she tosses
the half-eaten apple to the lush green lawn,
laughs at a soaring greenjay, passes (unnoticed)
a flight of fluttering golden butterflies,
and blithely continues on her determined way
to her beauty appointment, her club luncheon,
and the rest of her busy, busy day.
Categories:
carpeted, life, social,
Form:
Free verse
Lying on my back,
the warm sun blanketing,
I watched the cloud stacks drift,
breezily blown across the bluest skies,
imagining, dreaming . . .
Dangling from my lips,
sweet honeysuckle straws dripped nectar candy,
delicious extract for flavoring dreams,
visions of the joys to come
when I was older grown,
reveries of life and love
and children of my own.
Beneath the apple tree,
in spring pink blossom carpeted,
I laid out the charming rooms
that framed a happy home.
The hollyhocks lent their blooms
for babies hankie-swaddled
and clothed in petal gowns of white and pink.
My flower-children, plump and fragrant skinned,
rocked in cradles strung between the branches,
were lulled to sleep with tender lullabies.
The happy days of childhood passed,
and I was suddenly grown
with tiny babies of my own,
sweeter far than any flower known.
The kisses that I gave to them
were answered, returned to me,
from lips like rose buds formed
perfumed with baby breaths, fragrant and warm.
The childhood dream that I held dear
I treasured year after year
until I found it realized,
reflected in my babies' eyes.
Copyright, August 16, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
Categories:
carpeted, baby, childhood, dream, mother,
Form:
Free verse
At the end of the finishing line,
a deep grouchy voice thunders in my ears
and said, “Welcome home”.
I stepped on the green carpeted grass
and gazed at the slender bushy trees
waving peacefully in the hot summer breeze.
Happy squirrels scampering along
and merry birds singing happy songs.
But the moment swiftly fades and the
tormenting sound of fire trucks sirens chimed in
Trash less garage truck put on masquerading scenes
and empty school buses appear on every corner
performing a deceptive drama.
I gazed across the horizon and drowned out
the intimidating sounds in America’s streets.
Instantaneously a hand touched me
I reached out and held on
but surprisingly it disappears.
I held on tightly clinging to something that was not there.
Bequeathed by a mysterious will
my mind glides up a gigantic hill
shades of wonders, throngs of danger
could not stopped god's destined will.
With hand clasped and eyes closed
I whisper a prayer for my compelling soul.
I tried to detached but it kept coming back.
Something bigger than faith kept me going
more profound than hope itself
It absorbs my innate being
and laden me with mystical dreams.
Weighing heavily upon throbbing heart
It was strong enough to melt my spiritual thoughts.
Thousand of them stand in the midst of the crowd
but only one I could make out.
That one gambled with my heart
Stretched my bone and pull my marrow apart
unmindful of the wounds it caused
smiling at me without an infinite thought.
most powerful and most worthy
Yet strong enough to rip up my aching heart.
©2013 Christine Phillips
Categories:
carpeted, change, corruption, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
The clearest blue became mottled with age,
and I only recently began to notice.
Time-soaked eyes, foggy mirror to my own,
reflecting a frail wire, just out of reach.
Leading to a skull-shaped cellar,
therein lay the contents, shadows,
wavering in small glimmers of truth.
Reserved but yearning, they call to me.
Whispers carress my lobes;
they are phantoms you have carried.
They ride on waves of joy and anguish,
snapshots of my tiny feet trodding down halls,
chasing cats with remote-control race cars.
Then I tumbled over a carpeted ledge
and bent your office-drawer key.
Maybe you'd suspected those young paws
were much stronger than they looked.
As time sped all around me, your atmosphere grew thin,
and labored breathing stole the spark from your limbs.
When cells began to replicate like narcissists in the West,
your hovel became a war zone, and I, a refugee.
You never caught your breath in the wreckage,
and when a second bout of war came, your lungs gave out.
I watched it happen, at a loss.
I remember your mouth agape, eyes glazed, wide,
as, in your final breath, you ran towards something I could not see.
Now, the battleground you once crawled through
has been cleared of every trace, every tuft of dog hair,
and all the shining documentation to prove you were an artist.
And how you were an artist, having sculpted so much of my
lanky willow limbs, my dense, ferocious heart.
I have a case of survivor's guilt.
I am writing every day a mystery, wading through
my own metaphysical mess, only faintly aware of yours,
the stuff that lingers like shadow people,
darting in and out of my peripheral vision.
I only wish they'd speak to me and
divulge what last you saw, or that I could
re-activate your smart phone and read
the very last text message you sent.
Categories:
carpeted, absence, age, bereavement, dad,
Form:
Free verse
Factory Recall
I looked beyond The Open Door
into a mystical Soul Factory
There amidst the unboxed souls
was Invisible Jim and The Ghost.
The ghost’s skin was reflective like a mirror
allowing me to see The Lines on my Face.
The factory was an unusual place
with floors carpeted in Dandelions
At each station angels sang a Star Baby Lullaby
I asked one “What are you doing?”
She smiled and responded
“I am installing a Patriotic Pause.”
An overhead speaker blared
“It is time for Designated Rain,”
I was careful to protect
the Butterfly in My Pocket.
Workers started moving
so I asked “Where are you going?”
“We are Stepping into The Temple.”
“May I ask Why?” “Sure, we are Searching For Jesus.”
So I followed the Girl With The Quiet Voice.
I was unsure How To Feel,
so I began by Lending Both Hands.
It helped in Finding My Way..
I was then joined by The Borrower.
He Was the one Who I Am
but Some Time we’re not Close Enough to Know.
Perhaps I need some Kimo Therapy
I was directed to Rose in The Garden.
Her roots had Deep Inclinations.
Would I Abandon all for This Dark Lover?
She set me on my Memory Go Round.
That place of Painted Ladies and Weeping
There I searched for Guys Advice in a Fools Paradise
Inside of me A Sense of Emptiness,
still she would become my Favourite Mistake.
She Touched The Water and my soul
becoming My Ocean.
Still I have Unanswered Questions
Some might say a Bad Bargain Made.
At the Soul Factory I left behind
my Church Perfect Surface.
In my Minds Eye the Screen Flickers.
Change Ain’t Easy but now I’m Different.
The breeze Whispered Your Name.
While I was looking for Psychedelic Sound!
No I know why I Can’t Get High Enough.
Instead let me rest in a the place of Chaotic peaceful Thoughts.
There I can sit under the Wisdom Tree
and listen to The Quiet One.
That garden where angels do the Butterfly Dance.
I long to languish there in Rainbow Coloured Camouflage.
By Richard Lamoureux
I wrote this one for Charlie’s contest using my titles from past poems. I didn’t read the directions properly so wrote another one that I entered.
Categories:
carpeted, conflict,
Form:
Free verse
Time Runs On Past Every Bend
Down new trail with purpose and gentle ease
chasing hope and new morn's glowing smile.
Flowing along with a sunrise breeze
heart stopping awe, every once in a while.
Branches overhead wrapped in deep forest green
bird songs filling this emerald isle.
Sun gracing the screaming sky blue sheen
above this leaf carpeted aisle.
Hoping time here never dares to end
as wanting heart finds its needed glow.
Yet find that time runs on past every bend
and brings Nature's all, along in tow.
Down new trail with purpose and gentle ease
spirit flows along with a sunrise breeze.
Robert J. Lindley, 7-05-2016
Categories:
carpeted, appreciation, beauty, blessing, memory,
Form:
Sonnet