Best Cerise Poems
(this is a form called Swap Quatrain, where first
line's phrases swap in the last line of each stanza)
In shadows’ veils, at end of night,
sweet Moon removes her modest light
and softly, yet again, exhales -
at end of night, in shadows’ veils.
As she departs, her love’s released
to climb the stairway to the east.
They cannot meet to share their hearts.
Her love’s released as she departs.
She watches him while hid from view,
the way he kisses morning’s dew,
and sees gold rays spill from his rim.
While hid from view, she watches him.
Sad Moon, alone for centuries,
with awe has watched Sun leave, cerise.
while she, afar. . . how cold she’s grown!
For centuries, sad moon alone.
She takes his place so he may rest.
And though forlorn, she’s always dressed
in lace, for Luna has great grace.
So he may rest, she takes his place.
For love of night, for love of day,
she can’t implore him that he sway
from course. To be apart’s their plight.
For love of day, for love of night.
ROSES ARE RED
The flower’s crimson cerise hue
creates the petal’s grand debut
of love and memories to recall
my florid sanguine gift of all
VIOLETS ARE BLUE
Azalea breath with foxglove tones
embellish with an azure clone
herbaceous with a petal white
where insects set and birds alight
SUGAR IS SWEET
Bright butterflies on zephyr breeze
sip nectar from Sakura trees
I watch them dance from break of dawn
on flowers where their wings adorn
AND SO ARE YOU
You sent me a bouquet of love
drifting down from heaven above
Candy kisses sweet as fructose
on bended knee you now propose
06-22-17
Collaboration Jan Allison and Ralph Sergi
steel clouds once more freeze
bare trees comfort each other
ripped trunk holds it together
the sun shields its eyes
its flames dying in Winter
the core feels the biting chill
it is in my bones
deep set; can’t shake off the wolf
its gray-fur-stare is howling
my hands crisp and crack
tips and knuckles peel like bark
soulless rain drips down the oaks
my knees turn from lies
thinking themselves well in Spring
they limp like twigs before snap
cerise cheeks remind
the otherwise bleak weather
that seasons will change in time
sun will siphon miasma
In depth of woods how autumn dazzles, swirling beauty of ornate décor,
Waltzing with ochre hickory, birch; whirling flaxen moods of sycamore,
Gracing my view upon blazing foothills, where vistas gamboge scroll,
Bedecking maples, swaying rhythms, with fiery red of shimmying knoll.
Zephyrs of west rustle demeanor of black tupelo, fluttering leaves gold,
Glistening burnt orange of sugar maple, revelers in sundown behold,
As remnants of gilded twilight beams, glimmer in purpled afterglow,
Weaving motifs of fall in tapestries idyllic, of blushing eventide aglow.
Autumn’s grandeur glows, as crisp frost gleams, mellowing overcast days,
Where gelid winds shudder trees, foretelling imminent wintry malaise,
Meandering with leaves falling gently; carpeting dyed, chromatic meadows,
As the arena of fall’s resplendent show, shimmers in elongated shadows.
Harvest Moon enamors sights, appealing to fervor of romantic glance,
Enthralled watching dance of stars, attuned to tenor of cosmic expanse,
Gliding over a charming night, wooing souls glued to autumn’s ruby fire,
Flaunting pizazz panoramic~ a farewell of fall-splendor, in cerise attire.
Turning life’s pages of albums, treasured memories rekindle seasons past,
Thankful for the abundance of goodwill~ heavenly blessings destiny cast;
As conversations savor aroma of pumpkin pies; buttery, nutty, apple tarts,
Spending time with family, friends; exchanging missives of kindred hearts.
So beautiful the night with moonlight beams
Shining upon your face, smiles never cease.
If I could brush those lips: such futile dreams.
Kindly thoughts in my head flowed in like streams
Why could I not find some degree of peace?
So beautiful the night with moonlight beams
I fly above you, flittering in streams,
And for a while my waning sorrows cease.
If I could brush those lips: such futile dreams.
May I become a human, be extremes
My light body in fire with love increase.
So beautiful the night with moonlight beams
From afar echoes a stop of these themes.
Yet naught can stop thoughts of a shining piece.
If I could brush those lips: such futile dreams.
My mind must ponder love and so it seems
Must muse over those lips so deep cerise,
So beautiful the night with moonlight beams
If I could brush those lips: such futile dreams.
for what
it's worth!
Sweated out 6 May 2021
Neither puppy love nor lust, each insists
in its imperfect play. Their hearts resist
both by clinging in its barbaric way.
Youth forgiven. The wolf begs her to stay.
But a commitment is made in marriage.
It is not found in a baby carriage.
What do we know of love - it’s not first sight.
It is the highs and lows - bond holds on tight.
Love’s patient, kind, not selfish nor boastful.
It’s the making of memories - joyful.
To let go of bitterness’ a decision.
Poof like magic, the wrongs are forgiven.
Black and blues, the stumbles and falls, gets up
on the horse - believers climb to the top.
~
Now what of those years, of the worse decrease?
Does the sorrow make the better cerise?
Does the white-gowned wife, handsome groom resume
as if the bond is pruned, roses in bloom?
Yes, the rivulets of tears reverent.
The jubilee melody resonant.
When love is stirred with sugar and nettles,
sorrow’d years melt. Felicitous petals
land on silver hair and wrinkles. O God!
Yes, three cords complete and restore the flawed.
Love protects, hopes, perseveres in trials.
The truth of a lifetime's years in their smiles.
Shakespeare regales Summer’s hot gaze, short days.
Yet love stoked in the Winter’s hearth - O blaze!
1/30/2021
What Is Love
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
Hybronnet is similar to a sonnet, can have a variable rhyme scheme,
does not have to be iambic meter. The poet is given liberty to choose how to structure the rhyme of the Hybronnet poem into a combination of rhymes be it slant, feminine, masculine, etc. or apply it in any design deemed appropriate
Sand sparkles like diamonds under my feet.
Sun smiles in blue sky. I watch seagulls fly
while sitting with ease at my beach retreat.
I don’t need palaces like at Versailles,
museums or other attractions to see.
I relish instead dusk’s peace in cerise.
My dream vacation includes family.
Food, laughter and good times seem never to cease.
The sun’s warming rays that darken our skin
as we jump the waves that roll toward the shore
bring special magic to light us within,
and life is a dream with joy at its core.
I feel again like I am eleven.
Maybe, just maybe, I am in heaven!
March 22, 2022
For the "My Dream Vacation Poetry Contest"
of L MILTON HANKINS
Maui Sunrise
Warm hands seek out each other in
Maui's gloaming skies atop Haleakala.
Platinum clouds gather, slightly
shrouding dawn's shy arrival.
Forehead to forehead, soft breaths,
sharing butterfly kisses as lilac
skies morph into cerise hues
reflected on blushing cheeks.
Heartbeats increase, anticipating
dawn's brilliant appearance.
Her back to his chest, cradled in his arms,
his warm lips on her fragrant neck.
Excitement builds, a sliver of dawn's
tangerine eye makes a coy emergence
winking, as if she's aware romance
is blooming with her divine approach.
Slowly she gathers her satin robes of
scarlet and gold in an elegant display,
as enraptured eyes enjoy glorious hues,
as dawn dances in sparkling irises.
A couple wrapped in colors tenderly
share love's first kiss in paradise.
As dawn ascends, her light erases charcoal
shadows on emerald valleys and on
a cerulean sea mirroring the sky,
now blooming in symbiotic ivory clouds.
3-11-2016
Colorfication Contest~Third Place~
Sponsor Silent One
Grey- platinum
Yellow- gold
Pink- cerise
Purple- lilac
Orange- tangerine
Red- scarlet
White- Ivory
Black/brown- charcoal
Green- emerald
Blue- cerulean
A teal twilight inks cobalt silhouettes
while distant stars unveil their twinkling lights.
And shadows slink forth, melding with the night,
as a setting Sun feigns a scarlet death.
Pink clouds cluster at the horizon's edge,
garnering shades of cerise and purple.
And daylight shrinks to a brindled aura,
reflected in rusty crystals of ice.
Dusk weeps dewdrops, yet grieves to no avail,
as darkness dims, the last lingering light.
And brisk breezes whisk heat away in gusts,
eerily chilling both body and soul.
Long skeletal fingers anchor the sky
to a lone tree rooted in ebony.
And a marshmallow moon appears snagged,
in the netting of its velcro branches.
Creatures of the dark stir from sleep's slumber;
in the wake of a slowly sinking Sun.
And where silence rules, sound bends to its will,
all but a cricket's haunting, piercing shrill.
The golden hour for rising has arrived, and there are violet roses in the sky,
So, I bid hello to you, my robust friend, as the vibrant, cerise birds float by.
The obsidian night, it was very long, and was filled with pleasant dreaming,
Like scenes from the heart of jade forests, where lush nature is screaming.
But the dark hours seem as ages past, since you have risen on the horizon,
Reflecting your glory in the limpid waters, as day slowly begins to brighten.
So nice to see you again, my old friend, peering in the doors and windows,
As beautiful songs from emerald trees, begin their daily, rapid crescendos.
Soon all the world will be colorful and glad, like skyward birthday balloons,
Drifting on backlit skies of somewhere, like the aromas of various blooms!
We've traveled a long way, you and I, and like orioles, we've gone together,
Screaming our joys at midday hour, as warmth blankets the divers weather.
You trail every individual, peach dawn to dusk, and from season to season,
Forever going in and out of our lives, silently, and without apparent reason.
My work as a seasonal park ranger, has kept me in the glitter of your gaze,
As gorgeous wildflowers pursue us all, down the myriad, natural pathways.
Living with my family and my cat, and having a happy life on Pretty Street,
We danced all through deep amber days, terribly soon to become obsolete.
And often enjoyed memorable outings, birthday parties, and get togethers,
Like the euphoria of your floral days, are inclined to following predecessors.
Days at the beach, days at the park, ballgames or fun backyard barbecues,
At the happiest of times, everyplace I look, the first thing that I see is you.
And in olden, golden days, when I played on and on, your warmth was felt,
Like the presence of bittersweet autumn rose, though unseen, lately smelt!
Sweet summer evenings, you gazed redly, to say your melancholy goodbye,
Like the redness that strangely appears, when you're trying hard not to cry.
Crickets in the lilac bush, butterflies in the grass, all smile to greet the sun,
And yellow days are started and soon done, in dreamlike, skyward visions!
Flowers titter in warm, fragrant meadows, and oceans shudder with delight,
People beam at your kind warmth, and robins sing once they see your light!
How do you feel
when you look to the skies..?
the cumulus inspired your innocent imagination
with playful marshmallow fantasies —
the sun peeked from behind
peony-puffs of airy white
to admire the flounce and frill
of your yellow sundress —
in the morning of your youth
you felt buoyant
by the age of your afternoon
you basked in the warmth of the sun at its peak
golden the glow and short the shadows
though heaped nimbus clouds hugged your horizons..
heavy the rain and hard the hail
as lightning's lance pierced the heart of the day...
your refuge the bold shield of the roof you built —
you felt tried.. but tenderly triumphant!
like a cosmic tear rolled down upon the hills
the paunchy sun puddles on the dark edge of Earth
a last languid look at an old friend
before the spill and burn behind the rim -
the sweep of cirrus serene and cerise
filled with embers of dreams
and prayers and wishes at peace —
in the elder moments of your evening hour
the sun sets as the evening raises its silver torch
how do you feel
when you look to the skies..?
—a satisfied soul smiles
Susan Ashley
January 23, 2023
~ Fifth Place ~
Premiere Contest: Contest NO 1180
Sponsor: Brian Strand
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: How Do You Feel
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Carmine, orange, and rust paint the trees
as they drip from Jack Frost's brush
clashing with emerald green
they set treetops afire
with blazing color
a splendorous
November
work of
art
red
cerise
and scarlet
colored pigments
fuel vermilion flames
that scorch green canopies
crimson ashes in their wake
dabbled with scarlet and yellow
as the leaves change almost overnight
"It is almost impossible to watch a sunset and not dream." – Bern Williams.
The spacious vales shimmered in crimson hues
The tired, reddish-orange sun tinged the sky,
As it yearned for rest and descend
Into the darkening horizon below.
There, the soothing river flowed, calm and serene.
No boats sailed the tranquil, gentle waters.
Some birds drifted on its current; others flew above.
Not far away, a dilapidated bridge crossed
From one side to the other, where a person
Stood still, eyes fixed on the cerise horizon.
Along the dark river bank, green trees
Seemed to sway slightly in the light night breeze.
A picture of calm portrayed the scene.
And so, I painted and dreamed.
Placed 1
The dog days of summer bring humid air,
that morphs into dewdrops, as the night cools.
And summer outfits aren't seen anywhere
now that the kids have returned to their schools;
abandoning their sandcastles and pools.
The leaves are slowly being drained of green,
changing colors as they prepare to die.
And cottages no longer need a screen;
for when the Fall sun sits low in the sky:
there's no mosquitoes, not even a fly.
Autumn paints the leaves with brushes of fire,
while moonbeams gild cerise edges in gold.
For Nature is an artist to admire:
with a palette that's both subtle and bold;
Her art is a masterpiece to behold.
Exhaling a breath of air, crisp and cool,
with a sweet, spicy scent that defines Fall;
Autumn pulls a thread from Memory's spool.
It is time for Jack Frost's first icy scrawl,
to welcome Winter in Her snow-white shawl.
Brisk breezes rattle bare branches and twigs,
while a forest of skeletons quivers.
A squirrel stashes nuts in holes it digs:
fearing the snow that Winter delivers;
for it's enough to give it the shivers.
the flutter of little wings
pulsating in a windless dusk
as i watch the setting sun
glissade across the florid sky
its cerise glow reflecting prismatic
burst of colors on this little bird
as it sips the last of nectar
before darkness arises
my thoughts drifting
into night's allure
as the full moon rises
above tangerine tipped trees
the last fades of day
flushed against obsidian skies
my memories linger autumn-like
falling like the mist of night
my thoughts weigh heavy in this air
i struggle to breathe within remembrance
of your wingless flight that august night
i lose myself within the expansion of time
as day fades off like life in the raven of night
August 8, 2019