Best Chatters Poems
While finding myself in season’s twilight
I see parts of life crumble amid grime of ruins,
As a declining mind wanders to balance
Gratified triumphs and numerous offenses.
That from an era’s DNA, I search my own history
Sorting out the will of earthly fate, to pinpoint
The wake of milestones... the numbness of lies.
How can I redeem the what ifs?
Accepting my fragility held by a few strands
Of cycles’ thinning yarns, my essence
Spins up down through countless revelries:
Then to gaze at the most lustrous star
Where a thousand vestiges imprint faces,
Even melodies which bear laughable chatters.
How fondly old can I really get!…
And yet, yet, as nightfall grabs
One more petal falling… there is something
glorious about ripened age--- after all.
5/09/2019
The Smile At The Foot Of The Ladder
For craig cornish
I sit with the wall against my back. The wall refuses to move despite endless requests.
The door opens and closes its mouth, it wishes to say something, but nothing comes of it, only its letterbox chatters ceaselessly and without any deep meaning to it, drops hints every now and then.
The wall is annoyed with the door, but I am fed up with the noise. I stand to try and look out the window, but...
This place hushed in shadow. If only I can remember where I went this night, they did throw me in, away from light.
I roll up the walls like a Persian rug, smother the clatter of the metallic letterbox that tries to say goodbye in a thousand words. I hear its muffled apologies. I see a hundred neatly white, folded paper sheets fall at my feet, covered in coloured sentences.
I throw shadows at the wall, words at the door, colours at the ceiling; demons increase my estrangement in the small room, then the walls suddenly turn soft and white, my arms are bound behind my back.
Fog dissolves in faithful whispers. Demons grow faces and white clothes. Mouths with broad smiles talk in tongues (heard, understood), carry syringes and multi-coloured pills.
And day begins.
***
May 1, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
The glass chatters, clanks, and shatters
As it hits the ground
But makes no sound
The only thing heard is the
Screams of pain
As I get hit into the glass
Blood everywhere
Pain unbearable
The ripping of flesh
Cracking of bones
Screams of pain
Yet no one hears the screams
No one to save me
From this nightmare
From that thing
Evil and putrid
Bragging of his virtue
But he’s hurting me
Ripping my skin
Breaking my bones
No one can hear my screams of pain
Why can’t they hear me?
Does virtue truly block others from seeing the torment before them?
Does it make its followers so blind they cant see the bruises?
Does it make its followers so deaf they can’t hear me begging for mercy?
Dawn, when silence falters
And the trees of the range-
Are tucked in a bucket of fog
Marching dawn, whose beauty never alters,
I tuck myself in blankets like a log
At the Treetops Hotel upon the range
Dainty dreams upon dawn’s altar
The dappled peacock dazes the dawn
While the African crowned eagle
Will soar, prowling for prey
And tourists peep and picture the fawn
While their eyes prowl the breakfast tray
Jacaranda festooned fashion regal
Its blue flowers blue snowfall upon dawn
Elephants trudge to the watering hole
Buffalo follow, even the bush buck
The warthog always walks silly,
The big five will steal your soul
At the Ark's perch, you will be stuck
The water adorned by the pond lily
The range's serenity, waters your soul
Pristine streams gush from the moorlands
The Hagenia, decked in velvet green
The sword lily, sheathed in fibrous tunic
And as the Karuru falls hit land
True love will pierce to the gene
For pristine nature, is the true cupid.
Breaths bated as lovers hold hand
Further, nestled nigh in the blue skies
The Kinangop peak, peeking through
The closer I get, the further it hides
A sun bird chatters, along my trail's high
My eyes in tune, such wondrous hillsides
I sweat as I head towards the bamboo
I am among the butterflies
Ringlets in a dance, oh! Surreal world
Monkeys swing, tree to tree, a trail of imagination
A reed buck is openly grazing
A canvas of the grassland in its gold
I spot a Serval cat, in hiding
On a safari truck, the breeze is an inspiration
Beauty flows in the altitudes that I behold
At dusk the steeped villages prepare for sleep
The Nyandarua range, yawns its last
Fabled home of the Kikuyu god
Curtain like shadows befall the steep
And this wonderland begins to nod
As the women fluff off days dust fast
Men’s ears wide open as it darkens deep
Wild animals are known to visit
Roving around, excitement for the young
But the animals are known to visit hungry
The locals know too well, memories vivid
An elephant’s wrath is meted out bluntly
Protection for man and beast not far flung
Conservation and nurture is the spirit
As Mount Satima watches her watered floors,
She knows the heart goes deep
Collaboration with njeri hunjeri who is a wonderful poet
The sea is beautiful and I love it
and every single at the beach moment
Seagull chatters
Wind no matters
The body turning yummy brownie
My nature has stopped being whiny
I love it!
I love it! I love it!
And the best situation is my dear one
when there shines the shiny beautiful--
Diamond which to have is really such fun
On my right hand and not from a fool
19.05.2016
In diminishing sunshine
I sit back in long grass.
Silent and vigilant
soon my quarry will pass.
My eyes face the forest,
fixed firm on grass verge.
Observing as shadows,
and all the trees merge.
As darkness succeeds,
before the moons somber rise.
Woeful whistling of wings,
betray a duck as it flies.
Far below from the creek,
a lone frog starts it’s croak.
Soon followed by others,
as if sharing a joke.
First my skin feels the breeze,
as the cabbage trees flap.
Dry leaves knock together,
supplying a crowd clap.
My pulse sharply quickens,
to the faint snap of a twig.
A startled bird chatters,
my prey must be big.
As the moonlight arrives,
I strain my eye and my ear.
Looking and listening,
for my quarry of deer.
I’m breathing so deeply
Did that gorse bush just move?
My hearts beating fiercely
Perhaps the sound of some hooves?
Suddenly, a noble old stag,
Emerges, into full sight.
Emits his rut enraged roar,
My neck hairs stand up in fright.
Looking quickly through lens,
aiming to be silent and quick.
This proud beast will soon vanish,
at the first sound of a click.
His antlers are heavy,
they’ve had plenty of wear.
One shot with the camera,
and he’s no longer there.
Café Terrace in Arles, France
Beneath stars of heavenly grandeur,
In a café, romance prospects dwell brighter.
Patrons’ entertaining escapades of camaraderie
Charismatically whisper away the evening.
Visible under the illuminating gas lantern
Of sulphurous yellow, revealing customers
Who say, “S'il vous plaît” to the French waiter
As passersby stare at empty tables.
At the street’s end is seen a church spiral rise,
And in-between the buildings’ windows of light,
Over the cobblestones, the calèche chatters
As people yield to the horse-drawn carriage.
Une nuit d'été de bonjours et d'au revoirs
(A summer night of hellos and goodbyes)
On Place du Forum in Arles, France.
***
Note:
“Café Terrace in Arles, France” is an ekphrastic poem describing the painting “Café Terrace at Night” (1888) by Vincent van Gogh (1853–1890).
My cat crunches her chunky canned food,
My cat crawls and creeps, curious- and shrewd;
My cat chatters and croons, so cheerful and charming,
My cat is clever and captivating, carefree- and often alarming.
My cat is so cute and chubby and likes to cuddle with me,
My cat is camping-out on my cozy couch purring on my knee !
In the hush of dawn the first bird trills a song,
and in a pause is answered by a chorus;
a symphony of chirps, twitters and chatters-
their songs so soothing
high in a forest tree
a little songster listens
and answers with phrases
with chatters, twitters, warbles
the little bird hops along a branch
hidden in a green canopy of leaves
singing a song that drifts and dips echoing _
_____________________
April 15, 2020
Poetry/Verse/song bird
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1244-072-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
For the contest, Strand No 730 Contest
sponsor, Brian Strand
Honorable Mention
She sits and reads, or chatters on the phone
voice lilting, dancing, chirping like a bird,
he sits in the same room with her, alone
and stares at her, his thoughts all go unheard.
He vowed to sacrifice, the day they wed,
have and to hold for better or for worse,
beguiling promises that he was fed
curdled like sour milk into a curse.
Silence between them like a washing line,
passion dried in the wind then put away,
to all around them everything is fine
soiled love can be hung out another day.
When nothing is the bond, then nothing ties
hollow relationships, false smiles and lies
(not for contest, it's a rough draft I finally got round to finishing)
With Spring come the backyard birds to my birdfeeder,
the cardinals, blue jays, drifting, swooping;
to join robins,
and chickadees !
I knew Spring is here when the snowdrops from snow peek,
and the birds are singing loud and joyful;
their sweet tweets, twitters, and chatters mingling,
oh, love finches and swallows in the morning sun !
At dawn sings the sad nightingale,
and from sea to sea the loons call;
a hummer came,
to just flutter !
___________________________
February 16, 2021
Poetry/Verse/Spring is Singing
Copyright Protected, ID 02-1329-975-16
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard Contest, All Yours (Feb 17)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 02/17/2021
First Place
I walk the cemetery all alone with me,
loving each ancient, gnarled, beautiful perfect tree.
The grief in this graveyard hangs like a green curtain,
the grass- and filigree leaves swaying in each tree.
Once these souls had a life and I hope happiness,
oh listen- a thousand songs coming from a tree.
I read the inscriptions wondering how they died,
one day perhaps I will rest under a shade tree.
This is so sad to think about but it is real,
now, a chickadee chatters from a bent old tree.
It`s peace in the forest, this night…
All stars gathered in the same breath;
The frost`s wolf chatters his white teeth;
Mourning old trees are all covered by light;
The wind increased his obsessive white;
Neighbors: the snowmen and a glass stag
When night is finally waving its white flag,
Dreams are hanged by luminous white of the height.
Winter buried its face in frozen white lands,
Long Snow drifts grew like glass clouds above
And covered the village and half of the church;
Sun seems a squeezed lemon by white hands.
Milk dawns, glass blower speaks slowly of love;
White field sounds with crows near one silver birch.
Once more brooks babble
Birds and Bees singing their tune
Wind chatters through trees
Natures renewal
Seeds break through eager for Sun
A race to full bloom
Repeat performance
Roses take to center stage
Spring season begins
Contest: Nature Comes To Life
Sponsored by, Carol Brown
Form: Haiku