Best Chromed Poems
FOR MARY MAGDALENE
Between necessity and freedom I was crucified
Perceiving Himself endlessly on the cross
Yet aware, as an onlooker, petrified
My vision that never was, would be His loss.
I mimed too, as they hammered in the nails
Once more assuaging myself in His deep tears
Once more my heart rallying where my speech fails
To give His lips the vinegar it fears.
Sun eclipsed, I dallied with the vision of day,
A multi-chromed banner the old enemy was twisting,
Till I could no longer read in stone and clay,
My flower-head lopped, topped to the moment’s listing -
I shone for Him like a speck in the glory of the sunrise
Waiting for twilight, the beauty of the stars’ surprise.
by Rosemarie Rowley
from IN MEMORY OF HER, Dublin 2008
Categories:
chromed, appreciation, religion,
Form:
Sonnet
Slowly pulsing through glittered haze
Under cloudscape, her locks blow wild
Misty the blushed roses, ablaze
Moon of summer, warmth of hayrides
Enchanting peach fragrance of the night
Reveal your glory, dear chromed fay,
My eyes chase a Selene’s delight
Over hills wrapped in flamed crochet.
Oh, sleep denies a lullaby
No matter how you beam, goodbye!
Francine Roberts' Summer Acrostic Contest
by nette onclaud
Categories:
chromed, joy, moon, , Lullaby,
Form:
Acrostic
Blue bike(Northern dialectably)
A bicycle that’s new was blue and swankity it had 52 spokes all chromed and
silver fancery
That bike was mine
I rode up hills to see the countery and down dales to go fast and rode it chancery
That bike was mine
I popped a tyre down near ta factory and I took it home to tell ta family we got
out spoons and inspected ta mattery then I put a plaster were the puncture
bubbled watery
That bike was mine
It had 10 gears which were satisfactory five were hard and the others sappery
but it got me going were I want ta be
That bike was mine
Soon I was looking for a new bike practically with ten more gears and a name that
suited me but I’ll never forget that blue bike frankily
Because that bike was mine
Categories:
chromed, art,
Form:
Free verse
Every time I get happy
the Nana-Hex
comes through.
A dog's canines
change into chainsaws,
toothpicks turn into knives,
coral reefs diverge into dirty sponges,
a sandcastle into a mausoleum,
a soldier-ant burrows deeper
into my borrowed grave,
reveille trumpets tap
a tip-toed timpani of
disenchanted malevolence;
all for the Nana-Song.
I am eleven.
I am naked.
I am screaming.
I am kneeling in the shower
and every time I shriek:
"I feel like dancing today or
look, I can tie my shoelaces or
my bruises have healed or,
my neck is not scarlet like
the underskin of
Grandma's fingernails" -
it plays again, it reprises -
like a Bizet refrain
scraping pitchforks
against agate slabs,
shaving fresh flesh.
All for the resurrection of...!
All for the redemption of...!
the Nana-Hex.
Now, I am fifteen.
I don't talk. I fail to eat.
I scratch poetry and snivel.
My front teeth
are chipped and broken
like the high-browed brim
of Nana's low-ball snifter.
I picture four undertakers
from my windowsill.
Three of them are for me -
the fourth filthy fist,
clutching a scratched
chromed rung,
is for her.
Throwing confetti
from a guarded train
as she selfishly vacated me,
Dr. Zhivago evasive and...wait!
"look I've made my bed, dear Nana.
I lost another tooth, I received
an A+ in geometry.
No. I'm not part of one's family circus,
I'm not a crippled duckling
in a shooting gallery anymore."
Mom, Momma - I...
I can't catch her confetti, Mother.
I can't, poor Momma - but...
when her swastikad locomotive
bleeds into the
frozen chambers
of Auschwitz's
omnipresent shower heads,
and my stifled tears choke
your starved larynx
like a rabid cat
untangling balls
of matted string; then...
and only then -
dear God,
please tell Grandma Nana -
I've formidably said:
hello.
Categories:
chromed, lost love, lovetime,
Form:
Free verse
One whispering to the cold air
thoughts astride too; a lonely mind
all blessings fine, all curses fair.
an endless cause, from Adam's days
in flight by day, air-borne by night,
and man cannot stop the play.
unheard, misread, misunderstood,
thus actions true and careless yet,
come from the wise, or of the fools.
a bucket full of nothing quite,
the likeness to an empty soul;
unclear, not chromed and yet not white.
unjustified in classes; all
not prime, not poor, nor mediocre
n'er bloody sad nor over joyed.
so plenty here, too plenty dear,
these things to say in little lines,
since words are lacked, and men are feared,
these things unsaid fizz in my mind.
- RHYME BATTLE; ROUND 4 -
Categories:
chromed, people,
Form:
Villanelle
What drapes these aqua wavelets’ sultry trail
Along curled bends, creamy foams lift and rise?
Where toes and gulls splash fountains like a sail,
Paddling on rock ledges with gargled sighs
Dewdrops gloss salty brine through chromed rays
To warm the heart dancing with crystal flights,
As grains of ivory sand hurl tangy sprays
A dream-like scene taken from mermaid rites
Dolphins in frolic swivel hips on display
Cavorting with sunny air like splashed reel,
To play games , a water matinee
One, two rides on tides’ Ferris wheel
Lapping through buoyed floats with coral refrains
This my seashore adorns my wild private roam,
Keeping life’s odes, our tunes of summer remains
On bed of skin tan, she becomes my home.
Summer Contest of Debbie G
by nette onclaud
Categories:
chromed, adventure, sea,
Form:
Quatrain
I met you once,
in dreams of youth;
flushed with curves,
wide open in summer's sun;
toothy smiles,
innocent wiles;
laid out patches,
of perfume and gasoline;
blazed across the endless miles,
of then...and now;
years burned down,
chromed dull in faded glory;
yellowed hollow,
seasons past;
of governed throttle,
clogging choke;
the boy,
like you;
left back now,
far behind;
dusty,
in a poem.
Categories:
chromed, memory,
Form:
Free verse
slow it down
pull it up
boldly rival
wind whipped
leather wrapped
beetle bright
coiled spring
chromed out
in your face
visors down
rev it up
Go!
Go!
Go!
Categories:
chromed, youth,
Form:
Hard-chromed and brutally alloyed
he fed the scrapyard hurricane.
Melting the metal, his brawn enjoyed
the splash of sweat cooling the pain.
The weight of the world discarded
at the foot of his furnace lit,
he struggled to make soon parted
its history, hard and fast writ …
… in twisted iron and mangled steel.
Stoking the fire, hellishly hot,
a cauldron of memories once real,
he freed the souls of things forgot.
Unthicked by his lethean flame,
smelted loose of its heavy years,
the once gritty metal flowed tame,
shiny new without smiles or tears.
Categories:
chromed, extended metaphor, loss, power,
Form:
Quatrain
We walked the beach one moonlit night
Our lunar orb shone down so bright
Darkened shadows consumed the land
This night we walked hand in hand
The summers breeze was fading away
As night birds glided in hidden display
Chromed crests topped the gentle waves
As a calmness carries their path paved
To a secluded dune we sit down and admire
The days beauty from it's morning transpire
As we enter a new day on natures sands
To be here at midnight we never planned
On our backs we lie and look to the night sky
In our minds we know why, we are here and lie
Companionship, relationship and our love dictates
That on this moonlit night, we are soul mates
Although it is dark I see her ebony curls
Just one of her beauties that makes my heart swirl
We turn and face as our lips gently meet
My hands through her hair as our kissing repeats
On the sands of our time we caress each other
Our naked flesh bare as we lovingly smother
Undulations of delight in capturing clutch
Receptive and pert by our sensuous touch
Adjoined we are, two hearts beating as one
As a chorus of silence, our loving whispers begin
Through the sighs, we whisper I love you
As our kissing heightens below the dark cobalt blues
Our bodies become frenzied as our loving emotion blooms
Naked as birth in natures front room
Joyous cries of delight drift on the sands
We share our excitement as we started, holding hands
Breathless sighs resonate in our space
Under the lunar light in our special place
Absorbing our loving time, spooned we lie
Two in love under a diamond crested night sky
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-11.php
Categories:
chromed, girlfriend-boyfriend, love, passionnight, dark,
Form:
Quatrain
And I grow fingers and thumbs to write more
The verses that do not follow straight lines
But zigzagging under the open skies
In chromed yellow sunlight
In canopy of the trees
Of the emerald green.
Deserts there are, heat exhausted creatures
Which demand to know the arrival of dawn
Within the hot sandy dunes loneliness resides
Seized in sounds of silences the wind sighing.
Winters I have seen , in interiors of people
Where motions are frozen in frigid bonds
And down pours from dark clouds echoes
The deaths of the moths on the frozen ponds.
Today I speak from depths of the being
From slits in roofs , from broken charades
From blood soaked minds under the bullets metallic
Or women singing their songs in mud soaked paddies.
Run with syrup on my parched lips
Or disappear in the immensity of the seas
Rain forested creatures wormed of nights
In wakeful of the myths for mutterings in dawn.
Durlabh Singh.
Categories:
chromed, inspirational, introspection, life, philosophy
Form:
Imagism
Money….
What can you do with money?
Well let’s stop and think; Money can buy you all the stilettos or marble sinks
A new Bentley fully chromed and tricked out
With the rims sitting 26 inches and you’re wondering what the fuss is about
People are stealing your rims and all you seem to do is replace them
Money can buy you all your hearts desire
From expensive wigs, weaves, clothes,
To cell phones, booze, and whose
There is nothing good that comes from money
Gambling it all away loosing is never funny
They say money makes the world go round
But all I’ve found is the world to be upside down
I am discussed and dismayed with money today
Money always seem to find a way to send you to an early grave
Money will forever remain the root of all evil
For those who love, the money making believers
Categories:
chromed, lifeworld, money,
Form:
My Grandfather was a Sage-Burner.
He would light the dry twisted grass with a Zippo.
It was chromed, silver and read; "Live to ride. Ride to Live."
The sage would spark and burst into yellow orange flame.
He would blow it out and nurse the ember to full life.
Until it glowed with an evil black and red shimmer.
It smelled like bad weed.
My Grandfather would dance and flit about the space.
His thin frame with arms uplifted as if praising some unseen God.
Blowing, poking and prodding the smoke.
Into dark corners and back rooms.
Places we forgot.
I asked my Grandfather why he burned sage.
With narrowed eyes he said, "some spirits like to hang around
and cause mischief among the Human Beings.
"We burn sage so they will leave us alone."
"We burn sage so they will go away from us and bother the Whites instead."
Then he smiled and continued his dance.
E.G. Maynard.
46 & 2.
3.
Categories:
chromed, native american,
Form:
Free verse
Step back be rational.
Sit back roll this hash and blow.
A/C cold in the lac sittin low.
Niggas gone hate cuz the game so throwed
Chromed out glock is the steel I hold
Dead right now but present with the Lord.
Life cut short like a ginsu sword.
Speak soft nigga I'm not no broad.
Quick wit the hands I put'em in his place
Thinking to myself I'm not catching no case.
Tears drop down when he gave up the ghost
Blood on my hands and weed on my clothes
Another nigga die now white men boast.
Messed up game but a playa still chose.
Rocks on my wrist and on my ear lobes.
Hit the next right on the creep, down low
Red, blue lights on the same back road
Same ole story as the jail bars close
Categories:
chromed, urban
Form:
The clown with his red cherub face
A maggot in his twisted brain
The jack-booted leather Christian
With dull razorblades down his spin
Staring down from their high windows
The taste of gin upon their tongues
Lusty fire crackling in their eyes
Peering through a glowing skylight
Her luscious body lies reclined
Naked upon a soft red divan
Bathed by the nocturnal moonlight
Dark hair caressing her full breasts
Wineglass in her ruby nailed hand
Cigarette smoke hangs like a mist
Within her thick glassed fishbowl perch
Well aware of her voyeur friends
A wood fire smoke perfumed grey fog
Creeps through the emerald city
In the lighted valley below
The street sounds echoing upward
A lone saxophone serenades
From a lighted corner news stand
The battered open case lying
Before white patent leather shoes
A hooded figure at the keys
With faded fingerless gloves
The sound of blues bathing the air
Reflecting off sueted windows
A cab slowly crawls to a halt
Before a finely dressed doorman
He receives a small diamonded hand
Her stiletto heel strikes concrete
She walks the carpeted runway
He opens a cipher locked door
She passes him a fresh twenty
Before her image disappears
A leather clad rider appears
Astride a black silver chromed horse
Gliding down the shadowy street
Vanishing with a ghostly roar
A nearby siren screams and hearts skip
Gunshots ring and distant tires squeal
The saxophone player pauses
The Clown and Christian shift their gaze
Categories:
chromed, imagination, mystery, nostalgia, fire,
Form:
Free verse