Best Cloisters Poems
Written: January 07, 2024
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eyes are soul gates even in disguise they do not lie
visual cues that transcend verbal expression
but it also shares one's mood with lenticular opiates
spanning an effluvium-trail-laden sky
select a person and share eye contact while whimpering
gaze might betray a false grin quoth-trust aegis
stupendous azure eyes! aggregations of night elixir
spellbind the world with an aura of simmering
wispy pearls in her eyes—soul rises without adronitis
I cross cosmic cloisters and Eden's bright bower
I grip men truths in their odd dismal ways
the sheer number of words is overwhelming
once cupid arrows hit a cosmic glow covers the world
glorious as sharpness of your sight and dawn dew
her azure eyes purify and calm me as oceanic waves
no drift inbred ocean fowls flutter feel felicity
ethereal eyes whisper to my soul sparkling with glee
pristine eyes hypnosis a wish for propinquity shine
as the sun rises shards of light reveal her eyes
dreams sap my mind cocoons and eyes beguile me
after inhaling and kissing goldenly—all else is plain
all the grace I skipped—in the sun wind and rain
as dew at dawn chatoyant eyes embrace you
butterfly-like in gestalt despite a sanguine heartbeat
those eyes are as sibilant as the rising sun
they send doves soaring and senses roaring
some eyes are drenched in love until they sparkle
delphic soul shy—untamed my love never defamed
grateful for blue skies—for all—and blue eyes for you
“The sounds of Earth is the music of my soul”
I remember the valley rolled with thunder
A section of tenors echoed from above
The sky was shredded, by forked lightning
Somehow that moment transcended love
Static electric rose up through the cloisters
The organist played like a demon inspired
Rooftop gargoyles overflowed with water
And eyes welled up, as if nature conspired
Rivers were swollen, the lake was heavy
A boy soprano, almost pierced the dome
Landslides rumbled away in the distance
High on ambivalence, I thought about Rome
The conductor was whipped into a frenzy
Fitfully pointing his wand in the air
As the tempest outside reached crescendo
Defiant altos, sang a hymnal prayer
Beyond the west window, storms fell silent
Shafts of light, shone through from space
Together the choir reached out in emotion
As they swayed stoically, to Amazing Grace
Originally penned 08/10/22
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 14 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
09/13/22
Among tall weeds are waving tulips, with satin pearls of dew
Blowing trumpets, and brushing grasses, with shades of cheerful tunes
Creating carpets soft and fair, where every eye can rest,
Dancing petals kiss the breezes, in flirting dalliance
Each breath of wind, caresses strands, of lupine, blending in
Foxglove, flax, and buckwheat stand, so slender on their stems
Green buds, fragile, on the limbs, of trees in cloisters, high
Have opened bliss upon the ridge, while clouds are passing by
Ivy tendrils wrap the oaks, which grow exempt from time
Just as God would wrap a heart with joy at Easter time
Keeping watch, a hawk swoops down, to scout a meadow's floor
Looming high, it circles 'round, in time for afternoon
Morning 's sun has long been gone,, and left a touch of warm
Night had left a trail of showers, from the passing storm
Opened flowers, bask in sunlight, breaking through the cold
Pastel colors, and fragrant blossoms, paint the world in gold
Question not the splendid wonder, it's ours now to explore
Rejoice with eyes, behold and conquer, spring is at our door
Saturate the heart with "happy", as the day unfolds
To stand, alone, and hear the songs, birds and bees have told
Underneath the cloak of springtime, is all that we could ask
Voices call within the wind, and meadow larks will ask
Will we take this world for granted, or leave it to the rest?
Xanadu is ours to own, nature at it's best
You came, you saw, a sign of spring.......and
Zenith, is its name
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For The Abecedarian Contest: "Spring"
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
2/20/15
Love comes in all
shapes and sizes – Thank God!
Myself having evolved in some
rather, undesirable directions...
But what is the same anymore?
Environmentalists say, not the sky!
Not the seas! (Seagulls flying off
with bees to who knows where?)
As those wide-open spaces – gone!
Concrete and steel having replaced
colorfully tinted rural faces, with grimacing
gray features – tenements rabid with crime
and moral filth...desperately in need
of far more heavenly graces – or, at the least,
the lofty illusions pearl-necklaced TV Moms
once gave us.
Libraries, the sacred cloisters of
of enchanted places and mystical dreams,
no longer bearing, at the least
informative fruits for deliberative
minds; such institutions polluted
with Liberal Politics, personal greed
coupled with insane hunger for
for power over more docile others,
a hollowing of the human soul
leaving a bitter emptiness
and disconnect where once
thrived the fertile seeds of cooperative
living...
So, what is the new normal?
Hell if I know! Politicians
speaking out of both sides of
elongated, medically enhanced
lying mouths – technically new?
Educators enunciating with their
backsides – but now their pant’s fully down,
Punctuating a Marxist agenda, their
transforming goals openly on display --
perhaps for them, a new honesty?
College students confused as to which
way to turn in bed – enough to confound
the most flexible contortionist….
Thank God for alcohol!
EARTH CHANTS
I dream and stare out my window,
windblown leaves, scars and troubles
blow like fluff from dandelions, settling
inside my shadow....hung upon my
memory-wall, reflecting moon dust
far from Heaven, out upon this shapeless
poem, buried deep within my soul...
Songs, the minstrels trusted from before,
can only be heard at low tide, as crabs
scurry atop their barren bones.... sea shells
speak of my future, If I listen quietly, but,
there is no sound, only echoes from the earth....
Cloisters of Monks chant to processions of ants
as centuries dim, captured in sorrows, even as
the tall grasses sway in song, remembering the
journey through the endless mist, of the river
that never ends...
Sightless snakes snap their warnings to heaping
piles of gold the minions of mayhem mock in
worship, ignoring the chasm greed creates...
Soon, the stinging nettle will understand the
painless path, and I will boil their roots, and
feed them to the venomous snakes, then
burn the bridge that leads to torment...
I can still hear the chants of the Elders,
calmly nurturing the coming season of change,
content once more, as stars smile upon
our future, and seeds, sown before our time,
bear fruit as told by our chosen ones....
Chants forever heard....
chants
forever
heard
Angel’s sing a chorus from cloisters that echo lustful cries of love
While lovers drink in glances, passion turns to intimate desires
With trembling limbs they move, eager to entwine
Showing signs of hunger, in eagerness they thirst
Like a fine wine, they gingerly sip the taste of their sins
Soon to be committed
The Parish priest would be shocked at the debauchery
Yet why do the angels sing in unison?
The passion of love and life is the angel’s glory
A choir sings from above, at the happiness below
The coupling of spirits and raw desire
Gods design a miracle
To be celebrated
Note: This is a collaboration with Mystic Rose, and what a pleasure it was!!!!
THE BOOK OF KINDNESS AND LOVE
In the Queens' cloisters
Lay a book
A Book called Kindness and Love
The greatest of them all
For you cannot have Truth ,without kindness
For you cannot have The Wise Way ,without love
Such a book
Resting on blue velvet
Each page...
Beaten gold
Letters of jet
This was a book
More beautiful than the sky
More magnificent then a castle
Touched by a Heartstone
Passed on by a hundred Queens
A book , to learn by
A page turned
A new verse learned
Pages turned for centuries
Yet the book never ends
Deep inside the message wends
Kindness and Love
I traced a verse,
with a finger
A strange warmth
Whispered words
Filled me
Love too
This is not magic
It is love
Felt by me
Felt by you
A Book of coloured sunsets
Held in trust by the Queens
On blue velvet
A Book called Kindness and Love
The greatest of them all
For, you cannot have Truth, without kindness
For, you cannot have the Wise Way, without love
Mike The Monk had a habit,
He liked to eat fresh oysters.
He'd buy a dozen to take away,
And swallow them in the cloisters.
She is a beauty with her vaulted ceilings and cloisters.
Has been parading about for over a thousand years
Showing off her English gothic architecture.
Cathedral Church of St. Peter and the Holy and Invisible Trinity.
We have seen her in films and movies – The Hollow Crown,
Doctor Who, Sherlock, and Harry Potter.
She houses at Gloucester, Gloucestershire, UK.
She was once a pilgrimage for Christian seekers.
King Henry the Eighth established her current choir in 1539.
Today her choir boasts thirty-eight choristers and twelve adult singers.
So when you walk through, you are a historian, so much has gone on.
She is magnificent with her beautiful stained glass windows.
Her organ was constructed in sixteen hundred and sixty-six.
She has been the site of graduations, coronations, and weddings.
In medieval times she held daily worship sung by monks of the abbey.
Gloucester Cathedral, a gorgeous example of what architects can do.
A milk bottle of combustion is a silver tongued spoon. A dragon headed fortress underground. Weaving wavering waving wandering. A teaspoon of cataclysm in giant catacombs. Dominatrix circles and whirlpools. How very stylish Madame de feetoo. While festooned on a chaise long is a long time whilst chatting and chinking is rife. Apples didn't mix with pubic pubescent pineapples as lineage is deemed of the utmost importance. To preserve one's wealth signifies a heraldic crest in a pickle colour glow. But wisest are the tiny heads in jars preserved who whisper their knowledge in scientific chambers. Cloisters closeting closing cloaks. And a large duck head on a man's body lurching lecherously. Leaking. Leaving. Lest no one fault I the time orb of clayon spoke a boulder boisterously. And a dark ridge arriving. Completion is formed from the sipping of secretions from an ancient elderflower. But a bud is neither a woven skirt or a large car. It is found on a very big bus. Busy then? Good. Small boy child weeping. And a silver glasses case watching. And an ornate cane topped with an acre of crystal. Chink then. Great isn't it. When the news explodes the crisis deepens. And waters rise. The hidden submarine planted it's crop paid by coffers. In a sporadic format. Boom then. No idea for the ways. It is left for the duties to a house to perform. And a ministerial magenta. Magna carta is a a little peanut swimming in butter on a plate. And a dust particle is very very versatile so swing in trees then spin over. Good. Grabbing going glooping getting gone gone Gideon gone gone. Powdered like snow or sugar floating. Sap not a silvery spit. And a spotted tie is not very mature is it? Takeaway beans. Fantastic. Very flavoursome. Opinionated officials oversee offices. And a giant bee weighing over 200,000,000.00 kilos. In a fancy dress show. Xo xo xo and done. Xxxx rationalisation xxxxx outnumbered xxxxx testator gator Gatorade xxxx arbitrational Z
Five Arab Men
In the dead of night, asleep in my bed
Suddenly, upon a hill as bright as day
A vision before me, or am I misled
On this asphalt road,to the left, a tractor trailer stands
Waiting as if impatient
Cloisters, old fort on the right, playing of the bands
Down below, a city of black glass skyscrapers rise
As if by an artist hand, shooting into the sky
To stand beside this scene may not be wise
The front of the vehicle, watches over the city
And midway beside the machine, I stand
A lamb to the slaughter, do not pity
I must go, it is my destiny
Walk to cab of vehicle, five Arab sitting
As if waiting for a sign
Uneasy feeling taking hold of me
Hurry back some distance, still close
Step out , two men coming
Men look intensely in my direction
Overcome with fear, I stand my ground
Cannot see me, as a spirit in the night
Walk right through me, as if blind
Climb in vehicle, remove tarpaulin
A long-range ballistic missile, so unkind
Unhurried action, missile moves
Pointing to the sky
Must wake up, must not see what is yet to come
William Morrissey 6/5/01
out of the mundane
an awe bit insane
fairy as it glows
twinkle little toes
yawning breadth then gone
before the rathe dawn
through empty cloisters
unseen wings hush whirs
it flutter back a tease
like an obscure bee
a blur in the blue
glowing day it flew
their fair face round
bare all that surround
in the garden ground
curious glance it took
their glittering look
among ivy's deepest nook
10/29/2019
November Twinkle Fairy Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
A plush monk’s life was my designation
Before the process of dissolution
Then back to now, fast extrication
From enforced seizure and desecration
A simple life it was for me
Amid fertile land, its fruits aplenty
The chapter house was full of deals
lucrative ones that ensured good meals
The venerable relic in sacred place
A mecca for pilgrims upon which to gaze
And tourism fast filling the chapter house coffers
Ensuring the refectory is full of scoffers
A rural retreat in which to languish
Organic produce, not just a sandwich
free range and fresh by home kept beast
A buttery and flour, just add the yeast
The spartan dorm is plain and crude
But no money needed and even free food
Just say a few prayers and work on the land
Outdoor jobs that leaves one well tanned
A stroll in the cloisters, then meditate
Plainsong soars melodically when it is late
It soothes the mind and placates the soul
Even more lovely when the bells start to toll
This monastic decadence now at its peak
Espied by Henry who’s got a damned cheek
The supreme head is after its dough
O dear, I think its time to go
My trusty machine will ensure my return
Refreshed, better and much I’ve learned
Ruthless old Henry their land he took
Their fate outlined in my history book
,
Knowing soft grey moss
cloisters on north tree trunk
happens always so.
Diana Burkholder Aug. 12, 2014
Sisters
cry
empty satin sheets
a mothers
bleeding heart
I…caress sisters tears
comfort fears
her baby
now unto heaven
we
choking in sadness
condemned for sins
Yet
men inflict such pain
evil drums march, not to be undone
leave them to their wars
their childish affairs
It is stale
to judge us who give birth
we, who know life
whom give life
from our loins
leave us in peace
you, who revel in wars
then profess pacifism
duplicity hidden in cloisters
your morality lives in the devils den