Best Companioned Poems
Insistent starkness claims a leafless day
Where morning breaks with silent calm and dread
The slope of field is framed, behind the glass
reveals a fallen tree, with jagged edge
and grassy hills now laced with autumn rust
Inside we find a plain and cheerless room
The table sparce, an empty chair
A plate, a knife, a saucer, without spoon
One empty cup, will wait for no one there...
Ambiance of what has been,
...still lingers in the air,
as amber glows, with threats of snow,
are just a hint, instead
Lonely hours, and lonely days, and lonely shadows blend
The endless songs of yesterday, slip in from window's ledge
A meager meal will spread upon a table set for one
Where breaking bread alone without a friend
is companioned by a solitary end
The angled sun, casts shadows deep and long
A somber mood, reflects this quiet calm
Upon the walls, where gardens grew, are faded memories
where yellow blooms of yesterday, are just a step away
Where, once were two, who loved and knew their sun would rise again
There now is one who sits alone ...at the table set for one
Where hope has gone, when morning comes...
to sing a lonely song
Based on the Painting by Andrew Wyeth ... "Groundhog Day"
http://www.andrew-wyeth-prints.com/gallery_andrew-wyeth-groundhog-day.html
She leads her army up and down,
two sides of Main Street, and is found
companioned by three basset hounds.
They follow, closely, at her heels
like foundlings gathered round
I've often wondered where she goes,
with shopping cart, and dogs in tow.
Tweed on her back, scarves on her hair,
regardless of the temperature
She never speaks, but no one cares.
with eyes like windows, dark and clear.
A friendly clerk will wave hello,
while patrons share a coin or two.
We help her fill her cart with food,
her needs are scant, her wants are few.
When spring arrives, she'll sit and rest
upon the bench, within the shade
to watch daily passing parade
She'll stay awhile, become our friend,
then disappear, as summer ends
Dark hooded eyes have not revealed,
just why she migrates, what compiles
her secret story, or where she goes.
She's a soldier of frenetic times
where clocks tick fast, and seasons change.
She holds the leash like it's her string
to keep the world within her hands
A solemn ritual, we have seen
again, again, where has she been?
And through the seasons, we have grown,
more curious, yet pleased to bend
a little more to understand
She stays until the autumn comes
But winter knows her silent song
_____________________________________________
4/29/16
Contest: Second Place Contest
Sponsor Laura Loo
(Based on a real person that we often see on the streets of our small town)
__________________________________________________
On a walk companioned by my Muse along the sylvan meadows
We wandered away to delightful realms in unclouded ambience
Don’t know how long I rambled warming my fancies in sunset fires
Must be for long, all lights were out, the quiet hamlet lay bathed in sleep
Above me, stood the starry firmament and the half hidden moon
Could see the vast plains stretching before me in moonlight, bare
My heart was flooded with joy, my fancies took to wings
Got drowned in Nature’s serene calm, my spirit lost in drunken ecstasy
In the gentle blowing breeze, the leaves twittered and murmured
All else was quiet and nothing disturbed the serenity of the night
But soon I knew the East wind strengthening around into a gale
And across the moon I could see stragglers of clouds moving past
I sat on a rock, lost, so lost staring into the clear night sky
Wondering how the celestial joy, made manifest by the twinkling stars
My thoughts began floating like a ship over the briny waters
And my temporal settings faded away like a cloud in the horizon
From the nearby woods, I heard the song of a lone night bird
In rising cadence, alone and aloud it fell on my rapturous ears
Was it a nightingale that poured forth that dewy delight?
Was it the same song, Keats heard long ago cascading from the woods?
With my Muse in this unearthly hour let me sit awhile in this solitary bower
To my paper, let my fancies in unbroken crystal streams flow
Wonder if I can rightly recreate the image that my thoughts enfold
How I wish, I could like Coleridge, build a pleasure dome in mid air!
First posted on Nov.28. 2021
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile.6.Poetry Contest
Sponsor:Mark Toney
Last night, the doors of dark entrapped me
Capricious sun, perhaps he's napping
Deliberately he comes and goes,
with wily ways, I know so well
Sometimes he stays an hour more,
but then, we know his temper's short,
to leave me here, alone to brood
and sobered to his moods
I batter hard against the night,
until my knuckles bleed
But, cannot summon him to rush
He takes his time, as if a game,
then blushes cheeks, again
This is the wait, caught in between…
the antics of his display
Last evening he made his great departure,
With amber clouds to frame his face
Without a pause, expects applause
to come with early sun
We blink an eye…and watch him leave
with bright red shoes, and a hat of gold
He'll wave goodbye, and sink right in
the curved rim of the world
And when the final curtain draws,
there's a sigh behind the hills
And all is still....
Companioned by the crescent moon,
who, I will welcome in
_______________________________________________
Submitted for "Saving Daylight" contest: sponsored by John Lawless
2/15/15
Intelligence and continuity…
Sly and cunning dangerously so,
Experienced and seasoned…
A veteran of many lives not so helpless,
Focused and warmly passionate…
A romantic undeniably cool,
Temperamental and justly powerful,
Richly heralded yet still feared,
Precisioned and calculated…
Darkly unorthodox and unreadable,
Hated and despised sought after by many…
Never sighted or caught though never hiding,
Untalented artistry and plain creative works…
Lucidly abstract and hauntingly subliminal,
Beheld handsome and perfectly made…
Un-noticed and never revered,
Companioned and gathered by many friends…
Alone in solitude an unheard dark,
Talked about and rumored of…
Carelessly shaken but filling with disdain,
Taken aback by this vision perfection…
Transparent glass dirtied by cleansing,
Strong and prideful undyingly mortal…
Still, he was but a man.
Long doors of dark have closed upon the day
And though the wind will batter till the knuckles bleed
It cannot presume to summon morning dawn
Or lift relentless bars, to welcome sun
The light is pillowed deep in slumber’s grip
Do not disturb is hung upon the knob
Unwelcoming, while daybreak still is sleeping
And earth takes respite from the busy day
And dreaming stars are breathing silent sighs
Whisper softly, tiptoe gently
Take care, thus not break the spell
You cannot speed, the night must sleep
The clock ticks on, and patience is the friend
Withhold the futile beating hand
Grow wise in silence and keep the peace
So when the dawn comes by to let you in
Much brighter still, it comes to greet
A welcome mat beneath your feet
Unlocked and free to enter as you please
Companioned by a warm serenity
There were days left over;
this fantastic architecture,
days of a planet too young to be seen,
at man’s eyes.
wanders companioned,
weary youth,
reflects on, with curious eyes path,
feel the last evening’s silent branches breath;
too few:
one step back Adam.
Integrate the least,
lest:
last tomorrow:
Atlantean ship’s return, dark outland’s call,
in men’s dreams only, to cold steam rising fall,
on green magic’s mist want,
only to find
I can’t recall this never existing
Pallid cold corridors so colorless
I have traversed over and over
In endless searching…
Stepping over putridity
Awash in isolations laughter
Walking beside my companioned wall
Instinctively impelled forward…
Wresting aspiration from bony digits
Using fast my sheltered strength
Against corpses mounting waves
Encroaching upon bricked doorways…
Within this sallow incessant labyrinth
Sinking within this quickening of blood
My sight grows narrower with each pulse
With heavy footfalls my eyes endeavor…
A shifting miasma of reverie and vision
Mirrored upon stainless sterile steel doors
In a moment of clarity I behold my senses
Iced revelry of unyielding standing strength…
No opening…
Vanishing…
Itinerant…
Ashe is a punny name for a
Bandit and Aristocratic girl
I've never seen white blankets of winter stupor,but her hair is as white as snow
Gold-accents and speck of southern rich
The anxiety of teasing dynamite like grill sizzles hiss during a hot summer's day
Bold eyes with depth of color
independent heart-seeked brushed
All within a tempered-sodden lip
And the companioned bowler-hatted butler who like
any other gray canine attracts mechanical affection
Had I but ears to hear and see-I'd say
The submsissive click,click,click of a rebellious gunslinger
Blap of stray unerring pellets
Bombardment of red-candle top- adrenalined
ring,ring,ring
An opera of menace
And the animated vocal squall
-'Bob,do something!'
Form:
Sinking the sun will drown in its own blood
Touching
With last conscience its oozed out blood
Fingering
Bine stemmed branches of oak tree
Evil
Stormed by good twin present everlasting
Companioned
On high pinnioned seas.
Shrunk shriveled the heart
Shudders in tentacles of willow trees
Touching not the fervourless spirit
Resting unwearied for nothingness
Plumed and ruffled
By bird songs of no avail.
The death lament winded not
In wilded plains
Stormed downwards the reddish glow
Shining
With all the despaired
Brained and eyed
Ever felt by the human touch.
Last night, the doors of dark entrapped me
Oh, capricious sunlight!…. His naps exceed his wiles
Deliberately he comes and goes
Leaving me bereft, and sobered to his moods
I batter hard against the night until my knuckles bleed
But I can not summon the sun to hurry up another day
He takes his time, as if it is all a game
This is the wait, …between the antics of his display
Last evening he made his great departure,
With amber clouds to frame his face
Without a pause, ignoring once again the earth’s applause and admiring eyes
In one blink of an eye…we watched him leave
Wearing red shoes, and colorful hat woven through with gold
He gets lost below the curved rim of the world
And when the curtain is closed, we hear a sigh behind the hills
And all is still,
Companioned by a dark serenity
And I must welcome darkness as my friend
Sinking the sun will drown in its own blood
Touching
With last conscience its oozed out blood
Fingering
Bine stemmed branches of oak tree
Evil
Stormed by good twin present everlasting
Companioned
On high pinnioned seas.
Shrunk shriveled the heart
Shudders in tentacles of willow trees
Touching not the fervourless spirit
Resting unwearied for nothingness
Plumed and ruffled
By bird songs of no avail.
The death lament winded not
In wilded plains
Stormed downwards the reddish glow
Shining
With all the despaired
Brained and eyed
Ever felt by the human touch.
My Lord, you dance between two Queens, confused
a mourning martyr and a morning dove
both cleaved of hope, of thought, of voice,
or so the multiples of men would think.
But I'm no less the babe, no more the witch
than what imaginings might trace your mind
I've overflown the mold you've cast me in
and altered all the fashions you've designed.
I've sinned, excusing flows of sinfulness
inscribing them in heart as boons of love
but, ah, the blade you've burried in my chest
I cannot wrest from in my vengeful bones.
I would exact a justice for his death
with your companion Madness in my soul.
'Tis you or I will die, but I can't live
to trip o'er bodies in my shadow's fall
and find you there, the face upon my heart
with your obsessions bleeding black at foot.
I could forever sponge the poison spewed
so long as lips of Hamlet smiled on me.
'Tis life of victim-hood I could endure
but I can't make a victim out of you.
'Tis not Ophelia, "sweets to the sweet" there,
not 'neath the feet of unlovables loved.
I dwell in hamlets between Life and Death,
companioned by a Hamlet's, earthbound vice
because I loved a Hamlet; madness sworn
a man romanced by madmens victory.
'Tis not Ophelia, drown in bitter pain
but mine own madness quelled, a victim claimed.
Sinking the sun will drown in its own blood
Touching
With last conscience its oozed out blood
Fingering
Bine stemmed branches of oak tree
Evil
Stormed by good twin present everlasting
Companioned
On high pinnioned seas.
Shrunk shriveled the heart
Shudders in tentacles of willow trees
Touching not the fervourless spirit
Resting unwearied for nothingness
Plumed and ruffled
By bird songs of no avail.
The death lament winded not
In wilded plains
Stormed downwards the reddish glow
Shining
With all the despaired
Brained and eyed
Ever felt by the human touch.
The poet's voice, a lonely flute
From the grotto of orphaned dreams,
And Sorrow the arms which wrap him
'Til e'en they grow frail, and falter,
Thus failing, cast him down-
A writhing soul unblest
By fair Sleep's last kiss...
His word, a sword
And princely thing!
His power firm, and curse-
For his the alighting of Heaven's sighs
Or a phrase to stymie giants...
Tho his thousand sonnets tribute Roses,
Nary a one will bed him-
For his the rage of the seeking Winds
Which howl through gardened graves,
A midnight dance of madness
By angels peopled and tears companioned...
Thus, then, he lives,
As touching the Dark,
And then the Dark awakens...