Best Cools Poems
Mirabelle orb ascends,
under clementine and pomegranate skies.
Absent,
in delight of daylight.
Eyes set adrift in dawning daydreams.
Calm heart is an oceanic concerto,
flowing along sapphire tones.
Deep breaths walk upon water,
caressed by Poseidon's piano keys.
Pulsating palpitations beat eloquent echoes,
rousing freely along rhythmical ripples.
Searching for symphonic serenity -
composition of waves, amicably,
pave a path towards destiny.
Hope vibrates like Apollos's lyre and lute strings,
as winds whistle lost tunes from Athena's flute.
Melodies of the silent sea summon torpid tides,
as desire merges in harmony with the harbour -
passionately embracing barren shores.
Aroma of dusk's dew cools in night's velvet sheen,
as sinking sun is submerged into the deep blue sea.
Sprinkling of pearls appear - their reflection
shimmering upon watery midnight blue stillness.
In silent clarity of blackness,
flowing footfalls of fate purify -
awakening mind from its reverie.
The Silent One
6 September 2020
Mirabelle - a plum, also known as mirabelle prune or cherry plum, is a cultivar group of plum trees of the genus Prunus. It is believed that the plum was cultivated from a wild fruit grown in Anatolia.
Poseidon, in ancient Greek religion, god of the sea (and of water generally), earthquakes, and horses.
Apollo has been recognized as a god of archery, music and dance, truth and prophecy, healing and diseases, the Sun and light, poetry, and more. His two musical instruments were the lute and the lyre.
Athena was a talented flute player, as she created it, but others ridiculed her when she played due to her cheeks. In disgust, she threw away the flute and said whoever picked it up and played it would be severely punished.
In London fog, the river stills.
In silver sleep, it cools and fills
with cobalt mist as dawn unfolds;
above the Thames, the sun bleeds gold.
Into the haze, it pours and pools
like melting opal, liquid jewels
until the brume of morning fades
to prune the sky with unseen blades
that slice the flaming clouds in two
to frame a glimpse of Waterloo.
*Inspired by Monet's painting, "Waterloo Bridge: Sun in a Fog"
The unlikely alliance
for me you need not be clothed
I understand your fragility
of which the edges are like krill
To you I disclose my being,
for only you I rehearse my songs.
From the truest vestiges of the heart,
where the rumbling of the soul
and electric current making multiple zeds as if ignition cannot be..
until it does..
Erupts this volcano inside of me, the magma of the heart cascading walls and gleam.
Steaming, hissing ,smoking at your feet and there it halts, and there it cools and I deliver me.
Touch me I am warm
Feel me I am true.
Where us unlikely two shall meet, you the tulip, I the lava.
There your trusting brave will do what none would believe.
I give you that diamond of the earth, that stone that doesn’t melt,
under pressure it was formed.
Be sure to stand the allegations of my antagonist
How I need your alibi
Oh how I yearn for truth
RECIPE
Tiny, glowing, hot in its skyward climb,
it warms the creatures like morning baked bread,
grows high, dies low, is part of cosmic time.
Flowing, agile, glistening droplets spread,
wet with life, liquid mirror in one song,
splashing high, vast enough to fill a bay.
Light, sailing, lifting lungs it becomes strong,
into sea, in sky, a blue holiday,
thin envelope keeps oxygen inside.
Crusty, thick, ore and fine silica cools,
forms a dirt shell for its earthly fast ride,
botanical in sticky molecules.
Hot flame, wet rain, deep breath in bold granite,
elixir, concoction... rarest planet.
-Edlynn Nau
(Original draft date: September 3, 2018)
Relaxing to a rain song serenade
Which breaks the stillness of hot southern nights
Fat bullfrogs harmonize while crickets play
A melting moon drips waxy yellow light
The motion of the porch swing cools your sweat
It's rhythm synchronizes with fireflies
Romantic nights like these remove regrets
Because they seem to somehow hypnotize
And yet to you they may not sound unique
With rain song serenades and melting moon
Our breathless southern nights have a mystique
Tranquility sings such a peaceful tune
If you think southern nights are not your thing
Come spend one with me on my old porch swing
an original poem by Daniel Turner
Earth element of wind, elusive to exploring eyes,
a gaseous, gusty ghost, she gyrates- gallops gallantly.
She bashes, bends, and bobs the branches of each bush and tree,
and chases, circles, curls dry fallen leaves so agilely.
We hear her bellow, bawl, and bluster when she's feeling fierce;
soft sounds of swishing, stirring- sighing when serene and tame.
With solid, staunch, and strapping strength, she soon can shift a house
within a raucous, raging, raving, reckless, hurricane.
She cools, controls, composes in the sultry summer heat,
forms wild and wheeling waves with whitecaps on the widespread sea;
a force that's fearless, frantic, sometimes, feeble- frail, she flies,
impermanent, intangible, she soars invisibly.
This ghastly glimmer of great ghostly gumption rushes by,
a force that is not sculpture, shadow, silhouette, or shape.
We feel and hear her apt and awesome atmospheric breath-
until she plans her fast, flirtatious, feathery escape.
March 18, 2016
~1st Place~
Contest: 2019 Poetry Marathon Qualifier's Final Placement
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Judged: 04/20/2019
~1st Place~
Contest: 2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 22
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Judged: 03/08/2019
~1st Place~
Contest: Elements Part 2: Wind
Sponsor: Brian Davey
Judged: 3/29/2016
*Alliteration, Rhyme, written in Iambic Heptameter,
14 Syllables, 7 feet per line
Despite the distance,
like moon and ocean,
I feel her close, but
touchless and tasteless.
Craving her comfort.
like a thief without
his precious treasure,
I yearn for one glimpse.
Tongue is silent, but
as spirits ignite,
'urges' call her name.
Her voice cools embers,
as souls dream to meet.
Soft tones of her heart
flutter so tranquil.
Calmness of her waves,
vibrate my heart's beam,
as my moonlight rays
fondle wet ripples,
absorbing deeper
like blended shadows,
merging ebony
and ivory strokes,
gently flowing like
lyrical lovers.
Adrift in her bliss,
hoping to merge like
tides kiss distant shores.
Her ink is my quill -
sprinkling our garden.
The Silent One
8 April 2021
Example for Anacreontic verse contest
Anacreontic verse is an Ancient Greek lyrical form, consisting of 20- to 30-
line poems with three to five syllables per line.
Developed by 6th century B.C. poet Anacreon. A form that emerged during the height of the dramatic, musical, artistic, and poetic culture.
The poems revolved around themes of love, infatuation, revelry, festivals, and observations of everyday life.
Under Moldy Soil, Red Moon Overhead
Under moldy soil, red moon overhead
lay millions of corpses, wars wasted dead
No bands playing, no sweet angels singing
only ghostly echoes, slowly ringing.
Cools winds blowing across such resting grounds
on dark nights, ghost-whispers its only sounds
Low moans, raging regrets of battle cries
rebukes of those that sold such deadly lies.
Sixth of June, sands give up soft wailing pleas
from beach desert devoid of any trees
Earth laced with spent cartridges , red blood and lead
painful memories, of that war's lost dead.
Under moldy soil, red moon overhead
how we may wish that peace had ruled instead.
R.J. Lindley
June 7th, 1976
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:
Total # Words: 102
Old Note- War is a necessary evil because mankind needs blood letting to soothe its savage soul.
And thus, is far too often a necessary reaction that insures the survival for the party that is first attacked.
New Notes-
1. SLIGHTLY EDITED TODAY TO MEET TEN SYLLABLE COUNT ONLY.
2. Mankind can not give up making war until it can purge ALL evil from its mortal soul!
Only one way to do that exists..
3. I want to thank the poet that suggested that I go ahead and share this poem from my private writes.
As it deserves to be read, I now agree with you my good friend..
A lean coyote chases a hare through
heat of desert winds. His swift doe
darts past my boots. They've managed
to escape, this time. He'll lead the chase
away another day.
I pause to watch the side-winder as he
considers a kangaroo rat, before moving
on between two century plants to a
rock ledge nearby. The tidy yellow rat
continues eating seeds, gleaning moisture,
never needing to sip drink in this dry
yet vibrant land.
The cactus wren with spotted breast
sits atop a prickly pear. The gilded
flickers' rosy cheeks and banded wings
are a colorful reminder of the beauty
I find out here. Their sturdy tails prop
them upright against a great saguaro,
carving out a hole for nest.
I crunch the tangy bulb of a white
desert lily whose green tendrils curl
on the ground. And here, as evening
cools walking back to my new home,
a silver moon illuminates my path. I
glory in this wondrous desert scene.
Autumn teases the last cinnamon leaves
clinging to branches with amber fingers.
Seasonal change awakens Nature's thieves,
a wafting breeze that doggedly lingers,
stripping trees bare; a scene that sadly grieves.
Fall sings in a rhythmic glissando voice
announcing it's time that she takes the helm.
We acquiesce, given no other choice.
She reigns over Indian Summer's realm,
painting meadows and vales as we rejoice.
Acorns are gathered by hoarding squirrels
who scurry to find the tasty jewels,
cherishing them as valuable pearls.
As north winds blow, the temperature cools.
Chimney smoke drifts in white ribbons and curls.
Time for harvesting ripe apples for pies.
Halloween pumpkins are put on display.
Carefully, we watch Autumn's sullen skies
Clouds grow heavy, in shades of nimbus gray.
A gaggle of geese in migration, flies.
Autumn dresses herself in wrinkled gown.
Ruffled skirt in hues of crimson and gold.
Bodice in ochre, trimmed in walnut brown,
a russet cloak worn when a chill takes hold,
woven from wizened leaves that tumbled down.
July 13, 2022
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 1 Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Originally posted in September 2021
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.
“Forgiveness is a funny thing.
It warms the heart and cools
the sting,”
Author: William Arthur Ward
Walking can really help daily stress.
Prayer and meditation, do I bless!
Writing poetry that fills you with pride.
Puts a lift in your step, this I do abide.
Reading a comment, makes your soul fly.
Fear not being ignored, they do come by.
Simply stated, above all, just be pure you.
You’re God’s creation, and no one is like you!
5/3/2024
The poet Marshall Mathers
whilst "Cleaning Out My Closet"
blasted with inquiry-
"Have you ever been hated on or discriminated against?
I have...''
Interesting enough
in these crooked times
it is impossible to make a man like you,
or your art,
especially with unbounding determination.
Nevertheless,
It sure is mighty easy to attain their hatred,
through no fault of your own.
When they protest or demonstrate against you...
finally you have arrived!
That's powerful!
Common sense says,
"Never drive in the rear view mirror!"
Though, it sure is helpful to take a quick glance back
periodically
to check out Jealousy,
back there
doubting and shouting and eating your dust!
Take a whiff...
Listen...
AHHHH....
The band begins to play ferociously!
Off-key.
Off-color.
Slander Slogans pasted upon your face.
Furthermore,
Suddenly,
Systematically...
like roaches with lights bright,
they disappear into the night,
back to the slums;
begging for crumbs.
Once you've been Blacklisted;
Swallow.
Digest the miracle.
Pure, glowing gold
the alchemy of their anger,
visibly discernable from the glossy pyrite
appearing with fake praise.
Heed the old adage:
---------------Keep yir' friends close, and enemies closer.
Their futile harm repels from the Teflon donning your heart.
Envy
burns bold, boils,
melts and cools, then cold,
forging the sword.
Adding to your arsenal.
Stumble not
upon bone fragments,
brittle blacklist bandits...
the Catacombs of those
who aimed to defame your name,
staking claim for their
shameless sea of debris
and Rotten Forgottens
which only bolster your begotten flame.
Remain steadfast, undaunted
TROUNCE THOSE TREACHEROUS TROUBLES;
________________________ TO ________________________
MARCH THROUGH THE RIGOROUS RUBBLE!
*Heads High,
Let me see those eloquent eyes!~JsL
~Inspired by written words of Marshall Mathers, Cleaning Out My Closet,
Shady Records~
I have sweet thoughts
The thoughts goes to you
My tears comforted by you
The pleasure is great when I have you
The delights you give me when I'm happy
My eyes sparkle when I look at you
My mouth runs in water
I just have to taste you
My own love and sin
Only by a small touch
Feel my lips cools down
A sprinkling of chocolate on top
My delicious vanilla ice cream
I need you ... NOW!
13.08.2013
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Winds of Change
Capricious, wild zephyr – face changing ever
Pirouettes on toes with mischief clever
Breathes dawn’s glow – gusty gales of crystal snows –
Signals the seasons – the bloom of the rose.
A whiff of coming Spring – perfumed soft sighs -
Lifts up baby birds to touch new sky highs
In Summertime cools the dry sunburned land
Sweating dirt devils spin 'cross the beach sand.
A whirlwind of moods - mistrals laugh then brood -
Twirls pinwheel hues in Autumn's interlude
Cold drafts exhale in frigid Winter tales
Telltale breath bears meadow white hoarfrost frail.
Though changing winds beg to spin weathervanes
Each season’s persona remains unchanged.
11-24-20
Contest: Winds of Change
Sponsor: John Hamilton