Best Coppery Poems
I smell the coppery scent of fresh blood,
and the stench of death, excrement, and piss.
A soldier lies dead, his face in the mud;
I never thought that war would be like this.
My mind is numb; I cannot shed a tear,
nor change reality—why even try?
There is nothing left within me but fear,
the more I live, the more I want to die.
I fear the killing will never be done,
for Hope has all but abandoned me.
And I fight a war that cannot be won,
pain and suffering are all that I see.
War is an ever-expanding abyss,
where mere survival often feels like bliss.
to sneak outside,
into the gentle beauty of evening
when all others are asleep,
except for nocturnal hawks like me,
I wander along the river's shore,
in the twirling, dappled
prism of waves, pebbles and buds,
thrown across the grass
by the skyline flickering through
wind-tossed crowns of trees--
a rare sensation as though I were walking
on a gossamer mantle of water : it's true,
i love the taste of nightbreak
softly caressing the glossy lacquer of summer tide--
a fragrant pewter, compared to the coppery
sting of blistering daytime,
that when my eyes inhale the grace
offered by peeping clouds, is to be filled
with a song of moonlight
waltzing with the sea-breeze in a dance fest.
Oh, sneaking outside
in the near dusk hours has been a rite
of mine since i was a child...
and till now it beholds me,
this magical pageant that began at age eight
when from nowhere ,
a relay of stars and a new moon carried me
out the gate and beyond this world--
if only to bestow upon me a mystical tour
connecting heaven's light with waters blue.
Water And Sky Contest of Gregory R. Barden
Re-posted 1/5/2018
Daybreak usually greets me when it ascends each day.
Yawning, I drowsily rise from the comfort of my bed
as the horizon glows with colors in resplendent array.
Dawn announces, "The warmth of Ra is on its way!"
Soon, over land and sea, aureate beams will spread.
Daybreak usually greets me when it ascends each day.
Sunrise shines on foxes in meadows where they play,
illuminating their coppery coats of orange and red
as the horizon glows with colors in resplendent array.
In shallows, sunlight dances with waves as they spray,
creating prisms in nuanced tones of variegated thread.
Daybreak usually greets me when it ascends each day.
It does not matter where I wander or aimlessly stray.
Mornings are idyllic once somber darkness is shed
as the horizon glows with colors in resplendent array.
How I'd dread a cause for the rooster's crowing delay.
What a folly if the moon continued her reign instead.
Daybreak usually greets me when it ascends each day,
as the horizon glows with colors in resplendent array.
August 11, 2022
First Person Villanelle Contest
Sponsored by L Milton Hankins
The waves crushing her tiny body with striking blows
White creamy wash caresses her golden skin as the wave slows
Moving sluggishly towards the horizon
Because of a recurring vision she hopes she’ll arise in
Her feet digging deep into the sand as it sinks between her toes
Emersed, with arms folded she prepares and off she goes
The cool oceans breeze kisses her beet-red cheeks
It knows what she’s come for and what she seeks
Sunshine drips onto coppery auburn locks shimmering, it lifts
A pale honey-wheat straw sunhat spins away and drifts
Almost completely submerged in salty brazen waters
Compelled at this point with the nauticus mythic plotters
Shut against blaring sunrays are her deep emerald eyes
Her sunburnt face gazing up at vanilla skys
She meditates on what had before appeared, a glimpse
Of the siren with long flowing raven hair and other nymphs
Teeth chattering to tapping sounds like wooden castanets do
Contain her trembling lips she can’t, they turn purplish merlot-blue
Shaking from an Autumn’s cold spell, she imagines she’s a mermaid
But diving in opaque murky silt wasn’t what she had expected
Her bare flesh emerging from impure poisonous rot of green
Blood red ripples dripping from the clouds that are unseen
Neither she nor the fierce Cyrene, Apollos wife the naiad should dread
Numbing overcomes her at last she hears the siren singing in her head
Paralyzing fragments of her hallucination now bestow
A gifted sacrifice her (secret thoughts) needed for soothing waves to flow
In the distance a cranberry sun sets, now streaks of pink implores
A darkened blue-green sea, maroon and sapphire shores
A beautiful mermaid appears and thanks her for her secret thought
That only love for the deep blue sea (the ocean is life) and to all this be taught
let’s take the long way back
beneath shaded oak and aromatic pine
athwart the weathered split-rail fence
bent into the warp and woof of nature’s wiles
past the old place
with its long front porch
and massive beams holding memories
of laughter and dancing feet
in moonlit rooms resonating with sounds of
family and friends fading now
as we roll past the giant willow
bending shade into the shape of long afternoons
drawing water from the well
with the fresh coppery taste
so light and cool on a summer afternoon
we glide into the blue-amber glow
of the western penumbra spread long and wide
with faint lights glimmering in the valley below
melding light and shadow into night
as we drift on wheels crunching gravel
like popcorn between our teeth
the hour is right in its time
and all that might have been
trailed behind and lost the way
back to what we remember
of days that are no more
The leaves of the fern
Begin the rhythm of the forest.
The music of the woodland floor
Pulsates to the rise of the sun.
The morning...mists dissipate in silent beats
Playing to every lead from the composer above.
Dapples of light pierce the canopy
Dancing atop the undergrowth’s skin.
Reflective light serenades...the complimentary
Colors of nature...as the day begins.
The cantata of Spring’s movement reverberates
The forest walls with echoes of wildlife sounds.
Nature’s mellifluous voice...graces the day.
Melodic tones of the chanting thicket,
Boundless in splendor...in harmonious hums.
Soft chirps...in a soothing ambience.
Elegant masses of birds lilt the air.
Amongst the sun and shadow,
An array of serenity dazzles the calm,
Displaying the beauty of nature.
The woven...movement shifts,
To the euphonious of a gentle rain,
As the acoustic waves chase the sun,
Dulcet tones begin to wind down,
As the fern plays its’ sonata of praise.
In its’ natural role in the forest.
The lush...fern bows with its coppery...red leaves,
As the curtain of night begins to close.
A standing ovation emerges at dusk
From the chattering...crickets...chirping applause.
cunning whist’red the wind
through bulwarks of my youth
cloaked in kindness its sly craft
masked in plotting feign’d truth
the scent of damp stone and moss
clung to my marrow
voices in each gust
defiant i stood on the brink
slumber’ring in ire’s enlace
with sly deceit danced outcome
and beguiled dreams took stage apace
the bitter tang of shadowed air
the quell of trembling leaves
twilled with the evil of withheld grace
vain are stars that once foretold
boast not what thou’st dealt
the conqueror an umbral mist walks
in wilderness where none hath knelt
soil crumbles underfoot
cold dew bites the ankles of night
sweet—and awful—sang the muteness
after the third new moon pass’d
grim hunger prevails
hangs where sojourners draw breath
their last
the coppery taste of fear
lingers in the throat
as stillness gnaws the spectral lungs
not for bread i starve
but for meaning
in vale and entombed mountain roam
judgment echoes field and forest
sunward songs mount toward doom
rustle of leaf
bark-scratch under nails
carry the weight of unseen eyes
thorn’d breaths of abyssal wind
my failing prostrate i ascribe
to flagrant flame
incurably untam’d
a whirling squall of dissipation
drunkenness of nameless claim
the acrid smoke of wasted fire
licks the tongue of legacy
shadow’d cinders curl in the mind
indignation binds me captive
a dungeon endless dark and grim
vile guilty stricken wholly
no mortal left to shield or limb
chains clash rattle in marrow’s obscurity
iron scents the air with accusation
yet manifest soulless one
fervent fierce and torn
momentary affliction sways
in transient shape of mourn
cool sweat bitter ashen traces
mingle with tremor of fleeting heart
tired i am
weak i am
worn i am
yet still
i rise
though wretched rent
to meet the sweet and awful dawn
with every scar fetch’d and spent
light trembles on dew-beaten leaves
first air pungent and raw
fills lungs with promise
of endurance
cunning whist’red the wind
On gossamer lips
Wisped coppery tendrils
Showering sparks
Riding evening breezes
That radiate off my
Eyelashes in papery
Wet slivers
Sticking only when
Your song of ill-boding
Is breathed over me
Its primitive amity
Contused and crusted
On baneful syllables
In sweet consummation
Where at last I see the
Crumbling bouquet
That’s falls
Onto your pages
Jewels of Africa.
The saffron Queen spins the lilac sky,
her rays flick crimson cinders into Royal Blue Oceans.
Submerge, sizzle, frizzle...going, going, gone! ...But Not.
Cumulus clouds drizzle pepper fog over pink Flamingos, homeward bound.
Tea-green Botswana bush,
teeny, tiny Hummingbirds hover over brink-pink Balsams,
feast on elixir of nectar.
Royal Albatross rides the last whip of wind.
Sulking Stork swoops through veiled mists above marshy meadow ponds.
Sword sunbeams lash chrome, coppery twilight.
Mooned dusks, a violet cape cloaks bathing blooms.
Nightscape sky sparks, preparing morning’s thin blue...aurora hue.
Camouflaged branches stretch, tickle studded clouds
as ribboned roots cling to crevice homes.
A spook- silver ring appears from nowhere, pearling ripples aluminium.
Beams spill across the sea like lines of glittering fire.
Ethiopian wolves howl composed solos,
phantom echoes shudder Tarantula’s lair
as Flax Lily spurts scent...Frankincense and Lime.
Sultry Savannah’s secrets passed on by rhythmic lip-smacking Baboons,
cracking jokes in the knitted canopy,
teasing and tickling clowning Hyena’s below as
a blinkered platoon of Jet Wood Ants march to their Majesty.
Dawn draws indigo voiles over Nephthys, Goddess of Night
slashes of Sunrise surge shadows as the Bush Lark spangles jewels in the air.
The Alize wind dies in respect to heavenly panorama...
Mountains reflected, seen to be varnished into still, smalt-blue sea.
As twilight dims in western skies,
umbra’s odd and coppery band
gloams slowly cross the perished land.
Mystery to our wond'ring eyes,
this marvel now can be unveiled—
a shadow looms, moonlight impaled.
Scarce minutes though its firm demise,
phantasm this or merely dream,
supplanted now by arc lamp's beam.
For few regard eclipsed moon rise,
snuffed out by artificial day
of garish neon’s crude Cosplay.
Heaven itself denied apprise,
for surfeit reigns with paucity,
confirming our vacuity.
A sad lament must then arise,
and honor for the night persist;
ersatz and real ought coexist.
* * * *
As twilight dims in western skies—
mystery to our wond'ring eyes—
scarce minutes though its firm demise,
for few regard eclipsed moon rise.
Heaven itself denied apprise,
A sad lament must then arise.
1st Place, Andrea's Inspiration, Connie's Form, Constanza
Click above on "About this Poem" for commentary on terms/lines.
Dedicated to the International Dark Sky Association<>
Cloaking a Burnished Coppery Sky
the darkness fully ebony black
hides the blaze of silvery stars.
Not a single twinkle could be seen.
Then like a true goddess of light
she rode out of the darkest black
and her silvery beams conquered
sending packing that bleak dark.
Now released streaks of copper
heighted and high lit her beams.
Triumphant riding the starry night
the Moon shone out in Full Glory.
Here lies my notepad, covered in scrawl, my pencil rolls on to the table
I watch as it rolls and suspect it may fall, but it stops at the edge, balanced and stable
The cloth it is on is yellow and blue, sliced into squares of three inches or so
Not every one has the same hue, but it's waterproof cloth and useful for dough
There are mats on the table roughly stacked, big ones and small ones, kind of cyan
and marbled indigo patterns are tracked, round the neatly drawn boarder of coppery tan
A stainless steel trivet spirals beside, bright in the sunshine, it's hurting my eyes
The daffodils in their blue vase abide, the sweetest aroma doth rise to the skies
I sit here on one of five chairs, all wooden and carved, and matching the table
And because my wife cares, each one has a cushion, but you'll not find a label
She made them by hand, and each one is tied, with bows in the corners to stop it from falling
To the carpet that's blue upon which they stand, with delicate swirls and flowers it's crawling
A cuckoo clock hangs on the wall by the window, it's occupant hidden and quiet for now
But when he pops out and looks just below, to one side is a painting we love and how
It shows some puppies who run round a bend, one of them trips and slides onto the frame
Beneath the picture a pipe doth wend, to a radiator that's white, they all look the same
Behind me stands our pride and joy, a dresser of magnificent proportions
top shelf holds a wind up toy, and in the back a silver platter, reflects the room with weird distortions
Here we keep our trinkets and glasses, safe from the danger of falling or dust
And as I write the morning passes, my coffee mug's empty, there are chores to do and I fear I must
PD's dare was "Can you really poet and rhyme everything around you"
Here I rest upon the smooth rivers bank
Resting under the protection of white birch
Tasting the scent of spring on old Cape Ann
As if being reborn in the late April sunshine
Here thoughts and memoirs drift on the current
Washing away on coppery green wave crests
Watched by Snapdragon eyes gently drifting
Wafting in the sweetness of a juniper breeze
A brushed sedate glow of dusk mirroring light
Painting the currents of the Annisquam River
Lying in the peaceful and intrepid stillness
I wonder if I’ve found a moment of perfection
Softly baptized by the tepid evening drizzle
I see the silvery notes fall to break the surface
Playing the sweet libretto of rain and river
A rising crescendo of new life awakening
Here I find peace upon the placid rivers bank
Lost in memory amidst honeysuckle moments
It’s here that my spirit remains eternally young
Ever blossoming in the late April moonlight
I smell the coppery, sweet scent of blood
where a soldier died, his face in the mud.
I mourn the soldier's death.
War is a putrid, expanding abyss
where a day's food and water feels like bliss.
I mourn the soldier's death.
I fight a war that I know can't be won,
for amidst this carnage, I am but one.
I mourn the soldier's death.
God has forsaken and abandoned me,
silently ignoring my anguished plea.
I mourn the soldier's death.
A child soldier's life is stripped of all fun,
afraid the killing will never be done.
I mourn the soldier's death.
My mind is numb; I cannot shed a tear,
there is nothing left inside me but fear.
I mourn the soldier's death.
I wish I had wings to soar through the sky,
I'd leave in a heartbeat if I could fly.
I mourn the soldier's death.
My future looks murky; nothing is clear,
I will be lucky to survive out here.
I mourn the soldier's death.
I had no idea it was love I was falling in,
But through the freefall I saw his eyes,
And from the eye of the hurricane we stood within,
He saw through my every disguise.
He bent my will and lit up my sky;
His thunder silenced my fear.
Coppery clouds have me wondering why
His violent storm makes my eyes see so clear.
Broke me and fixed me, he promised to carry
My burdens tattooed on his veins;
He was the thunderstorm in the valley
And I was the girl who smelled like rain.