Best Coverlets Poems
Dear dada
add an “ist”
to it all
I reject
in the face
of it all
Aestheticism
true beauty
is found in the
ugliness of it all
peaking out
under coverlets
of mud
throwing
spit balls
of pulchitrude
wrapped up
time bombs
that stick
to the banal
unexpected beauty …
of it all,
ambitious
edges and curves
open and inviting
accompanied by caveats
there will be
splendid over-ripe
gardens of Eden
followed teasingly
in close pursuit, by the
madhatters’ tea parties
and Hugos' balls
rooms too large,
and rooms too small
it’s all
rather
simple
underneath
the dirt
of it all
precious
and most expensive
jewels are found
smudged kisses
mascara stained
cheeks of Cinderellas
holding spaces
for roses are red
and violets are blue
daisy chains
of love me
love me knots
tightly
tied
small victories
virtues held
and lost, conquests
stroking glass slippers
drinking in the gins
and espousing
their 3 wishes
looking for
long lost Kings
failing that,
settling for
paupers, not
princes
their crystal balls
over brave and
missing the mark
shattering
then later
lying unclaimed
under the sun
melting
through the
flaws
Dear dada
add an “ist”
to it all
escapist
artist
tourist
minimalist
extremist
illusionist
fatalist
but never
realist
escape artist
mud wrestling naked
in poetic jello, at the
Cabaret Voltaire
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Dadaist.
Out Of Water
Eternal suffering
Fresh cleansing rain,
regain
Harmonic smells so wonderful,
restores impressions in your mind of ocean shores
Rainbows of prism refracting,
colors that are spellbinding
red, orange, yellow, green, blue, Indigo, violet
mixtures mystifier of lights and shadows aver
Cleansing the air,
beautify and reign over azure suggestive buttermilk sky
Green crisp canopies of forest trees
Tall, lush emerald green grass that sway in the breeze
coverlets of ferns, climbing vines embroidered through trees
and stray flowering plants that grants
a playground for musical birds that perch or fly to the skies,
enchanting dance of the butterflies, and an orchestra of the wild,
a spiritual wonder all thirst for shelter and pure clean water
Glacier’s abundance surplus
Beautiful lustrate waterfalls so gracious
Running water through rocks and sand,
adding to erosion of filtrating
The voice of the future echoes a plea
An epiphany
Purge memories shall come to cease
Dearth of rain
Yearning thirst will attain
Drought, dehydration, famine, poverty,
sickness, anguish wildlife perishes
Eternal suffering and losses
The future beseeches
2/17/2015
Contest: Out of Water
Sponsor: Sheri Fresonke Harper
Gossamer
morning mist
vanishes
Ancient sun
shimmering
welcoming
Filigree
embellished
aurora
Chantilly
laced silence
awakens
Crystalline
dew sweetened
surprises
Meadowlark's
exquisite
melody
Delicate
violet
carnival
Pomander
lavender
fragrances
Soft velvet
Mossy wet
coverlets
Green clover
slipper soft
carpeting
Catharsis
of the soul
transcending
_________________________________
Inspired by the "Ellip" Contest...sponsored by Gigno
Walking, talking and skipping stones by the shoals
Caress, hug me tender while shining bold eyes
Sparkle, playful promises until fall fades
Sensibility flew
Example: Red cheeked boyfriends tenderly kiss me sweet mouthed
under Boulder coverlets winter springtime
hug me naked laughing & telling girl friends
gossip til autumn
Translated
RED cheeked BOY/friends TEN/der/ly KISS me SWEET mouthed
UN/der BOUL/der COV/er/lets WIN/ter SPRING/time
HUG me NA/ked LAUGH/ing and TELL/ing GIRL friends
GOS/sip til AU/tumn
Hats are such a marvel,
when the weather is so garbled,
A multitude of quick coverlets to warm the brain
protect the head from snow, wind and rain.
A dapper, flamboyant chapeau
to quickly dawn where ever you might go,
A fedora brandished by some handsome man
that would display his appealing stand.
A stetson for the guy from Texas
who stands tall before the rest of us.
A tam, a topper
a Panama show stopper.
Some pretty little girl in a bonnet
that inspires a Shakespearean sonnet.
Better yet, a woman's choice of millinery
to walk a fashion show off fritillary.
To church or same gandiose Easter parade
that gleams and stands above the seasonal charade.
Hats are such a blessing
when the cold requires warm protective dressing.
The prediction is for gusty winds and cold,
hats need only be warm not necessarily bold.
Take your pick
but make it quick
your nose, your face, your head
need covering, that goes unsaid.
as temperatures drop
FLOWING WATER
Though my boat be shaken and tossed,
Serenity is in the mind, in the soothed soul --
My spirit’s not aching or forsaken. Nor is it lost.
It needs no flow from smoothed shoal.
Not for me still waters, though they run deeply
In the placid pool behind a hinged lock-gate on a canal,
Or slowly with a meandering boat on the Mississippi.
I need contrast : this flowing peace is too banal.
Through a thunderstorm’s raging performance
And the torrent plunging itself to the abyss floor
Peace is in my mind : contrast between wild disturbance
And mild tranquility is my key to the locked poetry door.
Where the flowing tide consumes the sand,
With the week’s hunger of a wolf without balm,
And hurls it about as a carcass of land --
In this ocean storm with wave merciless, I feel only calm.
When the tumultuous shrieking wind and wave break
And spend themselves urgently on the silent sandy slope,
The tumblers of my locked imagination shake
Open, and I feel the lull and pull of peace and hope.
A child in a warm bed listens to the windy rain on pane
And feels the same catalysis : and, peeping at the driven rivulets,
Sees storms and hears the cries of lost sailors on the main,
And falls to sleep contented, secure beneath the coverlets.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written by Sydney Peck on 24 September 2011
For Francine Roberts’s Contest “Flowing water”
My wishes are for Earth beings to quiet
and hear the whispers of a star-filled night.
Listen to snowflakes as they gently fall
Hear the music of a winter bird's call.
Breathe in soft quietness, so our souls may heal
Know that what's before us is what is real.
Bask in the warmth of tangerine sunsets,
and silver moon wearing star coverlets.
Relish the trees, blossoms waiting to grow,
be grateful for each morning's sunrise show.
Cherish our families and those we hold dear
Let all unkind words fall on our deaf ear.
Let happiness find its everyday place.
Accept others' love as we accept grace.
Help those crying, give them true joy to feel
When enough wish these things, they will be real.
December 3, 2021
Memories -
Laughter explodes, runs riot
children huddled beneath sheets,
heads lost in wonderland of white.
Grown-ups with whispered words
wait, breath held tight,
at top of the stairs, passed mid-night.
Eyes closed, flushed cheeks,
presents laid at silent feet,
on coverlets bathed by moonlight.
All quiet, all through the night, until
morning brings Christmas Day’s delight.
Midnight on the Clock
Midnight gray blocks out the stars
in racing steams of flowing clouds.
Moon light hides behind windy puffs
of smoky filtered white.
October nights are cooled by lingering rain
cold riding the wind.
A sudden drop in temperature calls out
for blankets and warm coverlets.
Tugging up against the chin downy warmth exudes
wrapping the body safe and snug.
Warm wood scented fires rising to the sky
wafting in the wind.
Winter waits in the background hovering t the door
with promise of cold and ice and snow.
Midnight dark slips in whistling winds in the trees
pulling leaves loose to set them free.
Autumn falls floating on the twisting turning breeze
sliding thru the maze of pumpkins.
October slides into November’s ghostly souls in flight
set free of this physical life.
Misty haze hangs then sweeps by in dulled vision
bringing tears to life and flow.
Seasons wrestle back and forth teasing and taunting
to be reborn in time.
Cool shadows drift wayward touching sharp and harsh
against the frosty earth.
Time edges in inches away with the race
unguided into history.
Midnight passion purple blends bold and brazen
into an overture of song and hymns.
Psalms, prayers, and promises sing soft and quiet
the solemn dreams of Solomon.
A time for every season of poverty and plenty
setting hearts afire with desires.
A flow of life’s endless continuance of hope
rising on the harbor waves.
Embers rise off in the distance setting wispy images
figures ghostlike in the air.
Tightly close the windows and the doors
lock out the visionary thoughts and specters
Enraptured, the dreams steal away to all that is left
Midnight on the clock.
"On Gelid Night" by David Hart
On gelid night, prone amidst this small sea of
faineant coverlets,
A nimeity of somnolent susurrations--
Bombinate and pierce the greyblack night.
Still, the foundling lies on bilious pillow
A radiator's dolorous tintinnabulation
Harmonizes a fan's punctilious paean.
On this gelid night,
A languid pillow kisses this naive cheek.
Vocabulary
Bilious-ill-tempered; Foundling-lost child; nimiety-excess (n);
dolorous-sad; tintinnabulation-tinkling sound; susurrations(n)-whispers; faineant(adj)-
idle; gelid-icy cold; bombinate-buzz or hum; punctilious-precise; paean- a song of praise
Wearing coverlets of haze, are the summers we remember,
when barefoot toes touched fragrant grass, that wilted in September
............................
One hundred eighty one days ago today,
Jews began their day, as usual in every way.
Jumped out of their beds and prayers. were said.
They dressed and fixed coverlets on their beds.
Mothers cooking breakfeast…but not for very long.
As killers with bullets ended their morning songs.
Safe Rooms were to be a place to run and hide,
But many were killed instantly in this crimson tide.
These people, living in peace and loving harmony,
Were slaughtered,not significant enough for poetry?
Their older children at the Nova concert for peace,
Met death at dawn or were taken hostages, like sheep.
And while we get our trophies and POTDs’
Jews and Americans still hostages, are important to me.
1,200, savagely killed, the morning of October Seventh.
By methods, so heinous, and were dispatched to heaven!
The sadness, has never left my Noahide, weeping soul.
But to have others, never forget,is a significant life’s goal.
This was a horrid, bloody, pogrom in my very own lifetime..
And loss as horrid as this, is to be remembered is soulful rhyme.
4/7/2024
Sometimes when I am lonely, by myself
I look through the volumes on the shelf,
And try to find gems hidden in the pages
Treasures of truth written by wise sages,
Sometimes I laugh, and sometimes I cry
Single thoughts can evoke a winsome sigh,
Books, long wonderful and trusted friends
Ofttimes my transparent heart transcends,
As I re-read many stories I had forgotten
Of tragic romances and deeds misbegotten,
I lose myself in quilted coverlets of time
Reading is, for me, the epitome of sublime.
Written April 6, 2022
It's a winter wonderland
pure, pristine, clean,
cleansed of the darkness
given to the transition of the light
release from the cold blackness of night.
The morning sun rise glistens
reflective rays listening
winds blowing off the cotton ivory coverlets
from every bouncing branch
within the chill of winter's first dance.
Snug and warm within closed doors
safe, protected in the confines of these walls
the season echoes a recurring call,
of peace, goodwill, promised hope
from the gifts of Heaven's host.
A celebration of life living from sacrifice
the heart fires begin to ignite
decorating trees, ornaments and lights
for recollected finds
in memorialized Christmas time.
Two thousand years dusting the centuries
of the Christ child's entry
his birth along the once desolate earth
renewing hope, joy, promises and love
gifts from our Creator above
it's the bounty and gratitude
revealed in
the first snow
reminder of where
we have been..
Awakening
Came awake.
Silent stygian darkness,
Lit only by the pale, yellow night light far down the hallway
And the harsh stark whiteness of the beside alarm dial.
The stuttering staccato of beats seeming to shake the chest where they live,
Single, sometimes paired-waiting for their entrance to overwhelm what is there.
The rigor is mild but unmistakable felt under the coverlets
As you try with your feet to unravel the layers for more warmth and cover.
The world turns slowly at night within the confines of your space,
Protected from without, but not from within, where the fever lives.