Best Crisply Poems
There is a place called beautiful nestled deep in my mind's eye
Gingham curtains crisply pressed frame periwinkle summer sky
Brass kettle on the old gas stove reflects cast iron pans
And always at the kitchen sink, I see busy, wrinkled hands.
There is a place called beautiful, I'm transported with a whiff
Of coffee brewing, dark and strong, I long to take a sip.
And in the air a trace of Tollhouse cookies baked this morn
And some perfume that only in this special spot is worn.
There is a place called beautiful I hear in perfect dreams
As Frankie croons and Louis wails all whilst the kettle steams
And as she works, she never tires as she hums and sings along
But the harmony of her lilting laugh is by far my favorite song.
There is a place called beautiful, it tastes like sweetest creams
Made in a bucket with a crank til her arms wore out, it seems
And topped with juicy berries that would burst upon each bite
And juices stained my mouth and clothes most every summer night.
There is a place called beautiful, I long to feel again
The naive sense that everywhere was as safe and free of sin
Where love and peace were daily served with a kiss upon the cheek
And grandma's kitchen always felt like you just found what you seek.
4/9/2019 / Poetry Marathon Final Placement / Sponsor: Mark Toney
Categories:
crisply, beautiful, family, grandmother, imagery,
Form:
Rhyme
Emerald etchings are given birth
to bask their lives in summer's sun,
until brushing brutal winters cheek,
They cower yellow; brown undone.
Swirling down onto concrete pyres,
They somersault to a random grave.
The earth lays claim to copper corpses
But the winter wind is a cunning knave.
It finds and flips the fallen fibers,
then flings them crisply to the street.
The failing sheaves of burnt magenta,
tossed like chaff from harvest wheat.
Now strewn about with playful malice,
and denied the resting place they crave,
for the golden sun is a glint of amber,
but the winter wind is a chilling knave.
Categories:
crisply, death, nature, seasons, winter,
Form:
Quatrain
Walking upon the ground singing
frozen solid crisply cracking ice reality
each step inside a crunching golden morning
Alone looking towards the rising sun
cold wind cutting chill to the bone
clouds shade pink to grey
Winds blowing cold breathing whispers
whistling in chilling howls echoes deeply
Staring faraway over snow capped mountains
Distant horizon of dreams
love your the light of hope
drums forever in your grace will beat
A daunting year for to come
tears fall looking at my brother's grave
not knowing what the future holds
Categories:
crisply, emotions, heart, heartbreak, sad,
Form:
Free verse
Emerald etchings are given birth
to bask their lives in summer’s sun,
until brushing brutal winters cheek,
they cower yellow; brown undone.
Swirling down onto concrete pyres,
they somersault to a random grave.
The earth lays claim to copper corpses
but the winter wind is a cunning knave.
It finds and flips these fallen fibers,
then flings them crisply to the street.
The falling sheaves of burnt magenta,
tossed like chaff from harvest wheat.
Now strewn about with playful malice,
and denied the resting place they crave,
for the golden sun is a glint of amber,
but the winter wind is a chilling knave.
Categories:
crisply, seasonswinter, winter,
Form:
Rhyme
Xanadu may exude such percussive bliss
Youthful romps and a coy stolen kiss
Lightly tapping in jaunty melifulous splendor
Orpheus muse prances playfully tender
Pounding with swift light jazzy flourishes
Heart and soul the xylophone nourishes
Oblivious to troubles I cannot stop my feet
Notions of love brightly swing to the beat
Each crisply chimed note a gift beyond sweet
Categories:
crisply, music,
Form:
Acrostic
Paint a picture with your mind
Dust out your cluttered head
Close the outer eye and open
Imagination’s keenest eye within
See now grassy hills that rise and fall
See the crisp blue stream that winds along
Now the downy clouds reflected in
The water far below its floating waves
Hear the sparrow as he trills his song
Crisply over lofty trees of fir
Listen as the brook sings back the tune
Of sparrow’s joyous song of sweet refrain
Never would one be alone if when
Creativity takes him such a place
He could see and hear and touch and taste
The joys which offered elsewhere can be his
If only in his mind’s eye, he can go
Locations that his fancied thoughts would fly
Nowhere is beyond limit for him,
Whose inventions take such grandiose flight
(This is a re-post)
Categories:
crisply, adventure, fantasy, imagination, nature
Form:
Free verse
Walking - leaves crackle crisply
Strolling - leaves shuffle and bugs scamper
Running - leaves crack and explode powder dry
Sitting - leaves clack softly as they hit the ground
Walking in snow - leaf voices are muted
as the white blanket
covers them for their winter nap.
Walking in a spring rain - leaves sigh softly
as they succumb to decomposition,
dissolving into the delicate lace that nourishes the earth.
Walking in summer shade - leaves now green,
humming to themselves in the hot breezes,
sneezing as they dust themselves off.
Walking in leaves of fall - dying; they sing a dirge, mourning summer.
— mulch now —
they contemplate their own demise,
waiting for spring.
Categories:
crisply, nature, time
Form:
Free verse
in your memories
ebbing, white-capped
look upon me in enduring favor
one moment plucked
from the rest
still crisply descriptive
when most is lost
these abandoned cells
bide in hope
of being revisited
begged to tell their fable
one last time
in your mirror
an unfamiliar girl
let me remind you
Categories:
crisply, introspection, me,
Form:
Sam Antix, Shuffling, Stands
Battered, Bloody, Body
Turns, Towards, Taking
Course, Cold, Cavern, Cave
Vocal, Voice, Vibrating
Frequency, 538, Forward
Face, Fierce, Foe
Only, Option, Open
Defy, Defend, Defeat
Star, Same, Seek
Princess, Prisoner, Pointed, Peak
Thirty feet within the darkness band
There appears movement upon distant sand
Demons of yellow fire forming clan
Sam dropped to his knees and then
Buried his hands deep in the sand
Cry to mother earth in land
Woman help me to withstand
Sam, than began to stand
With one shield and sword in each hand
Much gratitude to you Beloved Lady of the land
Have at thee, ye demon, Sam fanned
Slicing the first beast at mid span
Sam continued to hack at the clan
Four then came at Sam in a band
Sam with shield thrust, beasts now I make stand
Victory at all cost be my battle cry and plan
Now have at thee, ye beast demon men
Approaching now a unit of nine
Battle ready crew said superior troop
Closing around Sam, encompassing loop
Demon horde fools Sam says and begins to laugh
Error on your part, ye think Sam I am daft
Advancing on Sam now be the last nine
The first, sword take two from head fine
The third, shield severs his spine
Sword pierced two from behind
Sam had calm of mind
Last hit point dime
Spilled blood wine
Wind sign
Climb
Ever her call beckons me
Sam my dearest where art you
From the pits of hell I come
My love, on my way
Next, Now, North
Yet, Yellow, Yin or Yang
Guarding, Gate, Gargantuan
Fearlessly, Facing, Fiend
Sam’s, Saber, Shines
Winding, Willing, Wind
Battle, Began, Between
Cutting, Crisply, Clean
Limber, Legs, Leap
Knowing, Knowledge, Knight
Neck, Negate, Next
Dropping, Double, Doors
Categories:
crisply,
Form:
SILVER Moon
(Look, Sound, Smells, Taste, and Feels)
SILVER-Silvery-shiny is the beauty of thy WHITE face, as like as a piece of hand kneaded morning bread
SILVER- Sounding crisply we crash that hand-flattened bread while we chew beholding that
SILVER-Turning BROWN when the horse rears home before you arise on the sky spreading the west- sandy smell
SILVER-Yummy is the final reaction after eating that GOLDEN crust of bread alike you, then it cast its spell
SILVER-We feel like listening the story of the GREY Gammer spinning wheels in moon while staring at you when shine full bright.
(Silver, see, white, black, sapphire, orange, puzzle, grey, feel, warm, sing, smell, aroma, eyes, hear)
Oh! Thou silvery moon, the crown of nature, the sky,
How can you uphold thy decaying circle till the fortnight?
We see the white carpet surrounding thy antique abode,
Reminding us of thy black, cloudy old moon exterior.
In the sapphire sky, before the orange sun intends to go sea bed,
You appear before then puzzling us with your splendid charm instead.
The glorious grey spots inside thee,
Illustrates a deep, romantic melancholy.
As we imagine, are those really spots on your cheek?
Are they really the holes, who are such cruel that dug so brutally thou?
Or, were they the suitors who sacrificed the lives to marry thou?
When you shine, oh silvery moon, we feel the warmth of thy soft light,
Each mind sings romantically, the flowers blossom, glow worms fly;
We hear romantic songs, waiting for the beloved, the lover plays flute, an unknown forlorn,
We smell the aroma of Jui waving in the air, eyes stuck at you; the silvery FULL-MOON.
For the contest, Color, sponsor, Tammy Reams
Tasmina Hayat Khan
5th November 2015
Categories:
crisply, beauty, color, feelings, moon,
Form:
Free verse
The brisk Autumn breeze
crisply smiles and leaves
inviting seasonal ascendance.
Past dark hollowed eaves
her departing breath weaves
a path for Winter's wondrous entrance.
Courtly canyons kowtow
the mighty mesas bow
sparking December's grand revival.
Barren branches applaud
as mountain peaks laud
Jack Frost's ever welcomed arrival.
Carols liltingly sung
whilst wreaths are gently hung
silver enchantment lusters the ground.
The old and the young catch
snowflakes on their tongues
choirs of church bells neatly resound.
Cozied from silent chills
tapered candles sleep on sills
illuming the dusk’s frosted splendor.
A forest brook’s trickles
forge tiny icicles
dripping tears of crystal surrender.
Christmas trees brightly greet
joyous townsfolk on the street
tiny tots, all too well, understand.
Ole Saint Nick and his sleigh
are just a few stars away
from visiting their white wonderland.
Truelove skaters take flight,
under an arctic twilight,
snuggling snowbirds coo and entice.
Deer and bunnies espy,
'neath the moon's watchful eye,
young lovers etching hearts in the ice.
Winter’s sparkle and glow
softly sings in the snow -
her grandeur is timeless and few.
Yet, before her winds shift
she bestows us a gift
and Spring makes her yearly debut.
Categories:
crisply, seasonsautumn,
Form:
Rhyme
The night air crisply flows
Brushing past my sill with a caress
The final blooms of the magnolia's
Upon her skin, fragrantly confess
Autumn’s wildflowers
Sit upon the boudoir ledge
Handpicked this morning
To their beauty she makes her
pledge
Chiffon sheers move
With a sultry waltz in the breeze
Moonlight glows as a flickering candle
gliding across the wall as if on a
trapeze
Her lover, submerged in the elements of her boudoir
Is mesmerized and aroused by its sights and smells
He finds great pleasure where femininity dwells
Scented perfume causes his love to swell
The flickers cease to be
Their sighs belong
To the rhythms that
Waltzed upon the Wall
Carole Cookie Arnold
2010
Categories:
crisply, faith, forgiveness, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
Caged magnetic daydreams of lucid migration;
I’ve been there before. It’s forbidden:
Orchard carved calligraphy crisply cut -
Spiraled surface-scratched immortality
Dimly azure, aglow on videotape,
Red, blue, green. Nature’s baby grand.
An organic player-piano ceaseless
In mellow tone, perched potpourri hillside,
Plucking raspberry notes of beautiful song;
Translucent aches nestled by slippy wake
That ricochet ripples, careening whispers
Through rendezvous dreams.
Seductive susurrus, sentient, shadowy,
Teasing temptation longed to taste;
Siren’s breathiness gurgles in devilish dive,
Swooshes, swoops, swallows. Tickles.
Siren’s breathless gurgle chokes drowned lies.
But…so serene. Feather soft tranquility.
Lyrical folly forbidden. Salmon pink.
2/3/2017
_____________________________________________
Writer’s note:
Told as a pet parakeet (while his owner listens to Radiohead’s song Videotape) whose cage is hung in the window of a cottage overlooking a stream through an orchard while the sun goes down who was a fish in a past life but, sadly, drowned due to a mental disorder which caused him to believe he was a bird and, consequently, spend all day trying to fly out of the water…until the day he refused to use his gills to breathe since, after all, birds don’t have gills.
Categories:
crisply, bird,
Form:
Free verse
Special Breakfast.
She pours my tea, as so many times before.
One sugar, a little milk, just the way I like it.
I pour his tea, as so many times before.
One sugar, a little milk, just the way he likes it.
I watch her.
Greying hair. Lines around her eyes. An ageing, worn smile.
He watches me.
A touch of grey at his temples. Strong jaw. As handsome as the day we met.
If only she had had something other than me. Something of her own. A child maybe.
His crisply ironed collar. His shiny, polished shoes. How would he manage without me.
I can’t remember when it all became so stifling. So routine and mundane.
I’ve been so lucky to have the comfort and security of our marriage.
Maybe if she’d been more passionate I wouldn’t have needed anyone else.
I knew there would never be anybody else for me. He was always the one.
She sits opposite me and sips her tea.
He sits opposite me and sips his tea.
How can I tell the woman I once loved, who depends on me, that I am leaving her.
How can I tell my love, my life, that I only have a short time to live.
Categories:
crisply, betrayal, goodbye, leaving, sad
Form:
Free verse
Visual Melodies
Fresh evergreens stand beside
A crisply clear slow moving brook
Reflections of minnows glitter
In the midday sun’s warm look
Bare branches began to don
The tiny green leaves of spring
Nature’s ring of promise encircles
The earth with an array of floral bling
Exquisite beauty peeks through
The smallest opening of vision
Rainbow colors expose themselves
Inside sky born hues made with precision
A willow tree has greened and
Tips to weep into the brook
Providing a sultry place for the
Mallards to create a safe nook
All eyes have rested upon a scene
A four by four swatch of land
Possessing a great beauty from the
Multi colored seas to its albacore sands
People are gardens of luscious fruits
Solely crafted by the master’s hand of grace
Like precious oil sticks of incense whose aromas
Rise, as Heavens Holy fire ignites our spiritual space
Burn Bright
With His light
Carole Cookie Arnold
2011
Categories:
crisply, imagination, inspirational, mother, musicbeauty,
Form:
Rhyme