Best Crisscrossing Poems
I was a planetary climatologist, who studied climate variability and change,
Like sweet variability of stunning, green tulips, in lavish garden rearranged.
Studying the said effects on the biosphere, absorbed so many daily hours,
Like industrious days of fragrant, amber honey, after tumbling into flowers.
My labors impacted energy usage, along with food production and health,
And the survival of endangered species, like golden rays of natural wealth.
Faddish flowers fascinated friends, who flattered them, at my broad fence,
Under fleecy, lemony clouds, fast moving, and orange sun, grown intense.
Famished, feasible family feasted, in lavish flowering fragrance of Fridays,
When fugitive, frosty stars flickered, winking at green garden bonsai trees.
I lived in the house of emerald echoes, in vivid memory of nature's sound,
From birdsong to crickets to evening wind, and brook of babbling renown.
Sachets swept away a sudden sadness, as robins sought another summer,
On my street of starry-eyed forget me nots, like a tune with no drummer.
Nobody knew latest neighborhood news, like my nearest friends next door,
Like chameleon sun, crisscrossing teal sky, wholly ignorant of 'nevermore.'
Pink birds were living high, and red butterflies viewed a world, ultraviolet;
And yellow bees went about their sweet labors, since queen bee desired it.
Strawberry clouds sailed around the world, for clouds ever love adventure,
As dogwoods barked in summer's dog days, during a gold noon surrender.
As I was walking home one day, the sun vanished as skies turned ominous.
There was a lightning flash just before the thunder, loud and cacophonous!
Suddenly, I saw a male face in the clouds, that was bellowing and enraged,
Like blizzard winds through naked trees, howling at a lush year that's aged.
Taken aback, like butterflies in gusts, I had come face to face with thunder-
The mighty, furious face of the storm, and I was filled with sudden wonder!
Then came the silver rains, sideways slanting, at the dead end of drought;
And I raced home like all uneasy nature, in the successive hours of doubt.
Scintillating sun had returned next day, after banishing the tangerine mist,
As benevolent nature was no more angry, its tale ending in an orange twist!
And so it begins
The game of life
The dominos of love
Falling where they may
The timer activated
Fresh out of a box
Learning the rules
As we go along
No plan or ruse
No rhyme or reason
Just out for some fun
Moving game pieces
Taking turns
At winning and losing
Rising and falling
In endless succession
An ebb and flow of emotions
The tears the laughter
Riding a roller coaster
Of highs and lows
A detonated cosmic launch
Mingling interstellar orbs
Crisscrossing arcs of destiny
In a waltz of muses
Or divine intervention
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Read on air by invitation ~ September 8, 2021 'WORDS & MUSIC'
Submitted on January 2, 2019 for contest FREE VERSE STYLE ONLY sponsored by EMILE PINET - RANKED 5TH
Orchard’s earthy mossy trails
Gray-brown bark like dragon scales
Crooked branches stretch to hold
Tender almonds encased in fuzzy fold
Leafy clusters filter sun
And dapple grasses newly spun
Bathed in tepid valley air
Rich soil echoes memories long grown there
Perfect crisscrossing rows align
Green canopy woven into tapestry fine
Nurtured seasons; pollinating swarms
Bare branches clatter in winter storms
Pale pink blossoms; fragile drapes
Fluttering down like blushing snowflakes
Prolific bounty once again
From a living sanctuary:
My orchard realm
Oh, how they danced as the sun shimmered red,
it dipped far away as the stars upwards sped.
Still, they danced, leaving footprints on wet sand,
Sometimes straight or crisscrossing, everything grand.
Occasionally, they stopped, and in a hug, they kissed.
Or ran to some cave that was their secluded tryst.
Time passed fast, and they returned to their bridal suite.
Before retiring, they drank champagne and pastry sweet.
Traversing Iceland's National Park, a timeless place, where daylight fills each passing hour
and twilights ever brief. While volcanoes stand by sentinel, amidst dark lava fields.
Amazing geysers so magnificent, vent angry clouds of steam. Our route wlnds through
wild landscapes, laid down by ice and fire. Breathtaking scenes see lustrous skies, change
colour constantly. To marvel as wild reindeer herds migrate, in seeking pastures new.
We rest awhile to take respite beside a waterfall, avoiding midday's heat. And bathe in ice
cool waters crystalline, refreshing tired feet. The time soon comes for us to climb to high
plateaus,where vast glaciers with melting ice, cascade torrents down below. From this
vantage point we sight, the coastal waters where we aim to spend the night. Eventually, we
make our descent, crisscrossing mountain streams, and wend our way carefully, to stroll
through pastures green. Wild ponies graze as we pass by, observing us with watchful eye.
Unbroken and unbowed by man, a force of nature, likens them to this rugged land.
At journey's end we reach the fjord, this tranquil scene gains our accord for
camping wild. Waiting patiently until the midnight hour to take some photographs.
All panoramic landscapes, and taking centre stage this star, still shining bright our sun.
Waking early to the strident sounds of seabirds raucous calls. Our experience seems
so surreal, without the break of dawn. Today our destination will end our brief sojourn.
Eventfully we stand beside where continents divide, Eurasia and North America's
tectonic plates collide.
arctic midnight sun
shows creations finest hour
land of ice and fire
6/ 24/ 2018.
Everybody needed something,
and there was always something in the world that needed somebody,
debt is all about connections to affections,
sustenence to stimulus is only half of the formula,
igniting the impetus is provenance of the pursuit,
debt's birth is in the body of temptation,
in the language of lust,
we all find reasons for indebtedness as architects provide strengths for stones,
always a tune to toil for,innumerable impulses to imbibe in the heart's hollows,
needs & wants wants & needs,a crisscrossing of the conscious,
vacillation like breath on candle flame,
on which branch will your bird discover the berry,
what good is satisfying the basics if we are denied exploration of the scenics,
wonderment wrapped in wishes of mocking mortality,
robes of rose petals,
the less we create for ourselves the more we fawn for the fingers of others fantasies,
impatience an instrument for the Devil to revel and drum,strum and hum,
born into a carnival of the careless and criminal
the Devil has a dream and your his favorite dancer,
you hear in his voice a reflection of yourself and drown in delerium,
a community of stage hands supports your every scream
and silence your shouts for sovereignty,
buy the whole of the basement
but be prepared to be buried there,
a necropolis of creditors and debtors,
expired expressions on the faces of orphans kept alive by water colors
from the pallet of pleasure and perfumes of paradise,
as the spectacle ends the Prince of poverty greets us where dogs bark baldly
and the air is gray with cold,
he grips our hands with a lion's paw and cries coolly -
J.A.B. 2011
I could never explain how I feel
On air, waves of sounds escaping what I could no longer hear
Aggravation lingers on the tongue
How it burns, perpetually, embedding anger on taste buds
I will remember the taste of defeat, eternally
Dull, so Dull, hums this high pitched
Innocence
If I can't tell my story in the voice that I want to
I’d rather be silent
forever
The pen flows so easily
Blackest inks stain my felt tip
Passion! How it twists my heart into complicated
Mazes, interlocking, crisscrossing
Things I’ve never thought of before
The blood of contemplation runs clear as diamonds caught in eclipses
Torrents of ecstasy,
Free falling
over
J
A
G
Ged rocks, waterfalls, creating Prisms
Bam, Bam, Bam
Relives pressures on joints that hold
Industrial hearts together, oil may no longer ease this
New age technological emotion on addictive highs
I never even knew of until I thought about it
Two Double Oh Seven for sure
I consider myself to be something
I’m not really sure of
But I do love to imply mystery in reflections that others see
Honestly, complexity isn’t my best asset, only others believe this is what I am
As long as I believe in what I stand for
It is fine if my tongue flails but my pen soars
Sailing oceans on my clipper
She was named the Song of the Sea
I'm her only female skipper
My name it is Rosie Marie
I love to hear the songs of whales
Sailing oceans on my clipper
Folks gather for to hear my tales
of a humpback known as Flipper
I would hand feed him smoked kipper
As he swam alongside my ship
Sailing oceans on my clipper
Singing was his bargaining chip
Charmed and entranced by his whale song
Crisscrossing oceans with Flipper
Loving this humpback for so long
Sailing oceans on my clipper
Written 25th January 2020
Contest: Distant Refrains
Sponsor Joseph May
4th Place
Picture 3
8 syllables per line checked with: howmanysyllables.com
Contest Strand No 670
Sponsor Brian Strand
HONORABLE MENTION
Life, in layman’s terms is merely that…life
It is a means to an end, a diversion of daily consequence
A planned out, researched, blueprinted and stamped
happening that all of us, who are still here, live in
Life can be a series of costly calamities
or if you look past the requirements and rules,
a collection of charming patterns
They can be seen everywhere if you open your eyes
in a corn field row meandering through a sunny pasture,
crisscrossing lines in vibrant green that move in the wind
Or something as common as a brick wall, charming patterns
created to secure an area or set boundaries on a backyard garden
Each brick follows the lead of the one placed before it and
offers guidance to the next in line
Though some may not find them as charming as others,
it is all in how you look at them
A gathering of books on a shelf, high to low, wide to narrow
or grandma’s quilt…now you must agree, that can be very charming
To some, life is life and that is all you need to know, but to others
life is a series of charming patterns…finding them is like finding life itself
For it is what it is…make it charming
For the: Charming Patterns Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
What if all was one?
What if the many were merely reflections
Of a single thread,
Looping through the fabric of time?
What if time flows not just forward,
But back—
A river branching,
Yet always meeting itself?
Worldlines traced across spacetime,
Every particle, every moment,
A point on an infinite knot.
Are we watching one dance
Through infinite shadows?
Fractals of leaves like trees,
Swarms of birds and fish,
Herds of elk and bison—
A fractal curve repeating endlessly.
Was it all by chance?
Or is it connected?
Are we not one?
What is alignment, if not one?
In every atom, every spark,
Do we find a reflection of ourselves?
Electrons moving forward,
Backward,
Through a sea of possibility—
Do we chase them,
Or are they chasing us?
What if a positron is not born,
But remembered—
An echo of an electron
Returning from tomorrow?
What if Wheeler was right?
What if Feynman saw the truth
In a worldline bent like light,
A single traveler crisscrossing time?
Are these fragments
Not pieces of the same whole?
And what of us?
Billions of worlds, billions of hearts,
Each thinking itself separate,
Yet all drawn from the same source.
Is alignment not the symmetry of being?
Is being not the proof of one?
When we look into the stars,
Do we see them,
Or the reflection of our own worldline,
Stretching through the void?
What if the universe is not many,
But one—
Tracing itself endlessly?
And what if we are not the observers,
But the observed?
Exploring the suburbs at Melbourne
Glad are the late nights’ burnt
Bustling Bourke Street Mall
Epitome of a retail therapy’s call
The archaic Flinder’s Station
Scheduling warrants attention
Cho-chooing to Sydney
Never costs a kidney
The surmountable Clothes Hanger
Climbing it is not a head-banger
The romantic Sydney harbour
Releases lovers’ masquerade and cover
The stunning Opera House
Pit stop onwards to the south
The flora of the Botanical Garden
Seemingly children running at kindergarten
The national parks of Wollongong
Hitting the musical notes of the gong
Rekindling memories of Bosman’s Bay
Is a paradise comes what may
Forgoing the isle of Tasmania
That would be the fear of Cradle Mountain mania
In the southern city of Hobart
Where we could relish a tart
Sailing off to Perth
That was never my berth
Discovering the untouched Fremantle
Goes to show an adventurer’s mantle
Diving the Great Barrier Reef
Provides a temporary relief
Coasting the white beaches of Gold Coast
The locals are but good hosts
Annihilated by the waves of the Pacific
Almost make thee panic
Crisscrossing the plains of Adelaide
Part of the best plans’ laid
Allure of the Red Centre
Australia’s stunning epicentre
In the midst of a red desert
Harbour hopes to return and not divert
Discovering the monumental Alice
Go head to head with some malice
Sailing across Katherine’s Gorge
The fissures is a sight to watch
The northern tip of Darwin
Just like the pinnacle wanting to win
Ode to the Northern Territory
A journey of national geographic really
Viva the land of Oz
Paradise and grandiose she was
White picket fence in the rear view
Coordinates in the GPS
He honks as he leaves the driveway
For a three day trip to the west
They call it the white line fever
And it's addictive as crack cocaine
The need to be out there trucking
Injected right into your veins.
The kids are sleeping on the porch
The dog is tugging at its chain
She smiles and tells him be careful
It looks like we're in for some rain.
They call it the white line fever
And it's addictive as crack cocaine
The need to be out there trucking
Injected right into your veins.
He doesn't care what he's hauling
As long as he's out on the road
Crisscrossing county and state lines
To pick up yet another load.
They call it the white line fever
And it's addictive as crack cocaine
The need to be out there trucking
Injected right into your veins.
He's got her picture in the truck
That he talks to late at night
Driving alone in the darkness
With not another car in sight.
They call it the white line fever
And it's addictive as crack cocaine
The need to be out there trucking
Injected right into your veins.
Truck driving runs in the family
His granddaddy owned his own rig
His daddy was always saying
You can drive son when you get big.
They call it the white line fever
And it's addictive as crack cocaine
The need to be out there trucking
Injected right into your veins.
People ask him how he managed
To keep driving for all those years
He tells them about a picture
And the sweet sound of shifting gears.
They call it the white line fever
And it's addictive as crack cocaine
The need to be out there trucking
Injected right into your veins.
Harsh sunlight beats upon the thirsty land
And glares upon the limestone cliffs and sand,
While waves of heat rise shimmering, above
The parched loam where the great saguaros stand.
And perched up high among the spines thereof
There broods in camouflage a mother dove,
Whose eggs lie hidden by her breast, her nest
A knitted niche of neatly-knotted love.
Along the desiccated ground, impressed
By tiny running feet, crisscrossing lest
A predator should see, a rodent’s track
Evinces its unending hungry quest.
Concealed among the stones of brown and black,
Its body hidden stretched along a crack
And waiting, watching for unwary prey,
There lurks a waiting, patient diamondback.
Ephedra, sage and creosote all stray
Along the rims of sere arroyos. They
Succeed in thriving: an exquisite feat
Amid the barren soil and rock-hard clay.
And seemingly unfazed by searing heat,
Up where the mescal trees and heaven meet,
Cicadas make the wasteland throb with sound,
Their many-years’ interment now complete.
The desert’s lush abundance will abound
With form and color rarely elsewhere found --
Throughout one sees the working of that hand
Whose word and wisdom nature will expound.
when he was six,
he cringed in fear
recalling nightmares
of being chased
by those who would,
with a scalpel, peel off,
scrape away and then
wear his own skin
and make him watch
the whole diabolical,
gory, sadistic ritual,
in his mind...
now at twelve,
he has outgrown that,
but fear has given way
to psychotic cruelty
as he salivates
with maniacal glee,
blasting away at
enemy spacecrafts
crisscrossing
vertiginous galaxies
on his PC monitor,
in his mind...
Death by firing squad is the old way
Using gas chambers, that area’s grey
Dropping big bombs, now that’s child’s play
Compared to the methods they use today
They’re killing people in their own homes
With tasty treats full of hormones
Microwave radiation into their bones
And straight to the brain using cellphones
Right out of the womb there’s a vaccination
If you got a “problem” there’s a medication
They got the water supply with fluoridation
And chemtrails in the sky crisscrossing the nation
In this day and age it’s hard to hide
From G.M.O. “food” and pesticide
Or animal meat with steroids inside
Consuming this stuff is like suicide
Death rates from cancer are enormous in size
Every few seconds somebody dies
We need to know truth instead of the lies
It’s time to wake up and open our eyes
Too many people need a hospital bed
And to get one costs some serious bread
You must stay conscious and one step ahead
Before you find that you’re the one dead