Best Crowding Poems
Springing free from glistening
Fronds
The summers heat leaps for
Height;
Whilst drifting obscurely far
Above
A distant lark now hangs in
Flight.
Floats down his sweet trill,
Accompanied by joyous and
Uplifting revelry,
Over the black crows nasal
Calls;
Whose draped shadow,
contemplating devilry,
Flaps and furtively falls
Into ripening bean fields
Planted in neatly sowed rows:
Nourished in darkest till,
Enriched by pedantic verse of
Gaelic odes.
Do now these gentle Slopes
Pause to yield
Where secretive song,
Bursting forth, is much concealed
inside the plain of Aidhne;
For here the great rock of the
Burren,
Whereby so implored upon,
Revealed its grey stones...
To rebuild ancient and deserted
Thoor Ballylee.
Sweeping briskly past a tors
Grassy island busy in bloom,
Eagerly cramming under four
Crouched arches,
Skim the borrowed waters of
Thee immortal Cloone;
Dappling currents
Dawdling around squat stanchions -
Staunchly carrying the quiet bridge
Over the old concourse:
Momentarily loitering -
Wantonly begging to coyly swoon...
Now, joyfully sporting in gushing
Discourse,
Gleefully courting elusive and
Glimmering enchantments:
Mirrored reflections enticed to
Enter -
To be forever trapped within a
Burbling rivers sacred rhyme and
Tune.
Higher and higher the spiraling
Stairs of de Burgo
When through airy woodland
Glades
The towering shadow sought;
And higher and higher the spirit
Of an ageing poet...
His crowding thoughts
Roaming freely amidst these
Fabled legends of Gort.
Harken then to the feathered
Herald -
Tis Gods design that calls on
Ye!
For few men know of what he
Sings...
He sings of the forgotten paths
Forever lost within Innisfree.
The sweet breeze through the window
asks nothing as unseen birds call.
It asks nothing of the sun
as it sweeps across yards,
yet it whispers to waking dreams.
My dreams ask,
Did I love too much?
behind my mind’s eye,
visions
and what do they mean
when we give of ourselves
so fully we are spent.
Now I’m alone.
Canadian geese gather
crowding a path along the river
as the day passes,
so consumed with each other
they ignore the mothers
and children who pass.
A ski jet slaps waves,
and the river breathes.
The gaggle whispers among itself,
and nature speaks a language of her own.
As I stand mindfully, facing mirror of my life,
Juxtaposition of yesteryears’ reflections revive
Mountains of grief and valleys of despairs,
Heartwarming wins and heartbreaking losses,
Echoes strumming joy and shouts in the void;
Thinking of plans shelved, dreams deferred,
Tears of rejoice and bawl of lonesome cries,
Past of dawns darkening on nebulous skies,
Cheerful episodes evoking days of sunshine
Ambivalent in discourse of seasons gone by;
Distraught in endeavors strived, but failed,
Overjoyed in laudable, worthy achievements,
Saddened by the hollering of indelible regrets
Callously crowding the path of my ambitions
On avenues not taken, of choices forsaken,
Competing for space in the mirror of my life;
As memories euphoric verbalize photographs,
And stories euphonic stoke cherished laughs,
And celebrations clap the sound of applause,
Endearingly revered and treasured lifelong,
Where, as I cogitate, recalling a life sublime,
Man in the mirror smiles, content with his life.
May 7, 2022
Placed 3rd: In the Mirror of Life Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Why do they call it 'tourist season'
If you're not allowed to shoot 'em
Seems like a great opportunity
To end the over crowding problem
If a house fly loses both of its wings
Would we have to call them 'walks'
Is it possible to have a civil war
Of course not that's just silly talk
Any idea what the best thing was
That came before sliced bread
If a turtle somehow loses its shell
Is it homeless, naked, or dead
I find this saying quite unnerving
“Practice” is what doctors do
And braille on drive-through windows
Find that kinda scary don't you
If a parsley farmer ever gets sued
Can they legally garnish his wages
Well that's enough of this silly talk
At times I go through these phases
© Jack Ellison 2012
Faraway, across a widening
Expanse of vacant fields,
Dawns slated light is gradually
Awaking;
And too soon new Morn's stilled
Indifference
Determinedly steals
Into the abstractions of my fitful
Dreams,
Where, deeply concealed,
Many forgotten memories from days
Since past -
Ne'er once unto me unworthy...
Although long be they in their
Forsaking.
Those languid days, that, lately,
I quite often see and hear
Crowding throughout my wandering
Slumbers;
Vivid recollections, interns of a
Jumbled mind - for ages absent,
Beginning now to inexplicably reappear;
Insistent murmurings troubling -
Troubling incessantly:-
Unwelcomed guests from
Yesteryear...
Strange impositions, of a sorts,
Burdening upon this weary soul,
Which, encamped within my
Dampened Spirits -
Doth so unwittingly encumber!
With the onset of advancing age, so I find,
A man grows weary of all mundane talk;
Occupies his every spare, idle thought
With that of the slow, reflective kind.
Regretful of many a squandered hour,
Turning his back on the squabbling nations,
Their woeful, self-serving deliberations,
Dreams wistfully of his own starlit tower.
Should he hopefully find that blessed stair,
Wound insides of the ancient, dim lit wall,
Where tread from unseen feet sometimes fall,
He could but elevate himself above his cares;
There, throwing his soul upon the night,
Lift his gaze upon a tumultuous crowding!
His thinning pate adorned with a crowning
From a far-flung, pale, distant light.
And if he was to fix his mind upon that point;
To that moment forcefully bring to bear,
With every ounce of fibre when stood there,
An unremitting will to somehow exploit,
That, which, the mystics so jealously guarded...
Then, perhaps, he might too ascend?
For, in all reality, at the very end,
All is thrown off...the very body discarded.
Therefore I will choose my own finality.
I give my remaining days to old worn steps
Enclosed in rock, a turret that silhouettes
Against an endless sky; and if it should be
That I find such hallowed battlements
Give aging legs the strength to slowly climb,
To praise the celestial and sublime,
When reaching up where my God frequents.
For though those stars seem out of reach,
Unattainable by grand, omnipotent design,
Nevertheless I am thusly to be inclined
To offer up a prayer and unto him beseech:-
"Immortal father who created mortal man,
Ye who sits above all earthly thrones,
Give unto me old tools and rubbled stones,
And I shall endeavour to do what I can...
To rebuild that abandoned, crumbled tower...
For, Lord, be it only by dreams men are
Truly empowered"!
There he sat among the ashes, thinking he was, oh, so good,
Just a tiny glowing ember that was once a piece of wood,
And he thought that he was better than the embers there that day,
But, alas, he didn't know that soon his pride would turn him gray.
There were many other embers that were crowding out his space,
They were vying for attention and were trying to keep the pace,
He believed they were a nuisance and he felt they were a pain,
And he knew that they were jealous, and it rubbed against his grain.
"I'm an ember in the ashes and I'm burning hot inside,
I've a reason to be boastful and to feel such awesome pride,
For the others here beside me are just living off my heat,
I'm the one who is important; in myself I am complete."
So he sparkled and he crackled and he told them all to move,
For he thought he didn't need them and he had a thing to prove,
So they rolled into the centre and they left him on the side,
And his glowing heart got bigger and it filled him up with pride.
Very soon he seemed to notice such a change inside of him,
For his glowing heart grew weaker and his light was getting dim,
But the others who had left him were still glowing bright and strong,
What had happened to this ember; could it be that he was wrong?
"I'm an ember in the ashes, but I'm feeling very weak,
I once thought I had a future, but it's looking rather bleak,
And the ones who I rejected are still glowing hot and bright,
Now I think I was mistaken and that they were truly right."
Now the tiny little ember, all alone and getting cold,
Sits among the lowly ashes and is feeling not so bold,
And the pride that once he harboured, that would make him spark and flash,
Has betrayed him in this moment and has turned him into ash.
--submitted to Be Didactic poetry contest - May 07, 2017
Who can know the mysterious
ways of the clouds?
They travel in white whipped masses
and gather like solemn pinnacles
looking upwards in reverent penitence.
Silent clouds slowly form and move about
like floating fields in a heavenly marsh
or like soft suspended pillows
making themselves vulnerable
to the temperamental ways of the wind.
Sometimes they seem almost helpless
as they wander in a ghost like state
like wastrels, weighed down
by the prospect of an impending storm.
The yawning blue sky
has become quickly overwhelmed
by clouds’ alluring apertures.
Now they collectively amass
in billowing silence
crowding the vast
sweeping hemisphere.
Slanting sunlight breaks forth
to spar with clouds’ menacing shadows
that threaten to overtake the light
like competing shadow puppets
during a midday matinee.
Clouds are endlessly breathtaking
and appear seemingly mute
except for faint whispers from the winds
as if time stopped to hold its breath
within the boundaries of earth and sky.
4/18/2023
Horizon imprints blazing joy, where autumn blushes amber sky
Glistening meadows of gilded season, adorning tinted russet dye
As amethyst winds of eventide flutter leaves on crimson trees
Flickering rays of golden twilight, glinting sigh of ochre breeze.
Pleasing sights, saffron colors merrily bounce, staging air-dance
Whirling leaves in panoramic vistas, hypnotizing glance of romance
As fiery gamboge hills oscillate, waltzing tenor of autumnal zeal
Dazzling lovers’ enchanted hearts in maple tree’s scarlet appeal.
Cooler weather permeates, graying charm of shortened days,
While browsing prairies of browning fields, cattle lazily graze;
Families gather sharing stories, crowding around warm fireplace
As festive season ushers in, serenading divinity of solemn grace.
September 12, 2020
Autumn–Fall Rhyme Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Fatcat,
Hairy nuisance
Sprawling over bedsheets
Crowding limited sleepspace with
Blubber.
The Minions
Minions Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
A versifier indeed, crowding the tiny city dwellers,
above the rest flying with the strongest propeller.
In day he disperses many tiny pieces of torn up paper,
at night he sits on his throne as an intimidating dictator.
The little people do as told following the confused story teller,
after all, they were treated as undesirable city dwellers.
If they don't run past the finish line they get reprimanded,
If only they knew following him was never recommended.
Early afternoon he leads them to a walk in his park,
little does he know when running they wish to disembark.
The dwellers know better than to follow him in his maze,
the more they learn of him, the more they feel crazed.
Some stay and some go, but no matter what the decision,
there is so much conflict, the town turned into a division.
Separated qualifications in regards to frugal injustice,
There may be more than one leader, a dedicated accomplice.
Beneath the caves and in front of the chair of the monarch,
he leaves trails of empty promises leading into his landmark.
Finally the city dwellers learned that it's time to be righteous,
and the look upon their faces was stunning and priceless.
The old versifier ended up living to an old age of grey,
he wondered why in the end they didn't want to obey.
Date Written: February 16, 2016
Sand in sheets
scuffing skin and reminding
last nights attire reaks like bonfire
a hundred days like this
a sea of endless laughs rolling
like filmreels infinitely looped fantastic
Their cars rolled in, shiney and pretentious
personalized plates waxed clever wit
crowding this small town to gloat in sand-side castles
Yacht club yucks shelling bucks like bayou crayfish
condescending, fun loving, brash Chicago touristas
Bless their daughters who filed in sassy
chin up, chest out trustafarians
scents of coconut lotion and clinique perfume
wafting through our warm lake breeze reality
Giddy and loving our rough edged style
intending to slum with townies, like we minded...
smiles glowing in those bonfire nights
mischievious and promising...
Every action thereafter defied catholic school education
...benificiaries of repression rebellion...like we minded!
Lake Michigan was paces from my bedroom window
These sparrow serenaded mornings..
...morphing into something amphibious
when the alewives were raked, we lay lazy
Bodies melted into sand~~ sated with sun
splashing back to cool off in sandbars
coolers anchored in those cool waters
taking long pulls off a perspiring Heineken
Beach days concluded with seagulls off to hunt
Squaking as they ascended into pink and orangecicle skies
The water shimmered like a million illuminated snakes
...side winding-mirrored the suns final say
Couples pulled up to Harbor landing to see the show
heads melted into one mass in windshields all around
lovers seeing nature's beauty more vibrant as lovers do...
The sunset brings a new purple backdrop
squaks are replaced with crickets chirps
Bright-then-fading green...BRIGHT-then fading green
Children gathered fireflies in jars laughing
Ice cream stained faces aglow with captive glee
Then to black and star filled, became the sky
we returned to cooler sand pushing between our toes
scurrying through dunegrass seeking driftwood and brush
creating a structure to take to flame...a science for proud boyscouts
There we gathered with newfound gals from cross lake 'burbs
sunrise would end our night tonight...awaking to lifeguards scolding.
Inspired by John Heck's Summer Contest!!
A blue Sunday sky
Fluffy white clouds start to build
They grow and they grow
The clouds are crowding
Some thunder and lightning
Maybe some light rain
When morning rises
The sky and heavens are fresh
It is a new day
Do you remember
We once filled the noon day sky
Do you remember
Edward J Ebbs - 08/30/14
Welcome to our barnyard, you can call me Fred.
My job is to get everyone out of bed.
Cheerful by nature, I’m proud to “cock-a-doodle-do.”
A beautiful crow to hear - they act like I shout, “Boo!”
A morning person would think this is the best job ever.
At dawn, I’m sad to say, few appreciate me being clever.
Yes, I know the names they call me... I try to shrug it off.
Cock-of-the-walk really gripes me, who are they to scoff?
Some are jealous of my red cone, it is so beautiful.
Lifting my neck to properly crow is being dutiful.
Believe me, I’ve tried and tried not to strut my stuff.
To be a rooster and not be cocky is really quite tough.
Throughout the day I continue to “cock-a-doodle-do.”
Yes, it does sound like revenge, but wouldn’t you?
Of course if danger arises everyone needs to hear me.
I like them calling me brave and crowding to be near me.
Without me this barnyard would never be on time.
Deep down they all know it, I just wish they would be kind.
Written 2-19-2016
Form: Rhyme Personification
A mystery for us mere human being to unravel;
B elief and logic fight over our world, all in confusion.
C ome stealthily, it does, while as busy beavers we wander.
D riven to sudden halt; surprise, shock and suffering grip tight.
E ssentials prop up from some dormant sector of the mind to
F ace strain and stress, in some old robotic approach once instilled.
G ot to hold upon, got to stand, got to function, as needed.
H earing and understanding are postponed until opportune.
I rony of life or mockery of fate; its own will to
J eer at our needs, feelings, state of being and expectation.
K indness, generosity and support shower from around
L ike lightness filtering in very long dark and gloomy night.
M esmerised we are of a display of crowding humane touch
N ever anticipated and evaluated in our
O rganisation selfish, to conquer,to build and to rise.
P artly wrecked, partly saved, we wade hard to breathe and to sustain.
Q uestions are many and answers less; in our everyday, they
R ecur, growing in number and torturing us with chagrin.
S omebody, luckily has to be here to listen, to share,
T o give some answers; family or friends, for us to pick up.
U nderstanding and accepting, all we are left with, to fill
V oid that keeps growing larger and larger while self confidence
W avers often; diversion from normal path of ours, repeats.
X enacious we are with willpower strong to rebuild upon.
Y ears of engineering; alas, some habits have to be dropped.
Z eal to live God's given life has to be gathered to move on!
25/06/2017
15 syllables per line.