Best Damp Poems
November Intrigue--Five Haikus
Moss breathes dampness, near
shifting blankets of old leaves.
Beds of lichen thrive.
Both pure and pungent,
the air is soul-enhancing,
gifting faint wood smoke.
On the forest floor,
Princess Pine grows sweetly
in pristine patches.
Old stone foundations
and a gurgling waterfall
capture heavy mist.
Dark reeds cross the marsh
to a long strand of young spruce,
vivid and spritely.
Across the knoll where fading starlight hangs
On graveyards damp, laying on pleated moss
While row of angels bears the gusty winds;
As evening spreads its thin veil on the ground .
My hands begin to trace each cross on the aisle
Revealing a child’s name, young bones interred
Within the deepened chamber of his tomb,
Enshrined in limestone white...like a pure dove .
That on this foggy glen, a mother kneels
Accompanied by evanescing stars…
Her lips pressed on crystals of prayer beads
Till musings are whispered to a lost son .
Embracing this woman’s grief, I rewind
All memories of my father, long gone;
Beside this crypt, there Dad quietly rests;
Maybe pleased, as I leave garlands for the babe.
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For the Contest: Poetry Writing #1
Sponsor: Broken Wings
12/16/2015
By nette onclaud
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~Blank Verse is poetry that is written
in unrhymed iambic pentameter.
http://www.poeticterminology.net/07-blank-verse.html
* In theory, it consists of ten syllables though 8 or more
syls are accepted.
...........................
~This is one of my favorite forms as it allows me
to combine a rhythmic, flowing pattern in iambic meter
with dash of free-verse style.
I have a frightening mental block,
Poetic reserves lost, no stock,
My mood is down and damp,
My hand has constant cramp,
Imagination not worth a dime,
Brain all mushy, turned to slime,
Fantasy faded oh dear oh dear,
Inspiration none, it’s gone I fear,
Funny, horror, politics, history or love,
Blankly, see grey cloudy skies above,
My thoughts are less than dazzling,
Stop me, for I think I’m babbling,
My poetic sanity is somehow unraveling,
But hey, just made up a rhyme,
Guess all I need is time!
My muse just texted me, she is on a plane back home!
cool damp autumn air
contains much ragweed pollen...
surround sound effects
Ack-chew
cerulean sea
washes away footprint trail
palm trees sway on breeze
A Nature Themed Haiku with Color Poetry Contest
sponsored by Tania Kitchin
Checked with how many syllables
1/24/20
Raindrops on window
said the tales of rainy nights
damp pillows said mine.
silver damp moist fog
coats golden rods, green ragweed ...
oleander blooms
old novel with the author you
cant quite remember.
we can worry about it later
just like in the old days.
now tealeaf stimuli is twice as light in the city.
the somewhat unfriendly cat in the
bookstore on the corner seems disinterested.
watching a woman on the sidewalk
holding a wet paper grocery bag,
her arms wrapped around the bottom.
the bag is falling apart and the clouds are rolling
backwards.
it will be dark soon.
we are falling apart and talking about heading
south into the high desert.
we pass the time by reading paperbacks that have
been soaked in mineral oil for days and
hardened under the sun.
Some call it scripture.
we feel holy and then a little less holy.
your heavy sweater purchased at
a thrift store, the faint smell of mothballs
still lingering on the thick threads.
the cat has taken an interest in
your side pocket pulling with its claws and mouth.
soon the rain will cough up the paperbacks as well,
everything will change.
english daisies
peek up from cold wet grass
waiting for sun to shine
Walked a wooded trail, suddenly unsure of my surroundings,
wondered had I'd become lost..
only a moment disconcerted, as dusk grew nearer.
I went over an old river crossed by an even older bridge,
there not seen and yet to see a small child oddity.
for no town or village folk walked alone on so cold a day.
Just as I chose to wave and hail a hearty hello
a calm little sound, uttered from within the vicinity, albeit echoed...
"Gallows now covered in hoarfrost and rime..
scarce to hear angel's plea as guilty beg.
Ever flawless, never just as in Time,
though Adam's rib, borrowed as spindly leg."
What my ears heard my head denied in meaning,
such a strange thing for a child to utter.
She turned toward the foot of the bridge I plied,
wondered at what trick, my eye deceived.
The girl grew faintly scintillating with lack of substance in the gloomy air
as a mist or fume of smoke. Aghast., I stood on trembling legs akin to the variety..
she had so oddly fashioned in her sing songy discord.
Now spirit of another world, would ask to let me pass by.
with pleasure would grant your path ease.,if you were same as I..
Plain to those of us in mortal realm, where feet grow tired and cold
yet still leave footsteps along the path I've found.
Your feet, as much can be described, bare and unfeeling of the shadowy damp..
and don't quite reach the ground.
And with this further insult meant as challenge the wraith like apparation vanished.
Couldn't move quickly enough through rows of hedges and over fences til my feet found the common road at last..
I could still faintly hear a child's sing songy echo in voice..
"Gallows now covered in hoarfrost and rime..
scarce to hear angel's plea as guilty beg.
Ever flawless, never just as in Time,
though Adam's rib, borrowed as spindly leg."
Happy All Hallows' Eve
. . . tree bark soggy
green caterpillar inches
down damp moss . . .
Immovable object that you see?
Truly not, if you allow it free.
Intolerable silence you hear?
Try softening your sense of fear.
Impersonal, harsh touch of old love?
Therapeutic caress from above.
Inevitable in taste of grief?
Transitioning stages for relief.
Infinite smell of Autumn decay?
Tumbling leaves in dull, damp, dying day.
whole day's Sun's effect
boosts up our enthusiasm
mind is damp if not
Attached segregated I touched his warm skin yet
Deceased He was asleep he was non awaken
He was hidden he was asleep under the sheet he slept
His chest no longer rose I placed the side of my face contemplating
Down by his nose his eyes were shut closed
No breath his soul a spirit risen he was in death
Detached segregated I touched his cool cold skin yet
No breath his soul a spirit risen he was in death
1/5/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2024
A briefly wrung-out sky
is blotched with clammy clouds.
A humid air clings to my chest.
Damp squirrels hang limply
from dripping branches.
Desultory birdsong mops
but not much.
I yearn for the cold slap of sea-spray,
chill cheeks and fresh lips
not this damp-dive-walking
through a moist miasma.
Maybe the day will shake itself free
of its mope?
Perhaps this drizzle will tip over
into a cresting surf of sunlight,
or anything that smacks of a
rolling ocean
that can dry-out, rinse and clean.