Best Daub Poems
Enamored, I sit, in mystique of space and time
Glancing at intricacies of ebullience sublime
Contemplating mystery of universe all alone
Through echoes of destiny, heard and known,
Where birds roam, prairies bloom, oceans flow,
And lauding its miracles tranquil seasons glow
Enchanting passions of life, intimately I know.
Life at a glance is a bouquet of fresh flowers,
Exuberant pitter-patter of April rain showers,
Valleys and hills gracing resplendent meadows,
Sometimes sun-lit, sometimes in shadows,
Invigorating senses in fragrance of budding rose
Life is a bond of love that blossoms and grows--
A melody, a rhythm, a song every heart knows.
Alas, the happy vibes reside, tailing teary eyes,
For every smile somewhere, someone cries,
Dark clouds often daub expanse of blue skies,
Dense fogs precede beauteous morning rise,
And every celebration of success victory calls,
Someone on a steep-climb stumbles and falls.
Yet, hope of a new dawn always pierces dark
And replaces wolf-howls with sweet songs of lark,
So, I let mornings rise on ebullience of blue skies
Enamored in space, time, letting life actualize.
March 9, 2021
Poem of the week on March 14, 2021
Placed 4th: Life at a glance premium contest
I sigh …
pushing warm, wordless weight
onto the twilight mist
where its folly hangs like old sackcloth
the silver-doubloon moon dripping
it’s wan wonder to daub
breath and bones alike with
rusted romance -
a languid lie that loves to tease -
that lives to clutch my
heart in its chill digits and wring
each memory from my gut
cackling all the while
at the dreamy stain left behind -
the trail of crumbs and lost loves that
fools as I devour in the
ignorance of age …
the barren bones that lesser creatures
pass by in apathy
and greater creatures choke on …
I am boundless in my longing
this breeze of brine boils my marrow
beads of moonlight spatter
wave-tops as if alive -
as if each silver burst was a
note of child laughter
skipping away to find a tympan, sweet
or a moony firefly of singular purpose
now there - now gone …
each, lives the life of an instant
yet is a glorious bloom
of magic and timeless grace
that reaches its
tendrils deep into my essence …
that, with this salty air and
cool sand and rhythmic washing
of the shore
speaks to me in a
voice as clear as the gods themselves
a voice that calls to the
most visceral reaches of my spirit
a tender voice of hope and life
and dreams and AWE …
a voice of dazzling wonderment
and tragic sorrow
a voice that trembles my bones
and stirs my heart with a
yearning and thirst, unquenchable
a voice … of deceit …
It sings to me yet -
beyond all sense and caring and
prudence and time proven
that you were the ONE …
it’s a voice that I
wish beyond all imaginings
I would never hear again
but that nonetheless continues on
and finds me inexorably
bound to this place
to that devil moon
to this limitless sea
and …
to YOU.
I know that there's a grand design for life
That we're all formed in wonder and intent
So nature's palette blooms with color, rife
To daub its hues on all that's heaven-sent
Each sparrow, leaf or twist of amber grain
Is kissed by the Almighty's sacred breath
And every breach we cross, is not in vain
But ordered so to guide us, birth-to-death
Such miracles - we're each His masterpiece
The will to choose, so granted from above
Conceived in His own likeness to increase
And framed with deep capacities for love
God makes us each the canvas for His art ...
And paints life's precious colors ... on our heart.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Brian's Choice Z, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Hope Old Or New" Poetry Contest, Carolyn Devonshire, Judge & Sponsor.
(Ten syllables per line, counted at HowManySyllables.com)
Dulcet scent of jasmine wafting through the air
As moonbeams daub the swaying trees with silver hue
Luna's glow prescribes romance, the twinkling stars
make love a happenstance, as the wind whispers passion,
perchance ecstasy will ensue.
I see her silhouette in shapely form moving
with the rhythm of the trees, my heart flutters
as she gets nearer, then she falls into my embrace
and our lips meet, and our passion blazes.
Was it folly to believe that our love would last forever
or would it sink into the dank realm of heartbreak
But that thought perished into the fire of our passion
as we blissfully drifted beyond the twinkle of the stars
1-31-19
oh wrap me close dear jungle deep, with fronds and fruits entwined
and hold me to your ancient emerald breast -
I long to hear those thrums within, the pulse of thickets vined
and feel your misty essence fill my chest
oh let your warming whispers brush the tympans of my ears
with sultry songs of woodland mysteries -
face-to-sky I'm pattered with your maze's torrid tears
as heaven weeps your primal histories
your canopy, breeze-tickled, shakes its tresses high aloft
to daub upon my cheek your orchid breath -
whisp'ring o'er the blooms and dells to shrug their shoulders, soft
through tragic tangles worthy of Macbeth
your winding streams and waterfalls, your scents of sweet and spice
sing songs of wooded wonder, rare and rife -
I pray aloud a blessing for this perfect paradise
and all such spots divine, the blooms ... of life.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Strand Select 2 Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Picturesque" Poetry Contest, Eve Roper, Judge & Sponsor.
Where is the secret of the rainbow?
At the edge of one's own life?
Whence does it come, with those lovely pastel colours?
Is it a heavenly art or a mere human illusion?
Some form of an ancient creative masterpiece?
Perhaps expressionism was reassessed?
The spiritual in natural art is oft-forgotten
in musty mists, where the soul engages
in confrontations with the deadly reaper.
The appalling midst of winter intensifies in the freeze,
and the psychology of death deepens,
for we are too much attached to worldly cares.
Characteristic emotions in cowardly conflicts.
One can say so very few words about
the astute business of a measured life,
like autumn's falling bronzed leaves,
its face value is not easily perceived;
for dead leaves turn into compost,
no peaceful transition true, but a must
that leads and helps life's renewal in spring.
Forget the troubled dream of dreary life,
let the seasons daub their watercolours bold and free,
the rainbow assigns a variety of mellow hues,
chooses always the brightest.
For the secret of the rainbow
a symbol of new hope lies in its Creator.
Beauty
Beauty is all around me, in a million different things.
The silvery haired, wrinkled face of one that has impenetrable memories
She smiles and longs for someone, anyone to bust her out of her prison of silence.
It is in the wispy, snowy white, silk of a milkweed as it frees itself of its casing
It arrives in the sound of a beautiful well orchestrated piece of music that penetrates my soul.
In the simplicity of a simple clump of wildflowers that grows freely in the ditch.
As my dog Quincy runs freely with his friend Sawyer
the beauty of their comradery and unbridled joy is unparalleled.
It is in the kindness of those who consider the feelings of others and gently encourage.
It emerges from the generosity at Christmas and unselfish acts all around from veritable strangers.
The lake on a late November afternoon with its shades of bluish greys
And a backdrop of thick denseness but a silvery light reflecting on the water
and peeking through to show me one more surprise before covering up with its blanket of dark.
The tedious overnight work of a spider who sits in wait
in the most radiant web with drops of dew sitting carefully on a strand.
In the spirit of one who never gives up
and remains grateful even after unmentionable hardships and grief.
In the words of the poets claiming words as their own
to create the most unique ways of speaking their truth.
In the love of a couple simply holding hands as they walk.
The joy of a child’s face as he sees his favourite grandpa has come to visit.
Of course, there are the generous sunsets
and flowers of every colour that decorate my outside world
The seagulls that stand on one leg,
The geese that fly to unknown destinations at the same time every day
The elaborate sandcastle built lovingly with a dad on the beach
The nest with chirping baby birds begging furiously to fill their emptiness
made lovingly with grasses and twigs and various treasures.
The smell of beautifully roasted coffee permeating my early morning
It is a beautifully crafted piece of art that is fresh from the soul’s expression of the artist’s brush
I have learned to see the beauty all around and build a life of gratefulness
Beauty surprises and comes in simplest form
Which helps to drown the sorrow that inevitably must come to us all.
Grace Daub
December 1, 2021
I've Limricized..' Haiku
Than Bauk, a time or two.
In verse intent, play scenes.
To prose.' not heavy of line.!
My word..! 'to grasp the time'
Its to do.! Today so seems..
In green of mango groves,
Where marmosets flex toes
Crush berry.. Daub bamboo screen,
To paint a vivid show
my wish for you to know.'
In Balassi stanza keen.
Forgiven
She wore a scarlet letter on her back
Tied up with chains
That strangled and kept her from being free.
She could barely breathe…
Her guilt and shame worn like a cloak around her back.
As she tries to hold her head up high,
the weight of all her stains pushes it down.
As she sits in the back row trying to be invisible.
There is talk of forgiveness and repentance…
For one such as she?
Surely not?
The man of God spoke as if he knew her.
He told a story of a women at a well
encountering Jesus.
Could this Jesus love a filthy slave like her?
As she pondered this repentance story,
She gave her mind to possibilities.
Maybe, she would give this kind of love a chance.
She felt a love surround her,
As if a warm gentle summer breeze had lifted her
and the glorious rays of the sunniest beach day
came down upon her shoulders.
She felt the weight of the heavy burdensome chains,
drop around her feet.
She felt clean and different.
A freedom that took flight in her spirit
Reminded her of the eagle
She had seen flying high above the clouds
Giving hope…
Could one really feel this clean?
She walked out that day
Onto a new path,
that went in the opposite direction.
No longer was she wrapped in chains.
The scarlet letter wiped away.
Forgiven like the women at the well,
Her head was high as her spirit took flight
Things would never be the same!
The angels in the heavenly realm
cried tears of joy
That mixed with hers,
flowing freely down her face.
Washing away all the pain of her past
A pure white robe placed upon her…
Cleaned by the blood of the lamb.
Grace Daub January 20, 2022
Written for Repent and Believe Contest sponsored by Regina McIntosh
1 John 1:9 KJV - If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
"In the absence of complication,
trials and tribulations become distant memories.
Above sapphire skies delight sanguine eyes -
inspiring forthcoming musings of the mind."
Does the moon not daub its porcelain glaze on every foolish lover?
Does the rain not conceal the absinthian tears of each rent heart?
Does the sun not bleach away the darkest ire of every forlorn soul?
Does the dusk sky not blush for the pale of each weary spirit?
Consider, for a moment, how precious YOU are ...
if you were the only cognizant human on this earth,
the heavens would still shimmer with stars for your sake alone,
each day would dawn with a glorious palette to please your sight ...
Every bird would weave its sonorous melody to grace your ears,
the oceans would roar for the yearning of your unique spirit,
and the very wind itself, would carry your name on its back!
Rise, today, and contemplate the wondrous creation that is YOU ...
Celebrate the gifts of this Universe that spin for your sole worth,
and say "thank you" to the heavens that you are made so extraordinary,
with all the miraculous precision and intent that Creation could supply,
breathe in the joy of existence, and exhale the jubilant appreciation ...
Of LIFE!
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Your Best Free Verse From 2019" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Complete The Poem - In The Absence Of Complication" Poetry Contest, Silent One, Judge & Sponsor.
* Many kind thanks to Silent One for the marvelous inspiration! This was written for a contest of his, and the prompt was the gorgeous first stanza that he provided. *
Written: February 27, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dwindling diamond daub, an amber
glittering glow
diaphanous verism of glass
and yet…
wreathed in wisteria-washed linden
a glimpse of
moon-pearled butterflies
fluttering beyond
seventh sky
fine shone ivory organza
faintly floats
in flowy grey garment
because...
the mirror failed
to release her
Watch the whispering wind
of crestfallen Luna
serenade sonatas to
the saffron sun,
elegance bewilders as a spell
whilst imbued in
Tuscan fuchsia flowers
plated in opalescent enamel
healing in her
sanguine sanctuary
& silvery smooth skin
she is the spirit of Aphrodite
soaked in ivory color
her tears metamorphosing
of...
ogdoads
daffodils.
Venus waltzing with Earth
zeal of unbreakable bond,
floral fragrance felicity
an ageless love tale
sweet lullaby tweets
billets-doux
texts spanning the world
bien sûr we love
extravagance in empathy
exulansis excluded eternally
hunting for heavenly harmony
swirl in seraphic space
as Dahlia sighs reach
esoteric eyes of lotus Luna
breathing silence
virtuoso ululation
for...
a friendship circle.
it was a happenstance meeting and perchance my destiny,
my fate or maybe it was to be my doom-
I had been walking the woods alone and he came to me
a handsome stranger, hypnotic . . .
how I found myself in this place is uncertain but
the walls are damp and musty and draped with moss
I hear dripping water echoing from somewhere and I tremble
yet, I somehow already love him . . .
I brush his dank raven hair from his forehead
the tendrils soft as a spiders web
oh, surely this is reckless folly . . .
slowly his kisses follow the contour of my neck
and his whispers are like a drug to my soul
my hair flows like a dark rive, and
the promise between us are words unsaid . . .
I sigh and moan, and
my heart flutters and quivers with desire
all thoughts of my life drift away
all the scars have gone in this surreal love
and I have left the ravaged garden that I called living
red- a daub of blood trickles from his lips
and I kiss the smear away hungrily . . .
suddenly, a wafting gust of wind is whirling
around us and we hover in a forever
eternal
embrace . . .
_________________________
January 17, 2019
Poetry/Free Verse/Eternal Embrace
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1105-728-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Eight Word Challenge, Bardenesque
sponsor, John Hamilton
Third Place
I last-touch
the tiny giggle
of the hand that carelessly lets go
a moment of a horizon-less lifetime.
And she lifts her head
encoppered curly hair
framing the face
that uncle Chagall will want to possess on canvas,
Raphael will woo with the charm of a Reborn man,
Renoir will gently daub in moving light.
I take away the giggle
and delicately arrange a small place
for it to nestle off to sleep
among the most gentle, manly words
I can release from my heart.
An old blue uniform
that hadn't fit in fifty years,
beneath which:
Letters I don't recall sending,
a daub in oils,
slashed, repaired, and saved.
A note, detention, smoking,
tucked inside
a dictionary, first prize in spelling.
The invitation to the wedding;
unanswered, unattended.
The will.
feathered …
moony beams daub your lips -
the irregularities
shaping little cornflower thorns
but oh, how supple the
pliant press of those luscious fruits
(savored like honey) …
I touch them delicately with the
back of my finger
then move lower to your
daintily-dimpled chin, and down …
I follow the blue beams
with my fingertips
dancing across your surfaces as
little bumps form and
your flesh jumps here-and-there
telling me I’ve found the
sweetest spots,
though I’m winding my way to
an even dearer dermis
and warmer intent …
what is the enchantment of
these moments -
this magic of moonlight that
makes me want you so?
there is a mad mystery to why such
time stops and waits for us,
and were it not for
the responsibilities of morning,
we would hold this moment forever -
painted in dreamy shafts of blue
trading touches like truths
swimming the rill of each other’s soul
and haunting a wonder-world -
whimsical, immortal
and ours …
alone.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden