Best Daylight Poems
As afternoon fades
and the shadows grow longer
daylight turns to dusk
As daytime slowly comes to end,
and twilight spreads across the sky;
the stars in heavens thus ascend.
As daytime slowly comes to end,
the birds in trees the night to spend,
for in the darkness do not fly;
as daytime slowly comes to end,
and twilight spreads across the sky.
After the sun sets
and darkness blankets the land
lovers start to play
Please kiss me when the sun has set,
and darkness overtakes the land,
and daily chores have all been met.
Please kiss me when the sun has set;
make this a night to ne’er forget;
all night fulfill our love’s demand.
Please kiss me when the sun has set,
and darkness overtakes the land.
As darkness arrives
lovers cling to each other
love the night away
February 22, 2018
Poem of the Day - February 24, 2018
Hurry, hurry we are burning daylight,
The flowers are wilting;
Mother was planting a cottage garden,
And we needed the right perennials;
Flowers durable, enduring, perpetual,
Oh sweet dreams of flowers;
This was a journey I shared with mother,
Daylight pours into this memory;
That I recall vividly.
Fragrant burning daylight day lilies,
Flowing emerald leaves;
Intense beautiful orange-yellow colors,
Trumpet shaped delicate soft blooms;
We set them in a sheltered location,
So attractive in the shade;
They also thrive in fields growing wild,
After mother died I took some;
Placing them at her tomb.
Darkness turns to daylight as I recall,
Mother's cottage garden;
Some tell me that I must let it go,
That all the time I spend grieving;
The less time I spend living my life,
But how dear to me the memory;
Of me and mother in her garden,
Planting burning daylight day lilies;
With petals that sleep.
_____________________
April 14, 2015
Poetry/Verse/Burning Daylight Day Lily
Copyright Protected, ID 04-666-612-14
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
For the contest, Burning Daylight,
sponsor, John Lawless, Judged 2015
Second Place
They are lined up along the long hallways
wheelchairs protruding, blocking the corridors.
The aroma of antiseptic spray attempts to mask
the pungent smell of body odors.
The loud blare of the big screen TV
reverberates from the empty day room,
while medical staff busily sort paperwork
behind the sterile counter tops.
Each ancient face, each frail body
huddled beneath their blankets
reflect a unique history, a life story
that is waning with the passage of time.
Men and women, now trapped within their
weakened bodies, once vibrant and strong
now confined and consigned to wait
away from the public eye, burning daylight.
Written on 4/28/2015
As shifting shadows merge within the night,
darkness devours disheveled silhouettes.
And daylight disappears, fading from sight;
as a splendiferous sun slowly sets.
Twilight's crimson-colored clouds coalesce;
tinting the skies a cotton candy pink.
And yet, darkness descends nevertheless,
tattooing treetops with ebony ink.
Sequined stars sparkle in the midnight sky;
glittering gems in the fabric of space.
And today toasts tomorrow with a sigh;
as a motley moon mirrors Sol's far face.
Moonbeams mold monsters mostly out of black;
sculpting scary shapes with chisels of light.
And female mosquitoes mount their attack;
as buzzing, bloodthirsty biters alight.
Silence shushes sounds, stirring in the day;
as night's nocturnal creatures start to wake.
And stridulating crickets chirp away;
trilling till dawn dawns and dreamers awake.
I gaze beyond
the sky of sapphires,
waiting for a
spark of sailing light,
listening to
the balmy breeze~
they kiss the
rays of silver,
with tales of
my eclipsed past.
Maybe tonight dandelion
wind will dance in sync~
to sunset kayaks cruising
through wounded waves,
shimmering amidst
tear-stained dunes…
I lean on the seething sea
of seven sisters,
to rewrite my destiny~
learning from flawed art
within my aching heart.
But am I the one at fault?
or were you the
reason we fought?
I question the twirling time,
passing through
hues of forest haze.
Was the blame in
broken melodies~
strung from frail strings
of my antique guitar?
Maybe, somewhere
down the lane of
finding myself,
I lost our rhythm,
trying to fine-tune
symphonies of
frozen love.
Now I’m gliding towards
the moonlight
away from the
soulless midnight,
to reach a cosy shore
where I can knit
quilted patterns,
unraveling a place
that feels like home.
As I’ve been searching
for an island that has no
lifelines of faded vows,
so I’m running
from the limelight;
ice green footprints,
following me and
our musical memories,
like sinister silhouettes.
I never thought that
you were the one,
I always knew I was the
throned queen of darkness.
Who will it be next,
to rescript this
tattooed misery?
Maybe, a poet with
an acrylic quill softer
than the air I breathe.
Now I’m gliding towards
the moonlight
away from the
soulless midnight,
to rise above the silence.
I still hope that I’ll waltz
through a sphere
where warmth
of faith flickers in
colors of honeyed hope,
and home will no
longer be an illusion,
etched on dusky feathers
of diamond dreamcatchers.
Someday, hourglass pearls
will fall in shades of
this poem I’ve woven
in starry ink~
this is the unfinished story of
You and I.
The sparrows don't know
we're saving daylight,
still rising at the same hour.
Hearing squirms of worms,
their wings take flight.
Over nature man has no power.
Last night I stole a little - from time.
Don’t worry he’s got plenty on his hands
You could call it daylight robbery, but that wouldn’t be strictly correct, since
It occurred on the first of spring, at a minute past midnight.
But it’s really only semantics – isn’t it?
Oh I intend to give it back, but not until fall, I promise you that.
So for now, I intend to give it to those who
Hate waking to insipid mornings but instead,
Prefer the comfort of a long, alluring evening…
Time still has enough on his hands of course
To wake me in the usual way, the additional
Daylight finding gaps in my louvered blinds, it
Finds me; blinding me with stripes, a colouring of
Dusty motes with that angelic silver
A sliver of morning’s grace piercing my sheets
But the mornings are for birds…
And they don’t give a hoot about what was stolen.
Oh there are plenty of people who wake up to that inky blackness
Or even that rusty red, that bleeds all over the horizon
Oh they’re definitely not receivers of stolen goods,
Simply lovers of a pantomime, albeit in the morning.
She is one of those lovers… My wife Bronwyn,
A Welsh name to match her pale pearlescent skin.
Skin like perfect porcelain, that’s not in
Need of the proceeds of thievery.
Bronwyn stands over me now, the daylight interrupted
My slivers of dust broken
My colourful stripes stolen
Grace no longer piercing my sheets
Instead a finger piercing me…
“Get up!”
I did get up, for I needed to
Spend a little of the proceeds from my crime
Let the morning unwind naturally, feel the hush of
Time press upon my skin, when the sun is at its zenith
And ease into the evening like sliding into a warm bath…
John Lawless’s Poetry Contest – Saving Daylight
14 February 2015
I’m burning daylight on a warm spring day,
Admiring in the park a bright array
Of peonies and pansies when I spy
Pirouetting round them, a butterfly.
How beautiful this outdoor noon ballet!
We’re sweltering; I take the hose and spray
My grand kids, shrieking in their summer play,
Just one of many other ways whereby
I’m burning daylight!
With friends I’m sitting at a street café.
We’re laughing chattering our time away.
While sun ekes out the last drops from fall’s sky,
I see the dusk, a pink parfait, and sigh!
A chill is coming, which I must delay. . .
I’m burning daylight.
He would enter the corral in the thick fog of mist,
up long before daylight would christen the air
The skies would be coral, and the sun glazed the crest
Dust clung to the heels of his old leather boots,
and gathered in shrouds around the hoofs of the mare.
Billowing were clouds, and a whirlwind of grief
that followed the storms of long hours awake
Endless were nights without the refuge of sleep
while he waited for sun to arrive and relieve
Caressing the flank of her sleek narrow, frame,
his favorite mare, Queenie, was the color of dawn
He would gather her reins, for a moment of calm
then, bury his face in her rusty brown mane
He'd watch as the light slipped over the hills,
smoothing the shadows, that haunted his world
Without ever knowing the worries we found
as we saw those same shadows, splay rapidly down,
drowning his eyes, with dark circles and frowns
Grief and the love of his horses, would ride,
together, off center....wherever, to hide,
and soften the hours, that waited for night
For the house was a shell, and the bedroom, upstairs,
became the forbidden, without her to share
The nights, ever long, were just waiting to tear
open the wounds that couldn't be shared
Up at the sunrise, and out until starlight
Where shadows grew stronger, and nights even longer
Burning the daylight, until light was in ashes,
then thrashing the midnight, with the darkness of mourning,
wading through dust-clouds, to see morning's light
Waiting for something to make it alright
____________________________________________________
4/28/15
Dedicated to my Dad
We gained an hour, that's fact.
Try to keep your emotions intact!
I'm not sure how folks feel
but it's not a big deal
So please don't overreact!
That extra hour is not a big thing.
No matter what excitement it might bring.
Please don't be surprised,
cause you must realise
that you'll lose it again in the Spring!
Yeah, an hour ain't really much time,
to write a good Limerick or Rhyme.
The result, as you see,
is a shame, shame on me
cause this Limerick is really a crime!
"The Green Bruise of Daylight"
A person can die for love
one sees red
the other sees blue
purple bruises
one sees red
alarm lights siren
purple bruises
detach into the grey
alarm lights siren
there is no more singing
detaches into the grey
courts fuelled by pocketsful of lies
rocks and gavels
for the weighting
ocean deep confetti
bottomless drowning
the other sees blue
detaches into the grey
purple bruises
fade away
purple bruises
wrapped in
white paper sentences
stain the mind
words black peppered
crushed mulberry memories
flock like seagulls
their call haunting
hungry scavengers feeding
messages clipped
around their ankles
carrier pigeons in steel cages
jail birds wait the day anticipating
windows watch
windows the colour
of deep forests turn and
walk away
murders of crows
wings rise and fall
towards the green
bruise of daylight
stain the mind mottled
lights along a road
flood the dark spots
driven the long way home
behind straight lines
boundaries marked
contained within fences
broken prisons min min jackets
keys thrown far away
golden chords harpooned
in the heart
of a lost cherub
in safe harbour
another calling see
waves wash the
grave dirt away
windows watch windows
the colour of deep forests turning
towards dark night, the missing
archangel walks away
spilling blood
like poetry
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
A Halloween Story
hints of pantoum
photographic art, Max Dupain/Australian.
Music. "High Above a Green Grey Sea", Colin Stetson.
Stepping over the threshold
Locating the floor buttons
I press the 3rd floor
~ my brain images still flashing ~
Disfigured long flames curl around
Cherished memories-
Dry spruce branches smoking and crackling
Glowing coals cooking steaks in a fire
Above the crashing waves on the North Shore
Of Lake Superior with mom and dad
Laughing and sipping root beer
Spying a twisted piece of petrified oak
most likely a plank
From an ancient sunken vessel splintered
In the Gale's of November
Loosening the piece from the grips of glistening
Basalt boulders, etching our names and place
Of discovery above striated agates embedded in
Crevices a millennial ago
Proudly displayed on the mantle above my fireplace
Gone
Now
Only precious memories remain
I flash the card lock on my hotel room
Entering
The
Future
2/18/23
Shackled in the dark
Emancipation at last
The greatest walk home
A hour is lost
tucked inside a dark vase, gone
creamer drowned coffee.
The last embers of daylight gleam across a round sky
to leave a red ribbon on the horizon...to underscore
The flourishing evening invites us in
as we slide our feet through the sea's soft sand
where waves lap the shore
like a honey bear's tongue on the first days of Spring
rising from a deep Winter's slumber
Bending palms persuade us to sit
beneath their green canopy
Where our eyes drop their disguise of innocence
to reveal a cherished moment of romance
worn as a necklace on the silhouette of love
that shines bright beneath the glorious glow of sunset
burning an image into the hollows of my hallowed mind
where liquid thoughts pour out in harmony
onto the tidal currents of love's ebb and flow
Tranquility rushes into pliable veins
an elixir tugging on the fervor beating in my chest
where warm alluring hands nurture the marrow essence of love
holding me a silent captive
waiting for the memories we will make
with each kiss shared...that arouses our quivering fervent souls
in a coronation of hearts
wrapped in garments of golden luster
as we dissolve in an evening's glow of red grandeur
filled with sensual imaginations
floating on the brume of candlelit dusk
and soft music
beckoning us towards a romantic night
of breathless sighs and empty wine glasses
7/8/19