Best Distill Poems


Come Rain

Come rain, come; let the swallows fly
Let womb of swollen seeds travail
Let the prison wall of dust now die
Come rain, come in water, sleet, and hail

Come rain, come and brim the dusty eye
Let the heart its sorrows melt today
Sublimate our griefs into a sigh
Distill clouds into a brighter day

Tears show us the rainbow of the soul
To think that dust the lights spectrum break
And life's struggle is the prism of our gold
Come rain, tell the nightingale now awake

Tell the grass to cushion still our feet
And let green things feel their jubilee
God in us will make our hope complete
Come rain, pour his Spirit upon me.

Premium Member Changing Sky

My weeping eyes behold the changing sky
O'erspread with clouds of grey where once was blue
With gaze upturned, I heave a burdened sigh
At all the world now changed to leaden hue
Yet still they onward, ever onward fly
And more appear to change the sky anew
And now, as troubled hearts their sorrows spill
These maudlin clouds the heavy rain distill

The sun obscured in shame, he hides his face
And lightning lights instead the cheerless gloom
While thunder follows swift in furious chase
As if to herald thoughts of coming doom
And still, the rain descends at hurried pace
As if the earth in water to entomb
It seems belike this storm would rage for aye
And all the earth would never chance to dry

But lo! The setting sun that once was veiled!
Draws nigh to show his grandeur forth below
He shines his beams abroad the clouds to gild
And sparks the drops as diamonds all aglow
Mid pools of sapphire blue the sky is filled
With vibrant coloured shades of heaven's bow
What eye could see and not revive its fire?
Nor mind behold and not its thoughts inspire?

Premium Member Winter

As heavy frost settles 'pon the brown hill
And floats down to the level, thoughts are stilled
Words rise up to nettle but spirits thrill
Winter's north breeze meddles_ spring's buds to kill

Japanese Magnolia's buds wait until
spring's warm rains flood the earth; then sap buds fill.
Winter's pause, earth lauds rebirth, and birds' shrill
Vexing cold squads stay away and be still

At spring's rebirth be awed, winter's cold distill
Death where is resurrection's applaud, still
Waiting for spring's hallowed birth, rapture's real
Transformation follows, one's fate sealed

Not part of the poem:
There is a powerful difference in having to say something
and having something to say!!

Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Contest: Interlocking Rhyme
Written: January 19,2015

Finis'


Premium Member Choice Each Day

God given, Ten Commandments understood,
Divine plan in word, for man's guidance all.
Gods' rules of life, not options if you should,
commandments to prepare man for his call.

No other idols, gods, nor name in vain,
Steal not, adultery nor slander be.
To honor parents, Sabbath, dare not bane,
man shall not covet what he wants nor see.

Temptation, weakness mire man and his will,
ten simple rules most difficult it seems.
Greed and ambition man's heart to distill,
they hinder man's lives, interfere with dreams.

Ten commandments to abide or to stray,
a never, always, sometimes, choice each day.


Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
2/15/16

Sweet Sublime

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Sensations mounting whirling heights

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

To close my ardent joyful eyes 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

And feed upon her peach delight ~

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Nectars promise, of pulped divine...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Distill these drops extracting time

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Upon my twirling tongues design

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Melting, inside her fruitful vine ~

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

...“Harvest Loves, Sweet Sublime.”

Premium Member Glorious Autumn

Autumn’s  story is full of rustic shades 
that echo  deep from  every vale and hill
of splendor and of  forest colonnades,
as one by one leaves float and spin and spill
in frosted shadows and in evening’s chill

Dogwoods change,in carmine escapades,
to celebrate old summer’s standing still
Scarlet leaves and shades of marmalades
Shiraz, Claret and Burgundy distill
bright tones of nature for the soul to swill. 

Amber, apricot and goldenrod brigades
capturing our gaze and hearts to thrill
Piles of forest treasures spillIng in cascades
with dappled browns and caramel’s goodwill,
All opulence of Autumn to fulfill

Autumnal  English Quintain Contest
Francine Robert’s.
First Place.
Title for contest was Quintessential Autumn

A Strand 1061
First Place

Published in PS It’s Poetry Available on Amazon.


Premium Member The Calling Gull Of Aquinnah

The calling gull leaves her nest
her wild magic cleaves the nimbus.
An avian aerialist suspended aloft 
she sails on tapered ribbons of cirrus silk,
ruffled sea breeze ironed ‘neath her lustrous wings.

A wind witch, she defies and defines the  w - i - n - d…
a weaver of worlds, knotting strings of stories as one wampum belt
in union with the sea’s connection to land and air.

She steals the sough from the surf and the sigh from my sinew;
my guide to a mindful haven. This nurture-maven 
glides among bouquets of pink-peony-cumulus.
She; my blue-sky-muse in celebration!
She; my compass rose, mediates my meditation.

I unfurl fresh wings, a night-to-day tern, and claim my turn with the wind
no longer a granite stone asleep on sand. I soar
from the glacial-age strand and lift through fog.. brief my tryst
with mist. Eyes blessed by the crest of a humpback’s breach.

I distill myself, my will; a droplet, tear, a sphere free of guise.
An ascendant of moon-magnet tides yet a descendant
from stratus to stratum, I settle upon the cliffs along the coast
in union with my soul’s connection to body and breath.

In the cup of my hands I hold the sun and drink its yolk,
white-cap breakers below chant a soluble sonnet.
From my inner dark, a flint-spark flares as I find what I lost.
My heart, akin to a wild cranberry, reborn from the womb of dawn.
I inhale the moment. Red clay cliffs, lifeblood, fire-skies merge.
Windswept pitch pines croon as I grow roots for my tabernacle,
cosmic beams stream through stained-glass-eyes.
The calling gull rests. A distant, silent witness to my quest.

My pulse a psalm as I emerge; a cathedral lit by sunrise.

La Bella Luna!

You display your beauty like a rose,

your appearance, at first frail and ghostly,

blooms to fuller view in a sky studded with stars.

O Maiden Of Mystery! home of stillborn 

assignations, misspent dreams and lovers'

convocations, fired with all the grief

you can distill, and all the joy. 

You haunt the heavens, blithe and beauteous, 

even when unseen your hold is mighty, 

mistress of the menstrual flow, the driving force 

behind each woman's mood and machination. 

The sun shall lose her heat and bleed to death 

e'er you dissolve, expend your final breath.

Sweet Sublime

Sensations mounting whirling heights

To close my ardent joyful eyes

And feed upon her peach delight ~

Nectars promise, of pulped divine....

Distill these drops extracting time

Upon my twirling tongues design

Melting, inside her fruitful vine ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...."Harvest Love's, Sweet Sublime" *

More Than An Inferno

It is not light that falls before these eyes,
blue as ocean's dream,
that allows me to see, 
beyond such a simple breeze

where whitest whites make way
for jaded bliss
a brilliance brighter than my sun
or of your moon

it is honey that coats the tongue
but vision that makes one feel
gracing of soul
as Beatrice's special guest
honoured
it is no guess

pools of luscious honeydew pull
and I drown in the elixir
floating free with
petals of persimmon

the heavens call for our return
co-joined we shine bright
brighter than 10,000 stars
blocking out distracting light

letting our peace perform then shine








"What then I saw is more than tongue can say. 
our human speech is dark before the vision. 
the ravished memory swoons and falls away. 

as one who sees in dreams and wakes to find 
the emotional impression of his vision 
still powerful while its parts fade from his mind - 

just such am I, having lost nearly all 
the vision itself, while in my heart I feel 
the sweetness of it yet distill and fall"

Excerpt from Dante's Inferno
© Ts Poetry  Create an image from this poem.

Missed

Distill emotion
to one cliché “I love you”
call it poetry

Wrap all your feelings
in colorful box, ribbons,
call it greatest gift

Inflated ego
sworn superiority
call it all I need

I hear no trace of
regret in the voice speaking
of indiscretions

I see no sign of
truth in the dark eyes that claim
to love me only

I feel not the touch
of kindness from hands that give
only when they need

Hit-and-run kisses
when all I need is for you
to linger a while

Beware the high ground
only time until the fall
inevitable

Singular captures
only the essence of one
and that one is you

I lost myself there
sometimes I think you love me
for bending to you

So say it’s untrue
though every verb indicates
quite the contrary

I can not believe
manipulated words when
you’re hiding your eyes

Redeem, for this heart
that fell blissful into you
is reaching out still

La Bella Luna

You display your beauty like a rose, 
your essence frail and ghostly 
blossoms into fuller view, a wondrous pose. 
Maiden of mystery, home of stillborn 
assignations, misspent dreams and lovers' 
celebrations, fired with all the grief 
you can distill, and all the joy. 
You haunt the heavens, blithe and beauteous, 
even when unseen your hold is mighty, 
mistress of the tidal flow, the driving force 
behind each woman's mood and machination; 
   ever present there for all to see,
   we praise you, and applaud your constancy.

Premium Member Poetically Speaking

imagery,
      vistas,
      portals
of vision,
a vibrant
        panorama:
pathways
        to the poetic
to explore
to expose
       words..
to
devise:
to
distill
     thoughts
     never
     yet spoken

Take Me To the Countryside

Take me to the countryside 
where all the daffodils grow
fresh perfume saturating the air
dispersing sensational aroma
in the atmosphere.
Take me to the countryside
to inhale the balmy fragrance
of mother earth,
to walk on grassy lands
and hold each other hands.
Take me to the countryside
to gaze at the swaying trees, 
and listen to them humming breathlessly 
 in the chilly breeze.
enchanting birds singing in the gusty afternoon,
dancing vigorously to their melodious  tune.
Take me to the countryside 
where all the natural things grow,
tangerine, oranges , banana and  kiwi fruit.
homemade yogurt ,sweet yam
and fresh milk from grandpa’s lamb.
Take me to the countryside
to coalesce with earthy peasants, 
to run up and down the cornfield 
and waddle through onion beds.
Soak me in nature, 
and replenish my aching soul
purge my agonizing wound,
and distill my sorrowful tune.
My soul yearns for spiritual fulfillment
to drown the chaos from the external environment,
mineral water and running streams,
strumming guitars and melodious flutes
are singing harmoniously,
and whispering the truth.
lead me to a place of comfort,
a place where I can breathe,
a place of beauty and incomparable dreams.
Take me to the countryside
to mingle with the animals,
to go horseback riding,
and camp on the mountain top.
Take me away from this hopelessness,
to a place of peace and quietness.
Take me away from this desolation
and find away to solve this confusion.
I want to be free,
free from this burden and misery,
so take me with you before you leave.
When I close my eyes and count to three
at the sound of the whistle
I charge you to set me free.


©2013 Christine Phillips

Premium Member A Model of Good Works

Ideal instructor, shows integrity, impact in instruction.

5/2/2022

* Deuteronomy 32:2  
May my teaching drop as the rain, my speech distill as the dew, like gentle rain upon the tender grass, and like showers upon the herb.

Work Perspective Monoku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Beata Agustin

National Teacher Day is observed on the first Tuesday of the first full week of May (May 3) and we’re more than ready to show our appreciation to those who have taught us. Everyone has had that favorite teacher that has helped inspire them. This day meant to honor them was actually made by a teacher. None other than First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt herself. Eleanor Roosevelt was more than Franklin D. Roosevelt’s wife, she has a history of civic duty and was an advocate for fellow teachers. Her love for education began at a young age when she was privately tutored and encouraged by her aunt Anna “Barnie” Roosevelt. No matter how high she rose on the social ladder, she never forgot where she came from.
© Eve Roper  Create an image from this poem.

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