Best Drape Poems
Enraptured by blue Sea, Sun chose a place
above Sea, on a cliff. To touch her face,
Sun then sank low; final radiance fell,
a lover's fingers on her mighty swell,
with passion's touch her cobalt blue to trace.
A last caress. . . and then with quickened pace
arrived dark night with sable and black lace
to softly drape the one he loves so well. . .
enraptured by the sea.
A man went to that cliff and pled for grace,
for he had come with heart ache to erase.
The sea, grown icy cold, still cast her spell.
He knew that only she all pain could quell.
Like Sun did too, he fell to her embrace
enraptured by the sea
April 21, 2022
Submitted June 12, 2022 for
Mark Toney's 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 1 Poetry Contest
Within the warmth of home, I sit amazed
at the gentle fall of snow through window pane.
Cup of tea in hand, my layered thoughts unchain,
and tumble from the tip of tongue unfazed
to land upon a pristine page appraised,
aided by the silent fall through snowy pane.
Oh, the soft white wintry glow 'pon the lane
leaves a graceful drape, Lord be praised.
Within the warmth of home, I muse on themes
of days to come and those gone bye and so,
I thank the Lord for all of nature's schemes,
for the gift of time, for peace, and for the snow.
Oh, make the blanket deep, I wish to dream,
may all my days and 'morrows have this glow.
The amethyst paeans of hyacinth
crest with a gust of butterflies
on the scent of orange blossoms
cascading to earth like snow flakes.
Blood-red geraniums blazon Spring's birth
not with a pulsing blare,
but the soundless blush
of love's ardent swoon.
Placid jade fronds drape,
acquiescing to silent bees
emerging from blond snapdragons
as euphoria of being exudes
from the garden's breathless murmur.
I'm named a willow tree and live in grace,
the whole of me distinctive in its shape.
My elegance well suits this lush landscape
of hillocks flung across the field I face. . .
and gentle rills meander through this place.
In spring I don a long virescent cape
comprised of many supple arms that drape
to earth and, with Eve’s shadows, interlace.
Oh, countless times Sun’s flecked my every leaf
and Sky distilled her stars as night would creep.
Young lovers, though, have fled, their time so brief.
They used to spread a cloth to eat; then sleep
beneath me in my shade. They knew no grief. . .
Not privy to their destiny, I weep.
Your tapestry
weaved with strands of light
Contrasted with threads of black
A marvelous mosaic
of a wondrous soul
I drape you over me
Feel your warmth
am nurtured
I hear the tune of you
Singing your happy songs
Yet if I listen
Closer
just a little closer
I am drenched with your tears
The alternate other you
I open you up
Lay you on the ground
Marvel at the intricacies of you
All the subtleties
The bold designs
Shapes I could never imagine
You are magnificent
Breathtaking
Awe inspiring
Contrasts co-existing
Harmony within each part
I resist the urge
To fold you up
Place you on a shelf
Keep you all to my self
A treasure just for my eyes to see
I look around
It's not up to me
You are connected to all
Other tapestries and endless sea
carried away by them you us and me
So I marvel and just let you be
Magnificent
Funny
Beautiful
Complicated
Lovely
Breathtaking
You
Written on my birthday in 2013.
My birthday is September 8th. (Just in case you want to get me a gift *lol*)
Inhaling, hushed, from hashed cigars
my mind implodes in Malimar
where Naiads bathe in caviar -
I dream of dwarves and three-eyed tsars.
The captive kiss of Princess Mars
(who talks in tongues at seminars)
burns red beyond Her blue boudoir -
I writhe within Her pale peignoir.
Her Maids gloss lips with cinnabar,
bedizen cheeks in dusts that mar,
serve teas beside the reservoir -
I sip them from a samovar.
Disguised in smoke and lamps of spar
Her Genies gender gold dinars,
evoking flames in ginger jars -
I plea before the Commissar.
At Princess’ neighbourhood bazaar,
white shadows slip through doors ajar
to drape my dreams in ash and char -
I long await the Avatar.
Her Merchants (preening, proud Hussars)
paint pretty scenes on VCR’s
while sailing ships to Zanzibar -
I strum the strings of warped sitars.
Her Prophets sometimes cruise in cars
else while at each and every bar
to speak of space and time bizarre -
I pass my pride for small pourboires.
Her Necromancers trace in tar
tall tales of wisdom flung afar,
transported by the Registrars -
I hitchhike on their handlebars.
Her seers conjure repertoires
where She and I are on a par
in infinite surreal memoirs -
I sometimes sense the void is ours.
My Princess never sees the scars
cut by Her whispered “au revoirs” -
I often wake to ask ‘who are
these Gods that sail the distant stars?’
One summer day, enraptured by the Goddess Sea,
King Sun shone down with all his might; most splendidly
he moved the Goddess, for she rippled laughingly
a shimmering reply to Sun in azure sky,
and while reflecting that same hue where King Sun dwelt,
her turquoise ripples lengthened, for the goddess felt
herself now rising up with joy. Wave after wave
was leaping, frothing. . . as King Sun more strongly gave
his final rays to her. Then he descended low
that he might kiss the lovely Sea on earth below -
to kiss her soon before the last day’s shadows fell,
and so he touched her where she’d let her body swell.
With yellow gold, his final glow, he bathed her face,
but when the night arrived with sable colored lace
to drape the goddess, Sun had vanished from all sight;
below Sea’s depth he’d sunk - to love her through the night.
For Suz's "Let's Be Open" poetry contest and now for
PD's Anything Goes Contest
She hides a jar of dread
Underneath the bed
With other bottled pains
Until her feelings rust,
Collecting tears and dust
And cobwebs of old shame.
But when the night arrives,
She's just a name on a stone,
And a box of cold bones
That yearn to be alive.
She hides another lover
Under satin covers
To wallow in warm lies
Until she can forget
The folds of deep regret
That drape her weary guise.
But when the night arrives,
She's just a name on a stone,
And a box of cold bones
That yearn to be alive.
Yes, when the night arrives,
She yearns to be alive.
As winter trees exhume their leaves
for spring
and Autumns' sacrifice
retreats in memory
Summers of sangria blossoms
drape their crimson blooms-
exhale against an arc of sighing skies
Seasons conspire
to tempt the wanderer on,
but it’s the stolen thoughts of childhood
that bring the wanderer home.
© Suzanne Delaney
.
Racing towards a distant horizon
I watch as hope fades within the desolate
shadows of my bleak surroundings
Damp air wafts heavily, silently...
its aroma kindling thoughts of shared
rainy Sundays and wet kisses in the park
When once more thunderstorms converge
as dark clouds drape ominous vistas
in shades of midday despair
Saturated angry heavens unleash
drowning sorrow midst the endless
deluge now battering this place
Tear splashed puddles again overflow,
reflecting the loneliness felt
as chilled droplets drench me
Yet still I run, hopelessly seeking those
sunny days and blue skies I knew
damn well would be gone...
once she was
Encased in an isolated castle of an old fool’s paradise,
A decaying dagger rests upon a distressed oak table.
Frayed book pages scatter across termite-riddled floors.
The calligraphy carries echoes of triumphant battles,
Vividly etched in ink.
A revered legacy is forgotten in decades of decay,
Its inked glory fading into disarray.
Reminiscing of bygone days when youth was a sturdy partner at my behest,
Now weathered crimson dahlias adorn the windowsills
Of a desolate dynasty,
As the last petal falls.
Echoes of faded footsteps can be heard within the empty halls of waste.
What remains is a golden crown with sanguine marquise
Resting heavily upon an exile’s head.
How do I conquer the bloodstained fear trickling within the fractals,
Reflecting off the scorching sun that swallows flames,
Swirling around the ashen pyre
Of the poetic corpses I’ve slain for validation?
An inquisition paints a vicious vermilion
Within the sobbing stained glass.
The once-perfect porcelain flesh of our legacy is flayed,
Surrounded by the whispers of forgotten souls.
Cobwebs drape over shattered dreams,
As beams of light punctuate looming shadows.
Concealed beneath cold stone lies the family crypt,
Patiently awaiting its reluctant visitor,
Beckoning the exalt through clandestine corridors.
Within the hushed chamber of undying slumber,
He recalls the tragic tale.
Before him stand his beloved wife and children,
Forever ensnared in the clutches of eternal sleep.
Echoes of the past replay like eerie shadows,
Retelling the grim chronicle of their demise.
His envious, wrathful younger brother succumbed
To the greed of his own ambition.
In the darkness hour of that dreadful night, the dagger-wielding usurper
Plunged their existence into oblivion,
Casting spirits of suppressed speeches to weep
Within wailing walls.
Now I am the cerulean dusk of the gloaming,
A burnt-out waxen ivory,
The candle before their tombstone.
A winged mermaid blossoms,
awash with marine snow ~
Poseidon's ocean-pearl,
breathing jasmine sirens
as iced eyelashes curl...
A winged mermaid blossoms,
when fish-angels ache for
arctic apricity,
and glacial nymphs carve a
cruel felicity...
A winged mermaid blossoms,
as strawberry conch shells,
drape the neon sea-star ~
my minty sun trembles,
and sheds its sherbet scar...
A winged mermaid blossoms,
hearts of manta rays swath
with love's ivory rose -
unfurling aqua kins,
that ruby thorns unfroze...
I'm an estuary of ivy-furs,
sleeping in monsoonal moonglades of love~
as the savannah sun of sunset blurs,
slowly unveiling stars with golden glove.
When russet- fairies twirl in a bronze lake,
singing with springs of watermelon wand,
an untouched summer unfurls behind ache,
lacing twilights with lush wishes, so fond.
Garden of grapefruit, doesn't forbid faith,
exotic eyes paint life with a rare art,
where hilly hues drape seashores ~ daisy-bathe,
my muse weaves magic on the 'bay of heart'.
~
Winter breathes in sepia tones along a lonely two lane street
divided amongst the sweeping frozen dunes
now forced into shouldered amnesty
Street lights shiver in snowcapped bonnets
while sidewalks sleep ‘neath blankets of flittering flakes
The air, frigidly crisp…moves of tiny chiffon sparkles dancing
Rooftops, plump and soft, show off their frosted padding
as evergreens find alabaster fingers tickling their branches
in chilled teasings and frozen dustings
Footprints, once there are gone, covered and recovered again
all evidence of life is erased beneath pearl clouded skies
and faint outlines of distant thoughts
White on black stripes drape in glacial wanderings
spanning the slush of asphalt weavings
in straight line piercings across the wintry landscape
January reigns brutal, subzero ponderings swirl
from high above the icebox wasteland, once brimming with color
now opaque in its arctic seasoned disguise…
~
Written from memory…no winter here. : )
I feel her coming, and upon my nape
she’s brushing me! Oh my, I have been kissed!
I know she will get stronger. Then she’ll drape
the trees with all the colors I have missed
since last she visited. How nice she is.
She brings such beauty, and sweet fragrance too.
A bit rambunctious, sometimes she can whiz
right past me, swishing leaves. And skies once blue
might darken then, but when the rains come down,
I know they are her way to bless us more,
for grass that in the winter had been brown
becomes lush green. Come, Flowers I adore -
my pretty Roses – Let the breath of Spring
revive you as the hills with birds’ song ring.
March 8, 2021
For the Breath Of Spring Poetry Contest of Regina McIntosh