Best Dust Covered Poems
nascent
dawn appears
kaleidoscope
of
color
midnight
sighs
leftovers
of
last night
plateful of
unsaid
words,
a
tablecloth
of rapier-sharp
folds
&
fireplace
dying
to be
kept
alive
sensitive
hearts
feel
powerful
in
mundane
rain
pelting
petals
think
of
others
when eating
remember
pigeon
food
when fighting
remember
seeking
peace
paying water-bill
remember
cloud-nursed
when homecoming
remember
homeless
campers
when sleeping
counting stars
remember
sleepless,
roofless
foodless
healthless
hopeless
be a candle
in
dark
snow
mixed
drizzle ...
dust-covered
man
holds
hand
of daughter
dying
slowly
under
slabs
of
concrete
life
illusion
dream
swoon
ecstasy
oblivion
1st Place Contest Winner
Written: February 14, 2023
YOUR SELECTION AGAIN Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE::THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' (intuitive cadence)& so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
At a loss for words
Well not exactly
Words are plentiful
Thoughts a lesser commodity
Dust covered, wall flowers
Resigned to their fate
Thoughtless
Well not exactly
Thoughts think
About what other thoughts
Are thinking
Thoughts are like a masquerade ball
Concealing themselves
In duplicitous deception
Masked mayhem
Dancing alone
Words are like a barn dance
Swirling syllables
Changing partners
To a called cadence
Words and thoughts
Lethargic lovers
Longing for the other
To ask
May I have this dance.
No one followed her as she ran away
fleeing from the altar on her wedding day
She’d been jilted by Jed her handsome groom
so locked herself away in an unused attic room
The bride’s father went after Jed with a gun
you should have seen the coward run!
The desperate search for Judy was in vain
She didn’t respond when they called her name
Folks assumed she didn’t want to hang around
Many years passed by and she was never found
The house was auctioned after her parent’s died
They were buried at the churchyard side by side
The new house owners were in for a terrible shock
When they ventured upstairs and unpicked the lock
They found Judy’s skeletal body in her dress of lace
Cobwebs hung like curtains from her once lovely face
Jed’s dust covered photo lay in her hand
Judy never got to wear her wedding band
Dust Contest
Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
03~22~17
Tears of joy streak down
My dust covered face
As I just wandered by and witnessed
The utmost glorious grace
Just three days ago
I watched them crucify
The son of God himself
The man called Jesus Christ
They poked him with their spears
Wet his tongue with a vinegar sponge
Nailed him to a tree
And taunted “you’re not God’s son.”
He hung there ‘til he died
From his side water did drop
They buried him in a tomb
Where today I had to stop
Past three days the door was covered
A large stone placed there that day
But, today as I walked by
An angel rolled it away
He had kept his promise
Only 3 days would he lay dead
To forgive us all our sins
And, I believed in what he said
He glided out of the tomb
As if floating in the air
“Do not be afraid” he said,
With gentle love, and care
He represents new life
And all the wounds he can heal
Is Easter day your resurrection?
Can Jesus Christ be your shield?
I weep to think of the pain
He endured for you and me
So he could take away our sins
And one day, set us free!
By: Miranda Lambert
For: Gwendolyn Rixs’ contest: What easter means to me
Written: 03/21/2011
Maybe – I wonder – just maybe – could there ever be
A way to ever find in space those famous candy bars?
Rocky, cold, red-dust covered is the planet with 1/3 our gravity.
Someday perhaps we’ll bring those chocolate bars with us to Mars!
For Line Gauthier's Bite Size Poem No14 Poetry Contest
I stand here in this abandoned
church listening to the derelict
silence of the sombre ambience.
I look out of a shattered stain-glass
window, my mind has gone blank.
The bell rings sending an eerie
chime through the dust covered
room.
My heart is racing from the
spine-chilling fear that suddenly
floods my body.
I look once more; a white
dove sits peacefully on the
window sill chirping its soft
song; tranquillity from deep
within a magical heart.
The bell rings once more,
it startles me,
I turn back to peer out of the
shattered window,
the dove was made from glass.
Now the twilight was gone
As we arrived at little Utah inn.
At the edge of the vast prairie.
We rested well savouring the bliss
Of a quiet night away from the city.
Yet early in the morning we woke
To the sound of hooves pounding
Of the dust covered bison which ran
Across the shrubby prairie,
Leaving a large cloud of dust.
Time for breakfast, delicious and tasty.
From our window we could admire
The evergreen red cedars and admired
The tall forest of American Arborvitae.
But my love was fascinated by
The cultivated Saucer Magnolia.
We decided to hire a guide and leave for a park.
We were sure to see birds flying.
Colorful and warbling to our delight.
The Reddish Egret caught our fancy
Though the Sapsucker could compete its song.
But now twilight was descending again
So back to a delicious evening fest.
How we’ll rue the time when
We had to turn back to noisy city unrest.
In the old dark coal mine, brought cold feeling.
It was underground and very dangerous and hard work.
Wearing dark clothes, leather boots, and canvas hat
With a leather brim with metal lamp brackets to hang off a light.
My owner would carry me on his shoulder
When he walked into the tunnels of the mine.
He would hold me firmly with both hands.
Forcing hard with his body, would push my blade into the hard ground,
Rocked my handle back and forth to loosen the ground to get to the coal.
He came out dust covered black with me on his shoulder
All wore out needing to be sharpen for the next day.
I pondered about winter; it would come, and snow would fall.
He'd get me out of the shed, cold chill I would be to the touch,
And shovel the soft fallen snow of the sidewalk.
Years have passed and also my owner.
Now I hang of the wall with my blade painted.
His daughter in tribute, painted a winter scene.
An endless breadth curtain of a blue sky
As it closes the sun's view going down.
Patches of snow on the ground and bare limbs on the trees
My owner walks down a path with his dog.
As he had walked that path so many times.
I found myself in the old curiosity shop
Looking for something strange and different
The owner said how about Schrodingers cat
I said did not curiosity kill that?
He said its a paradox unknown
Alive or dead its something you can still own
I said no.
He said how about a spider I have living in a parlour
I said do I look like a fly?
He said you can be anything you want to be
I said I have no desire to die.
I looked further searching for something new
But everything was old
And paradoxical in truth
I said have you got a quantum box
So that I can think outside it
Maybe it will inspire me to think of something new
He said I sold that only yesterday to a Jewish man with wild hair
But I do have a super string theory residing over there
I stated I do not have any needs for a bunch of incomplete theories
All grouped up into one.
Feeling rather down of heart and feeling rather glum
I saw a dust covered book on existentialism
And said have you got a theory for being and nothingness
He said Satre took that one today by his own authority
So I decided it was time to go home and started to leave
When I saw a quantum paradigm staring back at me
I suddenly felt exited and said is that paradigm something you would like to shift
He said for you my friend most certainly
And I decided to take it
And as the paradigm shifted so did my quantum space
Now I find myself in Shambala on a Buddhist holiday.
I’m visiting the Manor with the paranormal society
It’s said to be haunted; I’m filled with some anxiety
The Duke was murdered, bringing his lover notoriety
With bloodied hands she’s found guilty of impropriety
The Manor is so spooky, at one time it looked so grand
I startle as the door slams, my boyfriend holds my hand
I shiver when the key turns, there’s something underhand
Being locked in the old Manor wasn’t something I’d planned!
The windows are all boarded up, I’m feeling quite unsure
He tells me not to worry; we can exit from the back door
Cobwebs hang from the ceiling, they’re something I abhor
I wish I’d never agreed to go on this ghost hunting tour
Members wander off in pairs to the renowned haunted zones
Detection equipment is set up; to pick up creaks and groans
We know we must be quiet and talk in such hushed tones
Suddenly our hand held scanners pick up wails and moans
The floorboards begin to creak; we hear footsteps in the hall
A dust covered portrait of the Duke suddenly falls off the wall
Hairs stand on the back of my neck and my skin starts to crawl
I’ve come to the conclusion I don’t like ghost hunting after all!
Tonight’s paranormal activity has given me such a dreadful fright
We hurry down the staircase; my face has turned a ghastly white
Our torches light up the entrance hall and to our great delight
The huge wooden door swings open and we escape into the night!
Sponsor Dear Heart
Contest The Haunted House
8/23/18
Sweat drips from little dust covered faces in the grim back-alley factories
No time for rites of passage other than fingers nimble enough to spin and
Balance wheel spool spin and stitch regulator to their master’s instruction
Anyana is not unique but one of the ‘fortunate’ ones
Gloved hands mop up droplets of perspiration from a lace veil and seduce
A myriad of lovers before she even enters an intricate parquet dance floor
Takes a cue from the orchestra and whirls on stilettos and rhapsodic flair
Chantelle did not purchase her dress at the charity shop
Their stories unite as neo-liberal gangsters spin a yard on wheels of fortune
While their procession fails to trickle down moderate glimpses of hope
Some stride on the cat walk of privilege and others are scavengers in rags
Exposed nipples are rather dissimilar but follow a different path
Anyana gathers her virtues and sends love across the boundary of despair
Her shoes bear no fairy tale stories when midnight strikes at the fashion
Of stolen passion from sweat shops for garments scented with perfume
Cause and effect cannot moderate nor gloss over amoral fabric
03rd November 2019
Little pebbles of broken glass, litter the streets, but the children run barefoot anyway.
Stubbing toes, contracting disease, playing with cigarette butts and discarded syringes.
The teens hide by the dumpsters, and quickly pump a vein.
A homeless man, jealous of the teen; instead, clenches his timeless drug of choice, a good ole' fashioned beer.
The sun still shines on the dust covered signs.
The streets crumble under the weight of America's ever increasing obese population.
Nothing has really changed, besides new acceptance of tried and true vices.
There’s always little kids causing trouble, teens using drugs, depressed old men drinking away their shame.
America is still the same great country,
Far superior than all the rest!
Despite their reduction in crime, lowered drug addiction rates, drop in homelessness, and constant upkeep of their buildings and streets.
Well besides all that... America is still Superior in Every way….
Stepping on a way because there is a one
though I don’t know where it will lead me to,
and while I was walking on the bright side of the way
I found myself stepping on the dark side of the way.
Since I am on the dark side of the way
I moved forward with cautious steps, and found this time,
what a joke this life is, I am walking on the bright side of the way.
Although the people call the way that is straight the right way
this way really confuses me, am I on the right track or not,
because there is only a twisted way that lies ahead
and it is called the right way.
Besides, this way seems to have an end
but nowhere can I find the end.
There is the dust covered tracks of the bulldozer
plowed through the forest felling trees,
the hillside is cut and crushed to build a concrete wall.
And along the Mobius strip there goes the eyeless tank
stepping on tomorrow with caterpillar tracks carrying
men’s endless desire, vain ambition.
From the beginning of the world many mishaps occurred
on this mismatched ambiguous way, it still is stretched before me,
it still is going on. I call this way is the Mobius strip.
Bursting from within the heart of a blizzard shock wave,
Shutters the flexing eye of this white hurricane storm,
Shattering the inner core into a blazing shards torrent,
A miracle of utter mystical enchantment occurs,
In this ancient incantations sacred spell.
It is a crystallized super nova’s raw force, exploding from
The inner guttural roar of nature giving birth, to
The snow bird of paradise.
In its translucent chamber egg of ice, resting in the
Diamond dust covered nest, lined with crystal frozen gems,
Shimmering beneath the chilling Artic sun, as the
Freezing embrace of mother earth, rocks her starling,
Kindred off spring, waiting, are anticipating its hatching.
Ever tenderly the life within stirs, as if a captured moment
Of purities grace, encapsulated in brilliance opulence,
The shells shard melts away, in a hushed display of beauties
Refinement and complete elegance.
Nature itself seems to hold its very breath, as the
Snow bird rises, for the first motions step, in a swaying
Waltz of harmony.
Behold the snow bird strides forth, fanning her plumage
Behind, a white laced peacock is exposed, unfolding its winged
Feathers delicately, one by one, until the colors
Reflect the light rays from the polar sun.
Gleaming in radiance, the fineries majestic appendages
Sparkle with razzle-dazzles adornments, yet the winds brush
At her downy softness, as if caressing the fleece of a new
Born lamb’s wool, ever so gently.
Plumages lace of snowflakes spread wide, in a splendors display
Of glitz and glamour, as the fluffy strains ripple in the night winds
Whispering, come along my beautiful creation, it is time to warm
My soil with springs everlasting promise, once more.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Sitting on a shelf amid a thousand others
the spine, raggedy and hard to read
pulled it out---top, dust covered
I am drawn to it.
Old book
Written so long ago, the pages
seemed fragile in my hands
it wanted my attention,
I too want to know more
Book
First words—first page
“Never lose sight of who you are.”
tattered old pages knew me
this tome sought me out
Losing oneself
Life misplaced…how
husband gone to another
money never goes all the way around
alone, alone, alone, with silence
Losing myself
Turn to the end of the book
the last line—“You may lose the people you love,
you may lose the things you have,
but no matter what happens never lose yourself.”
Finding oneself
Do I know who I am?
when I was younger—I knew what I was fighting for
Llving for what I believed to be true
where did that person go?
Finding me
Name of the book
“Root Yourself in Reality”
author…Me
reminders to leave self-pity behind
Found
The person I once was---now, search inside
stop living in the past and in my imagination
the book has pages to be written.
now is the time
This is my book and my life
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11885372-My-Book-by-Carol-Davis#sthash.Ay9w7cew.dpuf