Best Dwelled Poems
Winter has stolen the night,
A world I have always known,
is lost in a blanket of snow, ....
with recognition adrift, and thrown
tossed away in the endless white
I gaze over landscapes, whitewashed in the moonlight
Strange bittersweet etchings of silver starlight
Trees reaching high, with wild naked limbs,
Each branch empty handed, their twigs opened wide
grasping for snow flakes...or something to find
Something familiar, that's been left behind
Drifts growing higher, while icicles glimmer
distorting the mirrors of stars from the night
I know that the moon is hiding, somewhere,
caught in the winter's snow of sleep
Bemused are the clouds while obscuring the light,
disguising the image we once knew at sight
My world flickers dim, bleaching the ground,
Taking my breath, until all words are gone
I cannot recall, I cannot rewind, all the old music that I've known so well
I strain to hear where summer dwelled, too thin to be recalled
Where all the autumn leaves once fell
Where seasons green wore flowered hills
They must disappear, with each thing we have known,
Bleached by the moon, until they are pale
Stars then will spin, and seasons will dim
But, then all the reasons for believing begins ....
Winter has stolen the night, tonight, and the world I've always known
is
l
o
s
t
.... in the sparkling snow, adrift in the timeless wind.
_______________________________________________________
Written for contest: A Winter Poem
Judged 12/4/16
Resubmitted for Contest: 2/6/17
Form G or N/A
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Last night my thoughts dwelled in melancholy
recalling what we once shared had been good
before we made the mistakes of mutual folly
and on opposite sides of a bridge we now stood
You called, I answered. Both having need to talk
but the bridge between us still kept us far apart
Would one of us take the first step of the walk,
afraid the risk would end again with a broken heart?
We spoke of memories that we both held dear,
and of those that caused me to wear a sad frown
Neither of us moved. We were still standing here,
in fear that one step would burn the bridge down
Is it too late to cross the deep chasm of this abyss?
Would holding you in my arms change even one thing?
Could love be rekindled with one passionate kiss?
Then, you said you were taking off your wedding ring.
At the foot of that bridge, I stood completely alone
as you walked away without one word of goodbye
Into that unbridgeable chasm, I tossed my phone
and threatened my eyes, "Don't you dare start to cry."
Long ago when I was a child my sister died,
Everyday in grandmas arms I cried and cried;
Time ticked and grandma left and I had to say goodbye,
Then when my baby boy was born and he never saw the sky.
Inside I dwelled, asking God why, a reason I wanted to know,
Nothing anyone said reached me, then slowly, slowly I had to let it go;
Getting on with my life and one snowy day my love crashed his car,
Gone from this world, deep inside I existed, my soul travelling so far;
Oh soon I knew that I had to let the pain go, but forever I will kept he scar.
My mom and dad held me close and protected me,
Beautiful love allowed me again to let it all go away;
Writing poetry and penning my sorrow was the key,
Suddenly my dad died, and mom left sadly one day.
the path is lonely
that leads me to her stone name-
mother I let go
__________________________
April 2, 2016
Poetry/Acrostic/Quatrain/Senyru/Letting Go- Over and Over
Copyright Protected, ID 16-774-190-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Letting Go,
sponsor, Laura Loo
First Place
I think destiny, fate, choice are always mingling,
My life has been written, the present, future, past;
Oh, the past of my life- I am ever visiting.
My existence has been a ravaged garden weeping,
It is littered with sadness and rapture vast;
I think destiny, fate, choice are always mingling.
Destiny made a poet out of a girl scribbling,
The people in this play are members of the cast;
Oh, the past of my life- I am ever visiting.
Fate has taken me to dark places crippling,
Falling and getting up, all the years moving fast;
I think destiny, fate, choice are always mingling.
Choice, I could have dwelled in the dark lingering,
But, no, I fought with a life proclaiming blast;
Oh, the past of my life- I am ever visiting.
The poet in me is able to write the bleeding,
Although tangled, I have found my destiny at last;
I think destiny, fate, choice are always mingling,
Oh, the past of my life- I am ever visiting
______________________________
April 18, 2016
Poetry/Villanelle/Destiny
Copyright Protected, ID 16- 779-224-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Destiny or Choices
Nayda Ivette Negron
First Place
Draped in silent fog, is a reservoir of dreams
weathering each season, with a mystifying scheme …
On a wind-swept shelf, she is silently sleeping
Where secrets are guarded and are hers for the keeping
Looking out at the tide, where the seagulls are sweeping
In her moldering courtyard, where quadrivial paths meld,
Among ancient arches of an old Spanish style
Names locked in history, many stories revealed
Etched in the headstones, where angels have dwelled
The cracked marble fountain with polished ligures,
Above the church doorway, vines are withering, bare
Aloft from the steeple, are the four watchful eyes
Looking out to the sea, and the deep crimson tide
Three vestige bells dangle from loft, overhead
Their voices are quiet, with pericopes spoken
Soft hymns of doves, fill the rafters, instead
From crumbling ruins, bricks humbly laid
There are shadows of saints...and moss covered jade
A weeping old willow, with leaves crackling dry
I drink with my ears, and listen with an eye
Of all those who prayed, for those who passed by
Unbelievable echoes, the tolling of the bells
Making sense of the senseless, I can hear what it tells
Giving voice to my feelings, and new hope to my eyes
A peace in my heart, where the holy grail lies
Are heard in the voice, in the church of blue tides
____________________________________________________________________
For The Contest Sponsored By Shadow Hamilton "Any Subject"
Using Words: unbelievable, mystical, ligure, pericope, reservoir, quadrivial,
7/22/13
In his last minutes of life, he closed his eyes
where shadows appeared like blackbirds
beneath the moonlight of lost thoughts
above the misty graveyard of his soul
Ghostly apparitions of sadness haunt an old mind
Past illusions of love
Whose faces are etched in the fractured glass of the heart
and lay among the cobblestones of despair
leading to the ancient gate of tombstones
that stand in the overgrown twisted weeds of yesterday
Where memories were painted on his heart
with a soft colored brush of expectations
captured in the imagination of tomorrow
and dwelled in the sanctuary of coupling and understanding
that disappeared from life's turmoils, turning an empty husk
that decayed in time as they passed through...as visitors
who met along the way
Yet stay as an image in the mind's eye from long ago
These are the shadows of lost loves
Whose breath raptured a poet's contentment
with precious passions, infusing the heart with glorious wonder
buried now in the sacred ground with a soul's reflection
Where nothing enters but solitude
as he waits for the moment of timeless dark that falls
upon the last second of breath
10/19/19
Silence is very likely quite abundant in heaven,
And all was pure bliss before the noise rebellion,
For thoughts were loud then and never impelled,
From any of the places where beauty once dwelled.
In absence of music magic so much would be lost,
But it's so wrong to tolerate sound at any cost!
The spirit craves rosy silence in order to glow,
Soft and velvety smooth as summer night moonglow.
In its tangible embrace, genuine rapture is found,
Like a cherry blossom spring when no one's around,
Or multicolored nature paths which lead everywhere,
With promise of serene beauty until you get there!
Written on June 22, 2020
For Reflection in Silence Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
I always dwelled on my faults
my shortcomings
never saw the beauty others saw
hidden beneath the insecurity
falter in search of validation
from the things and people that
would never mean a thing
trying to hide
until that day it was easier to face the truth
or maybe not easier just a time
where running away and cheating myself
ripped through the core of everything that is me
you come to a point where lying to yourself
is not second nature anymore
trapped in a space where you know
it’s time for change
it’s time to take the blindfold off
time to embrace you
and not what others see,
not look for gratification from outside
try to feel within, even if it means
having to deal with pain in the now
instead of chucking it away
and bounce around on an emotional see-saw
©160920121608
Hark! The mighty sage’s quill,
Leaves remnants of genius, still.
Reminding me of richer days,
Where wines could really come to age;
And gods among the people dwelled,
In works of master poet’s felled.
Where aerie tales and thoughts of fancy,
Awaken something everlasting.
The faded thoughts of vestments tore,
Through mournful tales of days of yore.
I bore inquisitive insight,
To mouth a masterpiece delight;
Reciting thoughts from Edgar Poe,
In poetry and foul-like prose.
And as I muttered, “Nevermore”,
I pondered on his lost Lenore;
A femme who captivated thought,
His inspiration to the plot.
And in his wording wizardry,
So haunted by his imagery,
Moves me to expound wanton lyrics
To every soul who dares to hear it.
And with immense humility --
No pen shall cite as good as he.
A deserted old house stood off the county road a little way.
To keep apace of living I rushed by it almost every day.
For years I'd wanted to visit there to see what secrets it held,
And perhaps find out about the folks who in it had once dwelled.
Towering oaks stood erectly as if to guard the old place.
Clinging vines held weathered clapboards in precarious embrace.
I mused as I opened the latch on the sagging garden gate,
"Why was it forsaken and left in such a forlorn state?"
Floors squeaked and mice skittered as I sauntered down the hall.
Abruptly, something caught my eye on the faded papered wall.
'Twas a grim, unsmiling portrait of a Victorian family of eight.
I wondered who they were and I pondered about their fate.
Off the hall was the parlor where stood a brick-lined fireplace.
I could fancy the cheery flames glowing upon each happy face,
As they celebrated gala affairs or gathered for family prayers.
Alas, the old folks passed on - their children seeking other affairs.
What had been a vibrant, loving home was now a house in shambles,
Almost overtaken by massive oaks, shrubs and tangled brambles.
But my downcast mood was uplifted despite the engulfing gloom,
As I saw roses planted so very long ago now in magnificent bloom!
Future dreams- I have put on hold because of dreadful fear,
Until now, I am trapped in a cemetery with the dead, weeping;
To myself so often, I say just let it go, let the pain go-follow dreams.
Until now, my yesterdays were more important than tomorrows,
Ravaged has been my short life and my future out of sight;
Ends of journeys usually mean beginnings of others- but I am stuck.
I have had a dark past, full of death and tragedy. And I am unable to let it go.
And what is odd is that my parents were the happiest people, never full of gloom.
Why cannot I be more like them? They were always looking to the future, they had
plans and dreams, and they never dwelled in the past. They could have, but did not.
My Dad used to say that life is like chapters in a book, you finish one, begin another.
I know that it will be impossible to live my dreams until I accept the sad of my past.
Accepting the past will allow me to move into the future. Yesterday is history and
tomorrow is a mystery, as the saying goes. I want to make new memories, happy
ones, but first I must find the happiness that dwells within. And move on because
I have beautiful dreams full of peace and tranquility and awesome new adventures.
I will take the past
lessons and bring them with me-
amazing are my dreams
_______________________
Written May 7, 2016
Poetry/Acrostic/Haibun/Senyru/"Amazing Are My Dreams"
Copyright Protected, ID 16- 787-517-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, First Place Only II
sponsor, Laura Loo (June 18, 2016)
Second Place
________________________
Written for the contest, Future
sponsor, Nayda Ivette Negron
First Place (Judged 5/11/2016)
________________________
Poem of the Day, May 9, 2016
Riddles twisting through the scalps,
Trace the paths that wind about
Pouring out through the watery spout
Like waterfalls, inside and out
Possessed by a madness,
Sadness reaps my every thought
Isolated by my shadow, I’m laying in the dark
And the river flows faster as the ferry embarks,
Behind brown eyes, find a crimson spark
As your prayer begins,
He seeks the mark of a sin,
Let the silver sink in,
Embracing your skin
And while every breath escapes from your heart,
You ask him, “What makes thee force my depart?”
With a love so strong, “Till death do us apart”
Day after day, this phrase you’d impart.
But when all control is powered by a fiend,
Darkness meets light, and the two are convened.
The passion of one causes will to concede,
Even when sacrifice compels thee to bleed.
And nothingness gathers to deliver me downward
Live amongst souls, and regret begins to shower
Blind to your ravenous taste to devour
From the day we began, you’ve dwelled within power
But confusion arouses where you don’t understand
I continue to love you, beyond my command
Dare you to rid me, you think that you can
But I’ll linger in this stream, from now till your end.
The vultures are waiting for the night.... Waiting for the sun to die...
They will find me in my darkest hour and pick my bones dry...
I rock in my painted corner, humming a little song...
I dwell on my disease, the one I've dwelled on for too long...
My castle has grown smaller as I lie awake in wait...
My dreams have become fewer, as ever closer comes my fate...
Now's the time for prayer, as the tears fall from my eyes...
They look at me and squawk, as they plummet from the skies...
(I still admire Shakespearean classic English as it sounded more poetic so I wrote this in that way)
O' man thou erecteth palaces, castles and courts
while on death a mere grave sufficeth thee
How magnificent and formidable thou maketh thy forts
in thy wish to make both future and history.
Thou who art' accustomed to mighty marble walls
and mansions of mirror, silver and gold
Thy grave shalt be small compared to palatial halls
even if a thousand demons it may hold.
Not a coin or even half a coin of gold
wilt thou take with thee to thy empty earthen grave
All that shalt ye leave behind for others to behold
and now shalt ye fear though ere thou hath been brave.
Thy innards shalt merge with mere earth soil and sand
No matter now if ye dwelled in huts or palaces of gold
Thy grave shalt occupy the tiniest portion of thy land
From the warmth of quilted beds wilt thee lie in the cold.
Thus ere ye consider founding, building thy imposing edifice
a homeless vagrant if ye shelter in thine care
Knowing our lives art' but on a mere precipice
while the joy of giving doth give a joy beyond compare!
Death's a journey but no provisions can ye take along and fold
How shalt ye respond when it inevitably calls?
Our skeletal bones, a simple ditch shalt amass and hold
as the living walk all over us with gentle footfalls.
Shakespeare too returned to dust as hath saith he
and while many might abandon his archaic style
yet his quill shalt vie for soul-like immortality
for his works might flow on as does the old Nile
Since a little girl, I have been sensitive. Hiding behind mother was my place to be.
Mother used to say that I was born different. My eyes were pools of sadness, dark
brown and full of sorrow. As I grew words said effected me deeply. I did not brush
them off, that was not me. The words were like scars on my soul, they dwell there.
Terrible, awful death shadowed my days and how I handled it was to go deep within.
I dwelled there, happy with imagination. I made up stories and lived them. I would
read books in a secret corner of the attic. I liked to wander the woods near home.
I saw things there that touched me, little baby birds, young squirrels playing, nature
growing all around me. I told my sadness to my kitty, she was a good listener.
in woods wandering
I find my sweet peace and tranquility-
green lush vines creeping
Soon, I was a teenager. I was quiet and alone in my private world. Words lashed at
my soul like whips. Perhaps the words were not even that terrible, I twisted them
that way. I was extremely sensitive and it was a curse. Yet, in the end it turned out
to be my most precious quality, sensitive to all I see and feel in this world has made
me the poet that I am today. I can now write with soul all that I see wrong in the
world with emotion. But part of the little sensitive girl hides inside of me, often she
is hurt by a word said, even if innocently said. It is a curse and a blessing.
the birds are chirping
they are calling me to the green lushness-
words fall from my pen
_______________________________
April 16, 2016
Poetry/Haibun/Sensitive Is My Shame
Copyright Protected, ID 16- 778-484-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.