Best Embolden Poems
G O L D E N
flower
of the solar throne
your far-away fire reigns immortal -
blossom wild beauty of chrysanthemum skies
hold me in the unfolding glory of your well-wishing petals
as Indian summer’s rays ravish and relax the chill
tender is the topaz passion
in the sunset of your satisfied season
and seductive is the ripened ember
in the harvest of your lingering light
S O L
to soul -
suffuse my surrender with pulsar persuasion
your ambient nectar
embolden me the honey of your citrine haze -
a fortune my ruby honeycomb to save and savor..
anemone ambrosia for my essence to sip
when the amber blush of November’s kindled kiss
turns ashen
on Winter’s cold grey lips
Susan Ashley
November 9, 2018
~ Third Place ~
Contest: N/A Re-Run
Sponsor: John Hamilton
There are cities of sonnets to map
Quests of pantoums and villanelles
To harness, and ride
Across the wide
Tangled grassland of gratuity
Unwritten, unruled
Anarchy of expression
Empty lines can entice
And immobilize
The choice of choice
May embolden, or paralyze
But the space you embrace
Is where you hear your voice
In the discipline of daring
The dance of chance
The only choreography
You need heed
Is your pen.
11/27/19
For 'Free Verse vs Structured' contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Shared 2nd Place
Poem of the Day, November 29, 2019
Thinking of you I’m painting of love
Ascribing endearing brushstrokes
Ambivalent of my reach to inform
As I adumbrate upon soul’s canvas
Come build this portrait with me
Emblazon those empty spaces
Color them boldly as you please
Embolden contours of your wishes
And when your heartbeats speak
Indulge them in enamored feelings
Savoring love’s treasured meaning
As flame of passion ignites within
Clasp this wave beckoning now
Lift us, dear, to crest from trough
Glide merrily riding tides of awe
But paint us, my love~ as we are
April 1, 2022
Placed 1st: A Brian Strand Standard Contest
Why did everything had to happen this way?
Why do I still think of it? It's over anyway.
Of your heart, I always wanted to be a part.
Unrequited, fallen to the ground, is my heart shattered apart.
One might be strong to collect those pieces fallen.
But to join them again who would self embolden?
For they know, its shape it would ultimately retain,
But exposing its scars, its marks would always remain.
Worst pain you would suffer, still more you would have to pay.
For death is worst some may say .
But it's not, when embraced everyday.
The price we pay for our freedom is not contained in a man’s wallet,
Nor is liberty a currency found in a female fancy Gucci pocketbook.
It’s not in anyone’s liquidity portfolio investment bank records,
Nor is it contained in anybody's “Wall Street” premier trust fund accounts.
Reverently, the price we pay is not derived from ensuing wealth.
The red blood of freedom travels naturally in our veins—immutable!
Freedom has been ordained from creation in the lives of all people.
Liberty runs from heart to heart, inspires from soul to soul—sours like an eagle!
It’s linking parents to children, brother to sister, displaying courage.
Generations standing on the shoulders of generations—a fighting refuge!
The price we pay for our freedom and liberty—will never be free!
Historical accounts tried; produced no detailed cost—"It’s a sacred decree!”
The price paid has clearly left budgets—fragmented and unbalanced,
Red poppies blooming in the fields of courageous remembrance!
It has triggered aching souls, caused running nostrils, and weeping eyes.
Ladies wearing dark veils, and men black suits—great spirits that never die!
Uplifting hand and heads under the moon and sparkling stars at night.
Courage inspiring life in delight to continue the fight without—fright nor flight!.
Many look forward to more significant liberating inspiration to come.
Brilliantly embracing the shining new embolden golden rays of the rising sun.
Such a priceless premium runs in our veins and precious arteries.
The price paid for liberty and freedom is entrenched in our hearts naturally!
for F. A.
You, in going a little way from yourself
Have gone a long way from my gullible ilk.
« I’m trying hard not to like you, » you said
The breaths of several men surging in your nostrils
And the stench abraded in your flesh :
« You are unshaven. »
You took proper care to remember the right words :
« Why are you so far away, I cannot reach you. »
The ****** you probably tried to fake –
Thanks for the repeated protestations -
Blew all the other exhausted noises through.
« I think it’s all this lack of sleep and all that, » you said
Trapping me with your alien scents.
You have gone away more than a little from yourself.
I have felt and avoided the humiliation in your voice :
« Turn out the lights. I’m afraid
You’d never like me again. »
These are bothersome words.
Only constant repetition make them less wearisome.
One whole week you waited and watched.
One by one you chalked us down.
We fled, not so much from you
As from ourselves, not knowing which
You or the condemned flower to take :
« Why don’t you tell me something about yourself.
I’ve said enough, » you said and came closer
Wraithed in your trapper's overflying airs.
Now that you have prospected a little
Confiscated my intimate thoughts, coaxed my ego
Applied the guileful balms which embolden
A man in bed and made of the future a promise
And turned and sighed like the unwanted thing
Now that you have preyed in my sanctuary
Gazed long in wistful silence my empty shrine
How can I let you go – take my scent
And mix it till it roots in other flesh
And wandering, I’ll not know why someday
I might fret in the company of familiar strangers.
« What about the lad ? » Alone and wishfully loitering
« Oh, let him toss and turn. Why shouldn’t he ?
He’ll write better then, » you said, for once
Rippling the nimble calm embossed on feigning face
That poised flutter of your lips when words you wield
Assume a dextrous innocence
Little wonder then the sensually provoked blushes
Cross-fertilise the loping lurk of your poems.
You in going a little way towards me
Have gone a long way from yourself.
Before you go a little way prospecting
Leave leave a little of yourself in your safe.
©: T. Wignesan, 1965 (from the collection: tell them i'm gone, 1983, rev. 2012)
*Image of Agoraphobia by Pixabay.
KJV John 8:32 "And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free."
Agoraphobia
I mistook my pain for a summer's eve,
For this is what loneliness does to me,
Adrift on an orchid sweet stern petal,
It is lofty thoughts that steer my mettle,
For such frees me from my isolation,
Self-delivered like my separation,
Sites make a quarry, I try to withdraw,
Diverse regions clumsy, like a jigsaw,
Simply, naught to gain any sense I face,
Seclusion oddly is my happy place,
A zenith sun beats away at my door,
As carpet brand paces made on the floor,
Meds just let others see me at my worst,
For my inner self tells me I am cursed,
No potion concocted, no spell was said,
A sad delusion this shadow has spread,
A shedding sun frees me from my prison,
Like so many, I somewhat have risen,
But unlike them, it is for mixed reasons,
My annular trek for all four seasons,
The night, my phantom friend, my luxury,
As it lingers, it will embolden me,
Though my rest will not be the same but brief,
For my restless mind robs me like a thief,
As tomorrow lends vast hope advances,
Can I recover, what are my chances,
For I dread the dawn, fear it be the same,
To hide and not be found plays out this game,
It is common knowledge for those who know,
Agoraphobia, my true shadow.
2020 January 12
"A collaboration poem"
Oh, to be a poet like me
To be a muse, inspire, kindle someone's pen
To be the one they come to for help and encouragement
To be connected always by heart, soul and spirit
Oh, artist paint me beautiful
To be a sublime exquisite dream
To be that divine creation that inspires your path
Oh, could you write of me writer
To be the one to embolden words
To let words of me bleed from your pen on white
These wild thoughts are but my fantasy
Why would a poet or writer need me?
Why would a glorious artist need me?
But, I yearn for love of poet, artist and writer
To be lover and friend, and source of joyfulness
I would always exist in poems and in art !
I would be that forever eternal!
I'm the sparkle they love.
And now the world has a crush on me!
When the young woman awoke;
she knew she'd dreamed of the art gallery,
where she studied statues of marble or bronze,
viewed canvas after canvas of water colour or oil,
and her dream lured her back to the library,
with the books she loved to look at,
to read and absorb rhymes and paeans.
She longed for those places of culture and learning,
where her spirit always soared,
her heart and mind heady,
intoxicated, enchanted, enthralled
with the wondrous words she read,
and painted or sculpted shapes she saw.
Inspired, she reached for a pen and paper
to record the flood of beauty that filled her head:
Pour your heart out, let it flow.
Like a river's torrent, let it go.
On your bare arms let it glow.
Let its rhythmic pulse show,
that you really, truly, deeply can bestow
pure, stark, emboldened emotions all aglow.
With heart exposed, a sleeve gateau.
A dark blue midnight awning has its portrait,
etched by a a starlit silver lustrous galaxy,
silhouette of black lace frilled clouds,
in somber quietude adrift beneath a vibrant pearl,
amber moon whose gleaming radiance bemused awhile,
at the stark underbelly of flickering candles,
that the urban nocturne spellbound revel in perchance,
sleep pattern held captive by ethereal bliss,
angelic dreams wrapped in opal tincture,
what optic relishes await at early first light,
a colourfast dawn unveils it’s bronze bespoke banner,
heaven bound yellow flare insouciant whim,
red orange burst sky a stirring presage,
for wingspan flight of stone gray plume creature,
natural world usher whose gold throat cadence,
rouses wonderment among the persimmon trees,
tapping into human yearning for awestruck omen,
Kashmir bright velvet hue azimuth a scant gem,
yet sapphire orb twinkles close or distant lure
might embolden dull minds with ardent spark
This is a song for a man or a boy
It’s a song for a woman or girl
This is a song for the straight and the gay
It’s a song for the whole of the world
This is a song for the cheerful, the fearful
and those who must stand up and fight
This is a song for the brave and the bold
and for those who are forced to take flight
Tyrannical despots
marauding invaders
Who see no wrong in what they’ve done
For those who would seek
To be conquering raiders
There’s no song… SO YOU CAN DO ONE!
The justice of peace
shall embolden our hearts
And we’ll face down your missiles and bombs
The angels for you
have no tune in their harps
So you'll just have to sing your own songs
This is a song for the black and the white
It’s a song for all shades in between
This is a song for the whole human race
And for you if you land and you're green
This is a song for the rich and the poor
Notwithstanding your hue or your tongue
This is a song for the peaceful at war
It’s a song for the old and the young
But this is a song to be sung with a smile on your face
A song to be sung anytime… to be sung anyplace
Where ‘Vive la difference’ puts the ‘human’ in the human race
And this song sings best when it’s sung with a smile on your face
Tyrannical despots
marauding invaders
Who see no wrong in what they’ve done
For those who would seek
to be conquering raiders
There’s no song… SO YOU CAN DO ONE!
The justice of peace
shall embolden our hearts
And we’ll face down your missiles and bombs
The angels for you
have no tune in their harps
SO, YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO SING YOUR OWN SONGS!
So, should you go forth with the dark in your heart
And your frown shows your mood to be black
Just sing for a while with a heartwarming smile
And you may find the world smiling back
For, this is a song to be sung with a smile on your face
A song to be sung anytime… to be sung anyplace
Where ‘Vive la difference’ puts the ‘human’ in the human race
And this song sings best when it’s sung with a smile on your face
What nasty grip and vicious hold
A voice that cuts and scars my soul
Ever constant, reproach and scold
Death of confidence is its goal.
"Note your life is remote and dull
Failures pursue the likes of you
Your place in life shall equal null
You’ll only reap, what you are due."
Each word that’s spoke does enter deep
For it discerns me like myself
Negative airs it piles in heaps
Yet companions can’t see its stealth
Be gone that voice that lives on fear
Black echoes have endured their time
Encourage, nurture, push and steer
Create ladders, not slides to climb.
Our world has those that cast their stones
Permit this man his peace of mind
Embolden trust in dulcet tones
Critics and prey live intertwined.
I love two women.
From Benninden.
They are beautiful and divine.
Both of them. mine.
Choose. My fate.
Mary or Kate.
Mary is blond and Kate red.
Mary I'm fond, and Kate to wed.
Together is a living hell.
Your bosom is showing.
Your lipstick, too red.
Jealousy and hatred, enough said.
I can not state.
Mary or Kate.
As a threesome, it doesn't work out.
'Mary I love you' Kate, goes mad.
"Kate I love you' Mary is sad.
Together they kiss and cuddle.
When I'm not there, with.
Mary or Kate.
One day, a little embolden by gin.
To Mary would give in.
Another by beer, to Kate call dear,
I am faithful and true.
To these two.
What can I do.
Choose.
Mary or Kate.
Maybe a Morman, I could be.
But there is only one of me.
One is enough, for any man.
To choose one is not my plan.
I must forget.
Mary and Kate.
FOR A MOMENT
Your cry isn’t loud enough for the world to hear
So wipe your tears.
Even your so called ‘friends and companions’ are turning deaf ears
Wipe your tears and look up to the hills, from there comes your help
Tears come from sorrow’s hole
Tears will continue to flow until you control your whole
Dilute your sorrow’s hole with joy,
And effervescence of smile will frizzle your tears
Don’t pamper that hurt inside, lest, it will linger
Letting go of is the best panacea
Embrace life’s vicissitude, and make peace with your past
Until there’s no tomorrow, fortunes are in life’s queue
For as mischance exists in life’s cast,
So is great chance.
Life can deny you of breakfast, but that breakfast may not be worth comparing with your brunch.
As you crunch, your life realizes that you can wait for tomorrow’s breakfast even if it denies you supper.
Sometimes, life makes you feel Charlie,
Especially when life gives you a malignant glare,
At a moment when you are in a state of ‘devil-may-care’
You are compelled to say cheerio to the world
Because life is using a brusque tone
But when you chance upon successes, you bury that decision
That’s life
Don’t escalate that hurt or pain when life confronts you
It’s just a fortune recess
Embolden your spirit and wait for the resume of success.
#sanguine, sangfroid, pertinacious#..That’s what you ought be……
I stand where the sunset hugely spills
Out upon subdued but still hotly
Glowering plains...
Now, perhaps, I should wistfully
Recall my own homelands; her
Diminished and flattened hills,
Stretched and sleeping, far from yonder
Adjacent wolfen domains.
Vast plains, which, although of
Unmatched grandeur, neither embolden
To embrace upon mine passions...
Or impart the reinforcement of
Heartening succour...which the comfort
Of those broken hills so pleasingly fulfils!
For such is the pressing need to once
More imbibe the contriteness that is
The poor substance of this natives air;
Whilst, under cacophonous arrangement
Of timeless and haranguing bars,
Casting off all gaudy encumberment -
Thee imposition of these finely stitched
Robes,
To wander through uninhibited
Fields: rudely revealed whence left
Fallow and bare!
And, humbling myself, but ne'er as
Bold as Endymion, before vigilant
Selene's disdainful glare,
I would'st endeavour, rightly or not to
Thusly suppose,
To re-invent a lofty purpose beneath
The hurtling rails of screaming stars;
Here, in happy destitution, to wrap
Abouts in tattered remnants of
Ragged moonlight...thrown aside
When callously abandoned there.
Inspired by the "Pure" genius that was William Butler Yeats!