Best Entrancing Poems
Atmospheres afire with devotional dynamic desire
I call scarlet jasmine crimson vermillion and ruby red
We are caught in a crossfire as we perkily perspire
And cupid carries our hearts to our betrothed bed
Angels dancing on choreographic clouds entrancing
Rainbows reunite over melodious meadows green
Our love advancing with rhythmic rivers romancing
Celestial counting on the midnight’s stardust cuisine
Two sensuous souls entwine and carousingly combine
Our ebullient hearts of eternity lost in orchestral oblivion
We shall everlastingly dine with roses and wedded wine
And our love will softly sail across the majestic meridian
For we have caressingly called on cupid for a love divine
In ambient adoring skies that the harmonic heavens align.
July.25.2017
Best romantic write May-July 2017
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
I know the land where the lemon-trees flower.
My love met me near them, to linger an hour.
I kissed him, I hugged him and smelled the sweet scent,
And prayed it stayed with him, wherever he went.
The day was so perfect, the skies were so blue.
The fragrance entrancing and love was so new.
He broke off a blossom and gave it to me,
And promised his love for an eternity.
My friends were so happy to plan bridal showers
And my wedding bouquet was of lemon-tree flowers.
Written 7/15/ 18
Sponsor; Julia Ward
Contest "Pretty Poem, Please
Snowfall prancers
Ballerina dancers
Gracefully, they pirouette in the air
Frosted crystals, though never a pair
Scene enhancing
Vision entrancing
Ballet romancing
Costumes white
Tumbling flight
Snowflakes flew in for their audition
Each posed in an Arabesque position
Swift Allegros
Slower Adagios
Pointed tiptoes
Emerging sun
Recital done
With risen mercury, the sunlight pelted
Each tiny snowflake had been melted
Ballerinas lost
Tragic Holocaust
Performance tossed
* * *
January 3, 2021
Trinet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
She isn't beautiful as Nefertiti was.
And unlike Helen,
her face will never launch a thousand ships.
My Maggie's beauty is more open, than entrancing
more welcoming, than enthralling,
more giving, than demanding,
more durable, than perfect.
Perfection inspires no passion,
no lust.
Nefertiti over Maggie?
Maggie, with her woman's body?
Maggie, with flesh where woman should have flesh?
Maggie, with fullness where love and longing
would suffer nothing else?
Yet she strews a careless beauty all about her,
the tender beauty in her gaze
that holds and softens and moulds
a better man within me
than the one that she first knew,
and the bold, brave beauty of her crooked smile,
her smile that tells me who she is,
and who she does not care to be.
Her smile may never softly kill a single soul
but it warms me, softly warms me
as I hold her spent and gentle body close to mine
it warms me to dream dreams beyond my worth
and aspire beyond my dreams.
Dance of the Firebird
Rosita, sultry enchantress,
dazzling Andalusian firebird,
erotically she twirls, proud
like a phoenix flashing across the sky.
Flared ruffled skirt swirls,
in hues of red, orange, and gold,
like a sunset in the throes of Autumn.
Her olive skin glistens with sweat,
as she chases away her demons with
handclapping and a pair of castanets.
Beautiful dancer lost in her dreams,
she’s an exotic flamenco queen.
With campfires reflected on her face,
finger snapping, her tempo heats up,
and she’s afire with passion and grace.
In an essence of exuberance,
she’s possessed in a trance,
swaying like a summer breeze.
She undulates hypnotically like a cobra
seducing its unsuspecting prey.
In a stream of her own thoughts,
a gypsy in love with the dance.
Crushing red rose petals she stamps her feet,
to the guitars’ entrancing beat.
Her sinuous body pulsates sensuously
to the music as she dances unabashedly.
But she’s untouchable as the fire god she serves,
baring her soul to none,
for her heart belongs to the dance.
09-23-2017
Contest: Poems that Paint a Picture - 3
Sponsor: Silent One
Placement: 1st
"Where do we poets go?”
I wish I could know
and trace a path of glory
which I admire in awe.
*****
The words I do follow
into them resides my soul flow
A journey of two lovers
of no full stops and commas.
No introduction made
the bond is intense
a connection of no pretense
oblivious of the first thread
of the weaved word.
No main body
could develop a true love story
or bring it to a closure
a sustained presence
that assures a genuine composure.
Dare I ask the poet
“Why did you in love
fall?
as the words when spilled
elevate your all!”
Or shall I wonder
if for each other’s company
you crave?
a willing surrender
a wonder about which
you rave.
In the realm of words
the poet, longs to and dares
fashions of words
shapes and shades
breaking all the rules
for the love of a poem
beyond the norms.
*****
With every work of art
a true part of the soul we impart
we seize the day
of pleasure and pain
and in life
earn the name of human.
*****
“Where do we poets go?”
I really don’t know!
I just have my pen to fuel
walk an entrancing path of poetry
and aspire to carve a shining jewel..
November 28th, 2020
"Where Do We Poets Go?" Silent One Poetry Contest
A is for Annie Apple Blossom she buds in the Spring.
B is Betty Baby Breath she's such a dainty thing.
C is for Miss Candy Tuft pink-cheeked with hair of gold.
D is Debbie Dandelion who never does what she's told!
E is for Easter Lily she's as white as snow.
F is Francie Fairy Bells who ring-a-lings where she goes.
G is for Ginny Gardenia perfumed oh so sweet.
H is Holly Hocks a Tomboy, she has two left feet!
I is for Inca Lily dressed in colors light.
J is Joanie Jump-Ups, Johnny's little sister bright.
K is for Katie Kangaroo Paw her nails are painted red.
L is Lila Lady Slipper who stays too long a bed.
M is for Merry Morning Glory dressed in pale blue.
N is Nancy Narcissus who trumpets ""toodeloo!"
O is for Olivia the Ox-Eyed Daisy dolly.
P is Patty Petunia, her pancakes are a folly.
Q is for Queenie Anns Lace her dresses all have ruffles.
R is Ruby Rose-a-lee who almost always shuffles.
S is for Sandy Snap Dragon tall and thin. petite.
T is Tallulah Tulip her clothes are so off beat!
U is for Uma Umbrella Flower, sweet and sunny.
V is Vicky Violet she plays with Easter bunnies.
W is for Wendy Water Lily she'd rather swim than dance.
X is Xana Xmas Tree in Winter she's entrancing.
Y is for Yani Yarrow, a girl so bonny fair
Z is Zelda Zinnia, she pinning Yani's hair.
All our girls are fine and strong, so beautiful and brave
Not a single one of them would think to misbehave!
Bio: Wise woman.
His fragile limbs in a caged body
seeking proteins from ivy drips
vulnerable fears hushed by whirring darkness
paranoia draped in wavering existence of malady
sea of sick humans hanging like leaves from willow
mitigated by prayers of angels in white coats
yet lowered pulse rate in hopeful daylight
but his sumptuous mind holds the key to freedom
in deepest slumber his twisted cage breaks free
arising hopes float in ropes of subconscious mist
his smiling shadow traces whispers of memories
he sways his brittle fingers in ecstasy
shapes of smoke growing as titans in silence
his love is a ghost that the others can't see
exploding stars in topaz lit utopia paint
charcoal brush adorning sparkling bristles of love
colourful patterns on canvas of blank memory
flashing waves entrancing visions of kisses alight
blankets of amnesia in existence but he dances
on a hustling vintage platform emerging in fog
breeze in his red shirt chasing scarlet sunsets
he boards a crimson wagon longing for a journey
holding roses for Aphrodite in the land of swans
simmering in flashes of blooming glitters.
Rising dawn clicks the buttons in his mind
blank memories, ivy drips lock him away
in a caged body his fragile limbs rest
nobody knows he visits a soothing paradise
fog curls under his pillow in deep oceans
till slithering hazy sapphire nights arrive
July 20, 2020
Delirium Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
~Premiere Contest Winner: 1st Place
"I dreamt, I was a butterfly or was I,
a butterfly dreaming . . ."
But I was only the cocoon grub,
attached to a ceiling,
So I hung there thoughts of enrapturing,
fascinating, the meaning,
But I was still a sordid bug,
unloved a heart for stealing,
Outside was a Billabong, (Aussie water hole)
enchanting was the feeling,
I jerked the zip and let me rip,
away from the cocoon,
delightful slip an swerve,
with constant wheeling
I had bloody wings an things,
entrancing was the moon,
Don Johnson 8-july-11
Poet Destroyer ~ A
Contest Name any old butterfly poem....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Would like to come face to face with Gordon Ramsey.
Being on his reality cooking show quite suits my fancy.
Would like to create poetry soup worthy of his exaltation,
One that would make my soup a meaningful sensation.
What ingredients do I use,
Ones that would favor my persnickety muse?
The answer is simple you’ll quickly see.
Follow my advice, and the ‘bees knees’ you’re sure to be.
Start with a base of words so sweet,
Carefully chosen to make your poem complete.
Stir in a medley of metaphors,
While snacking on some petit fours.
Add a dash of delightful imagery
As you drink some wine from the local distillery.
Throw in a pinch of personification.
Stir and simmer and wait for aromatic conflation.
Spoon in syntactic seasoning for extra zing.
Remember to double check your apron string.
Toss in just the right amount of thyme.
Mince up some cadence and rhyme.
Throw in just a smidgen of wit.
Too much can be a distraction, I must admit.
Slowly sauté a couple of similes.
Doing so creates entrancing epiphanies.
‘Tis easy cooking up poetry—it’s like flicking your wrist.
Let the ingredients simmer while waiting to submit.
When it's time to serve,
Pour out your poetry soup with verve.
A steaming bowl, a feast for the mind.
You’ll nourish souls, one poem at a time.
Just the thought of you
inspires me to heights
of grandiosity and elegance
You coerce me to create
writings, poems of distinction
indubitably perchance
How does this entrancing
energy transpose into art,
permutations of heights
drifting through ions
of transposition, toughness
circumcises deliverance
It's a mystical phenomenon
that's existed for ages,
from the inception
of humanity's ineptness
through the age of technology
bolstered by craters
of existential drifting
through generations
parallel to the Muse.
I believe that long ago, the universe’s most artistic landscaper
mixed woodlands with tropics, rock formations with mountains,
volcanic craters with lush valleys, and cascading waterfalls with
pristine still waters before blending all with an ocean and
topping it off with sunshine. Man named this place, Hawaii.
The absolute awe that defines Hawaii, is bound to awaken
any slumbering faith and rejuvenate any emotion grown numb
to the brilliance of life. While visiting the Islands of Hawaii, I
absorbed a joy and wonder from the plants that delightfully
startled my own routine senses. I have been blessed in my life
to personally view beautiful and eye-catching plant life in many
regions of the world. In Hawaii, the plants adorning and tending
the islands are the most dramatic, glorious and enchanting that
my vision has ever drunk. There is an otherness to Hawaiian flora
that suggests plants are empowered with the ability to uplift,
stimulate and captivate even the most withdrawn human vision.
entrancing colors
paint a wonderland terrain ~
landscaped free of charge
bodacious flora
thrives in hawaii's landscape ~
no mute legs walk there
Beauty can be rated by so many things
Like the noise birds make as they sing
Beauty is a flower growing from a seed
It also is a baby tender with its needs
If a person takes time to look around
So much beauty on earth to be found
Beauty is a mountain covered with snow
Or a fire light with its entrancing glow
One thing in life that I have come to know
No beauty is as beautiful as that of the soul
Reposted to enter the Deborah's
"The Beauty Way Contest"
The center of a star reflects just like a diamond...
Returning a pearl within each silver breath that one treasures...
With faceted panels, I promised I'd never...
Sweep over a deep sea of blue waves unmeasured...
There is a pattern woven inside golden petals that kiss the inside of my heart...
Parts of my heart that I've thus' failed to start...
With soft fingers dancing, you're forever entrancing...
My star that's eternally far...
A co write written by Liam and Christian
That first kiss--De-lish! Smooth like Hagendaaz!
I was in my fourteenth year, too green to see his flaws.
I, the skinny Yankee teen with glasses on her face
met the proverbial "preacher's son" (I doubt in God's good grace).
On the brink of womanhood that summer, still a child,
butter on cob of Iowa corn, I melted when he smiled.
He, my best friend's cousin, was older, fun, and tall,
entrancing me with teasing eyes and sexy southern drawl.
Snuggling in the car's back seat, I got a secret thrill
hearing on the radio, "Won't you marry me, Bill?"
Adolescent daydreams wrapped in tune of "Wedding Bell Blues,"
the music, his accomplice, helped him with his ruse.
The kisses were delightful though my memory now is dim
of the moment when precisely all changed upon his whim.
Unhappily, one balmy Alabama night I learned
the kisses I enjoyed most with him he later spurned.
Soft and playful smooching, I learned while in the South,
would be replaced by lustful tongue that slithered in my mouth!
(how I felt as a young girl anyway; it takes a special guy to pull off "proper"
French kissing AND also the first kind I liked so much!)