Best Entwines Poems
~Moon & Sea~
Hey, boy won't you open that door?
Let's sing and walk by the shore
Come and spread out your eyes
Block looking for reasons, and ways?
The cosmos are more than a space to explore
Don't hide when I need.... Plus more.
Finish playing a master in disguise!
Let's find the perfect sunrise, sunset surprise.
Put your arms around me
Allow your moon to reflect off my sea
Too much time has passed you by
Come outside with and view the horizon up high
I've got my eyes set upon you
There's no need to feel blue
Hey, boy comes, climb up this tree!
I'm going to show you all the things you can't touch, you can't see.
Let's fit the luxury and beauty of this world into our play.
Don't say them words that will set me free to walk away.
Take this kiss and see how it feel deep within your heart.
Close your eyes in my garden, and draw with the fragrance of art
I want to take you into that space, astronomy love.
Making it easy to float with the clouds way up above.
Glide away from the blame of gravity and self-destruct.
A bounce of the dust of hurt when you fall and get cut.
Boy, let's hold in this perfect air together.
Leave the cold end of someone else's weather.
Follow me beyond the distance of chemistry.
I will expose your moon and explain the physics of my sea.
Give it another chance and you will see!
Your moon, is skin deep, needing water from me.
Turn on the tune in your heart, and listen to me.
In every sunrise, the moon entwines with the sea.
Sighing softly, a gentle breeze,
dances amid my clothes line.
Sweet the scent, refreshing tease,
as sheets, its hug entwines.
This night, on Spring, I shall recline.
2/8/12
For the contest: English Quintain, A Spring Day
Sponsored by Francine Roberts
My melancholy turns to gold dust
in your soft and tender hands
upon your fingers I scatter my life
my love remains clasped in your hands
now I am a vial of cologne, emptied...
I yearn to see your lissome creeper
how it clings to cracks on the walk
well, just as it entwines the cement altar
Mi amor, that is how I yearn to embrace your heart
I used to stumble, now I am sustained in you...
This night I yearn and sigh for you
to see you sleep, hands on your chest
sinking into our bed like rosy fruit
from smooth pastures into the depths of our mattress
as the air enters your chest and raises it chastely...
Amante, steal away to me in the night
we will see how peacefully the moon rays
create quiet waves without unsettling the hush
just as it passes into the gulf is the way
I yearn to sink to the very bottom of your soul...
Fly to me from your snow white orchards
you love is ever so immaculate
my naked soul will tremble in your hands...
In my soul, I shall never find
another who completes me like you.
Our endless love, for strength 'tis true,
I rely to face those days of resign.
But always does my heart remind
of blessings from heavenly blue.
The ties of eternity like glue
shall always endure, bridge and bind.
My heart renewed was once threadbare
worn and ragged under bitter tears.
Oh, the first dance of love as a pair!
Tears of joy displace the trembling fears.
A love entwines two hearts aware
as endless bands of gold appear.
A branch breaks dried by the sun
withers and dies thrown on the fire
burning remains sweet pearls silver sparkling
a terrible sadness enters the window
a willow weeps pitter patter knocking
sins came to visit last night
blowing against the wind
drooping heavy darkness
putting right the wrongs
was more than one could bare
grey clouds rains burning
trails of hurt shadows of reality
a dream snatched away
by judgement
scratches on chamber walls
weeps the willow entwines in limbs
an inescapable embrace
in one's own heart
a sanctum darkened
by wrong's lament
mind's rumblings tells tales
clouded thoughts chase the wind
shadows shifting dark and light
reality pays a visit
in moon's grey glow
seeking soul's atonement
for what was done
a heavy price reaped
for burnt ashes and dusty remains
impossible sleep
rain's lullaby hush
pitter patters against the pane
a calming rage gives way
to sweet nightmares of relief
Written by: Liam McDaid & Kelly Deschler
A man I met once said to me,
“Love does not fall down from the trees”
A common expression from these parts
When you search with your mind, and not with your heart.
Love should be sought with the inner soul
Not as frost bitten leaves, withered up with cold
Neither rotten fruit, cruelly stabbed by blight
Nor nuts that have ripened, then taken flight.
I think love must grow out like a vine
If the roots are strong, it proceeds to climb
It entwines the heart, crushes trailing fears
Then spreads and stretches with the years.
I do not believe love lies upon the ground
For we would spend our lives hanging upside down
But if it grew along a vine
It could grip and swing, with hands of time.
A branch breaks dried by the sun
withers and dies thrown on the fire
burning remains sweet pearls silver sparkling
a terrible sadness enters the window
a willow weeps pitter patter knocking
sins came to visit last night
blowing against the wind
drooping heavy darkness
putting right the wrongs
was more than one could bare
grey clouds rains burning
trails of hurt shadows of reality
a dream snatched away
by judgement
scratches on chamber walls
weeps the willow entwines in limbs
an inescapable embrace
in one's own heart
a sanctum darkened
by wrong's lament
mind's rumblings tells tales
clouded thoughts chase the wind
shadows shifting dark and light
reality pays a visit
in moon's grey glow
seeking soul's atonement
for what was done
a heavy price reaped
for burnt ashes and dusty remains
impossible sleep
rain's lullaby hush
pitter patters against the pane
a calming rage gives way
to sweet nightmares of relief
Written by: Liam McDaid & Kelly Deschler
Over where winds blow, my Love waits for me
Even when zephyrs blow a bustling breeze
His outreaching arms beckon come let me see
Join me in my castle where you'll live with ease
Out on the porch listening to rain's soft sounds
There's no wind, leaves and limbs hang limp silent
Over where winds blow, my love knows no bounds
Contained it now seems ~no wind evident
Just a slight breeze will stir blossoming rose
Her scent a delight floating 'pon spring's breeze
Rose's scent entwines with honeysuckle's prose
Racing to where the wind blows, my love to please
Over where winds blow, He waits for just me
With outstretched arms, He calls come commune please
Sponsor: Gail Angel Doyle
Contest: Where The Wind Blows
Written this 18th day of May, 2013
When single pointed is our attention
Observing flow of divine magnetism
In timeless time, bliss currents gain traction
As soma flows within mind-body prism
Childlike pure heart and receptive spirit
Celebrates dance of dynamic stillness
Our heart’s burning yearning, resolve and grit
Entwines consciousness with the That oneness
When head and heart meld, inner conflict ends
Erst ego spawned fears and desires are shorn
Vaporised presence, to will of God bends
The false falls away, we become twice born
This beauteous journey without movement
Reveals soul, blissful and luminescent
27-March-2022
He was quiet, and so very shy
His Loving " Poetry " , caught my eye
I felt his Tender Heart, flutter for me
I saw his Loving Heart ; Pen POETRY
Beautiful POETRY, and " I " “The wonder of his words”
My Heart entwines with his, Everlasting LOVE : Endures
Throughout the Eons of Forever I have watched his sadness
My Beloved, Your Eternal Love Always brings my Heart Gladness
You sit beside me, at the Never ending banqueting tables of Heaven
Alas : do not waste Your Love, waiting to be with me in Eden’s Garden
I see in the window of Your Heart, the mirror of Your Soul
The image in Your eyes, " Barbara Jean " and YOU Picnic on a California Knoll
The fond memories of Your breath, caressing my breast, are now Hers
My Spirit smiles at Your happiness : Love Her as You do me
My Heart elated to see You Love again , long lost Emotions stir :
Barbara Jean , Take care of and Love this “Gentle Man” for all Eternity
Bring Joy to his Life again , and to me Satisfaction that He "is" LOVED again
Inspired by Nathan Dilts’ Contest “ The Opposite Sex”
Dedicated to " Barbara Jean " ; By " Lenore Ellen "
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She weaves brilliant lattice reeds
as clouds yawn precocious,
fumbling over themselves for a glance
of Great Spirit patterned by tiny hands.
As clouds yawn precocious
her origin entwines with myth
of Great Spirit patterned by tiny hands,
embossed only with Tsalagi soil.
Her origin entwines with myth
and other children covet, envy her wicker magic
embossed only with Tsalagi soil
of buffalo morning landscapes there.
And other di-ni-yo-tli covet, envy her wicker magic,
fumbling over themselves for a glance
of buffalo morning landscapes there
she weaves brilliant lattice reeds.
The Imp sat atop the dresser, unmoving,
in the corner of the room, I waited, pen in hand.
No sound did he make, nor his locus improving,
as his bloodshot eyes, my attention, they demand.
In days slipped past, he spoke in lulled timbre,
for years he abated the fears that I had,
his mind so subtle, his thoughts so limber,
but through each day my questions he forbad.
I wrote each word, every syllable, every notion,
spoken dark or tender, whether thou or thine.
He laid before me his songs of emotion
and I stole each one and made them all mine.
In his voice, I claimed, all of his treasures,
without a thought he'd discover, in time.
Yet, now he speaks with words always measured,
and burning glares that scream of my crime.
Does he know I've used him to privilege my psyche?
Does he know how his rhymes have impassioned my soul?
Would he care if I offered to proffer my ego,
or pay, with my heart, this immeasurable toll.
“Living In The Dark ,“ so easy he spoke this,
while together we lived each verse, he and I.
Darkness foreboding, for he, was in bliss,
but for me pure terror as his words I decry.
He laughed at my fear and smiled with derision
as my name I placed at the end with the date.
His eye slowly narrowed as if changing his decision
but I watched as the dark made these feelings abate.
I gather before me his sonnet's solemn lines,
He allows me to name it,"Fire," seems right,
as his bitterness taunts me with each phrase he entwines
leaving visions of me in the sallow dim light.
I live in his blindness through eyes of midnight.
The coals of his vision, burning embers of fright,
but the words he has spoken I endeavor to requite
for they linger and fill me with horrendous delight.
Each syllable I have written, each turn of a phrase,
I owe to this Imp as he glares from the dresser
but silence, now, while he sits in the shadows,
how I wish again to become his confessor.
10/07/2020
Fingers nimbly tapping his
heart onto the page
a rich tapestry of heartache
gentleness and rage
perceptions that astound me
engaging my soul
first one way, then another
a fall down the rabbit hole
who is this gifted writer
who speaks in shortened lines
tap tap tapping out his magic
til my heart he entwines
The grossest element earth
shapes mind body form,
which remains inert until,
magnetism conjures a storm.
The air we breathe,
a gift from God,
causes nodes to stir,
leaving childlike heart awed.
Fire heats, water cools,
generating a toroidal force,
which once divine aligned,
connects soul to source.
God is the magician,
who entwines elements four,
that joyful heart begs
love for an encore.
Calloused canvas, etched with sun and rain,
A map of toil, where muscles speak their pain.
No crown adorns it, nor scepter's gilded shine,
But in its grip, a legacy entwines.
Not pharaohs' monuments, nor empires vast,
But fields that nourish, homes that rise at last.
Bricks laid true, with sweat for mortar's hold,
A city's pulse, in stories yet untold.
No artist's brush, nor poet's lyric grace,
But hammers tapping, leaving their own trace.
Steel forged and shaped, with fire's ardent kiss,
A symphony of sparks, where dreams don't miss.
Not ruler's scepter, nor scholar's quill,
But thread spun fine, with patient, practiced skill.
Garments woven, warmth against the cold,
A mother's love, in stitches neatly told.
No warrior's blade, nor priest's anointed hand,
But seeds that sprout, at farmer's wise command.
Land nurtured, yielding life anew,
A cycle's dance, beneath a sky so blue.
No sculptor's chisel, nor architect's grand plan,
But tools that mend, held by a steady hand.
Machines repaired, with rhythmic, whirring hum,
A world kept turning, never truly numb.
Not surgeon's scalpel, nor teacher's guiding pen,
But streets swept clean, where children play again.
Invisible threads, that bind a community,
A hand unseen, yet vital, you can see.
So raise your gaze, beyond the gilded frame,
To hands that build, the ones without a name.
For in their toil, a nation's spirit thrives,
A tapestry of labour, where humanity survives.