Best Escorts Poems
red rooftops appear to glow in rainy-day haze
lost in memories of pre-war bliss
she looks up to watch them bleed
pain is its own reward sometimes
better than the numbness
she so desperately seeks to leave behind
tiny poodle escorts her on La Rue de la Paix
peace has come to Paris at last
but in her heart, agony lingers
she heard the Fuhrer took his own life
cyanide and a bullet, too merciful for a demon
how her sweet Emil must have suffered in the death camp
his last gift to her, a red umbrella to offer shelter
at a time when he so direly needed protection
from horrific torture, starvation, gas chambers
footsteps behind her; she pivots, her poodle barks
what’s this? is rain playing tricks on her eyes?
he presses his lips on hers and she knows
yes, yes, these are Emil’s lips
still clad in a prisoner’s striped uniform, he holds her
she feels his ribs as they embrace
autumn rain soaks the fashion district near their home
while a violinist in a nearby café plays Chant des Partisans
overwhelmed, she wonders, is this a dream or is he home to stay?
*Written November 1, 2018
N/A in The Red Umbrella Contest
Contest judged that 11/13/2018
Categories:
escorts, longing, war,
Form:
Free verse
The mighty 3rd to the north did steam,
Chasing a ghost not to be seen
Guard the landing your task assigned,
Quiet the day is to be benign
At dawn the Imperial fleet does appear,
Surprise complete, ranging fire splashes near
Outnumbered and out gunned, duty is clear,
Close the range you must in spite of your fear
Laying smoke, a jagged course you take,
An account of yourselves you will make
Steel your heart and make sure your eye,
For each salvo keeps you alive
Toe-to-toe the battle, you exchange mighty blows,
Triumph impossible, yet into the fray you all go
In perfect rhythm, the mad dance goes on,
As smoke filled gunhouse loads powder and shot
Decks strewn with the dead and dying,
Teams repair to keep the ensign flying
Struck and struck again, yet to point blank you steam,
Hard to port, you cross the “T”
“All guns to fire at the turn, torpedoes away!”
The enemy scatters in disarray
Too late, mortal blows you take
To the deep, no more your enemy to rake
One final salute their captain does render,
For you fought to the death and did not surrender
On this all men do still agree,
These were the finest two hours of Taffy 3
*****************************************
On October 25th, 1944, 3 destroyers and 4 destroyer escorts of Task Force
Taffy 3 engaged a combined force of Imperial Japanese Navy battleships and
cruisers in a 2 hour running gun battle to protect the escort carriers and troop
transports taking part in the Leyte Gulf landings in the Philippines. Two of the
three destroyers and one of the escorts were sunk while sinking three
Japanese heavy cruisers and damaged three more. Due to the fierceness of
the attack, the Japanese fleet retired from the area thinking they had been
attacked by a much larger force. At the outset of the battle, the commanding
officers of these 7 ships, without orders, individually decided to attack and
headed at flank speed to the fight all knowing they would most likely not
survive the day. Almost 1600 did not. In a final act of respect, the commander
of one Japanese cruiser saluted the crew of an American ship that had just
sunk as his ship passed them floating in the water.
Categories:
escorts, courage, inspirational, remember, tribute,
Form:
Rhyme
Beyond the skills of escorts
and the appeal of other playthings,
smolders the need of the soul
infused to best every man.
Twelve years have taken
the scars out of the memories,
from the last time I was
up and through
just to come down and out
to find every fairy tale
extends it’s hand
to some tragedy.
The odds don’t warrant
the time of practical effort.
Too keen to the liabilities,
always calculating ends.
It is not the demands of over
or having to start something new
rather, better to remain alone
than to be let down again.
But now I see you,
and it makes me pause
so still, with the whisper --
Are you sure?
Falls into a deafening singularity
forbidding even a scream, it’s escape.
I sit and can only see
the touch of Heaven
reaching across the Caribbean
to color your face.
As your smile holds the songs
of every dawn’s temptress,
under the soft disposition
of your eyes
rests a divine spirit’s symmetry,
smoothing features
while lensing each strand
the perfect frame.
That once moved a favored King
to murder a man, only to bring
the sword into his own house.
Enabled an army to take
a strong city with just one horse.
And enslaved the envy of Venus
to sharpen leaden arrows,
but fury slipped her hands
and bled her wrists out.
Blood clotted on the cold muck
of her grave, a suffocating cocoon.
Immersed the viewer becomes,
and timeless the window
of the heart that is God’s craft,
denying the deceiver’s forgery
of any singed carnality.
As if proximity has been given
within the mist of your perfume,
in just this one picture
of your face.
Categories:
escorts, beauty, inspiration, introspection, poetess,
Form:
Narrative
Tall trees
on each side of
the deep wood's shadowed path
guide me out. . . my gallant
escorts.
Submitted Oct. 7, 2022
for Line Gauthier's Bitesize Poem No.53 Poetry Contest
Categories:
escorts, nature,
Form:
Cinquain
Debutantes with secret lives of crimson
could drink and smoke much more than anyone,
dressed in ivory postbellum fashion
sable coats, charcoal tuxes by the ton.
In and out of shadows obsidian
debs and escorts waltzed like porcelain toys,
social ceremony called cotillion
guarantee of attention from the boys.
Ash of Roses with absinthe leaves bouquet
trembling soft in their clutching white gloved hand.
A graceful bow one Midnight moon in May
and honored parents thought the time was grand.
Cerulean flashes blinded young eyes
in days when truth was buried with disguise.
10/17/17
Ash of Roses Absinthe Cerulean Charcoal Crimson Ivory Obsidian Porcelain Sable Smoke
Midnight Romance Contest
Categories:
escorts, culture, dance, daughter,
Form:
Sonnet
She's tucked in bed of floral white
To mommy's hand, she holds on tight
No hunger pangs disrupt her night
In dreams she sees candied delight
He finds a place out on the street
He's scared of strangers that he'll meet
A piece of bread has been his treat
In dreams he sees his mother sweet
The morning comes, a brand new day
She hurries, for she can't delay
There's time at school for work and play
Her mom escorts her on the way
He hears a noise which makes him wake
It's cold; his body starts to shake
How many coins will begging make?
"Please help me, sir, for heaven's sake!"
Why should she have more toys to keep?
Why should he live in pain so deep?
When day is done, each child will sleep
In dreams she'll smile, while he will weep
And as you read this little rhyme
explain to me, what is the crime
of that young boy who's doing time
with heart of gold beneath the grime
Is there no way to right this wrong?
Will he get lost among the throng
in quest for love, a smile, a song
some food to make his body strong?
If circumstance would turn around
to make you sleep there on the ground
your crying drowned by city sound
would you not dream of being found?
So while you're kneeling by her bed
to plant your kisses on her head,
Think of that boy who lives in dread
and share your wealth, your home, your bread
A child should live a life carefree
and sleep in warm security
So hear my plea, and let this be
the day you change his destiny
Categories:
escorts, child, pain, poverty,
Form:
Rhyme
Spring tea,I'm invited
you are too ,'cause she's decided
underneath the willow tree
served a little after three
baby bear and kitty cat
sit right where they've always sat
but now she's put us on the right
beside the zebra black and white
they're already stuffed you see
from eating cookies at spring tea
she has pots and pans to clean
from all her baking in between
doling out the china berries
"Don't eat them ,they aren't
really cherries".
She makes cookies out of sand
a little water and they're grand
she will scold you if you're late
she meets you at the garden gate
escorts you to your special place
she has icing on her face
from the cupcakes Mommy brings
to mix them in with all those things
the leaves and acorns on our tray
Spring Tea gets better every day
When you're almost,nearly four
you learn to serve,you learn to pour
just think how boring life would be
If not invited to SpringTea.
Categories:
escorts, family, children, spring, spring,
Form:
Couplet
Diurnal, nature's early damsel,
donned in dew and vivid peach,
I am in need of dawning's candle;
humor me as I beseech.
Amidst thy gown I often ponder,
musing on the great "to be."
'Tis true, in thought I tend to wander
when amongst thy company.
Alas, Nocturnal's robe lies rigid
on the quarters of my sleep!
His garb represses thought--so frigid
are the kernels of my keep!
I can no longer bear the torment
that escorts a smothered mind,
for when one sleeps with theory dormant--
evening peace one cannot find.
Why doth such darkness bear a beacon
brilliant like a sterling gem?
Why doth such radiance not weaken
what I feel when cloaked by him?
Dost not thou give the moon its polish,
though the distance holds thy light?
If so, then with that sphere, abolish
all his sabotage tonight!
Too long have I, a pensive person,
been condemned to sleep as such.
I wish for not my rest to worsen:
won't thou reprimand his touch?
I beg of thee: repeal my prison,
purge me of its blank regime,
and grant my slumber nightly visions--
be they sweet or bitter dreams!
Categories:
escorts, fantasy, natureme,
Form:
Ballad
seagulls surf the wind
my escorts home
across the waves
streamlined gannets
sacred isle in view
saffron tints
ocean flower breezes
with scents of heather mingled
island essence
rites of spring
frolicking hares
scattering morning dew
eagles flying high
above the pagodas
sharing with angels
spectral in shadows
castle walls in moonlight
white stag foraging
eloquent landscape
shrouded in mists of time
stones with stories
ears pricked on full alert
deer transfixed in morning mist
ice cracks the silence
snow on distant hills
wind in ancient rowans
new stars twinkling
melting ice
slips down stippled bark
weeping cherry
beyond the twisted gate
flag irises bedeck the shore
beloved playground
fragile and fleeting
foxgloves in summertime
granite enfolded
exotic rhododendrons
sumptuous and alluring
bumblebees besotted
by the waterfall
dippers watching
trickle or torrent?
rhythmic shoreline
ageless slumbering hills
touching paradise
music for the soul
the lilting of the seasons
an Arran symphony
home again, my soul refreshed,
pilgrimage complete.
with Arran heath beneath my feet,
content- and feeling blessed.
Categories:
escorts, mountains, ocean, peace, sea,
Form:
Free verse
In the voyage of life when we set sail
Let patience allied with perseverance
Be the bacon light for us to avail
In the warm summer of exuberance
As in the wild, wobbling winter of gloom
When wilful wintry winds whirl us to doom;
When whooping waves waft the frame of our boat
Let's not give way to shadows of despair,
But hold on steadfast and keep on afloat;
When stormy gusts try our sails to lay bare
Let's brace ourselves with power of the will
And determination as a firm shield.
Let's not try to touch the sky at a stretch
As we may never meet the horizon,
Let's not try heaven to reach at a breath
As we may tumble in the ocean,
Let's move on step by step as the clock's chime,
Sail on steadily, a knot at a time.
Patience is a gift bestowed by the Lord
A balm that soothes the soreness of stress
A precious jewel seemly to afford,
And perseverance the key to success
The spirit that drives man to sail ahead,
The essence of efforts that are sacred.
When setting sail on an unknown voyage
It's fitting to have faith in the dIvine,
Who escorts our steps at every life's stage
Ever guides our path across space and time
With patience to earn the Lord's sublime grace
And with perseverance to win the race.
Categories:
escorts, inspiration, inspirational, motivation, uplifting,
Form:
Rhyme
When sunset bows amidst the hilltops,
My warble coos on fields;
And through the ever- glowing night
This womb of nest I keep,
Where flappers reel like tints of sky
A mix of white and cobalt -blue,
To guide oak trees from silhouettes
Against the rail of grass.
The seasons house me with warm grace,
Rich the buds growing soft
Adorning my emblazoned wings,
Etched across the cloudscape.
Yet, the flavor of autumn blows
Heralding distant flights;
Till wake of spring escorts me back
From old Capistrano.
Early Feb 2018 Premiere Contest:
For Brian Strand
Categories:
escorts, bird, joy,
Form:
Free verse
A twelve year old boy, village-bred and very shy
Having but token familiarity with buses, routes and places
Escorts his mom’s mom, very sick and about to die
To the town forty kms and four hours away those days
Involving three buses, two junctions needing directions
And a km on foot, where her other two daughters lived.
She sat on the road and vomited, so bad was her condition,
The boy waited without a thought till she once again moved.
Finally on reaching the house wanted, everyone there was aghast
On how we two made it and critical of my mother’s foolishness
In entrusting a boy who knew next to nothing with such a task.
(But mom with none to help did what she thought right in all seriousness)
Grand ma gets promptly admitted in a hospital nearby.
Along with others, the boy goes to see her daily. On the third
She pleads with him to stay back with her that night
But, no, he runs away because he wanted to play with the other kids.
He never knew she was going to die that night till he was woken up
To board the ambulance which was taking her dead
Back to her native village, and the boy who sat with her was I.
My dad’s dad was dead before I was born
But about him I used to hear a lot all through my life
Because he was a big landlord who owned a village
Of twelve hundred acres, as the head of a joint family
He was a monarch of sorts, albeit, without a sceptre and crown.
Trained in herbal medicines, which he dispensed for free,
And a scholar in astrology and all those esoteric things
And a man of great virtues, he was much sought after.
Then suddenly the rules changed and the system
Of joint families went and after partitioning his estates
Among his kinsfolk , without taking an inch of land for himself,
He shifted to his wife’s place where too they fed a hundred daily
But they fell on hard times with the litigations that followed
The new laws which ruined families and my grandpa died poorer .
Categories:
escorts, family, night,
Form:
Prose Poetry
With grace he jumps upon my lap,
deep humming in his throat.
He licks his soft, white mitten'd foot
and grooms his midnight coat.
Then settles down and settles in,
like many times before:
in all those springs and winters
since he came to my front door.
He’s never wrought an unclean act
inside my house . . my home.
He's shed a bit, but never even
dragged a dead rat home.
He's lazed about inside and out,
while others did not last.
His years pile up alongside mine,
with nearly nineteen passed.
I sadden thinking of the friends
that left me through those years.
His time as well, grows shorter now,
along with mine, I fear.
But he knows nothing of this truth,
as he settles in my lap.
No dread upon his whiskered face,
this loving, gentle cat.
And as he holds sly death at bay,
for as long as he can fend;
I hope and pray a peaceful trip,
escorts him to his end.
Categories:
escorts, age, cat, how i
Form:
Narrative
Make each day better than the one before
Promise yourself a dinner at your favourite restaurant
Give yourself a gift of that sweater you had your eye on
Little things that help make life exciting and interesting
It's not selfish to treat yourself every once in a while
It makes for a happier existence
You'll find yourself humming happy tunes and smiling a lot
So what if people around you think you've lost it!
Keep 'em guessing and even add to the rumours
By occasionally doing outrageous things
Like sit-ups in the middle of the local mall
And when security escorts you out to your car
You keep singing those happy tunes and waving at everyone
This advice is likely not good for everyone!
© Jack Ellison 2015
Categories:
escorts, happiness, life,
Form:
Narrative
Potato Mountain
I will arrive
an habitual escapee
from the rabbit warrens
of central planners
By ferreting north
in search of
breaks in the maze
rifts in the grid
I will follow
a stream beside
the climbing track
and yet higher
To a saddle below
the great ridge
southward along
eastern slopes
To a fine summit
of long vistas
and white gravel-skirts
exposed to sun
Exposed to eyes
sweeping round
the slow wide circle
of arcs in passage
Years to degree
degree to century
century to millennia
beyond human sight
And my own frail
footsteps in iron soil
blown to oblivion
by winds now shadowing
My identical track
passed beehives
thickets and copse
up the potato
To a summit
of concrete pylon
red dirt
and folk art
Where unknown infidels
posed the creative
issue of their
anonymous fancy
In the form
of starch-fat tubers
affixed with parasols
to shade them
And toothpicks to
give them arms
and bay leaves
to make them hair
Hats to render
them style
atop bald and oblong
pates of brown
Wings of sumac leaf
sleek and waxy
to impart mottled skins
flights of fancy
But they cannot fly
like chaparral birds
fitted to wind
and wildness
Unmoving the potatoes
await their fate
on a flat stage
above the world
Three days pass
their number reduced
in gathering erosions
and mathematical decline
Four days
the mule deer
has found them
yet still proud potatoes
Pass from deer
to lion to
slow beetles
upon the soil
And there the
once magnificent
and well-arrayed
vegetable host
Submits bravely to
mechanical escorts
in the brief free fall
to worlds below
Categories:
escorts, mountains,
Form:
Free verse