Best Etchings Poems
I hope to grace this page today
With musings from my soul
And write between the lines
The greatest story every told
In trails of crimson etchings
Bleeding from an open heart
As line by line my inhibitions
Simply fall apart
A spirit free from earthly bonds
Oblivious to time
Whilst drifting through the annals
Of something so sublime
As daylight turns again to night
To break another dawn
As I and my muse
Write... on and on and on
On the canvas of life, your signature lies,
Etched onto my granite heart, and the ever-changing skies.
Your essence, turned my primary colours, to vibrant schemes,
And now, in every hue I see that it’s you tinting my dreams.
You recoloured my world, breathed life into grey,
Transformed rigid contours into a graceful bright ballet.
Energy was no more just a word, it became an intimate dance,
You left your signature in every moment, every glance.
Each beat of joy is but a reflection of your presence,
An echo of laughter, lost in adolescence.
Each drop of sorrow finds its roots in your absence,
A shadowed valley, of your love, it's the severance.
You are both the zenith, and my deepest despair,
The interlude of greys, the weary threadbare.
The man I am, is but a silhouette of your inspiration,
A walking spirit of our lost constellation.
Once driven to become worthy of your affection,
A homage to your faith, an attempt at perfection.
Your phantom fingers no longer sculpt my path,
Yet, their imprints remain, a ghostly aftermath.
The woman who’ll cradle my unborn child in her womb,
Is the benefactor of the man that you helped to bloom.
Yet, my love for her, though steady and true,
Can never engulf, as completely, as I once loved you.
Your signature is everywhere, a residual glow,
In every sunset's burn, in the morning cock’s crow.
You transformed me, your essence deep in my vein,
An echo of love, a masterpiece of bittersweet pain.
in soft outline
strokes
whorls&
stains
cropping close
piercing black
upright
&
informal
imaginary &surprising
ambiguous
perhaps
an allusion
something from
nothing
refined
evocations
of
minimalist
tracery
On the cold harden stone carvings names remain,
Charcoal etchings sketching’s, rubbing’s of forgotten history,
Textured rows of this human bone yard called a cemetery.
Rough carved gray monuments to life’s fragileness,
Isolation chambers of remembrance lie hidden beneath
This earthen soil, as for-get-me=knots floral arrangements
Garnish these graves of emotional attachments.
Fossilized vessels of mankind’s historical legacy,
Layers of preservation evidence that we existed,
Satisfied and blessed time capsules for the future,
Lie within these human skeletonized bone fields,
For later discovery to investigate.
As thin as the paper lain against these stones
Of textured graving, are the vials between
Us and our extinction, life is a fleeting gift
To be celebrated not thrown away ever so lightly.
I’ll kick against the tides of life, striving to
Thrive and survive, for I’m a branch of extension,
Spiritual Connected to the tree of humanity,
And my roots have grown in the richness of
Traditions roots of mine ancestors, thus
One stone downwards from thy kindred.
Ever rocking is the head stone of the ages,
It sways with the endurable chiming rhythm
Of the timeless sands, flowing through the
Hourglass of our global atmosphere.
Walking amongst these bricks of stood,
As idle soldiers at the ready for discoveries,
Shovel blades, I ponder the thoughts that
They may evoke in the future world of
Tomorrow.
Oh in the harvesting of the dinosaurs leavenings,
We’ve written our own biography’s sinnario,
One day to be exposed to the light of infinity,
For no single entity lasts forever, nor species
Shine beyond extinctions mighty wrath.
After all is it not true that the key to understand
The future, is to unlock the past.
On the cold harden stone carvings names remain,
Charcoal etchings sketching’s, rubbing’s of forgotten history,
Textured rows of this human bone yard called a cemetery.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Walls stripped bare of time.
Symbols shinning through
moon phases
piled as sand.
Carvings of past hunters
speak a bewildering code,
of lives washed from history.
Meaning vanished.
Impression conveyed.
Time has left the message,
and betrayed the creator.
His flesh gone
language scattered.
A people swallowed by disease,
and famine,
storm and drought,
war and disunity.
The only evidence of heritage
streaks placed on canyon walls.
undeciphered pictographs of
anonymous origin.
And yet I have expectations
of meeting the author
around a river bend.
Hunting the same prey,
cleansing in the same stream,
tending mutual crops,
sheltering similar families,
chiseling with ancient tools,
upon cliffs of dazzling, pounded sand.
hoarfrost coats the grass
etching it
like acid on a metal plate
defeating the
morning glories
*10/20/12
ETCHINGS
Ebony chalk e t c h e s-
Easel full of parchment
exasperating me-
Edges of drawings that
elude my skilled talent-
E N D L E S S soft artisan...
Pleiades E - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kim Merryman
Date Written: September 16, 2016
Euphoria
E~ Enchanting ecstasy at each glowing
thought of you.
U ~ Unreserved understanding that I do
not write the script for the planet.
P ~ Plato's philosophy is divine, to
question all things mercilessly.
H ~ His Hellenic eyes, sparkling from
Olympus, calling me.
O ~ Openly obeying in dignity,God's
Omnipresence.
R~ Reveling rhythmically, allowing me
to dance to my own poetic beat.
I ~ Increased Integrity founded on
honest individuality at all
costs;razor sharp honesty
A ~ Amethyst Angels, may they bring
inner peace to all of humanity.
June 25, 2020
10am PST
Poem # 1,311
Etchings of sunlight,
Shatter a glass world,
A glass heart.
Melting the grains,
To create,
To deceive the eyes,
To make love.
A puddle of molten glass,
Is held,
Shaped,
And without meaning to,
Reformed delicately,
Lightly,
Lovely...
So lovely...
He can't stand it,
The feelings that surge inside of him,
Of lust,
Of vanity,
But mostly of
Pure
Unadulterated
Affection.
I believe there is a word for it.
No,
Not a word,
A name.
Her name.
The name that causes his entire body to erupt in flames that carry a raw passion that has fueled mankind for all existence.
It's a miracle, that something so...
Beautiful...
Can exist in the same world that my ugly heart does.
And even more miraculous,
That she can't see that horrible heart of mine.
Or refuses to see it.
Or sees it but refuses to view it as "ugly".
Or,
Maybe,
Just maybe,
Could it be?
Has she changed that heart?
Has she drawn all the wanting,
The disregard,
The hurt?
A heart that was once broken,
And decided it was its
Duty
To break others'.
But that's not what I want.
I see her,
And want only her happiness.
Because it translates wonderfully into my own.
I don't know what I feel.
I don't feel what I know.
And it slowly occurs to me,
As this structure breaks down into little more than a glorified letter,
That I don't love,
That I see her.
But instead I see,
That I love her.
I see a harbor of emotions,
That I don't exactly know the purpose of.
But damn.
Am I excited to find out.
watching as twilight
crept over the brothers
and stars being re-birthed
to fortify the Great Wall
street lights line to ignite,
the shimmering black mantel
concealing azimuth,
and seductive ebony lips
slide,over the lamp
once more,
A visage of ivory
looks upon earth
on the cusp
is where your found,
a palled specter
drifting shadow to shadow
passing as
a will-o-wisp of
ebony vistas,
always out of touch
with the sense of perception
lulled into deception,
as one fingernails breadth
breaches truth,
trouncing the foolhardy
the blaze phases,
and passion is pendulous
but still,
twilight bewitches,
and the ivory succubus
of night
mesmerizes all,
with moon eyes
as the mantel
of seduction,
rolls with reverence
over azimuth,
her willing victims
are waiting,
etched in ivory
ETCHINGS
strokes
whorls&
stains
cropping
close
to the
frontal
plane
intense
insistent
strange
piercing black
beneath
anguish
in isolation
calm
upright
&
unaltered
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
wisps of clouds
drawn across blue skies
celestial calligraphy
gracefully etched
i try to read the message
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
image making
at the epicentre
communicated
in a whirlwind
vastness
detailed in a birdseye view
hypereal
idiosyncratic
passion
unconventional
yet
exhuberant
exceptional
to dazzle
impress
with eloquence
the fantastic
arrayed
in new facades
revealed as ornate
&formal
in
layers of
opulence
Years arrive and leave,
Winters roll and weave
Lines around your eyes
Making you look wise.
Wise enough to know
Every wind to blow
Leaves its time and trace
Furrowed in your face.
Lines of love and grief,
Hate and disbelief,
Rage, and loyalty,
On your face to see.
Years arrive and leave,
Winters roll and weave
Lines around your eyes
Making you look wise.
Wise enough to know
Every wind to blow
Leaves its time and trace
Furrowed in your face.
Lines of love and grief,
Hate and disbelief,
Rage, and loyalty,
On your face to see.