Best Fan Out Poems
I sit and pause, looking at the sky blue ceiling above me. White vapour cotton wool clouds
gently float like water lilies on an upside down pond. My humble seat, an igneous rock
from the Devonian period. A glaciation past has moulded this comfort to rest this weary
climber. I am in fortunate delight as this skyscraper of old can turn nasty with nature.
These marvels can unite and lure unsuspected hikers, and draw them into a weather world
they have never known. The gulley's and faces of this quite wonderful Munro hide
challenges and dangers for all who dare climb. Many have been lost as they become
disorientated, as natures weather closes in.
The ascent route to the summit on a day like today is quite wonderful. The beauty of the
glens, with their sporadic mix of andesite and basaltic lava mountains, rival many a range
on our fine planet. Many colours explode on the surrounding canvas. Greens and beige's,
greys mingling with red granite masses. Screes are in evidence, a sign of the range ageing
as natures seasons take their toll. Plant life carpets the slopes, where grasses of sorts
mingle with the purple and white heather. Ferns from a prehistoric age fan out catching
the breeze, like Sea´ ferns´ in the ocean.
As i climbed, at various intervals i would close my eyes and listen to the calls of the
wild. The sporadic bleating of sheep, as if echoing through the glens. Crows and their
hooded cousins fly sorties looking for carrion of such. Suddenly they scatter, as royalty
makes a welcomed appearance. As majestic as the King of the mountains can be, a Golden
Eagle glides on the thermals. His subjects looking on from a distance, for fear of
angering him. Rabbits, lizards and even sheep and lambs, bow down in whatever chambers of
safety allows them. As graceful as he arrived, he leaves. Slowly but slowly, the lookouts
of the species declare their haven a safe zone.
This climb has certainly given me a thirst, as the thinned mountain air leaves me tired.
Nearby a small stream offers a weary climber a much needed tonic. This pure fresh
translucent chemical substance quenches my crave, with a gentle splash over my sun beaten
face, i feel refreshed to a point.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland-3.php
Her hair would fan out in the wind
She would laugh, running her fingers through it
Her eyes would sparkle seeing a friend
With all my buddies, she was a big hit.
But it was her heart that captured me
She was sweet and good, tried and true
Principled, she valued the finer things in life
She said, “I’ll gladly share my life with you!”
For thirty-five years she was my soulmate
Never being selfish, uncaring, or unkind
From our first exciting adventure together
She always had our well-being in mind.
She was special in the best kinds of ways
Our lives moved along smoothly together,
She worked hard to make our marriage great
I’ll love my Deborah for ever and ever.
Written April 2, 2022
[Read on BlogTalkRadio/Late Night Poets
by the poet on April 18, 2022]
Where is that rare, elusive rain that never seems to come?
Our land, once rich and fertile, is now a vast dust bowl.
Great lightning strikes upon the ground, igniting trees and brush
as flames erupt, a fearsome sight, appearing strong and bold
they fan out like fiery fingers, that greedily take hold.
Like an angry dragon's breath, the fire is hotly blown, among
the helpless hills and fainting grass, and in the forests old.
Strong are the whipping winds as these hot vapors, flung
up to sky, around the towns and through the valleys low.
While raging fires lick the air, it's hot path ever grows.
In great alarm a call goes out, to those courageous ones
who rise up strong, to fight the blaze and conquer as they go
to take up battle by foot or plane, determined to overcome.
Rise up by strength or might, and banish this great foe
to save our land, renew our hope, for life and hearth and home.
Written on 8/3/2015
I am a master pleaser, my feelings buried deeper than restless bones.
I will shade you from midsummer sun, and you’ll never know I was crying.
My iced tea and sweet berry disguise protects you or maybe me?
Let me find you frowning amongst sprawled picnic blankets,
I will shade you from midsummer sun, and you’ll never know I was crying.
I will fan out a red-and-white checkered smile before you.
Let me find you frowning amongst sprawled picnic blankets,
I will seek a daisy from my own bouquet or share a sugar candy touch.
I will fan out a red-and-white checkered smile before you.
My iced tea and sweet berry disguise protects you or maybe me…
I will seek a daisy from my own bouquet or share a sugar candy touch.
I am a master pleaser, my feelings buried deeper than restless bones.
pendant green leaves weep
branches bend toward the ground-
peacocks prance and preen
peahens understand
bright blue-feathers fan out-
winds whisper secrets
grey frog croaks loudly
willow canopy is home-
cottage red door opens
on loch's calm water
silver ripples fan out -
otter diving
in a peaceful place
ripples fan out on lily pond -
colourful koi play
“Milk of Roses”
Milk of Roses
was her scent
and great bouquets
of baby's breath
moving messages
that blew across hearts
underneath the bones and skin of breast
baby's breath that bristled like clouds
moved by hidden white doves
who cut the air like a butter knife
for other imaginings crossing scarlet tears in skies
and whispering trances through doors
of wanton scattered minds, "do enter", she chides,
"what jewel lies open in cavernous chest?"
when she left the room
traces of her remained
hints of a haunting
The Tea service was distraught
table tipping had commenced
Candide Diderot. ‘25
“the skin she wears
may be made of calm,
but her bones
are made of chaos”
tears. verb.
/pull (something) apart or to pieces with force
/move very quickly in a reckless or excited manner
/make a hole or split in (something) by pulling it or piercing it with a sharp implement
/a brief spell of erratic or unrestrained behaviour; a binge or spree
/a spell of great success or excellence in performance.
tears.noun
/a drop of clear salty liquid secreted from glands in a person's eye when they cry (or the eye is irritated).
"Skin of the Night"
Like a moth she moves to the red light
Her blood warms and boils there
She skims the sweat like a new milk
And pops the buttons off her wet blouse
Oh Queen of the Night
Well she is deep inside
She is haunting me
(All of her soft parts call to me
She could be mine)
She digs her nails into her naked chest
Miles of veins fan out like a road map
She pulls back the skin to show her ribs
That twinkle like shooting stars
M83 (music, and lyrics)
There’s nothing lacking in the thing itself.
In some ways, it’s the very best of us.
It’s not like Marx was some egregious elf,
or Rosa Luxemburg some succubus.
The deal is, if you subjugate the masses,
they might not like it. Corner them, and they
will fan out fiercely, as do poison gases,
and pimps and prelates will be swept away.
So simple, so methodical. So why
did communism curdle and collapse?
One short, scant century it took to die:
a flimsy, flawed philosophy, perhaps?
We messed up, through our immaturity,
the grandeur of that peerless theory.
I'm looking at your shadow
It is cast bigger than what is your truth
The curve of your breasts accentuated,
your contour smooth as it gently glides down towards your hips,
rounding your buttocks to perfect proportions and your thighs just right.
Your calves perfect as they wind down to your dainty feet.
What it doesn't show is that your lower lip
slightly larger than the upper,
when coaxed, parts to reveal an endearing tooth gap
trademarking your smile...
The striations on your breasts and abdomen
from where you nurtured your baby
even before its first breath of life,
to a perfect being of reasoning and effort.
The slight outgrowth on your big toe
passed down from generation to generation,
brought forth and as your predecessors
toiled and tilled the soil that now claims you.
It is a shame indeed, that it does not show your eyes,
deep set and cast like smooth, molten chocolate and just as soft.
Bejeweled with a spark of curiosity and quirkiness completely your own
As your thick lashes fan out of your skin,
often trapping tears that represent your big heart
Why hide in your perfect shadow ,when imperfections reveal the beauty of a life uniquely yours?
Claim it, own it, Live it...
Deliver me from evil, for the unknown shadows in my presence. A deep, intense burning inside commences. Fueled by hatred and carrying around a burden, my intentions turn to such a self-loathing deep within. Becoming paranoid, my own worst enemy has come alive. Like a 747 jet, all I knew was getting higher and higher. Arrested, yet the test just began. A venomous temptation seems to be hiding around each corner. You can try and hide all you want, but the death cards start rolling once the dead presidents fan out from your hand. Your body starts to become numb, and the brain is full of smoke. It is a part of the addiction, like greed is to Nixon. You wonder why just say no seems like fiction. A thought pops in, and you wonder if taking all of this cruelty in will eventually turn against your soul.
Maybe it is time to give up, and throw up the white banner. Apologies are no longer accepted in the home grown treachery that started. Does anyone care? This runs through the mind day and night. As the fight continues, survival and health become the real issues. Bought, sold, lost, and thrown away. My religion also was lost in such a malicious manner. The fork in the road appears, and back comes all my worst fears. My hopes and dreams started to come back. I let people in, and started to believe that fate would stand in the way of going back to a drug filled day.
Just sitting by the water, waiting for you?
Picked up held lovingly, rubbed softly, gripped firmly.
The perfect throw, the perfect flight...SKIP.....SKIP...SKIP
OH what divine circles we made together SKip..SKip...SKip
Momentum slipping taken away by the very beauty we created?
skip...skip..skip
Can this perfect ride be finished?
Sinking now beauty behind me perfection still in my wake.
Gracefully down I go slowly rocking peacefully down down down.
Resting on the bottom muted light, cold silence..
For a brief time watched the perfection we had created fan out above me
Perfect circles in perfect unison spread out join till they are no more.
Find me again hold me lovingly wrap your hands around me and lets make
perfection again.
For I do not like this place I am at. For it is cold,dark, silent.
Find me or I will remain here alone.
Forever remembering the beauty and perfection we had once made.
It was just a "Front", that most were supposed to see
Not a stud on the place, just "mystery donkeys"
Some days they were there, then just up and disappear
Maybe this is the reason this happened to me?
But it all had to do with the "magic donkeys"
For a long time it was a secret, then it got real clear
For several days the burros would have nothing to eat
Then Sawford had pack saddles, they all got one
About sundown the donkeys were driven to the border
To a group of Mexican drug smugglers they were to meet
Pack saddles loaded with silver ingots and pot for the next sun
It was a shipment made to order
At the barn, Sawford had the troughs loaded with waiting hay
At the border the drug smugglers would turn the burros loose
Like "homing pigeons" the donkeys came at a lope
Told the law, "Well them old donkeys have gone astray"
It worked until they got his neck in a noose
And Sawford fan out of rope
The silver was melted down, Sawford had a coin stamping machine
Making silver dollars as fast as he could
And the law never figured how the burros got there
Sawford swore up and down, "Dangest thing that I have ever seen"
"Why those bugger must have winged it here on a prayer"
He went to the pen and it did him no good
All ranches have a tale to tell, so does the old 5Y
But this one never will die, and it lives to this day
And that is a shame
But this is why?
The 5Y turned out this way
And where the term, "muling drugs' got it's name
Form:
Mister Tom Turkey says gobble gobble
Mrs. Tom Turkey’s head goes wobble wobble
Zig-zaging through yards of grass they meet
Hen teaching her younglings 'bout how to eat
Tom gathers, his tuft dangling from his breast
His wingtips dragging, along with all the rest
Our feathers that we fan out are fabulous
A wattle hanging from our beaks are sabulous
A sign of power, we are just like the omnivores
Our relatives, are the dinosaurs- Buitreraptors
Fierceness and courage are our personality
We stroll about with our plumes, like royalty
Cocks prance ‘round like an Indian Sundance
Our totem spirit animal symbol is abundance
The main stars we are, during the holidays
Butterballs, cooked in many delicious ways
KellyBronze Birds, 16 lbs. are the Rolls-Royce
We are a source of nourishment, for your choice
As you zest us, and massage us use a rind
Of Valencia, naval, or blood orange of a kind
Try a pink, or white coarse salt as a brine
Take a minute with Chablis, a glass of wine
A seasoned cornbread stuffing of Italian sausage,
Golden raisins, walnuts and herbs freshly grown
Stuff us, seal us in foil and into the oven we're 'goin
Uncover us in the last hours until we're bronzed
Golden tan on the outside, then let us cool down
Juicy is our white meat and as tasty as our brown
When you give thanks today and put us on display
Don’t forget to show us gratitude, s'il vous plaît
We are noble birds!
petals of beauty
fan out from sweet nectar core
nature's honey well
For: CRYING FLOWER
Sponsored by: Carolyn Devonshire