Best Feathers Poems
"Once upon a midnight Poe"
Underneath the midnight mask, I remove the makeup at last,
The moon is an anvil to my mood, mooring along the vacant vast
I lay the Gin and Tonic by the bedside asking for more,
I hear a noise, a lost voice, the echoes of no rejoicing,
I couldn't brush the light coming from the cracks under the door
I gave it some thought,
My eyes twinkle, towards the tinsel tiles on the floor
Seemingly the light seemed to be deeming the distance of resistance
Curiosity came in crawling and caressing
To sense and taste of sinful skin
Everything then grew thinner than thin
On the spur of the moment, I hear a whisper, my love is near
"Darkness there, and nothing more."
A nerve impulse hits the wall if nothing nary, nevertheless
I sadistically, stagger a sullen movement, even so
At this moment, Edgar Whispered, "Nothing more."
Many nights, I dream of demonic demons, demanding answers for
A sad --sadder voice sits and whines, with the wind
"Merely this and nothing more!"
A notary, nauseate moment, seasick, shipwreck sensation
Secular suicide spreading like gossip, sailing through my veins
Evilly and twisted, "This it is and nothing more" - remains
Tweaking and repeating, the speeding of needing
My drugs of pain and passion, to end the delusion
Of the self-inflicted - bruising from the voices of my choices
I hear the whisper, a selfish whisper, asking for Lenore
How many nights, he comes into my room, dress like A Raven
Painted and tainted like the midnight dreary
Reciting the excitement like The Bells, of Annabel, in a rush
Never, never, nameless here forevermore, in my dreams
Under my evil-doing skin, like the sum of sin is how it seems
On the nights, my soul mate does not appear,
The anchor drowns and torments me with tears
I travel up in fear, of the fear, when my ghost is not near
Rattling and trembling, by the bedside,
On the grim side of the mental moon, when in gloom
I scrape up my room, screaming at the bleeding,
From my heart, who needs a killing,
From a feeding and the feeling of letting one, go!
I didn’t ask for help.
Yet someone heard
my inward crying voice
without a word.
“When the student is ready
a teacher will appear”
somehow it seems these teachers
pop up everywhere.
Their words were subtle
pointed darts
that caused me endless
fits, and starts.
There was no Hallelujah Chorus
no heraldry of trumpets din
just a presence in my life
every now and then.
I never asked for help
yet somehow they saw my need
and placed within my heart
an ever growing seed.
They cut the bindings loose
freed me from my tethers
drifted slowly through my life
without ruffling my feathers.
©8/10/2018
for New Rhyming Poems On Angels Poetry Contest
ink through calamus
the poet feathers his art
with plumes of bird songs
8/13/2015
Inspired by Ink
Hermes, Patron God of travelers in winged sandals and caduceus staff
you claim Godspeed as you fly on and on and on
Nike, Goddess of victory, athletic troubadour, sweet paramour
you claim God speed as you fly on and on and on
Iris, Goddess of the rainbow in Divine and mortal realms you go
you claim God speed as you fly on and on and on
Eros, God of love, you take wing with cupid bows and arrow
you claim God speed as you fly on and on and on
Boreas, as the north winds blow, you are winter's God of power
you claim God speed as you fly on and on and on
Zephyrus, with a light wind gentle breeze every springtime, you bestow
you claim God speed as you fly on and on and on
Zeus, Greek God of lightning I feel your eagle feathers as I muse,
as I claim Godspeed, flying on and on and on
you open me the door and I am there once more *
like a Godly inspired, “Dumbledore."
You claim God speed as you fly on and
on and on and on, on and on and on.
Ps: Dumbledore is the old English word for bumblebee.
Written by: Mystic Rose
We exist in space and time
invisible, unseen for who we
truly are exchanging
words for thoughts
never face-to-face
but touching just the same
vitriol tossed with the sweetness
fair barter for some form
of kind heaven exchanging
inclement weather
to the vestries of
each others’
netherworlds
divesting
tar and feathers
Candide Diderot. ‘24
head on.
When I met you in the language of lonely war
three feathers fastened to your breast breathing sore
many graves of gentlemen knew your score and the devil deigned for more,
tears you had for all times rhymes and ribs broke from crimes making aching lore,
ink of fire you did pour, scold and scorch on skin red soft, truly poetry the maze and metaphor,
A feather you gave with each kiss and wound to savor
their texture smooth as silken vapor, tips cut cruel by sibyl's saber,
quills and spells I made of them, heaven and venom in every lash and letter
when love was innocent, revolutionary, rampant with rogue fight, rapid on soul river
with hawk's edge I wrote with might and flight, dominant on the flesh of firmament's blue leather,
Where the owl's point pierced the vellum of victory's scripture
antebellum affections covered our eyes with wings of damp wisdom and cool color,
together we took the touch of roses and razors, feeling the sting and arousal of friendly danger
as the nights knew more than days, secrets grew sweeter, dreams bolder, howls heavy and louder,
our zenith reached the zone quiet calm black, a raven's stem sealed the song of sleeping stranger -
J.A.B.
Snowflake feathers
Drift down from the sky
Who fluffs these downy clouds?
Fierce
Falcon
Fortitude
Fields
Feathered
Flurries
Tautogram Poems Poetry Contest
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Where have the years gone-
like soft feathers, they soon fly,
floating in the breeze of life,
fragile, wispy thoughts
to gather in, one by one;
to stroke each with loving care,
smoothing the edges
ruffled in their years of flight;
feathers of our memory.
They fly much faster
as we age; it seems to us
that time has learned a new step
that spins us around
to fast-forward those feathers
that we just held yesterday;
grasped from us so quick
before we could comprehend
their designs and bright colors.
Relish each moment
lest the thief of time stops by
and those feathers fly no more.
Spend time with each one.
Caress the silky texture;
smooth the separated vanes
to flawless beauty
before they are whisked away
with memories- or the soul.
In the intermediate zone between heaven and hell
opinions and complaints, after much moaning, may
come to be held in common.
The way a flock of chickadees
moves through the woods, cheerfully,
each bird taking a turn on point.
All meaning must be found, here, in the middle zone,
notwithstanding fears that rend and own us,
of dying unknown.
A Spring day
the flycatcher broke its neck against our bay window
nothing changed.
I buried it, somewhat reverently, in a shallow grave.
No differently, really, than I would a man
who'd died suddenly.
Who'd left footprints in the snow
which became wild lily-of-the-valley, running pine
then snow again in time.
After long enmity
Sally hugs me, asks if I've been happy.
A moment in a year.
February, the light is long, more direct.
It's meaningless, repetitious
but held dear.
snowy owl's feathers,
soft and white as winter snow,
silent sentinel…
My sister persuaded me for a dare
to take the cushion off grandma’s chair
and although we knew it wasn’t right
we would use it to for a pillow fight
‘We’d better play outdoors’ I said
as Susie whacked me on the head
So we ran to play in grandpa’s field
until the old cushion began to yield
downy feathers, so soft and white
which made us whoop with pure delight
But grandpa saw what we had done
he scolded us and stopped our fun
Image 3 chosen
Rhyming Me A Poem 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper
10/29/21
Feathers amongst fallen leaves
Spring plumage drops from the sky
Blue Jays in cobalt feathers
Proudly perched near drab fall hues
Goldfinches in olive green
Camouflaged on sparse branches
Raptors hungry and hunting
Autumn feathers masked from sight
Cardinals perched on red fronds
Their mates near singing away
Crisp crimson and yellow leaves
Now blanket sparse sleepy wood
Hidden owls hoot in the dark
Their nightly quest soon begins
In dark brown feathers they soar
Hoping to find their night prize
In life…
Whether you remain as plain toast,
Or into a soldier you are cut,
Whether you are covered in marmalade,
Or dipped into yolk from an egg cup,
In life there’s one main rule, should you fall…
Stay butter side up!
We war with impunity
And weaponise such things as the
beauty of flowers
And all for what ?
When come today we have to guard the statues and Cenotaph that commemorate our fallen heroes
Only for them to suffer in death the indignity of being treated with such contempt for the very same right's and freedom they gave their lives for
You student's
You self effacing intellects
You political prophet's
You protest
You gather
You march
Underneath your slogan or banner
in righteous indignation of your cause
Such bravery
Such charity
Such courage
Such sacrifice
Once more into the breech
the rallying cry to those
with spray can in hand to vandalize
under the cover of dark with face hidden behind a bandana
I doubt their is anything you would be willing to lay
your life down for apart from maybe your computer and internet access
So next time you log on do yourself a favour and research
your family history and see if any of your family members
lost there lives and think there but for the grace of god go i
These statues and monuments are not supposed to justify or glorify war the complete opposite in fact they are
to remind us of the futility and human cost
but most importantly of all the cause Millions of people
deemed worthy dying for
I wonder if year's to come
how you will be viewed by history
Will people gather to commemorate you
build a statue in your honour
be you remembered by a bank holiday
Or will you hopefully end up instead being a
footnote in a museum
Entitled
When you don't understand your history
And talk before you listen
You run before you can walk