Best Fiona Poems
For Fiona Meyrick, poet and musician; a Petrarchan sonnet
Fiona, in the silence of the night
Sings songs of sorrow soft in minor key
That sigh above all formal melody
In cadences that dance like birds in flight
She rests within the dark, composing light
In subtle shades of sweet philosophy
Transposing on the stave a mystery
In spills of sound like ink on paper bright
Fiona; at the stroke of midnight blessed
Plays pianissimo the ocean’s rage
Transforming all the sins of man confessed
In gentle rhythms traced upon the page
A modern muse, an ancient truth expressed
In lullabies to sooth our restless age
© Gail Foster 2016
Don't cry my dad, for your single tear is as deep as ocean of love,
Don't cry my mom, for your care is as pure as a dove.
Don't cry my brothers, as your company is all I ever require,
Don't cry my sisters, as your memories are all that I can aquire.
Today I am not going to a new house, as it was destined to be my own home,
I will also receive the same love, from his mom and dad under the soothing dome.
I thank the heaven, its keeper and its lord,
For giving me a family which is like god.
Today i promise nothing will change at all
As to love, care, accompany and cherrish everything, my soulmate will stand tall.
My loved ones, you have not just given a daughter with charisma and corona,
How can i explain you, you gifted shrek his fiona...
-'panchi'Panchal Hitesh D.
for more visit www.reckonhp.blogspot.in
Fiona, fair beauty, fleet footed and fancy free,
Flits over the field,
Full of life and fun, a joy to see.
She’s my Bonnie canine, sweet and good,
Loving and loyal, a regal golden,
Her tail held high, 'til coursing the woods.
Wild is my Heather as her namesake flower on the hill,
Pursuing bunnies, squirrels and birds,
Though only for the chase’s thrill.
Nairne, in Gaelic means “dweller by the narrow river glen,”
Which is she, when resting from her adventures now and then.
Oh, Fi, my darling girl,
How you’ve blessed my life and set it in a whirl!
MRT/4-27-10
If you happen on a field of roses…swaying in the afternoon sun
It is often difficult to discover the individual beauty of each one.
Today I’d like to introduce you to one particular flower that I chose
with a name as beautiful as she is…it’s called the Fiona Rose.
I had the pleasure of officiating our son’s wedding…
which means it was from my lips the ceremony unfurled
but it’s not me I want to talk about…it’s Fiona…the flower girl.
I hadn’t met Fiona at the rehearsal…hadn’t yet felt the glow of her smile….
The first time I happened to see her…she was tossing flowers while dancing down the aisle.
From the moment I saw her step into the aisle…I was mesmerized…spellbound
at the graceful way she tossed her flowers and how their colors painted the ground…
When she reached the end of the aisle…she was as happy as can be….
she stopped her flower tossing and she smiled up at me…
We shared that smile for a moment…that was actually the first time we would meet…
then she turned around with her basket in hand…and hopped back to her seat.
And I thought how each flower she tossed was unique…
one of nature’s many gems…
each one beautiful in their own way…just like the child tossing them.
Admittedly I may be a little biased…but that moment she smiled up at me…
was the perfect beginning to one of the most beautiful weddings I will ever see.…
For not only was I there to marry Amy and Ryan…
to feel their love…to hear the vows they chose…
but I was also there to see Fiona…
and the beauty of one rose.
Fiona mutesi
Will be queen of the world
I remember
The king of katwe castling
His opponent's queen
Each poem must have a purpose;
Each verb, each certain noun, fawning adjective,
needs a place, a form, a hole, to fit.
Purple is not a word for a poem, it has no place.
"No rhyme?" say cat/rat/bat,
"Outrageous" say sebaceous/herbaceous.
So purple is resigned to prose.
Purple must have a partner, a pair, a comrade
To be worthy in the poem.
Everyword must be accounted for.
"But oh" says Purple, alone, "I am not alone."
Look, see my face adorning royalty.
See my majesty, my set-apart/set-aboveness.
There is no one like me, and I am enough.
Cat/bat/rat squirms at his feet.
Form:
I first met Fiona at a Christmas party
A beautiful woman in a young girl’s body
Fiona was far more mature than her years
And she chose me that night
Despite a host of more suitable suitors
And we danced into the night
Her firm body pressed against mine
Her intoxicating scent enveloping me
Arms clinging tightly to me
Her breath against my neck
In full view of envious eyes
And later in passionate embrace
Just the two of us in the darkness
As I kissed her goodnight
Form:
He thought that he had lost all his marbles on the crossing
The autumn tides had been huge and the currents strong
Mostly the aquamarine ones off track and abandoned
A bit like blue smarties excluded from the shiny packets
Forbidden colorants had lost their way into his life
Must have put them into one of the Nivea tins he collected
For safe keeping so well they were hidden too mindlessly
His mood though full of the blues like cyan in a capsule
As he struggled through the time warp of self-deception
No more cerulean light and Munch’s scream full of morose
Moribund insanity with the ocean’s plight darker than black
He felt sizzling hotter than blue blazes in his very own hell
Like cold death warmed up and the hobgoblin gone crazy
Women were said to bring bad luck as distraction of sailors
Strangely naked ones were welcome on board to relax the tiller
And the compass’s needle pointed nether like phallic delight
Tall and erect full of heart blood and passion he had once been
Yet living disaster had struck home and all pastels were stuck
Out of the blue an angel appeared who was poignantly wearing
A fine blue seductive dress of intricate weave and labyrinthine fabric
He undressed her in rising fantasy and she wished just the same
A super blue blood moon ready for passion and climax of harvest
Nivea turned into deep heat mixed with menthol and chocolate
With blueberry essence and grapes south of navel and nave
Finn had found huckleberries at last and she had been waiting
An eternity for a Prince to cherish her plum and gift her a peach
Dew reappeared like morning glory as they condensed into one
And christened white satin sheets for they embarked wet and wild
Fiona shone bright fair and beautiful honest open and upright
A sapphire dropped from heaven in light of a precious fine marble
Lately I’ve kept thinking
How you’re only late if you show up
I don’t wanna be in someone else’s web of memories
I don’t wanna be the guardian angel who returns from the heavenly gates
And saves the lives of who he once befriended
Cause why do I have to leave at all?
Even though what I’m feeling now feels wrong
Doesn’t mean that what that was, was right
Keep manifesting it
Even cinderella’s shoe came off
When it was said to be a perfect fit
Keep manifesting it
And keep hating yourself for doing it
Dark scars in a cracked mirror of maps that could’ve lead somewhere someday
If the blood stains red,
Then what are we doing here anyways?
And I’ve never even truly seen my own face before
So what are we doing here anyways?
Stop the ing car and move on
Before you confabulate your memories and flood your mind, onto the road
And kill us and the innocent people just trying to get home
Stop the f-ing car and move on
I wonder how I’d even know that that was right
When back then I was a kid
Even cinderella’s shoe came off
and it was said to be a perfect fit
Stop the f-ing car and move on
She said, "you've always been mature for your age
But you've never sounded more like a child"
Part of me has become
All of what I preach against
Drowning daily in this flood of memories
But even the wicked need rest
Four leaf clover Fiona was a lucky Irish lass
Boys asked her out, but she always took a pass
She had large goals, and wanted to get things done
Having six boy cousins, she knew they were not a lot of fun.
But some boys are truly special, her older sister said.
I am only seventeen, she said, don’t change my mind or head.
There are many years between now and when I go to the other place.
Right now, I can barely keep up with my own self-imposed pace.
Fiona was in clover leaders of the world, and on a robotics team.
She had designed a specialized drone, and a new flying machine.
Fiona was a scientist, a writer, an artist, a woman with an active mind.
She was not on the hunt for a man, difficult to find a similar kind.