Best Fitful Poems
Dawn's soft silence kept under gauzy veil
Lifted by harmony of harp and flute
Colors dance along roses, bright and pale
Rainbows springing where fertile sky takes root
Elfin robins follow the fitful wind
Across freckled grass, where new faith consumes
Mossy velvet bark, and sunny bees send
Assured calendars of glory bound blooms
Coy autumn flirts with stately august shade
In kisses of crimson impertinence
Where barefoot rivers rush in eager aid
Hope overflows the banks of reticence
This sunrise drips with beauty's sweet syndrome
For it brings me the day you're coming home.
8/30/20
Faraway, across a widening
Expanse of vacant fields,
Dawns slated light is gradually
Awaking;
And too soon new Morn's stilled
Indifference
Determinedly steals
Into the abstractions of my fitful
Dreams,
Where, deeply concealed,
Many forgotten memories from days
Since past -
Ne'er once unto me unworthy...
Although long be they in their
Forsaking.
Those languid days, that, lately,
I quite often see and hear
Crowding throughout my wandering
Slumbers;
Vivid recollections, interns of a
Jumbled mind - for ages absent,
Beginning now to inexplicably reappear;
Insistent murmurings troubling -
Troubling incessantly:-
Unwelcomed guests from
Yesteryear...
Strange impositions, of a sorts,
Burdening upon this weary soul,
Which, encamped within my
Dampened Spirits -
Doth so unwittingly encumber!
When snow came in April of her last year
Falling like lovely disappearing gifts
Glimpsing, faintly, an alabaster deer
She kept watch as shadows landed in drifts
Scattering ice across tender pink stems
Falling like lovely disappearing gifts
And gave thanks to the fitful gods for them
Knowing she would not see that November
Scattering ice across tender pink stems
He held away his grief's gray ember
As silence, travelled long without her songs
Knowing she would not see that November
Her grave faces the west, where she belongs
Now he views white skies with nostalgic eyes
As silence, travelled long without her songs
She called it a prophecy in disguise
When snow came in April of her last year
Now he views white skies with nostalgic eyes
Glimpsing, faintly, an alabaster deer
4/15/22
Original Terzanelle Contest
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
Placed 3rd
“ Affirmation without discipline is the beginning of delusion. Jim Rohn “
Relentlessly I pace around the room,
like a caged lion, dreaming of vast forests,
yearning for savannah grasslands,
vaguely remembered.
I fret for I feel inadequate,
still, I yearn despite the drudgery of life.
My thirst for you is insatiable,
always increasing though deluded,
as if I'm living in some devastating desert
where no fertile oasis thrives.
How can I enforce discipline? I cannot do it.
Night deepens and I yearn for the day.
Lying in bed I wonder
how much of all this I can take.
At last, my wife's home,
reeking of foul-smelling cigarettes,
reeling with too much drink,
dress soiled with what I dare not think.
She smiles at me, I freeze revolted.
Her kiss is blistering
as I wipe her saliva off,
I help her reluctantly
to her dark solitary cot.
How easy my fire is quenched!
All sweet song is muted. I despair.
How many wearisome nights are appointed to me?
That we should exist
when life is just like a passing wind,
it comes and goes, extinguished forever.
Till then, she and I are but chained,
each to his own devious devices.
Will I ever see joy again?
I retire to my fitful sleep
and dare to dream.
Perhaps one day.....
Who knows?
The newborn dawn is nigh,
its first rays are fresh and bright.
Yet, despite reality and delusion,
I dare to dream.
Placed 1st
The beloved Queen of Hearts was a merry queen, who'd ever loved to bake;
Like confetti midnight stars, sparkling; or the yellow, noon sun, wide awake.
She baked myriad varieties of cookies, and delicious pies of different kinds;
And also scrumptious cakes, so divine. Like pure gold, tinted rainbows find.
The king had a cheerful disposition, too, but betimes could be quite stern;
Like the scarlet blossoms, which fail to thrive, before floriculture is learned.
Faithful friends became part of the many faceted court, like tinted bubbles,
Fancy dressed, and as vital to royal felicity, as a jade rose, with no troubles.
Forthright family were familiar at court, in the fleet, peregrine falcon days,
Fast-forwarding to fabled, fruity tomorrows, and to fitful, spiced, solar rays.
They lived in the house of green ivied walls, in the royal, emerald summer;
When golden sun visited almost every room, eager to touch a world of color.
Silver maples touched sapphire skies, on their street of red, sweet Williams,
Edged by creamy sand, where the surf came, onto teal, foaming, pavilions.
Nighthawks and wild wood anemones, were neighbors, bestowed by nature;
In nameless, never-ending, silvery hours. Red butterflies, loved floral flavors.
Heart tomatoes adored the orange sun, when wood ear mushrooms listened;
And Canterbury Bells plants were ringing, by roses whereon dews glistened.
Toad lilies stared in bug-eyed fascination, at the searing season of surprises;
And Billy Button blooms were getting dressed, as skies split in colored slices.
'The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts, all on a summer's day;' a Friday.
But alas, 'The Knave of Hearts, he stole the tarts, And took them clean away.'
When purple even arrived, 'The King of Hearts called for the tarts,' in a roar.
The lad relished sweets, but the king was mad, 'And beat the Knave full sore;'
'The Knave of Hearts brought back the tarts, And vowed he'd steal no more.'
The kindly queen quietly quipped, 'After all, the boy has never stolen before!'
The King of Hearts was returned to good humor, and that lad kept his word;
And was back in favor, like pink spring tulips, or a song of blue mockingbird.
I filled a small trench that yielded fresh water.
Built as a serpentine and with a sharp corner.
A small waterfall sang a melodious sound,
A lulled sleepiness induced when it hit the ground.
On each side of the rill, fair, watery plants grew,
A great choice of Algae. Ferns, a lobelia blue.
Fitful arrowheads and water lilies adorn.
Cardinals and others begin their flight in the morn.
Already prepared was a slightly large pond,
Well covered with cement mixed with soil beyond,
I planted some hyacinths and water lilies.
Soon, dragonflies waltz around like sillies.
My final job was planting a dwarf willow.
Don't be surprised, robins made it their pillow.
I was a red-violet, sunny morning person, usually up at the crack of dawn,
When orange light poured from the east, upon revival, dewy green lawns.
With a cup of aromal coffee, I'd watch yellow sunrise creep in the window,
Enjoying the zestful song of red robin, while night and day were in limbo.
I would take walks at the golden hour, flooded in light, just after a sunrise,
In the serenity of wanton, floral summer, slowly unveiling a destiny prized.
Visits of friends were features of morning, for sunup fondness is infective,
As flowers soak up colors of white sunlight, telling of the new perspective.
Family and I fascinated flaming sunsets, fancy dancing like we had forever,
At evening fetes, long fated; like feathery, dark green ferns-wind treasure.
I lived in the house of taupe sunrise, always trending towards golden noon,
As fitful stars, flickering like fireflies, stay on course, in presence of moon.
Sunhats, sandals and pretty sunflowers, were summer sights on my street,
In tranquil days of wild seas, giving the selfsame roar, as it cooled hot feet.
Nearby stars gleamed like natural pearls, on nebulous nights of neighbors;
And the natural conversation flowed nonstop, like the whistling wind labors.
Bat orchids awaited watchful moon, yearning for caves among field flowers;
When ballerina orchids danced, entranced, by plum shadows' magic powers!
Crimson corpse flower was blooming, in a torrid wake, held in lazy summer,
And snapdragon seed pods imitated skulls, where future flowers slumbered.
One day dawned exceptionally beautiful, a sight bringing rapture to my eyes;
As plum and orange, merged with pink, gold and red-fleeing night disguised!
I went about my productive work, but I noticed the day did not seem to age,
Like a glorious history book caught open, when distraction didn't turn a page.
Although I was very puzzled, I relished a pause for precious, pretty mystery;
Like the lovely, floral pause of gemmed hummingbirds, in times of blissfully.
After several long and rapturous hours, testy time gradually began to move,
For a beginning ever looks towards the end, as if it had everything to prove!
About the time you voiced to me
Above the river, by the tree
Across the bridge we saw the lights
Against the setting moon of night.
Behind my fears and fitful mood
Beside the others chatting rude
Between my silence and vacant talk
By evening on a summer walk.
Except for fumbled fervent words
For you I wish my feelings heard
From a challenged passive way
In wait my lonely times would lay
Into the words, what could I do
Of nouns and verbs and pronouns too
On days I scout without success
Over terms I should address
Through magic words a pact is made
To phrasing language dues are paid
Toward prepositions, there points a sign
Upon the start of every line
Well they are here again
Knocking on my door
Monopolizing my television
Decorating my neighbors homes
Blitzing me at every store
And corner in every city and hamlet
Between here and Buzzard Beak, Idaho.
It’s like a virus
A pandemic
Santa Claus is coming to town
Well I’ve been bad, very bad
And if that bastard shows up at my house
He ain’t getting cookies and milk
I’m been talking to Jesus and he tells me
That Santa is a fake, a sham, a trick on the poor people
He’s just a way to make the rich richer and poor poorer
So I ask Jesus “Why do you let this happen?”
And he smiles and tells me a long story about faith and forgotten dreams.
Then he fades back into the egg nog and I sleep with the devil.
Fitful dreams and reindeer back strap for breakfast
I eat the fake snow and regurgitate the Christmas balls
Burn the tree and bury the trimmings
The fat man can’t intimidate me.
Famished and flagging footsoldiers;
formerly fitters and farmers.
Facing fatigue, fitful fever,
faeces and foul, foetid fungi.
Fostering feelings, frustrated,
for this faraway, foreign field.
Forsaking fissures and furrows,
forced forwards with fleetness of foot.
Firearms flash and fragments fly far,
feigning the firmament aflame.
Fighting so fierce and ferocious,
fratricide set free on this field.
Fuelled by freedom, nay, falsehood;
for their fellows and friends, foremost.
Forays so fraught with fine failure,
fatally fettered from the first.
Forged by such fatuous fawners,
focus firmly fixed on this field.
Forfeiting furtive and fiendish,
fulfilment was falsely forecast.
Fate flexes her fickle fingers,
future’s foretold and foreshadowed.
Faustian favours forthcoming,
for folly to feud for a field.
Families of fine forefathers,
fought fiercely, for fear we’d forget.
Forthright and filial feelings,
forgo fun and frivolity.
Familiar flora forms focus,
for the fallen in Flanders Field.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
8 syallables on every line (www.howmanysyllables.com)
November 2018
(This is my original / extended version)
I wanted to do something special - and a bit different - to mark the centenary of the end of The Great War (11 November 1918). This poem is dedicated to all the brave souls lost defending freedom during that terrible conflict (and all conflicts since).
LOVE AGAIN
On this day, when tricky time
Has already turned love into wry rust,
When forgetting dominates
Bits- and -pieces remembering,
I forget you like I forget my red rose,
Standing alone , old and gnarled
At the far end of my yard,
Its leaves more blighted than green,
Its twigs more stunted than straggly,
Its butterflies more fitful than flit-ful.
But when I remember, it is like
Its rare , single bloom overpowering
Me with its same old fragrance
Into a spasm of fond recognition..
19 Jun 12
S.Jagathsimhan Nair
For SKAT's contest, 'Old romantic poems'
Consumed under infinite sunless night;
Its uncountable fixed flickering stars,
With tendrils tender love and a lullaby,
Mid quiet indulgent heaven, it dost sings.
Swell of explosive unsated love seeks
Warm wisp embrace, of thy intimate whole.
The merit fragrant scent of thy utter love
Awakes a wanderer of mine emboldened heart.
Thy presence summons by mine fervor love.
Waves melt upon lips of ours sweet ayre, whilst
Painting gentle and slow on the palette
Of own fitful quenching passionate heartbeat.
Thee complete me in dreams of harmony,
As we dance in choral gracefulness whilst we
Grow in shimmering reflections enshrouded
In the darkness of flickering of moonlight.
Dreams poetically fulfilled.
2/25/2020
Below within the dwelling deep,
while tumbling in fitful sleep;
the rumble-hum of furnace keep;
the mouse and Cat Lord Bo-peep.
Fluttering lids and labored breath
below within the dwelling deep,
furious dreams do waken sleep
attributes of childhood’s bequeath.
Horrors rise on temporal tides
a stew of insanity bides.
Below within the dwelling deep,
the cat fiddle-screeches life’s weep.
Dali cobbles retinal creeps
the mind dittles and cows moo oon,
The nightmares ending none too soon
below within the dwelling deep.
Someone is consumed with anger and has gone mad
Venting fitful words of ire ...how childish; how sad
Like a flock of loud crows
The noisy blah blah goes
It's so trite and trivial. Give it up. Egad!
Life is filled with locked doors wherever I may roam
But I will not cry 'wee wee wee' all the way home
I'm not that little pig
And I don't give a fig
So froth doesn't drip from my mouth like rabid foam
If you've a bone to pick with others in the soup
Work it out instead of posting blog poems of poop
This is a poetry site
There's no need to fight
Don't be sneaky like a fox in a chicken coop
If there be some one thing more beautiful
Than to lie with you in warmth and dark,
I would fear that it might burn my soul away
Before the purging purity of light
Its perfection must diffuse.
Your love is all the beauty I may stand.
I carry what we make within this dark,
Our human near-perfection, out into the light
Each day; each moment as I stand
Against the ravages of life I take away
Those stains that fall diffuse
Upon my careless soul, and mar the beautiful.
It is the love of you that brings the light
Into the confusion of my doubtings' dark
Securing what fitful fate may bear away,
That grants the strength to stand
Opposed to all things foul, in alliance with the beautiful,
Committed to a hope as noble as it is diffuse.
There is a light that will not pierce the dark
As we lie conjoined, our love diffuse
About us as the night in little measures leaks away;
It would but blind the eye, if seen, this sacred light
Before which no ill thought may stand,
This light that paints the unseen beautiful.
All worthy things are also most diffuse
As are the light, the dark, the beautiful.
Their meanings advance, recede, then turn away
From our poor apprehension's groping's dark,
Even as our hope moves us to apply what light
We may, to illumine that before which we stand.
So in the end, my mind, struck dumb, turns away
From the mystery, in consult to stand
With the heart within the lovethick dark
Where you lie near and shining without light
Within that sphere of all good things diffuse
About us, incomprehensible and beautiful.
No; there can be to me no thing so beautiful
As the light of you shining in unbroken dark:
Your love is all the beauty I may stand.