Best Flourishes Poems
Art is abstract
Art thrives with colours
Colours brighten faded coral
Colours highlight black
Black skies with silver stars
Black opal gemstones
Gemstones like amethyst
Gemstones of vivid ruby
Ruby roses and crimson thorns
Ruby as precious as emeralds
Emerald stalks of yellow daisies
Emerald and velvet aurora
Aurora Borealis in hints of pink
Aurora Australis in tones of turquoise
Turquoise morpho butterflies
Turquoise waves on sands of gold
Gold rays of orb in sapphire sky
Gold crown with Indian jewels
Jewels that sparkle like red diamonds
Jewels unique like taaffeite
Taaffeite glimmers in mauve
Taaffeite shimmers in lavender
Lavender blooms in lilac buds
Lavender can help you to sleep
Sleep brings ebony nightmares
Sleep brings dreams of ivory
Ivory are a grey elephant's tusks
Ivory are the keys on pianos
Pianos are made from pine
Pianos can be stained in brown
Brown bark covered in green moss
Brown is compost for soil
Soil supports olive herbs
Soil weaves rainbow roots
Roots of amber sweet pea
Roots nourished from plain rain
Rain brings charcoal clouds
Rain flourishes fields of barley
Barley has an earthly hue
Barley crops bloom in beige
Beige looks a bit like magnolia
Beige is a little vanilla
Vanilla has a lovely scent
Vanilla can be a dull personality
Personality should be like orange
Personality is portrayed in poetry
Poetry is a pigment of creativity
Poetry is a vibrant palette of love
Love...
Creativity...
Life is a beautiful liar,
where hope is a
graveyard of caterpillars.
Death is an ugly truth,
where virgin butterflies
flutter immortally.
Love is the only true guide.
Oh my beloved,
when you hid behind
a veil of metaphors,
I wrote your name in the sand,
with simple words,
watched as the tide
carried each letter to your shore,
so you could build a
sandcastle for my homeless heart.
Then you appeared,
enchanting and exotic,
like the scent of a summer night
under clear blue skies.
I recall the day we met,
confused and bemused.
You used to tell me there
was no such thing as forever,
until your words bled
like a mistress of poetry.
My hands were tired from
scribbling meaningless musings,
until I fell in love with a poet -
you gave them a purpose.
My muse, who once punished me
with tormenting silence,
now beat against my heart to
justify the majesty of your vision -
ink like waterfalls began to flow
upon rivers of romantic verses.
As the world sleeps tonight,
I'm tired from
watching airplanes take off,
as satanic seas keep us apart.
My heart reminds me of
denied treasure,
but my soul believes
it will kiss such riches soon.
As we create our own cocoon,
where devotion flourishes
into an eternal union.
Often I harken back
to a very wise poet,
how “life is but a stage”
of tender moments
splashed and splattered
by fierce jabs of passionate
heated rage
such opera the workings of
fallible human hearts~ such a
masterful organ still an infant
unwinding with tyrannic-like
stops and starts
Where would poetry be
without feeling words
and colorful flourishes?
Where? Without reckless splashes
on canvas wall and trampled over
floor – saturated flamboyant
brushes ever mixing and dabbing
seeking and grabbing smoothing and
rubbing out fillings satisfying
while definitions left
spatially wanting
for the poet draws as he writes
from wells deeper tributaries distant
less regulated winding streams of uncoagulated self
seeing one's soul somewhere between ignorance
and all knowing ever greater for its never finding
ever seeking ever flowing
Indeed “life is but a stage,”
every breath a potential scripted
unscripted page every exhale a new dissolve
for the air to take hold of and fly with
Never cheat ambient emotion
of heights and potential lows
Never set passion wastefully adrift
let the spirit give full body a heartfelt
push into uncharted always somewhat
perilous yet marvelous revealing lift–
Somewhere deep inside my swirling symphonies,
In the blades of silence and the clouds of chaos,
I find you ,
The rhythm of your rhymes,
The syllables of your sorrows,
The luminosity of your limericks,
Cumulating into a concoction of violin vibrancy,
A dangerous beauty making words glide far better than olympians on ice,
It is there,
Seeped elegantly , in the effortlessly executed flows,
Your feverish humor and intoxicating zest garnished in a sea of marble magnificence ,
A magical mind of a musical marvel,
You, the aura of rhymes! What a breeze of blessing you have become,
to this bruised being that shelters a wounded heart,
to this drained dreams that fears the fire that flourishes my art,
Thank you to your weaves,
The words you wrap around me like a warm horizon,
Setting a smile to those who look upon the breathtaking creature you craft.
O hear I chant clinging to a sullen northern shore,
tempestuous serene rocky beach that you so adore,
sultry soliloquy sturdy stifled structure sings,
a witness of forgotten sailors and majestic kings.
Them, I blessed with gracious shelter in storms,
for I unmanned, rejoiced in accompanying norms
dreaming of worlds afar with anchored symphony,
of parting tears that await a returning euphony.
O watch my ancient red-bricked watchtower in sky
where the cherry-eyed albatross prepares to fly,
whispering of solitary voyages on vessels adrift,
guiding them through entailing waters, cold and swift.
Them, I engulf in mystic hues of radiant green light,
their shivering agony embraced by divine joy so bright,
dancing to tunes of prodigious waves as they kissed,
my feet reuniting with the ocean bed of forlorn mist.
O taste the pungent waves that carry eternal seasons,
timeless frequencies sprinkled on heavenly reasons,
essence of leaves rolled in snow and streams they fuse,
beads reborn of universe in a cradled hammock cruise.
Them, I absorb with their enchanting viscous tides,
they melt with innocent bliss my truculent slides
that flourishes my solitary light to let me sense
melodies of blushing mornings with visitors hence.
O touch my abandoned walls, barren yet strong,
bereft of warm embrace in a lifetime so long;
them I nurture with tears of melancholic grief,
to be held by tender nights of melodious relief.
I await the echoing hums of a delicate little girl,
her fingers orchestrated the howling wind with a twirl,
I became the serene light that guides despondent ships,
a proud beacon of benign hope dissolving dark eclipse.
they are unusually soft inside
with a smile that flourishes
at the sight of you
they take everything in stride
nothing is ever a crisis.
With patience and pluck,
they go about their lives
touching here, touching there
making others feel special
they are often kind
and love is never a disguise
people who feel like hugs
are much aware of your soulful needs
beyond compare and often rare
people who love people,
feel like hugs
every time
Freedom of thought and expression could lead one astray.
Always there exists the temptation to tread on dangerous ground.
Ingrained ideas and habits become lax.
Therefore, ever careful one must be.
Happiness cannot be found only in material things.
Interpretation of facts has to be honest.
Sincerity must guide every step made in life.
Away from temptation the path should lead.
Prophets of deceit abound and doubt is sown.
Only those who possess strength of spirit will survive.
Watchful eyes will avert dangers, snares and pitfalls.
Easy it is to fall prey to false beauty and bright allure.
Rivers attract, but the currents can be strong, overpowering.
Fulfilment depends on knowledge.
Ultimately, it is trust and confidence that lead to spiritual growth.
Love of the Almighty provides enlightenment.
That is why a strong will and courage are needed.
He who perseveres builds a personal understanding with God.
It is through grace and obedience that faith flourishes.
Never is faith a step in the dark for it leads to the light.
God is forever available to all those who believe.
----------------------------------------------
Contest: Faith Is a Powerful Thing (2014)
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
Placed: 2nd
A dream can grow in the darkest places,
even when others lay shattered and dead,
no matter how long and twisted the roots,
dreams can still grow when tears are shed.
It will flower out of the muddy ground,
no matter how impossible it may seem,
and vine and wind around the stoney paths,
as it flourishes to chase the sunbeam.
A dream can grow from almost anywhere,
stunted only by what imagination can feed,
the vision becomes planted deep in the mind,
and will live when your heart is the seed.
Dreams ~ Memories ~ Imagination ~ Poetry
~
I find that dreams are painted
on the inside of our minds
Watercolor images
of what we come to find
Flowing on the breezes
as they whisper softly low
Sending forth a message
of the things we're soon to know
~
Memories are fashioned
of a once remembered place
Sewn together neatly
on the edges that we trace
Photographic visions
held so tight behind the wall
Waiting for the moment
that our hearts begin to call
~
Imagination flourishes
with nothing much to see
Scenes that we now conjure up
of where we long to be
Dancing on the avenue
with stars up in the sky
Even when it’s cloudy
we can see them wander by
~
Poetry brings feelings
and emotions now as one
Wrapped up tiny packages
of verses filled with fun
Tied together neatly
in the thoughts we’re thinking of
Colored paper stanzas
with a bow on top of love
~
So as you read this poem
think of memories you’ve seen
Use your imagination
to create the perfect dream
And hopefully you’re finding
that all of this is true
For these four words I write about
are all inside of you
~
Fantasy 2-22-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Parade
At midnight dawn my mind escapes parting the stars
Making my way to a summerland torchlight parade
Where grand marshals of zebra fish
Lead the festival from fiery snow drifts of spun clouds
Making way for tunes and flourishes of the flugel zoots
Dressed in braided gold, sounds of silver reeds giggling om-pahs,
Followed by perfect lines of elephins holding hot air hippos
Rows and rows of dolphettes ride on one horned steads
As whirling woodles swish their skirts to drumline mango tangos
From silver floats rosemaids royal wave to gaping galaxies
As crickethoppers dance the wooly wozzle by the Doodle Loos!
And porpi pass in waves of burnished summersaults
Comet twirlers shout “Hooray!” and clap their stony hands,
Snarfish teeter on the invisible between starstruck novas
Then tap dance in steps of dipsy doodles for eleven moons
Red giants snoozle riding quadra pogo stickes
And throw tickertape confetti – sounding the curly noodles curfew –
Remembering how to hold the magic as this homecoming parade ends
Tap dancing into the horizon's shadow as this long day’s night passes by -
And masquerades of new moons wane in tipsy oodles!
whirling rose petals
as they move to dream music
sunflower acclaim
dips in dahlias
orange yellow cream and red
spins past snapdragons
four o'clock fragrance
and flourishes near fuchsias
forget-me-not fame
The rush that occurs with Van Gogh’s brush.
Deep in the undergrowth, drawn to two figures.
The dappled landscape, lemon, lime and vanilla.
The close couple strolls amidst rows of trees.
The ebonic widower walks with his spectral wife.
Trees, like stick figures, reminiscent of cemetery stones.
This dreamy scene, romantic and haunting. Momentary
pause, as if for a quick snapshot. The forest, seemingly,
goes on forever. The lovely lady dressed in pastoral green.
Although the lovers pause, you still hear the rustle of her gown,
and their forward swoosh through tall grass and wildflowers.
Completely entranced, in their edenic setting, and with each other,
they blend with the tall trunks, relaxed and content.
Robust in recollection, riveted by exotic bird calls, earthy scent,
mixing with her light-lavender, temporal-lingering on the canvas.
Contrast with eternal life, where our imagination flourishes, alive,
with healing in the leaves, loving, forever and a day, in paradise.
The rush that occurs with our Creator’s brush.
Mesmerizing flutters and flourishes
gracefully blow on the wind
drifting, creeping and crawling up and down my back door
I see you hit the pane
slide a little to the left and kiss another
slipping together as your mass melds - swaying as one
As if on dancing on ice
Together you perform
Quick-stepping motion
As the crowd thickens
or winds abate
Tired from your escapade together you settle
On the purest white bed
Where tomorrows warmth will warm your juices
Melting you and allowing you to slip away
almost unnoticed you make your exit
If heaven permits
I will be a robin
Perching
Up on a sunlit branch of a tree
Gazing at the far-off light
That flourishes out on the vanilla sky
I will sing
From June to the merry month of May
Every flat
Every sharp
Every note of poetic symphony
That glitters ceaselessly
I will fly
Rough and tough
Beyond ferns and herbs
At odds with
The whirling wind
That might spoil my beauty
And yes
I will soar
Steeper than the milky way
As long as the world breathes
Until heaven
Forbids me
not.
Author’s Note and Inspiration.
- Free Verse Introspection International Poetry Contest
Contest Winner- Honorable Mention(4th place)
March 15, 2008
Contest Sponsor: Deborah Simpson-Author of the Chronicles of a Sage: Spiritual Revelations
via Canto.
- The Celebrating You International Poetry Contest
Contest winner- 1st place
March 15, 2008
Sponsored by Kristine Reynolds
scarlet streaked with yellow
I lean in to inhale her scent
I reach out to feel her touch
she pricks me
and I bleed
bleed her yellow fever
bleed her scarlet fever
she needs me to bleed
so gladly I bleed
scarlet streaked with yellow...
she grows
she flourishes
in my garden of pain
and delight...
Dedicated to 'The Rose of Texas' - Irma Linda (PD)