Best Fog Poems | Poetry
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by Wood, Lee
by Dillenbeck, Gerald
by Asuncion, Bernard F.
by Harrell, Amelia
by deliantoni, bren
by Sands, Heidi
by Patience, Cynthia
by Berggren, Alfred
Miss And Fog Fall Apart
by Asuncion, Bernard F.
A Looming Fog
by Buhagiar, Victor
View all new Fog Poems
The Best Fog Poems
sometimes you are in its minimal spotted light...sometimes!
other times you just know you've been touched and you freeze,
moved but frozen...like a stranger it moves in, does its work and leaves.
...maybe it's been a while since you two spoke...
when the dead sea still hosted life,
the hanging gardens of babylon grew in sinc with the breath of the planet,
before the tower of pisa started to lean or mayan buildings were in ruin.
so you write words...any words...they might at least soothe your hurt
hold your heart in a protective shield.
you know how crippling unrequited love can be.
do you still dream of its hug...genius?
life and love share more than a first letter
(like the first letter you wrote under the veil of inspiration).
they also share good and evil...it's a flip of the coin.
either way is fine with you. you'd bathe in holy water or sell your soul.
life, love...passion...somewhere in there...it lives, genius.
all of nature a reflection through its transparent figure glows dark
like the shadows live in the radiant illumination of evening rays.
so let me speak of us!
recently when i tried to hold you...
you were like a ghost in the bright of day,
a phantom out of its element...
there was nothing of you...i could embrace.
when i tried to enter you a freezing cold ran through me like a winter brook.
you exhaled me
as if i were fog on a deserted country road invisible to absent eyes.
still you were my drug of choice.
addicted, i chased the dragon...you...genius.
memories fill me...
days when we would paint words,
stitch in a metaphor or two,
weave in music,
write instruments to fill in the spaces,
ordain a voice.
you wanted to taste me
i was overwhelmed
how you put your fingers on my lips
how you licked them...you...genius.
you were that giant pine i would climb in the dead of winter
(why do they say that "the dead of winter"? winter will die
when hell freezes over. winter isn't death it's purgatory.)
the one with the needles that punctures human skin.
come to me again and touch me...
like the butterfly does the wind...barely but thoroughly.
(is it true that just a tiny flutter of their wings could be
the start of a hurricane? are the icebergs melting?)
i didn't just write that out loud...did i...with you I'm shy...genius.
don't show yourself.
don't speak to me.
don't bother with rising the sun today.
forget those showers you create your magic arc with,
vacuum away all the plants.
lower your wall of blue.
i'm not interested anymore in those pillowy shapes i use to love so.
i've always known it is fire that cleanses, water that burns,
it is the moon that breaks the heart,
the stars that slaps the face...with...i don't know...reality.
i've always known by the time we see a star...
in real time...it's already extinguished...already dead.
it is our friends that will use us...our heroes that will lie to our face...
our blood will betray our trust...our teachers will fail us...
our leaders treat us like just another job...
the devout that will exhibit hatred.
still i believe. no matter what else...the rose will always survive.
the petals deceiving. they will repel all that is unholy.
grab it by the neck and squeeze out its black ooze,
leaving a gentle soul there to admire its adversary.
don't even get me started on the orchid
or even the flowers all...alphabetically.
i dare confront the beauty of nature's art unframed...
canvas loose to admire...genius!
i miss you but i am out of tears.
do drop in though.
i can offer you a cup of dry warmth...
soothing like burning logs that crackle with laughter.
take you to my secret place.
behind the camouflage of forests dense,
where vines grow through spiral staircases
made of turtle shells and dressed in discarded snake skins.
green is the theme there. it is everywhere,
unabridged, unabated, unaffected, undisturbed
with a fuming, burning, yearning to be touched.
so let's...let's grab...hold...squeeze..
feel free from the cheap paradigm offered.
i don't think you know, even while you sleep, i hold your hand, genius.
dream a full rainbow on a fingernail moon night,
feel february twenty ninth its absolute might,
taste fully the slight of a pheasant in flight,
yearn eternal life, wish a vampire's bite,
concoct rhymes nicely fluffed with built in sight.
on this sombre morning the sun is blinding.
damn my eyes.
there is a negative entity drapes our children's world.
shame on us...shame on you...i need you.
i am reduced to an objective observer.
life glides on the little wings of its carrier,
its final resting point in the hands of the wind.
another life carried away on a worker bee,
busy stealing nectar from a succulent bud.
a stowaway hangs on for dear life to the flyers leg.
gets off at the next flower.
meets up with a companion to create a new life.
everything changed when I met you.
was the sun rising or the mountain sinking.
was that an orange globe against a blue sky
or a lit round hole in a sad wisp of air.
i'll play a keyless piano if you'll paint me a horizon I can reach.
i'll sing you a ballad with a single note...
i walked into my life without consideration.
all the same...
when do I get a choice.
when will they stop holding death over my head.
if i could direct a few more plays with you as my guide...
my art, my life! genius i long for your influence...
even one last time to see your face,
unite and give you one last kiss...goodnight.
April 1 2015
Contest Name:A Million Dollar Poem
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015
It Matters Not
It hovers here, a moon opaque,
obscuring mountain trails I take.
No other living things appear.
A moon opaque. . . It hovers here.
I follow on along a ledge;
below a swirling river’s edge.
In front of me, the canyon’s yawn.
Along a ledge, I follow on.
I see no hue when fog congeals.
Oh, doom of one who no more feels!
The moon has fled, as so have you.
When fog congeals, I see no hue.
Now all is dim; it matters not.
My dear one’s heart I have not got.
No use in living without him.
It matters not. Now all is dim.
At peace I’ll be if I should fall
to murky water from this wall.
Oh, yawning canyon, swallow me.
If I should fall, at peace I’ll be.
For Lewis Raynes' "Depression" Contest
Written in Swap Quatrain Form with iambic tetrameter.
In this form, created by Lorraine M. Kanter,
each stanza in the poem must be a quatrain (four lines) where the
first line is reversed in the fourth line.
Rhyming pattern: aabb, ccdd and so on
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013
you were an infant
i would sing a song i created for you
'there's a baby in my arms
there's a baby in the mirror
there's not really two
the child in the mirror
in that same vein i write this
you can't hide inside a mirror
it wouldn't be good for your image
if you see what i mean
take a minute to reflect on that thought
frame it as you will
raise a glass to good cheers
this isn't the time to crack
it is the exact reverse
like skipping a rock across the smooth surface of a lake
seven skips of good luck
because you are the fairest of them all
looking back at yourself
keeping it compact
as you duplicate your own words
impossible to read from the other side
this echo of your vision
the epitome of a prototype replicates
who is the quintessential hero and who is the fake
go through that rabbit hole -straight to wonderland
bedazzle -radiate -glimmer -scintillate
the glare will define you
you have not now or have ever been a duplicate
you are and will always be the one and only
Oct 2 2017 - love above all else love - armand
But Tell Me Where Do The Children Play
you can't lie your way to the truth
what we teach our children
should apply to us too
you took a wrong turn
check your moral compass
the needle is spinning faster
than a bottle in search of a kiss
what would our mother think
if she knew what you were up to
you're changing everything she fought for
in her life children mattered
like the singing preacher asked
such a long time ago
'...where do the children play...'
you can argue climate change
but you can't deny the quality of the air your breathing
when did we start bottling water just to take a drink
the taps are bleeding led
too late to fix the guts of generations who drank it with trust
how do you look at a storm in the eye
didn't you already prove your blind
or do you keep yours closed so no one can look in
look deep inside your heart
'...tell me, where do the children play?…'
Oct 2 2017- armand
BONUS POEM THE SEQUEL
Me? I Saw More.
the clown danced like a marionette
his painted face featured a grimace
and a tear
i saw more
no fear here
an amazing mime artist
a procurer of pathos
he was pulling a little red wagon
with a large orange hard ball
walking on the spot
i saw more
we often have to carry more
than we think we can handle
our shoulders grow
atlas carried the earth on his shoulder
when we think we can do no more
we do even more than we need to
i saw more
the power of one
we don't need help
we need initiative
no brother or sister's need
is less important than our own
'give and you shall receive'
we are all more
it takes a strong child
to raise the values of a village
i can't win unless we all win
we have tried the blame game
five thousand years later
we are being led by weak men
want bigger and bigger guns
at a time when we have enough weapons
destroy the earth hundreds of times over
has always been
i see more
i see you
ghandi was right then
ghandi is right now
do you see
Oct 2 2017- armand
BONUS POEM THE SEQUEL TOO
i am going to touch you
like a firefly touches
the dead of night
lights the obscurity
i want to illuminate
the pitch dark of your perspective
inject a bright glow of hope
cleanse your thoughts of the negative
did you argue today
did the daily news invade your cheer
turned your 'in the pink' to something 'blue'
i am going to reignite your sense of calm
wave a wand -make your heart smile
warm your complexion to a glow
spread your goodwill worldwide
life i assure you isn't a rotting corpse
you have the strength
rise above the doom and gloom
you are presently living
the alternative is an untimely exit
i believe in laughter
and i believe in unconditional love
i believe when your back is against the wall
persistence will create a door
a passageway out of the muck and mire
no matter how thick the fog
it only takes a breeze
to clear a path
one you can ride to your destination of choice
Oct 2 2017- armand
BONUS POEM THE REBOOT
Colour Me Ill
i tried to fly today
nothing deep here
this isn't that type of poem
didn't go that well
i fell flat on my fa fa fa face
(pardon my stutter
a temporary side effect of the fa fa fa fall)
i wasn't writing any poetry
at the hospital either
all joking aside
there was a lot of blood
did you know that doctors
have no sense of humour
i was slurring anyways
you gotta love that morphine
they were cleaning up the blood
i said thanks dr. acula
not even a snicker
and i'm not speaking of a chocolate bar
wasn't even my joke
stole it from Mitch Hedburg
coincidentally the doctor left me in stitches
the nurse said she was taking me for an X-ray
i didn't really hear her but she was a knockout
sounded go go good to me
i was running in front of the wheelchair she was pushing
i was excited
we got somewhere
you gotta love that morphine
i must of impressed them
they thought i was a model
they took pictures of me
Bi Bi Big pictures
you should of seen the size of the negatives
i ordered ten sets
they pushed me outside and left
pa pa par for this course
suddenly my nurse date was back
they always come back
Oct. 2 2017- armand
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2017
The Tale below was carved one night,
Upon the Stone, by candlelight
...most won’t believe, but some just might
.........most won’t believe, but some just might
Well James made Beth his lovely bride
(And angels smiled, though teary eyed)
...their bodies bound, their spirits tied
.........their bodies bound, their spirits tied
Upon her hand, a shimmer shone,
As bright as blood, a ruby Stone
...and brighter still, as love had grown
.........and brighter still, as love had grown
Soon James was sent to man a sail
So Beth removed her wedding veil
...her eyes were bright, her face was pale
.........her eyes were bright, her face was pale
“Well, I’ll be here when you return”
Said Beth to James, who kissed in turn
...a kiss that made her body burn
.........a kiss that made her body burn
. BETH’S TALE
1. The Dream
One night, within a dream deformed,
The cawing of a Crow informed
“...a Ship was stripped where winter stormed
.........a Ship was stripped where winter stormed
Midst winds and waves the thunder boomed
The Ship of Death was surely doomed
...the sea engulfed, the sea entombed
.........the sea engulfed, the sea entombed
Your James... denied by Davy Jones!
His spirit gone, his flesh and bones
...are resting now amongst the Stones
.........are resting now amongst the Stones”
2. The Quest
Awoken by the ebon Wight
And beckoned by the baneful bight
...I left before the morning light
.........I left before the morning light
Throughout the realm I rode a roan
Until, in time, I reached the Stone
...where shades and dreams in darkness groan
.........where shades and dreams in darkness groan
While skipping up and down the sky
A missing moonbeam mocked my eye
...enough to make a Swallow cry
.........enough to make a Swallow cry
For someone stole a star or two
And something else that fate withdrew –
...my jewel of joy, my James Bijou
.........my jewel of joy, my James Bijou
The shadows of the evening swelled
Where demons of the dusk had dwelled
...and in the far, a vesper knelled
.........and in the far, a vesper knelled
The Stone, beneath the sky, stood cold –
Between the runes, a vapour strolled
...a cloak of fleecy fog consoled
.........a cloak of fleecy fog consoled
A Raven on a branch, enthroned,
Her wings waved once, a wail intoned
...beyond the bay, a banshee moaned
.........beyond the bay, a banshee moaned
I lay beside the Stone, his bride
I lay beside the Stone and cried
...but were it I, instead, that died
.........but were it I, instead, that died
The rainbow of the moon fell dim
A midnight Swan soon ceased to swim
...as if to hide all hint of him
.........as if to hide all hint of him
Between the willows in the swale
There sang a Bird, a Nightingale
...which left me faint and feeling frail
.........which left me faint and feeling frail
I felt him breathe within a breeze
Responding to my anguished pleas
...and leaves blew by abandoned trees
.........and leaves blew by abandoned trees
“I miss you too, my darling Beth”
Re-echoed from the Ship of Death
...the future buried in a breath
.........the future buried in a breath
The Stone lit up a ruby sheen
And clouds were kindled crystalline
...with consequences, unforeseen
.........with consequences, unforeseen
Above, the wretched Raven soared
To where the Ship of Death lay moored
...beneath, the icy ocean roared
.........beneath, the icy ocean roared
I’m joined with James beneath the Stone,
Though to the Ship my spirit’s flown,
...for nevermore to be alone
.........for nevermore to be alone
That night the wayward winds were weird
The Ship of Death had disappeared
...coyotes called and mortals feared
.........coyotes called and mortals feared
At dusk, the craven shadows crawled
At dawn, the winds of mourning called
...upon the Stone two names were scrawled
.........upon the Stone two names were scrawled
The Raven sits, with wings outspread,
Atop the Stone which shades the dead
...it sometimes shimmers ruby red
.........it sometimes shimmers ruby red
Between the sounds, where silence seeps,
Their love lives on and never sleeps
...and yet, the weeping willow weeps
.........and yet, the weeping willow weeps
inspired by ~fc~
Wight (obsolete): a supernatural being, creature
Bight: a bay or gulf
Swale: a moist depression in a tract of land
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2013
Long slender tendril of mist in the morning
snakes slowly across the cool water, wandering,
searching, moving slowly, seemingly without purpose,
without direction, without destination.
It fades like a ghost into the shadows,
only to reappear when the filtered light winks anew
and its silver coat of crystalline breath shimmers in its
It reflects the light of the lonely world through which it passes,
like a wraith embarking on its unknowable quest, aimlessly
the dark water, its home.
Only briefly does he touch the occasional soul he encounters
leaving cool moist kisses on smooth tender cheeks
searching for the warmth he knows he will never have,
the closeness he can never share.
Yes, each caress, each kindness.
The gentle whisper of the trees as they speak among themselves,
but they don't see him.
They don't feel him as he slowly slips past.
He watches as the fish jump to catch their morning meal of damsel flies,
oblivious to his presence.
He leaves a part of himself on each thing that he touches,
each blade of grass, every grain of sand, the sweet scented petals
that spring forth from the buds of the morning glory,
the lovers embracing on the shore.
How he envies each.
Eagerly, openly he gives, asking nothing in return.
Everything he has he gives, everything he is
without expectation he gives, yet,
no one sees him.
But a moment of mystery,
he soon becomes the fog that clouds the vision,
nothing more than a haze to look beyond.
No one shares,
no one to share.
The sun peeks expectantly over the bleeding horizon
sharing hints of the promise of a new dawn.
The light brightens as the shadows recede hiding like a child hides
shyly behind his mother.
Still he waits.
The shining smile of the sun beckons him as he feels the hint of its warm rays,
Impatiently he reaches up into its waiting arms.
How he wishes to feel its caress.
How he wishes to hold it against him, to feel its radiant glow.
He twirls and spins like a whirlwind flying higher and higher
until the sun's smile begins to wane.
He knows he can never reach it.
Looking down again he sees himself fading,
the warmth he seeks the harbinger of his inevitable demise.
Such longing he has.
One last sad smile he offers,
a radiance that encompasses him.
Disappearing like his hope and desire
he watches life
as it awakens before him.
Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2017
This is a very long poem and I will understand if you choose not to spend the time reading it.
It is something I wrote a long time ago and I thought I’d just put it out here in case anyone cared to read it.
Thank you, Chris
So Soft is the Sonnet of Willows
Such is the heart of a dreamer
Sought after deep in the mist
Seeking the quest of a thirsting desire
Falling to moments like this
Peering the distant endeavor
Calling the places I’ve known
Sending out visions so endless in wonder
Standing this ledge all alone
Come to my heart always steady
Shape it as how it should be
Teach me the ways of your unending song
Lyrics of comfort to me
Lift me with phrases now spoken
Take from my words on the page
Collections of feelings I wear on my sleeve
Shine me the light of your ways
I am of clay so unmolded
Bend me and shape me to form
Open my heart with the keys of your love
While dying I wish to be born
Caverns so wide as I forage
The depth of their history deep
Shadows that follow the pathways I walk
Stairways my soul it does keep
Yours is my desperate reason
Clinging to every fold
Challenges lie in wake of the storm
Northerly winds flowing cold
I shan’t recoil destinations
My mind it is set on the prize
Temptingly so it does fan every flame
Come I shall soon realize
Time for the moment a danger
Season’s of past now I fear
As I declare my unending longing
Wishing you ever so near
Trapped as I traverse the mountain
Chains of my pain garner tight
Reaching for avenues lost in the fog
Blinded by darkness of night
Soon I will relive the mornings
Joined by a perfect content
Welcoming sunrise as everywhere glows
Finding the hours we’ve spent
Trusting that no one is watching
Holding your hand on the street
Wrapping my arms ‘round your waist for a while
Kissing your lips soft and sweet
Words that will require actions
Motions in spite of the sky
Threatening these clouds overhead as I walk
Waving the past a good bye
Now as my life is beginning
Fortunate flags sure to wave
Sending a secret embedded in stone
Caution for this I do crave
Asking this long winded journey
Steps in the grass for to find
Destiny praises my unfettered wishes
Spent as the heart does unwind
Yours is the hand that I reach for
Save me in spite of my tears
Love me for many more wars shall invade
Filling the future with years
Run with me out to the fields
Keep me in sight at all turns
Paint me with colors so vibrant and true
Teach me for I want to learn
I will not be so untrusting
Pressures no longer to hide
Truth is my shield as it shines ever gold
Honesty I shall confide
Come to my heart it is waiting
Here in this darkened abyss
Shining so bright for your eyes now to see
Reaching for you that I miss
I promise you shall not be sorry
Taking this chance is the key
Found in the corners of thoughts so inspired
True as my covenant be
I whisper my truth through the mountains
Breathless I run to the shore
Hopeful I patiently wait your reaction
Searching for you evermore
Soft is the sonnet of willows
Wavering winds form the streams
Blowing so that you may welcome my peace
Singing the songs of your dreams
Mine is a tiresome journey
Treasures all cast to the bay
Every dollar I’ve owned as a man
Spent in a fortunate way
For this is my precious possession
A heart that does beat from above
Carefully showing the face of the plan
Showering you with my love
Rain on the valley of passion
Rose petal scent brings the breeze
Take from this night the joys of affection
Lingered in fresh memories
This I do pledge, my heart crossing
No longer wishing to die
Rivers of hope that do wash on your feet
Sent forth attempting to try
Cherishing love I am finding
Wanting forever to be
Everything that you do see in your soul
All that’s expected of me
I am but only one person
Doing just what I will do
Being myself in the face of the storm
Sending my love up to you
There is no mask I am wearing
The smile you see is for real
I can not be something that I am not
All of my life I reveal
Hoping that you understand this
Praying my words written of
Things that my heart wants to tell you my dear
Penned now with only my love
Such is the heart of a dreamer
Seeking not silver and gold
My only goalis that you love me true
Just as my dreams have foretold
So soft is the sonnet of willows
Wind through their branches blows free
Whispering dreams evermore shall come true
When you are standing with me
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017
Listen to poem:
Come close and learn the mystery
buried o'er there on yonder hill.
The truth reveal'd in whisp'ring winds
was hid these past two centuries-
the penance paid for wanton sin?
(To swallow now this bitter pill
cast down my throat against my will
hath left me in a ghastly state,
and yet this tale I must relate).
An evil gale on that night blew
and terrors that he never knew
would visit dark upon that place
as death pursued and quicken’d pace-
yea, overtook him in the chase.
No starry night to light the sky,
no moon o’er head the sky to ply-
just blackness thick as London fog
as darkling creature took to wing-
his old unearthly mystagogue
hover’d o’er head - a ghostly thing.
And the raven flew into the night
And the raven flew into the night
A wager made the ante in-
the loser who for want of heart
throws in his last remaining coins
and prays tonight’s the night he’ll win.
A trembling deep within his loins
portends his money shall depart
and ne’er he’ll gain that fresh new start.
Lo! The deed held in pocket deep
ensures the promise he will keep.
And so once more a playing hand
is dealt before a wretch’d band
of cons who’d never pray’d to God,
whose backs had ever felt the rod-
the holy path they’d never trod.
But fate once more would him aggrieve,
no ace to hide under his sleeve-
without a friend or place to go
he leaves them now with face aghast
into the cold, harsh winds a’blow-
'O that this night might soon be past.'
And the raven flew toward the east
And the raven flew toward the east
The deed a closer look is made
and ‘fore too long ‘tis evident
that all is not quite as it seems-
‘tis nothing but a grim charade.
What happens next, as if a dream-
the guild of men with cruel intent
on finding Poe are now hell-bent.
And so into the night they sped,
a hound from hell inspires dread-
the rabid beast held fast by chain
in chilling wind, in blinding rain.
A movement in the distance seen,
a man alone or so it seems-
the hound set loose in low ravine.
It's prey runs high upon that hill,
each howl his tingling spine did chill-
alas, ill fate lays hold on him,
his future prospects e'er so grim.
The evil jaw upon him clench’d,
he screams aloud before the fall,
the poison in his blood entrench’d-
delirium soon cast it’s pall.
And the raven flew toward the light
And the raven flew toward the light
There as he lay upon yon hill,
the chase now o'er, the silence sweet,
he gazes 'bove into the night
as clouds departing shew goodwill.
The vision seen ‘tis nay for fright-
he hears a steady rhythmic beat,
so low and calm as if discreet.
The heavens part to his delight-
a figure standing in the light
extends to him an outstretch’d hand
as speech like waters bids him stand.
He wonders now if just a dream
or are things really as they seem-
a voice or just a nearby stream?
Quite suddenly he feels no pain
as wind abates and same the rain-
The hand then grabs him by the throat,
another tears his woolen coat-
his life doth flash before his eyes
and thro’ the dimly lighten’d sky
he sees his bride to his surprise
whose only word to him is, “Why?”
And the raven flew into the sun
And the raven flew into the sun
He breath’d his last then bade goodbye,
the troubl’d bard who’d gone awry-
the mystery resolv’d at last
on how it was that Edgar pass’d.
And if thou wonder how I know
these secrets held from long ago-
although the truth thou surely crave
I’ll take this knowledge to my grave.
Copyright © July Morning | Year Posted 2018
No one ever told me that your heart could bleed without a drop that anyone could see. I didn't know your soul could lose weight that your shadow could get thin. I had no idea that there were dry tears that one could shed while sporting a joker’s smile for the crowd.
No one told me you could be naked, closed within yourself, folded and squatting in the black, as your pillow bled white against the dark but I have had those nights.
I know I have walked miles alone left a trail three miles deep in the cement on the street where I reside. I remember and still live moments where everyone talks as if we are in echo chambers and my ears catches every word and my mind never processed even one.
My mother never warned me that love could be so deep. She didn’t tell me that another could own so much of you. I still weep dry ice tears. I still scream in empty fields the wind against my back to mask my wail and hide my pain.
I know I still function perfectly. I still roll the dice , last week I bought Boardwalk and when I crossed Go I collected my two hundred dollars. As far as the board game world knows I’m just quieter than I use to be but fine otherwise maybe even improved.
So in these days of my haze as I function in a fog of loss I replay that moment over and over again. She is gone, she left me in a rage and frankly I was confused because she played the love game until the last moment, until that moment.
I admit I'm ashamed how the crows tear at my flesh just thinking of her with another man. How the sun burns when I see her smile or think of her laugh shared sincerely with another guy.
Apparently she never gave me that. In my blindness I accepted us as in love but she tells me now so many years later how she despised me but never said a word.
Me the fool I still want her I still yearn for her touch. I would chew on nails just to sit with her. Why is my love so deep, so singular? Other people move on. I’ve seen it. She is gone, she wasn't even here those twenty years plus. She wasn't around when she bred our child. Why won’t I move on?
No one ever told me that losing her would be like this. Told me that you could break every bone in your body and it would hurt less than this less than losing her. When I knew she was gone for good when I finally accepted it, I cried until I couldn't cry another tear and then I cried some more.
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
Listen to poem:
I know you're not here
but you are in my heart
you are always with me
i'll just slip into you
with these words.
there are mountains
dwarf the cities below
peaks that stride above the heavens
attempt to graze the planets if even so lightly.
there is a special star that rises daily
against shades of air lit.
They tell me
there is a wide deep void that is grand - a canyon
not too far for any adventurer who dares to look down its throat.
Our world is tightly splattered in miraculous views.
I remember diving through the horizon
where on the other side
I found intricate scenes
I walked down a dock straight into an orange wine sunset
through to steps led to a bridge
walked across to an enchanted glitter covered road
to a winding path with a floating pink shaded fog
until I wandered into an explosion of nature.
I witnessed a mud escarpment
with splashes of burgundy, shades of maroon,
tones in burnt copper and chestnut browns.
I found a rare waterfall
rushing down into an inviting pool
a crystal clear deep blue lagoon unused
around it emerald spruces gathered in a cluster of trust.
All in all so alluring I willingly stripped bare and melted into
the refreshing fully chilled basin down to its coral bottom.
I was greeted by an array of tropical aquatic life.
Nude, free, happy
I swam in the simplicity of the moment.
Another time it was
a blinding white wavy desert floor
totally stripped for miles,
just one live growing plant
it looked like tall fanned out verdant fingers.
what a thin shadow it cast.
A bright blue scrim provided a contrast
framed for a photographer to snap.
Floats in white,
were frozen in place
and not a wire was evident,
just motionless etchings.
I sat on the burning sand
took a position and meditated.
rebounded off the thickness of the sultry atmosphere
I heard my own voice return to fill me.
I bathed in the simplicity of the moment.
I love this world
All its treasures
Not all of nature
Not the sun that lights the day
sprinkles the skin in its brilliant sheen
or the moon that with
its romantic smile
its alluring suggestions
seduces even the least romantic of us.
Not the miraculous
vegetation of every kind
or the moss laden beds where lovers have often laid as one
linked to one another - inspired by natures erotic whisper.
I would sacrifice all else,
just to breathe in your love
just to bathe in you.
You my passionate want.
Our love is my Mecca.
When I hold you softly in the strength of my arms.
Touching your face sends shivers through my consciousness,
holding your hand is like plugging into bliss,
watching your mouth,
the dent above your lips,
you know I overdose ecstatic
when mine touches yours.
I want to stay - mine on yours,
as we speak, as we dream.
How I love your smile your laugh.
I hold you in the enchantment of my mind.
I caress you in the secret chambers of my dreams.
I cherish your scent - infinite, singular, invigorating.
I roll with you in the autumn leaves of my imagination.
I wish you everything - for you are everything to me.
I would if I could
I would reach beyond my grasp to,
to pull Magic from my hat.
Squeeze a snowball into a skating rink
just to dance on water with you.
I will love you into our after life,
no man as fortunate as me.
They say reach for the stars
you may end up with the moon.
I got you,
No man as fortunate as me.
Let me make every step you take safe, secure, pillowy soft
try not to faint from the sheer fragrance of you.
Together we are sunset shadows,
shadows that will never fade.
Imprinted permanently on the iris
of the early evening sky light.
do you remember back when we just met
do you remember when it started to sleet
when we used the bark from trees
to toboggan down the circled path of the mountain
we hit the brakes
from the branches of a spruce
lit them like matches on kerosene
and i really think the smoke filled
travelled to our heads
even before the sleet turned to hail
we slipped under the lawn
spent hours and hours
covered in each other's silky embrace
and i confess i peered at every drop of you
treated my eyes to your
nothing but you
i held that moment
fragile as it was
with the greatest of care
and hold it still with the same reverence
and i really think nothing should feel
it just led us to lock lips
and you know i could of kissed you
passed through it
as if it were a fraction of a second
our hearts synced
and i really think that
melting into the air
playing like music
is what drove us mad
and i get very creative
when i go mad
the stuff "crazy good" is made of
it must of worked because
we finally reached the peak of our crescendo
laid in the sublime of one another
i must of loss consciousness
i still don't remember our rendezvous ending
but it must of
because i immediately
felt your absence
and i really think that's why
i wrote you
why i wrote
wanna slip under the lawn
and i really think that's why
why we've been
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015
From the brow of the hill
I could see clearly the panorama
Beneath me. Worried I saw from afar a farmer
Scythe in hand reaping the crops
In far off fields full of tall grass.
It was not the farmer who interested me.
It was my wife, a marriage of forty seven years.
I saw her hobbling down an uneven path,
Her body bloated with disease.
She never looked back.
Strange I thought,
There were no birds around.
Only profound silence.
Arriving at a crossroad,
She took the right narrow trail.
My heart thundered in pain.
I knew what was in her mind.
Incautiously she arrived at a bridge.
Thick fog covered the other side
An extension that led to unknown worlds.
Head straight but body limping
She dragged herself over.
Helpless I looked on till she disappeared.
Disconsolate I sat down on a stone.
She had suffered enough. She will now rest forever.
But I? Will I find some salutary rest?
I felt the pain of separation.
From afar a bell chimed an Ave Maria.
POTD 26 February 2017
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2017
I shiver tears.
My joie de vivre;
summer esprit’s lemon zested
lilac flirts and coral whispers have escaped me~
grievous gray now flows through my veins.
I shiver melancholia,
entombed with my winter blues
in the dark dreamless hollow of my frowning igloo.
Draped in decor of dispirited drear
I wear a wistful woebegone fog,
an overcoat of overcast moods
sown of sneering sunless, scentless days.
I weep wall to wall
in the long light-less nights alone with my lonely longings~
my psyche withers
a little more each dull day, I shrivel.
I shiver sadness,
my colorless tears cry out loud for color;
yearning for watermelon sunsets, pink sands
and swirls of marigold kisses,
for rainbows to color my lackluster laughter
and fireworks to celebrate in my mirthless eyes,
for Sol’s warm hands to tenderly undress and caress me
and lay bare my soul straitjacketed by winter blues...
January 4, 2018
~ Second Place ~
Contest: Free Verse: Winter Blues
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Copyright © Susan Ashley | Year Posted 2018
The Flame, aflicker, licks and flays,
illuming evening’s negligees
With braided curls she swirls and sways,
and flits and floats in light ballets
A Flame, to conquer creeping fog,
flew dancing towards a random log
Her flight perplexed a leery frog
beside a silent somber bog
The Flame, a ripple, all alone
alit on leaves where birds had flown
The aching twigs began to moan
A rising breeze began to groan
The Flame arrayed an ancient oak
with torrid tongues and veils of smoke
A beaver bailed, the dam had broke
The leery frog soon ceased to croak
The Flame uncoiled and lashed midair
and cauterized with utmost care
A cold coyote fled her lair,
left trapped behind... a torpid bear
The Flame, unfurled, went wild and grew,
enkindled cats and caribou
Remaining... not a residue,
as reeking vapors bade adieu
The Flame revealed her strength unshackled
Flora, fauna crisped and crackled
Fire Witches clucked and cackled
One more forest stripped and hackled...
The arsonists were well aware
the Flame would travel everywhere...
The weirs are gone, the land is bare,
and soon you’ll find a city there
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012
I Think Of You - Ground Zero (Part 1)
Leaving under a blood moon
in a jet plane rising
los angeles falls behind me
to the song of the spiders.
Latent sun rays fall on me like rain...I
...They say third time's the charm.
On planes again.
A sky...endless... and then finally
from the other end of the world to here.
A continent, an island,
an australian flower drunk on wine.
Her...uniqueness lends to her beauty.
A fourth night.
A church spire at sunset.
At a distance bats fill the sky,
resemble a smoke plume.
I plead the fifth.
It's all these moons.
Tonight a hunter's moon.
She's unable to hide
even with her bowl of clouds.
It's no help.
She has no spoon.
Her luminous rays give her up.
Moonshine in the moonlight over the sea.
six...on the beach.
A purple nightshade,
a sand flower,
Irish eyes speak uniquely to me.
you can't roll a seven with one die.
Back on a plane.
A snow fog blinding.
From my window seat a one of a kind view.
I eight...ate...need to eat.
A plant chloroform green
has holes like cheese.
A large swiss leaf.
I laugh and I...I distract myself.
A stitch in time beats nine.
Back in North America.
A dilapidated fortress stares down
an overwhelming thunderhead.
I camp out.
It requires a tenth...tent.
An Eagle never blinks.
No eye lids.
An unimpeded view.
...but I...I surrender.
There is no place in the world
I can escape.
i think of you.
You are living art.
What I perceive
is what I live.
I perceive us.
I can picture you.
I am photography,
the camera, the lens.
I absorb your image,
A form of plagiarism
I didn't borrow.
Inhaled you but
...i think of you.
March 11 2015
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015
December 25th- The Christmas Wedding
Surrounded by seasonal silver bells
Scarlet passionate pink poinsettias sit
Entwined by Christmas and Wedding bliss
Frosty winter weather warmed up by:
Rings of “I Do!”
The eyes of Eve hide underneath a white veil
A bride walking down the misty mistletoe isle
Wondering why the majestic mustang moon sank without trace?
The aroma of pine trees idle into the death-defying fog
Fine firm decorated ribbons snug unopened gifts
Mistletoes wait above the tenable tint threshold
Kissing and Cheering
New Christmas Vows
In her hands, a beautiful bouquet
-Bridal flowers for the maids
Forsaken by dark dusky dullness wedding cloud
Flustering fragrance thicken the chestnut cold air
Ornaments endured dreary tears
Despising the drapes of fog
That covers the newly wed winter show
Harmony withdrew from that winter wonderland
A white gown, not meant to be
Christmas crushed by her greed
The unkind erratic earth exchanged her own silent vows
In a horrifying hoary haze
A heavy foggy breeze dropped in like debris,
Blowing her tiara dreams away
On this very exact Christmas Day
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
WORKSHOP POEM: GRAND TOUR TO FAIRYLAND
Sprinkled-rainbow clouds reign above the skies,
peeping yellow in-between wrinkled pillars
shine like bulbs to crash the net of fog
attached to curve hands of green Cathedrals.
A carpet of bluebells and daffodils
covers the earth below. Creeping slow are mosses
and vines hugging the trees. Polka dots
of blood rich roses stand out.
Festoons of lavanders, garlands of lilacs
marched a primrose path for the queen
while the fruits from cherries' hush blush;
to peaches supple flair winks on mellow pear.
Afloat midair are high and low golden notes
trembling free upon river runs and bushes land.
Snaps and bounds from strums of bumblebees;
signal the nightingales to sing their anthem loud;
Their thumps of dulcet-sounds shake the hours.
Scents pure as Spring May cocoons the fair
while all around swirls the dragonflies--
the star dancers of the sun-kissed day.
Rushing wind whistles a lullaby to cast
a spell of never-never-land, for there live...
thumb-size flying creatures of their kind.
Regal in blinding white are the fays and fairies.
MY TRIP TO FAIRYLAND
Rainbow-sprinkled clouds marching above the skies,
Sun's golden rays peek in-between curved hands
of lush green Cathedrals crashing the net of fog sleeping on the ground.
A carpet of bluebells plus flashing violets
exhale scents on the air. Sly-like mosses and vines
hug the trunk of trees. Polka dots of blood rich
roses pose, standing grand.
Festoons of lavanders, garland of lilacs,
swelling banana blossoms, cherries hush-rush blushes
with peaches winking flair on frowning pears all prod
to honor the queen.
High and low golden notes tremble free upon river runs
to proud bushes land. From strums of bumblebees
are leaps and pounds, luring nightingales'anthem
on a merry-dancing groove.
Thumps of dulcet-sounds shake the passing hours,
Rainbow hues cocoons the fair while all around dragonflies
twirl and dive- they, the star-dancers of that sun kissed day.
Impressed wind whistles the lullaby spelling
never-never-land, for there... there live.. thumb-size flying creatures
regal in blinding white-- are the fays and fairies.
POEM OF THE DAY ---April 07, 2015
9:52 pm, April 05, 2015
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2015
"The Dream Manipulator"
A wish upon the stars I see
Magical moments with sweet surrenders
Embrace the twinkle notes
My lid slip into an everlasting feel~ In trance, I dream
Candle wax drips with the night
Bejeweled with bloodshot posies
Lavander occupies scenery
A tune seductive and real~ In trance, I dream
In the country of warm fairy lights
I follow and listen to the echoes
Drifting around the moon's glow
Fog leaks under the new sky~ In trance, far from reality
Lost to the calmness
My physique belongs to the night
Giving life to an ordinary page
Faint away to your beating pulse~ In trance, I dream
Savoring the previous forecast.
The furnace kept warm
Motions moving from this curse
Sun-dance, away from the rain~ In trance, I dream
Suave lid pulls in the glow.
Soft memory fades away the feeling of yesterday
The day swings in a new journey
“DENIAL” is my choice of food~ In trance, I belong to my dream...
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012
The air is thick with memory -
A fog of reminiscence.
Or is it simply mist
Rolling through the window?
I feel the wind and taste the salt,
Hear the distant pulse of waves
Keeping time, skipping beats
With my haunted heart.
The wind chimes sway and croon
From their place above the sill,
Where sand dollars still form a row
Among crumbs of sand.
And there, on the bedside table -
Speckled stones arranged just so.
And if I lift them, I know
I'll find dustless circles,
Halos from the past.
My vision blurs.
Then I see her in the doorway -
The ghost of childhood,
Twirling in a cloud of skirts,
Strings of seashells draped like gems
Around her fragile neck.
I blink -
And she's gone.
But through the mist I hear
The patter of bare feet
Down the empty hallway.
By Heather Ober
Submitted to Nette's "Mixed Senses" contest
*This is an old poem I wrote on March 7, 2012
Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2012
If you could paint a picture of silence
What color would it be?
Would you use the brush of fog to hush all sound
A shade of gray, with touch of brown,
where eaves are dripping to the ground
and windows weep their quiet tears
Where solitude obscures the view
In a slate of lonely winterlude?
Or would it be a shade of green
A forest deep, of muted breeze
No sound to scatter birds from trees
No broken branches, swaying grasses
Missteps that crackle the fallen leaves
Untouched by clatter, harsh and rude?
Would silence be as black as night
A cave too deep for shards of light
A void within a famished core
A well of dark and empty shores?
Or would silence be of many hues?
A rainbow shade of morning dew
A soft pastel of sun declining?
No bedlam, blast or blare of noise
Could break the spell, a silent voice
As if the soul could slip away....
A hush, immense.....so sweet and keen,
Like ghosts unseen, or angels soft as air...
A silent sea, ....where mountains lend an ear
As clouds pile high, ....and wait to hear...
Only for this: such peace....such bliss
A sound so small, ... as welcome as a sigh
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010
The ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call it ‘home’, our little world, our very own frontier,
Amongst the cattle, sheep an' goats; the varmints, hogs an' deer.
Today I watched the breakin' dawn an' whiffed the mornin' air,
A time I often set aside for things like thought an' prayer.
A Mockin'bird an' Mornin' Dove, an' other birds at play,
Were there to sing an' set the mood to start another day.
This mornin' saw the strangest thing, like time itself had merged,
An' all the souls who once were here, appeared an' then converged.
In swirlin' clouds of mist an' fog, right off the bluffs they rolled,
Till all had gathered in the glen, the modern an' the old.
The Indians, conquistadors, an' other ancient men,
The soldiers from this country's wars, an' cowboys from back when…
They all had come from yesterday to help me understand
Our link with those who came before, to heritage an' land.
A crazy notion, so I thought, that they could just appear,
But as the morning went along the reason got real clear.
They rode along with me that day to show me things I’ve missed,
The things I’ve seen a thousand times an’ some I’d just dismissed.
Those wagon roads of long ago, still evident today,
Are carved in rock an' rutted earth, not apt to wash away.
They linked the missions, forts an' towns those many years gone by;
An' left their mark for all to see, as modern times grew nigh.
The artifacts an' weathered ruins attest to yesterdays,
When others came an' lived their lives in very different ways.
We've seen their skill in arrowheads they honed from fired stone,
An' craftsmanship in beads an' tools they fashioned out of bone.
At ever turn and trail we took was something to remind,
The Maker must have had a plan laid out for humankind.
The Earth He made’s been feedin' us a half-a-million years,
An' used it's wonder, force an' change to challenge pioneers.
I do not know if they'll return or if they’ll feel the need,
But I’m prepared to ride the trail, where ever it may lead.
We all are spirits ridin’ time with bodies of the Earth,
Whose time has come to take the reins an’ offer up our worth.
The land has been the legacy we cultivate an’ reap,
The life has been the heritage our father’s fought to keep,
An’ we are bound throughout our time with those who came before,
To put our hearts and souls to it, and make it something more.
Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2009
In London fog, the river stills.
In silver sleep, it cools and fills
with cobalt mist as dawn unfolds;
above the Thames, the sun bleeds gold.
Into the haze, it pours and pools
like melting opal, liquid jewels
until the brume of morning fades
to prune the sky with unseen blades
that slice the flaming clouds in two
to frame a glimpse of Waterloo.
*Inspired by Monet's painting, "Waterloo Bridge: Sun in a Fog"
Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2013
It was a long time ago, in another age
Where the shifting of the wind
Knew where I began
A place so far away,
Somewhere distant, in childhood country
Before the fog had set in,
Before time lost all trace of me
Where have they gone?
Those merry dancers with whom I played?
When we were queens of the carnival, kings of the parade?
Before being dethroned to mid-life corners
Hearing the music, without playing the drums
They tell me to take this age with grace
Yet everywhere I turn, is young
I'm still the same, I have not changed
I lived a time where love was wild and thoughts were too
With high regard, when eyes were glued
Now inside I'm torn in two...the old and the new
Trapped between this nowhere place
Myself and someone else
Until each barrier becomes a bridge...
Have I been shaped too square by passing years, to fit in circle's place?
My memory recalls those beautiful tomorrows
Now long buried in yesterday's ground
There are other ways to measure time
Besides growing older and graying hair
Recorded music fills the room
Left playing from an earlier time
When October skies showed fading traces
Of empty days and sad old faces
The "others" of whom I had no fear
Now those shadowed remnants from my past
Are stalking at my heels
Will somebody care to ask? Will anyone need my mind?
Is there something they want to tell me?
Will they patronize, or just be kind?
Care enough, make me useful, give me value, call me beautiful?....
Not yet the age I'll someday be
Still, I feel the sting of losing me
How I ache for all those love songs
How I ache for someone needing, someone pleading...
For advice....for my worth, for an answer, will they want me?
How it haunts me.....Will they see me?
Touching me....reminding me of who I am................not just who I was...
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010
I Death Wood
My skeleton, the trembling tree,
hit by the axes of ambulances
due to the decay of disease.
My muscles languish as wilted leaves.
My organs are rotting red apples.
My soul is the searing wind, while
my thoughts tick like termites.
The ivy of MS illness wraps with
waste around my twisted trunk.
Suddenly, spiders of suicide
descend onto my branches.
They crawl across my broken bark,
crackling my rustic eyesight.
The sun, a golden unicorn, gone
into the forest of healthy laughter.
My wilted wood wanes in a cloud coma
with no moon, stars or watercolor sky.
Where are my wildflowers?
Where is my green gleam?
I wait and wish for black lighting.
II Birth Wood
My family, the fog where most
float in the underworld as veiled
ghosts along the grassy grounds.
My thirsty roots reach for them
like wild hands hungry in ebony soil.
Sometimes their memory perfumes
and pollinates my heart with prayers.
My friends are a flock of birds that
become singing bracelets upon my bark.
Their feathers grace me like silk hope.
Their beaks devour the suicide spiders
on my weak wood, and their cheerful
songs encourage me to bloom once again.
Full moon flashes as a white wizard,
wearing a cloak of competitive clouds,
while moody night smolders as his black hat.
Spirals of opal light make my bark bright.
Spirit moonbeams weave within my wood,
healing hollow shadows, and allowing me to
taste the monthly midnight milk of magic.
III Rain Wood
Spring steams with saturating rainfall,
sealing my splinters, washing away webs,
and the dirt of daily depression.
My sap slides like a slow moving sea.
My tree bends and bows in all
directions, sprouting with joy.
Jade fire erupts along my branches.
Raindrops beat like crystal hearts
upon my boughs and my blossoms.
These clear spheres of nature inspire
rebirth and germination of all life.
My apples sing as flutes, my leaves
clap hands, and my trunk plays harp.
My lover, the lone eagle, appears and flaps
his feathered wings upon my wooden nest.
Our love is best lived in traveling weather.
My limbs taste the last drops of dissipating dew
as the crocheting clouds release final rivers.
Deer court in the fermenting forest,
while golden unicorn grazes upon me.
February 7th 2008
Sponsor: A Poet Destroyer
Contest: 100 in a ROW contest--3
Copyright © Chantelle Anne Cooke | Year Posted 2015
Fog settles on the tombstones. In the dark, an eerie blue,
the graveyard is a misty ocean Raven passes through.
She stops. The solitary site is grim, devoid of sound.
Her long black gown, a ruffled slip, is satin sweeping ground.
Her sable locks lie smooth and straight across her graceful back.
Stark contrast is her alabaster skin to hair pitch-black.
This woman - with a beauty that forever captivates -
now stands, a pistol in her hand, and there steadfastly waits.
Since told the man that she adores (who left some time ago)
lies buried here, the woman’s come, for Raven has to know!
She can’t believe that he could be here in this place of doom.
He’d left for war before they’d barely been a bride and groom.
As Raven looks out on the sea of mist, her eyes have teared
because those birds that bear her name have suddenly appeared.
A sign it has to be, she thinks. The ravens drawing near
are circling above one stone. Her heart is seized with fear.
Now Raven walks to where the birds are circling above.
She pales. . . The stone she’s reading bears the name of her true love.
The fog, a sea engulfing all, has swallowed Raven too.
Gun raised, she drops down to his grave; she knows what she must do.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011
PART 1: THE MEETING
Alone one night neath lantern light, I trudged a weary mile.
Forlorn, I went with shoulders bent (the storms around me howled)
until I met a Silhouette behind a sultry smile –
She gazed with eyes that mesmerize (Her body caped and cowled)
and stayed my way with question fey... ‘Why don’t you while awhile?’
The churchyard groaned, an organ moaned, the bells of midnight chimed
as wanton winds awoke and dinned, and mistrals multiplied.
A prostitute – not shrill but mute, with gestures pantomimed –
snuck by in haste, with tracks untraced, beneath the evening tide.
The Persian moon, like arced harpoon, arose and slowly climbed.
The Silhouette (a pale brunette) arched eyebrows meant to please,
and down the lanes, on windowpanes, the shadows danced and sighed.
A meadowlark within the dark, somewhere beyond the breeze,
embellished Her with wisps of myrrh while deigning to confide
to nightingales veiled whispered tales of human vanities.
She doffed her cloak before She spoke with sighs of sorrow sung
(like mandolins, as night begins, when mourning day’s demise)
and spun Her tale of grim travail and tears She'd shed when young.
As jagged volts of thunderbolts lit up the dismal skies,
a velvet fog embraced a bog in coils of curling tongues.
Through summer vales and winter gales Her secret thoughts were voiced.
Midst storms so cruel (neath lightning’s jewel that glistered on the ridge)
She reminisced, She touched... we kissed... Her lips were wet and moist...
A lighthouse dimmed, while moonbeams skimmed across a distant bridge
to avenues where residues of shallow shades rejoiced.
PART 2: HER TRAGIC TALE
“Midst sweet perfume of youthful bloom, the lonely spirit braves
and often cries and sometimes dies in quest of her amour.”
While starry-eyed, a ship I spied, a’ sail upon the waves –
The galleon docked, the seagulls flocked, the Captain swept ashore
where, debonair with gypsy flair, he led his salty knaves.
While passing by, he caught my eye – I tried to hide a blush,
for ambiance of innocence leaves fire’s ice congealed.
His gaze (defined by eyes that shined) beheld my cheek a’ flush.
I bowed my head while caution fled, I felt my fate was sealed
– a bird in spring with fledgling wing – he’d snared a falling thrush.
He said ‘Hello’ – I answered ‘No’ and yet before he’d gone
said I, ‘I’ll wait at Heaven’s Gate not far beyond the Pale’.
At dusk he came neath moon aflame, and left before the dawn
just humming tunes along the dunes that lined the sandy trail
beside a pond where morning yawned, where swam an ebon swan.
We met again, and once again, and once again, again
entangled in a love called sin, in whirls of make-believe.
While in my arms, with voice that charms, said he ‘I must explain –
the tide awaits at morning’s gates and I must take my leave’.
Then tempests formed and vapors swarmed in ardor’s hurricane.
‘Forsake your home and we may roam’ he smiled as if to tease
and still naive, said I ‘I’ll leave, in silver buckled shoes’.
He took the helm in search of realms, before the morning breeze –
with tearful eyes, I bade goodbyes with fare-thee-well adieus
and sailed above a wave of love across the seven seas.
We swept one morn around Cape Horn and sped for Gold Coast Bay.
With naught to reck, I strolled on deck, a baby at my breast,
while zephyrs blew and seagulls flew above the ocean’s spray.
Our ship soon moored, we went ashore and off to Fortune’s Quest –
with gold doubloons which shone like moons, he gambled through the day.
Two deuces wild... he thinly smiled... another card was drawn –
he called and raised with eyes half glazed, was dealt a dismal three.
With betting tight throughout the night, the final ace was gone
and so he lost... at what a cost... alas the prize was me –
with empty bag and pauper’s swag, he left me doomed at dawn.
A buccaneer with ring in ear sneered ‘now, my dear, you’re mine’.
He held my wrists to thwart my fists and then... my honor stained.
In midnight’s swash, the sky awash with tiny tears of brine,
I broke his clutch with nothing much of me that still remained:
a residue when he was through, left clinging to a vine.
In morning dew, the good folks knew, and spurned me in my plight.
The preacher man pronounced a ban and wouldn’t condescend,
ignored my pleas on bended knees, my prayers by candlelight.
While cast aside, my baby died... my world was at an end.
Until this day, I’ve made my way beneath the shades of night.
Continued in Part 3
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2013
Twelve brazen bars, one frozen lock!
Confined, sublime, an ancient Roc
endures inside a barren cage,
her catacomb in sundown sage.
Of former days there is no trace
except displays of fallen grace –
Twelve dreams, abiding in her place,
are free, inhabit yawning space:
... of wings unfurled, and seething eyes
that dredge the depths of dawning skies,
devining clouds that cling below,
once ice, dissolved in morning’s glow;
... of clutching winds that carry free
above an anguished leaden sea,
dispersing dust of distant stars
midst chunks of chain in slave bazaars;
... of swooping to a silent shore
to perch beside the ocean’s roar,
at last to feel the sobbing breeze
message the leaves of rooted trees;
... of stalking strays and twilight tramps
within the fog of lighthouse lamps
that blink forlorn through caldron nights
in search of shades of errant Kites;
... of darkling vast deserted lands,
with shadowed stones on windswept sands,
where ghosts of Moorish maidens lost
disgorge faint groans in mourning frost;
... of blotting out the bloated moon
while feathers beat a banshee tune
and glimmers dance and prance aglow
upon a pearly pale plateau;
... of tasting cool torrential rains,
beyond the realm of binding reins,
and sipping freedom they exude
in quiet drops of solitude;
... of vanquishing a galley crew
aboard a ship of midnight dew,
beneath the pierce of seagulls' screams
that mock the strands of scarlet streams;
... of sating once an aching craw
with tearing beak, with ripping claw,
and echoed by an eldritch screech
while feasting on abandoned beach;
... of restive thoughts and weary wings
that drift on haze in smoky rings,
obscured within the opal shroud
of her resemblance in the crowd;
... of croaking caws in broken rhyme
in winter woe, in summer clime,
while building nests of sundown sage
beyond outside a barren cage.
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012