Best Foreground Poems
concerned about being upstaged
the glorious blue tinted rock
negotiated
sent in the puffy white wisps
to cover the vibrant coloured evergreens
the brown field in the foreground
felt offended
wondering out loud
"what about me?"
then added "beauty you know is..."
but never bothered to finish the cliché.
for my part
i was more interested
in what the mountain had traded the clouds
what could it possibly have offered?
September 23 2016
Categories:
foreground, beauty, earth, nature, planet,
Form:
Light Verse
I sit
at a small table
outside a café.
Along a low
orange wall,
rows and rows
of flowered bushes
decorate
the foreground of
a breathtaking scene.
Out to
a horizon
where sea meets sky
is endless blue.
I inhale
perfect beauty!
Fine wine and good food
are on the way.
Here in the sun
I will revel in
the fragrance of
the red roses
and the freshness
of the air.
A butterfly
alights nearby me.
How simple a thing
yet how divine.
Fly, Butterfly -
Fly out to the bay!
I wish to see
how long I may
keep you
In my sight
before you vanish
into the blue.
July 30, 2016 for Edward Ebb's Anacreontic Verse 4 Contest
Categories:
foreground, summer,
Form:
Lyric
With these twelve words...
art has no restrains
there is nothing that can chain it down
no fabric that can not be broken from.
*FoRm?
>that de...pe...nd...s.
Categories:
foreground, bereavement,
Form:
Free verse
Deep in a pocket of light, well within the harsh night
of heat and longing, safe within the porch’s embrace
the down turned eyes .. the upturned face
the lovers pose.
In randy states of disarray, the couple choses to display
the haunting distance .. so delayed, so near,
the harsh black light.
Foreground, foregone, foray, reborn, torn, on display;
tomorrow will be another day ..
for now, Mother’s home.
*Edwood Hopper's / Summer Evening
**See About the poem please
Categories:
foreground, art, confusion, devotion, imagination,
Form:
Verse
The landscapes I paint have fence one or two
Some with pegs bent, some with bars broken,
Fence between pathway draped in autumn hue
And bare pasture embedding auburn garden.
You may ask me, why?
I go deep in my mind
See my emotions dry
In split space defined.
The landscapes I paint have expanse of blue sky
With patches of cloud hanging on hazy horizon
Wrapping the smoky hills, telling them how to fly,
Some drift shapeless in azure emptiness forlorn.
You may ask me, why?
I go deep in my mind
See my mooring fly
Life floating behind.
The landscapes I paint have tall trees in thick cluster
Standing in the foreground, some green some brown,
Their roots pierce the soil, crushed grass they devour
In dense shadow of foliage the flowering plants drown.
You may ask me, why?
I go deep in my mind
See my identity lie
In soul sinking blind.
The portraits I paint have always birthmark
On lower right cheek, some light some dark,
So on the still face beauty may silently lurk
Carry signature of creativity of artist’s work.
You may ask me, why?
I go deep in my mind
See my passion try
Make a mark of some kind.
December 7, 2017.
Categories:
foreground, art, passion,
Form:
Rhyme
To be lost in Her magnificence:
pristine and pleasant
alive every moment
renewing and moving...
To see the charm:
The charm of an Idyllic Spirit...
As I wander through
widespread wilderness...
My eyes' lenses capture
the flourishing bucolic beauty
of a breathtaking view:
a panoramic terrain of rugged hills
surrounded by grassy hummocks
beside a still lake - gleaming,
reflecting the highland and steep hills
in yellow dazzling sunlight.
The foreground is adorned
with sunlit grey pebbles
glistening in crystal clear water
of the shallow unruffled blue lake.
The silent brown hill:
rough, rocky and lofty;
Wildflowers and bushes
embellish the distant ravines.
The steep towering hill
seems to whisper a secret
to the fleecy white clouds
in the clear blue sky -
A secret no one heard thus far
in heaven or earth...
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 10 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Date: 09/15/2021
"L" Contest New Or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Categories:
foreground, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Oh Lord please tell me what Isaiah meant
That “the wilderness and the dry land shall be glad;
the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the crocus?”
I look out at the full moon in the morning atop an unfinished Cube Smart
Storage facility, the I-76 highway buzzes in the foreground. The rolling hills of empty tree tops
just barely hiding the myriad of man made shapes beneath
I cant stop looking at the moon, the sunrise at my back out of sight
behind this worthless building
but painting all the clouds around the moon with a gray-pink.
I tear up thinking of a line that I could never quite get to work in a poem
Give back to Caesar this un-beating heart
And unto you oh God my soul depart.
There's something there but its still kind of corny.
Too forced, too rhythmic.
I get a text from my foreman
“Sorry was on the phone coming up now.”
I see you God in the little moments,
But they don't last very long.
“Draw near O nations, to hear
and give attention O peoples!
Let the earth hear, and all that fills it.
For the Lord is enraged against all the nations
And furious against all their host;
He has devoted them to destruction, has given them over to slaughter.
Their slain shall be cast out, and the stench of their corpses shall rise;
The mountains shall flow with their blood.”
A truck passes by using its engine brakes BRAP BRAP BRAP BRAP
“Thorns shall grow over its strongholds, nettles and thistles in its fortresses
It shall be the haunt of jackals an abode for ostriches.”
Ostriches on the highway, I’m into it. I don't really get off on the stench of corpses like Isaiah though.
Why the love of vengeance Lord?
I’d like to think Isaiah an imperfect messenger. But I get the anger over the destruction of nature
Tell me Lord if this world will be destroyed? Will you let our selfishness destroy everything?
It seems like its getting pretty close.
Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done.
Please Lord protect the Earth and let me be an instrument for You, Eternal Love;
And to help usher in The Kingdom
Amen.
Categories:
foreground, religious,
Form:
Free verse
The universe is in your eyes
(It exists in processing; God's the background)
After this life, the energy Pole - and the eyes -
Allow Consciousness Pole to arise
They are always together, Dear Heart!
Like background ( or SPACE itself) in art
As crucial as Foreground (the details, the stage)
WE love the Energy Pole for love is in the eyes
But then we call Space, THE Background, "DEATH."
No Dear Heart, Space is the Ground of Being
"Thou shalt make no idols before Me."
Categories:
foreground, analogy, life, perspective, philosophy,
Form:
Didactic
I am going to see the lights.
The glow of the city will make a perfect backdrop to the painting I am envisioning.
Far enough away to see the twinkle of headlights and the shine of skyscrapers, but hear complete silence.
No hustle and bustle.
No commotion from pedestrians.
Just the wind hitting against my windows.
The sound of my breath ricochets inside my ear canals as I prepare myself to begin.
I have my canvas ready, tools in hand.
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
I turn on the radio to listen to my favorite songs for the last time.
I hum along, staring at the city miles away.
The stars shimmer and beam off the pavement below me adding some foreground to my painting.
“It’ll be okay” I recite in my head over and over and over again.
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
My phone is continuously buzzing in the seat next to me.
They simply aren’t ready to see such an exquisite work of art.
I’ve been conjuring up the plan for hours. No space left in my mind for anything else.
This must be perfect. This will define me.
The body position, the clothing, the setting, the light source, the tools I’m meant to use,
everything must be perfect.
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
I open the book I brought along with me.
One filled with self-help quotes and poems about feeling at your lowest but you must persevere! And a whole bunch of “everything is going to be fine”s.
The words on the page bounce up and mock me as I rip them from the spine and scatter the scraps at my feet.
Tears well up in my eyes, causing the lights to become stringy and disoriented.
I slap them away and pick up my tools.
I am all set this time.
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
I crack open a cold can of soda, I saved my favorite for last.
I open the bottle and take one pill at a time,
One, two, three…
I pick up the knife and hold it to my jugular,
the city reflecting off of it onto the skin of my neck,
One, two, three…
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
However, the white glow from the skyline transforms into a harsh red and blue.
My heart sinks.
“Are you okay?” He asks from his window.
I stay still as he says,
“You are safe now,”
“I promise.”
Categories:
foreground, anger, depression, emotions, mental
Form:
Free verse
forgot what I had set out to remember
when my deconstructed self
discovered there was no authentic anything
saw through it all every granule
how we became the unwitting tools
of smarter people who really weren't smart enough
concluding if this is life
you can imagine what death is like
I can tell you this much
we are alone in this galactic theme park
alone as a lizard on a sunny rock
what percent of the totality
of all there is in all the universe
do we perceive
and what do you see with nothing absent
this question failed to sweep through
the bum fight arenas
where they need permission to think
no escaping that free means battle
which goddammit means not free
shouting to anyone my agent will sue
as the lines grew longer
and the bread grew shorter
the sly ones were trampled by their own venality
order was quickly restored destroyed restored etc.
the pace was feverish so were the faces
on State TV at 6 and 11
self denialists saw their heads roll down the lane
towards the ten pins at Bowl N' Boogie
in an educated kind of idiocy
for which there is no help
a scandal of poor illumination
you never know which is the foreground
and which is the background
discovering heaven is not overhead
OK I’d better let up on the enthusiasm
too many grimacing faces in the popcorn
too many bushwhacking gargoyles
plump like 3-D bratwurst
in this Biblical sauerkraut mamodrama
making the world lounge safe
for my blindfolded baptism
for both the seen and the unseen
beneath the scum covered water
on a need to know basis
I now reveal a deadly secret
there is direction there is magnitude
densities and rarities
we mime we imitate
we steal what we are
and are beaten with sticks
for having a mind and knowing it
I meme therefore I am
Defection Control had him by the throat
blow a kiss to the camera
it's all just a really big index
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Categories:
foreground, crazy, how i feel,
Form:
Free verse
Vivid streamers in my mind,
as time came to a sudden stop.
Within my dream I can rewind,
the foreground or just the backdrop.
Upside down, back or make it drop.
The choice is mine alone it seems.
For it is my hand there atop,
the remote that channels my dreams.
Paula Swanson
For the contest: Hutain This One
Sponsored by, Nette Onclaud
Placement: 3rd
Categories:
foreground, mystery
Form:
Verse
tree frogs are singing
to orange-black tinted clouds
against purple sky
set in the foreground
an A-Frame rooftop peeks out
between long-leaf pines
further off due south
thunder still rumbles and rolls
threatening the peace
a single raindrop
draining from the carport roof
tickles down my nose
the sight and the sound
of the eternal present
in the perfect now
Categories:
foreground, nature,
Form:
Haiku
The Love Rose
Love like a red rose bloomed in our hearts
It grew in time but was disguised
Hidden thorns prick and stings in our souls
Until there is no more to unfold
It’s season’s change and love now grows cold
Our lives circled out of control
Sweet smelling scent of love has vanished
Broken hearts with gloom are banished
Nectar of love vapor
Crimson petals fall in the glistening rain
Lapse of time between us has refrain
Thinking our destiny was love bound
Captivating passions spellbound
The wilting desert rose cannot survive
If not rekindled with the sky’s
Raining tears of restoration
Memories in admiration
Can we again fall in love?
Love like petals falling to the ground
Parting wasn’t in the foreground
Essence of love renews our romance
Alive our hearts still dance
Your ear to my breast hear it bellow
My words in my being echo
Waiting for your riposte
My beating remains innermost
I’m still in love with you
For our love never really grows cold
Unless you want to let it go
So like the rose lets try a new bloom
Take in all joys and refresh anew
Love like a red rose blooms in our hearts
Its thorns now guards and not disguised
Our souls were never disconnected
We are bound forevermore
I’m still in love with you
As we walk among our flowers
We feel the scent of love again!
Margaret Franceschini September 26, 2014
Categories:
foreground, love, passion, romance,
Form:
Verse
MOMBASA
Full moon uneasiness
Veranda dining, seven course style,
One day after my thirty sixth birthday,
I dine alone, in a poem.
Waiting for the Moon to pass to wane
and contemplate for Zanzibar, in vain. . .
MARATHON
Leawa Downs Marathon
Elevation 6000ft.
Elephants graze in the foreground
Campers camp, Samburu chant
Hyena’s WHoop Whoop whoop
5 A.M. Army alarm wake-up
The brown dust rises
and runners move in
Fluid motion
In the African Day
Building a Country Together
Blowing in the wind . . .
MASI MARA
Descending into the Rift Valley
Baby nephew Dylan sings along
to the Beatles. Masi heard their cattle in
Red blankets and colored beads.
Sitting under the tree of knowledge,
Different universes under one sky.
MASI RAIN
The pounding rain of the Mara
Post safari, I sit in my tented camp
Five Star style and naked.
Rain Dancing on canvas:
Rain Song of Hyena Laughing,
Hippo bellowing,
The baritone of the Wildebeest,
The tree Frogs low hiccup.
I will shower in the hot rainwater
for eternity
Sit on the Queen bed of honeymooners
And wish you were here.
Whoever you are. . .
Categories:
foreground, adventure, africa, travel, universe,
Form:
Free verse
A Vibrant Night
At night
When the city is
Lit with lights and literature
Locals and visitors
Ambiances and silhouettes
Dances with the wet backdrop
And the foreground
Maybe a new York playground
The smell of the sound of savory sausage
Sizzling on the nights grill
Salivating tongues and painters pallets
Dancing trees an autumn light breeze
Brushes by as the train underneath
Zooms pass passengers asleep
It's so unique
The smell that permeates
Pizzarias and eateries
It's so late....but that's okay
Let the night be our theater
Now who's that musical man over there
Playing his sultry song all night long
He sounds like Carnegie hall
Her dress is fighting the wind
His necktie is flagging the taxi
She's tipsy, he's dancing like Fred Astaire
Keeping her balanced,
Smells the mocha in her hair
Their equilibrium meets with the stare of each other
Falling into each other embracing humming that man's song smiling...
Anton Brockenbrough
Categories:
foreground, autumn, food, hair, imagery,
Form:
Alliteration