Best Foretaste Poems
Soft sunlight streams through Nimbus clouds
A sign, a foretaste of coming spring
When hills and fields bring forth rich foliage
From humble green grass to royal heather
Flaunting peacock colors to honor the day
As clouds release their crystalline drops
Lovers’ laughter echoes as they run for shelter
B’neath the old willow tree, they stand; lost in warm embrace
Soon, a hush will fall as sweet jasmine floats
When hungry lips taste the first kiss of spring
~*~
4/4/13
Note: For Russell's "Spring Showers" Contest
Their eyes did set, foretaste the sweetest moon.
A chalice sip of mead, the lover’s moon.
Her reddest lips upon his lips in tune.
A chalice sip of mead, the lover’s moon.
The shuffling feet - a dance - the closest swoon.
A chalice sip of mead, the lover’s moon.
In brilliant light, betrothal by la lune.
A chalice sip of mead, the lover’s moon.
His vows arrest his heart — best bride of June.
A chalice sip of mead, the lover’s moon.
His Lily wife — la-la rose petals strewn.
A chalice sip of mead, the lover’s moon.
6/17/2019
*la lune - the moon
The wings beat against the cage
in an urgent frenzy tormented never defeated
within this half twilight zone of slow crawling time held victim
The allure of consequences nevertheless feeding the flames
where conscious thought and lucid emotions die
slowly singed away remains at the bottom rung
The wisest transaction is the covenant never made and openly denied
decadence should never be answered once a pulls so strong
becomes injured with pride in alacrity's foretaste for knowledge
Where even the wind no longer breathes urgent
madness with passions trait as the grand tempest storms
steamily blows a cloud of smoke
A haunting being hunts darkness pushing boundaries
towards cold unadorned blue abandoned
holding the oceans spheres in restless silence
Restrained darkness meets light but never crosses over
the divide scratching at a spirit so forlorn
restraint comes naturally to the craggy and torn
Under the echoes of a lion's roar
A thousand tears can never mourn
the destruction and sad beauty that you have borne
Inside this isolation un-embellished
Under an austere atmosphere
holds the wings of time imprisoned factors
Destinies commander oh so damaged in this stunted wasteland of emotion's
conception becoming the unconsecrated norm in an un-heeding barrier
where realisations stammer unknowingly into the humiliating wit of despair
Which darkens the very soul blindfolded
The overture of the dove dances on as vigilant oracle of peace
the internal struggles of temperament challenges
Memorable moments within the spirit quest
fear and love wrapped up in a sorrowful wanting
yearning which hurts without choice
The pinnacles of reconciliation
and the fragile stirring of wings
wanting to fly is the verdict yet to come
a co written piece by Donna Loughman and Liam McDaid
If made a man, I’d treat my woman right
By that I mean, I’d hold her through the night
I’d use my arms to shelter fragile form
Her tears I’d kiss and help to calm her storm
I’d listen to each word immersed in fear
And vow to shield her by my presence near
If made a man, I’d show her I was strong
This strength I’d use to never do her wrong
I’d use my words to make her melting start
Released to touch, they would caress each part
I’d look at her with eyes that claimed her fine
With tempered fierceness, show her she is mine
I’d pull and crush her tightly to my chest
Inhale her scent, feel softness of her breast
Undress her while I utter words of love
Assure her she’ll ascend to heights above
I’d claim her mouth, my tongue set to explore
Foretaste of what I’ll do to her and more
Her stately neck I’d graze with hungry lips
My fingers trailing curves of waist and hips
I’ll lose myself in softness of her breasts
Tongue, mouth, and hands employed in lover’s quest
Her navel traced with roving hungry hand
Sent to explore as though revirgined land
Her sighs and moans, my patient hands would heed
On love’s submission would my mouth then feed
Pleased that I’ve set her longing soul to flight
My reigned in passion I’d release with might
I’d smooth her hair until she gains her ground
The voice of love the only living sound
And when she’d turn her eyes to look at me
I’d say, “Again? Or should I let you be?!”
Eileen Manassian Ghali
The wings beat against the cage
in an urgent frenzy tormented never defeated
within this half twilight zone of slow crawling time held victim
The allure of consequences nevertheless feeding the flames
where conscious thought and lucid emotions die
slowly singed away remains at the bottom rung
The wisest transaction is the covenant never made and openly denied
decadence should never be answered once a pulls so strong
becomes injured with pride in alacrity's foretaste for knowledge
Where even the wind no longer breathes urgent
madness with passions trait as the grand tempest storms
steamily blows a cloud of smoke
A haunting being hunts darkness pushing boundaries
towards cold unadorned blue abandoned
holding the oceans spheres in restless silence
Restrained darkness meets light but never crosses over
the divide scratching at a spirit so forlorn
restraint comes naturally to the craggy and torn
Under the echoes of a lion's roar
A thousand tears can never mourn
the destruction and sad beauty that you have borne
Inside this isolation un-embellished
Under an austere atmosphere
holds the wings of time imprisoned factors
Destinies commander oh so damaged in this stunted wasteland of emotion's
conception becoming the unconsecrated norm in an un-heeding barrier
where realisations stammer unknowingly into the humiliating wit of despair
Which darkens the very soul blindfolded
The overture of the dove dances on as vigilant oracle of peace
the internal struggles of temperament challenges
Memorable moments within the spirit quest
fear and love wrapped up in a sorrowful wanting
yearning which hurts without choice
The pinnacles of reconciliation
and the fragile stirring of wings
wanting to fly is the verdict yet to come
a co written piece by Donna Loughman and Liam McDaid
Winter dies; green spring arrives with the start of something great.
Like parents with newborns, we can be in a euphoric state!
For summer’s brief fling with fun and sun, some can hardly wait!
Then fall recalls life's each sweet moment with foretaste of our fate.
April 14, 2017 for the Broken Wing's Form M- Monorhyme Poetry Contest
It’s a cold and bloody war
The heart has known many a fear... The eye shed many a tear
And dreams in wrecks have drifted back to shore
The war has been extensive, tumultuous in the mind
Towering over the weariness daubed across grey skies
Are only rare moments of joy fugitive that arise
Within the wall of the heart confined
It’s a cold and bloody war
The heart has known many a fear... The eye shed many a tear
And dreams in wrecks have drifted back to shore
I lead the brave but less cogent troops, with charged bosom
Knowing the sweet cry of victory will ne’er be sung
My blood’s infected with frustration’s venom
The foretaste of defeat is bitter upon my tongue
It’s a cold and bloody war
The heart has known many a fear... The eye shed many a tear
And dreams in wrecks have drifted back to shore
Out of despair I summon the troops to retreat
I recede to safe haven to draw a curtain
I quest horizons more promising to greet
And again engage in battle of victory uncertain
It’s a cold and bloody war
The heart has known many a fear... The eye shed many a tear
And dreams in wrecks have drifted back to shore
Read on air by invitation ~ April 14, 2021 'WORDS & MUSIC'
AP: 2nd place 2022, Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on May 4, 2025 for contest MEMORIAL DAY sponsored by OLIVER McKEITHAN - RANKED 3RD
on December 23, 2018 for contest 2019 POETRY MARATHON MILE 2 sponsored by MARK TONEY - RANKED 2ND
I
Love in a time of Corona is best
Expressed between a loyal couple
We have time on our hands, rest
Cannot be overdone, neither should sex (Love-makin')
II
Love in a time of Corona is wisest
In your private premises; stay away from exotic places
Keep it simple, keep it humble (Humble? you ask) -
"There will be time enough for exotica, places and races."
III
Love in a time of Corona will pass, and then
Will you have great memories? A foretaste of retirement?
We are blest when we have a loyal love, Christian even,
And Fate has given us time - for catching up, prayer, enjoyment
IV
Now, if you easily pass the test, of humble home-rest
Will you go beyond borders? Pray for others less blessed?
Even those foes ("the enemy,") for the children's sake?
I, for one, surprised myself, by blessing my teachers, professors ....
"Foggy mists engulfed the bright
When raindrops fell throughout the night
The lampposts glowed at midnights dark
When sweethearts kissed at Lover's Park"
As crickets sang their lovers' song
Under the umbrella, you held me long.
Your strong arms around my waist.
Walking home, after our foretaste.
Fall are glowing of gold
Flooding of nice colors
Flutter neurotic leaves
Fruitful trees with apples
Frost on the creek at night
Foretaste of the winter
Flashbacks ... summer pleasures
Used and checked on://www.howmanysyllables.com
Each line has 6 syllables
(poem in the Pleiades form)
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
23.09.2016
Edge
chalk on blackboard
diamond on glass
knife on steel.
Edge
bitter coffee
sweet milk
steaming.
Edge
nervous smile
green eyes glance at blue
watching me watching you.
Edge
flushed face
rapid breathing
nipples stiffen.
Edge
lifting auburn hair
revealing vulnerable nape
whispers yes.
Edge
tip of your tongue
circles your lips
foretaste of pleasures.
Edge
tongue flits from lush lips
laps last of cream
white teeth smile.
Edge
finish your coffee
back to work,
knowing our paths
will cross again.
Cold heavy dew
foretaste of loneliness
dawn of long dark winter
The day will come...
when I would fly with the eagles,
swim with the ducks,
and act like have never been "poor'".
The day will come...
when I would shine like the sun,
be great and unique like the unicorn,
and well covered like the corn.
The day will come...
when I would kiss the dragon
and stop been afraid of the thwart that comes,
and fly beyond with nothing to avoid.
The day will come...
when I would be like the kingkong
banging on my chest
and stop been afraid of contest.
That glorious day will come....
when I would sit upon that horizontal line
that separate the Earth from the Sky
and I would never be scared of falling down.
Looking forward to that day....
when I would leave my footprint
on the sand of time,
and make sure there's no more success tree to climb.
Anticipate, contemplate, and believe.
Foretaste, foresee and achieve.
keep holding on with the fight
cos at the end of the tunnel,
there's a light.
*Sammy Kyle*
.
Making and use of the a-bomb
An event that spewed waste
A creation that leaves poison
Man knew not the foretaste
As always some good and some bad
Today we have good use
Nuclear medicine does good
Bad if a bomb turned loose
A man can not control himself
Nor the acts of others
Only if all men learn to love
To love man as brothers
The atomic bomb changed history
The course of the war turned
So now we live in a safe world
If only love men yearned
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Contest: Historical Modified Quatrain
Written this seventh day of January twenty thirteen
Written by: Sara Kendrick
Take a pure shot from where you stand
and print me just the way I am
with no added colour of admiration,
3D effects of willingness,
or glossy prints of encouraging stimulus
For where I stand,
has no milky waterfalls, nor honey forestry
but
Silky anger and honey foretaste of the sweet stress that lies ahead,
coated with muddy sand and dry season
Take a pure shot from where you stand
Please, don’t add rainbow gestures to the picture
because it’s been a while I have seen nor said hello to the vivid rainbow
This is because
the eyeglass of the lively rainbow is cracked
So it can’t see me either,
this has swallowed It’s speech
and rendered it,
emotionally heartless
I don’t blame nor judge its sudden lippy disrespect
for I know,
it doesn’t want to damage further,
blench or bleach itself into my loopy shoes
Take a pure shot from where you stand
Please, don’t print me in coloured
because I am left in a monochrome mood
wondering in an unrealized lessened globe
Take a pure shot from where you stand
don’t take the shot with the camera flash light
so that you shall have a real feel of the darkened purity,
which possesses the surrounding of where I accusingly pose
Don’t conclude my picture
or exclusively judge me as a loser
For I am not!
If you think I am,
try posing a second in my picture,
while I take the picture from where you stand