Best Four Poems
Spring stirs her eager young
Giving life, renewed to those
Who stand about and doze
She whispers hope of things begun
Beneath winter's cold repose.
Summer, smiling golden rays
With ample breasts of rain
Feeds and soothes the pain
Of changing white to green to gray
While dressing her wards again.
Fall, donning multicolored hues
Weeps, her leaves cascading
As her life is brilliantly fading
She takes with her the morning dew
Leaving frost in the trading.
Winter, wearing crystal shards
Bares her nudity to all
Standing gracefully tall
She lays a white robe upon my yard
While singing her wanton call.
And I..., I sit patiently by
Watching through shielding glass
Four sisters marching past
Thanking God who dwells on high
For His daughters' stark contrasts.
Timothy I. Brumley
,
Fire catches fast, then sweeps through grass and trees.
The lion of the elements, it roars,
and burning hot, displays its awesome might.
Fire signs are one of four triplicities.
Bravely, like lions, those of fire will fight.
A fire-born person is one who adores
his life, and what he wants he’ll simply seize!
The element we need to breathe is air.
This carrier of currents none can see
is spaciousness surrounding everyone.
Those born of air may seem aloof! They’re where
they need to be; their thoughts float toward the sun.
They analyze and then effectively
communicate to us because they care.
Sweet water! Always we can see it flow.
It flows to sea; it ebbs, then flows again.
Without it, plants and animals would die.
Those born to water are the ones who show
emotions freely. Hear them laugh and cry!
They touch our souls and give us solace; then
entreat us. . . let imagination go!
Earth, the final element, is the land;
God put us here with feet on solid ground.
Sustaining us, it gives much that we need.
Those born of earth are stable, for they stand
for practicality. They plant the seed
of reasoning. Four elements abound.
When they’re in harmony, life can be grand!
Written Feb. 9, 2016
for the HUMAN NATURE - 4 STANZA, 7 LINE Poetry Contest
The Four Seasons…
It was spring and I was young when I had wine.
I was singing and dancing and doing fine.
The wine was so divine, made my blossoms glow.
The spring is for the youth, makes everything shine.
Summer came and I was older, full of joy.
I was in love, and love taught me to enjoy.
I was flying, kissing, dancing having fun.
Didn't know that the end is there to destroy.
The autumn was yellow, tired, full of pain.
My garden was there but flowers lived in vain.
The nightingales departed, my youth as well.
I could not see the way, clouds were crying rain.
Now is winter and winter promises cold.
I am there but alone, with no one to hold.
The garden is barren, empty, no more youth.
The only thing is there, is me that is old.
10/24/18 Haloo
This poem is in the form of "Rubaiyat", it is the plural form of Rubai. Rubai is a quatrain with rhyming of AABA. Each Rubai is a book by itself, it starts and ends within the quatrain, but when it's in a form of Rubaiyat, it follows the single theme with the same meter throughout. Poetrysoup has a good explanation of this format.
Verdant prairies, lush foothills,
Yellow tulips, golden daffodils,
Waltzing with magnolia’s zeal
Flamboyant in spring’s appeal.
Thundering showers, mirthful bees,
Burbling rivers, roaring seas,
Birds chirping, roaming carefree,
Buoyant, reveling summer’s glee.
Autumn paints crimson themes
Dyeing leaves, charming dreams,
Swaying vistas, iridescent trees,
Whirling frolicking amber breeze.
Shuddering boughs, winds blow,
Scattering delicate falling snow,
Shivering knolls, terrains aglow,
Glistening twilight’s wintry glow.
When my mind is mute from pain,
I seek your oval moon eyes,
to glow like a star at dusk.
To ease me away from the edge.
To show me calm in the rain.
My soul is akin to your love.
I ache for you to sing my name.
Echo our song in the tone of a harp.
To wake up with you at dawn,
feel your soft gold hair,
to feel safe in your warm arms.
To hold you near.
Rest my face upon your silk skin,
form and flow our lips in joy.
With your hand on my head,
gaze at your chic aura all day.
If I was to draw you a home,
I'd make a room for my soul,
to ink you a poem each day.
If only I was a wing,
you a bird,
then we can soar high into the dark sky.
Run step by step up a hill,
but not fall,
like 'Jack and Jill.'
If only we were able to stop time,
so I can walk the path home.
Then life may turn fair,
then when the wind blew with woe,
we'd be safe to dote in our vows.
In my past existence,
circumstance sowed my roots
deep into woods of foreign soil,
slowly I ascended spreading my wings,
yearning to be evergreen,
blossoming in summer with glossy verdant leaves -
I became the soul of the earth.
Yet, I never belonged,
among a promenade of silver skinned pines,
who mocked my rough brown bark.
I was born to flourish in a tropical oasis,
so autumn winds stole my diverse petals.
I stood vulnerable with
bare branches shivering in silence.
Snow fell gently,
as my crumbling core began to rot.
Fate slashed at my anchor like a mad man with an axe,
until I collapsed with my sap bleeding dry.
I was left to slumber in melancholic meadows,
abandoned in murky misty moors.
In death,
I pondered, will anyone miss me in times of;
silence, anger, tears, smiles, laughter and regret?
Although they cannot hear nor see me,
will they still feel me in their hearts?
When they gaze at the night skies.
Will they find me among the stars?
Lost in thought,
yearning stardust and moonlight melodies,
my soul connected with an ethereal spirit,
an aromatic aura I had never felt -
I was finally found.
Her soft lotus touch roused a fluorescent glow.
Our hearts illuminated resembling the golden orb.
As my beloved portrays me in her poetry,
we wander in fields of forever,
commemorating instead of cremating memories.
Her devotion plants a special seed in her bronze orchard,
creating an immortal poetic garden -
where we bloom as flowers in all four seasons.
Song of the Four Seasons 2-16-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Song of the Four Seasons
Jagged steel gray skies
Compose barren bough sculptures
Midnight days, Orion nights
White fire crystal symphonies.
Spring wriggles adagio toes,
Sunbeams thaw tuneless meadows,
Daffodils dream yellow melodies
Blossoms burst fragrant ballads.
Downbeats of summer rainstorms
Silver sonatas of moonlight
Heat rises in crescendos,
Cool waves soothe sunburns.
Scarlet scatters leafy notes,
Crisp sapphire skies motifs,
Harvest chorales of harmonies
Harbingers in orange transitions.
The roses of September the first
They know the dance is almost over
Slowly the life shall bleed from the stem
Beauty shall wilt
The winds shall blow away the memories
Bagpipers four deep and six long
Shall march upon botanical grounds
In remembrance of those brave souls long ago
Stoic the march, the notes lingering in the air
Falling on the deaf ears, of the already departed
Two swords laid as the cross
Highland dances of youth,
Old photographs lieing burned in the trash
Marching forth, to old peoples applause
They march towards their own death
Overlook there, over the sea, look closer
Shall you see the dust that covers me?
Twenty four reasons to die
Yet here I am on the twenty fifth
Wishing for only one
Their young strong-willed son,
ever resourceful,
has been given "time out" for bad behavior.
There is no noise coming from the room.
After two hours,
the mother grows concerned.
Why has there been
none of the usual clamor
by him to be released
from his small prison?
As she walks into her child's room,
she is startled by the claws of lions
which seem to spring
from the right side of the room.
She spins around with a gasp.
On four walls
are different animals
crouched or ready to pounce.
A black panther, which peers at her
with huge yellow eyes,
takes center stage
above the window
where it has been drawn
in bold crayon strokes
as if it were creeping in from the outside
to join the landscape
of the magnificent lush green jungle
applied to the once-white surface
of the walls surrounding her.
Owls and tropical birds
perch on the branches
of the jungle trees,
and a fat green snake slithers
by the door.
Her son, finishing up
the wall nearest his bed,
looks up at her
from the piles of crayons
strewn across the floor
and impishly smiles.
Did I mention,
he is also very artistic?
Written Feb. 22, 2016 For the contest of A.A.
four deer
amble across my path
on a city street. . .
an unnatural
natural sighting
Written 2/25/16 for the Fragment Of Life Contest of Broken Wings
*Note: This happened to me just this week. There is something so fascinating to me about such a simple thing. My kids always got so excited to see this kind of thing too.
High above the quiet, darkened streets of January, the night wind begins to whisper secrets through my apartment window casements. Far below me lie four cafes, all in sync as they awaken from daytime hibernation to begin an evening ritual of turning on lights, welcoming thirsty patrons, discouraging lost polar bears, trying to survive.
Light bulbs hang in lazy swags, dripping evenly from the edge of each identical awning. Predictably, their glow travels as fast as the light itself creating a sudden and uninvited interruption of the Arctic desert landscape.
Sitting apart on their respective corners below, the cafes squeeze into a single pane near the bottom of my window. Leaning closer, I blow a hot and intoxicated breath onto the glass in defiance or retaliation, an attempt at immolation perhaps. Instead, my unused air lies wasted across the cafes on the other side of the window, in an irregular oval of futility.
I use a balled-up fist to wipe away the misty scene before it has a chance to evaporate and leave me alone, a desperate and inevitable disappearing act in the face of my curated isolation.
Form: Acrostic
Look in your eyes unveils a smoldering ember that could make Gibraltar crumble.
One in a million heart that magically kindles fire without matches. Nothing...
Ventured, nothing gained in this rewarding game of love; a four letter word that
Emanates such sweet ecstasy. And no, I don't mean the drug
I
Just
Enjoy
Saving souls
Unrepented to
Saviour is also here for you
The rain that seemed to wash my hopes away
Left an amazing gift for me to find
Beyond the puddles that remained behind
New signs of life revived one summer day
I had not planted anything at all
'Twas Mom who wanted me to find this prize
Her efforts surely took me by surprise
Three decades passed; her smile I can’t recall
But in the yard where she drew her last breath
A bed of Four O’Clocks awoke one day
It was as if my Mom were there to say
“My love for you survived beyond my death”
*Written November 7, 2018
“Thankful Poetry Contest” hosted by Tania Kitchin
my four walls are invisible, they cannot be seen
but they are thick, wide and deep after all these years
each board, each nail, a sorrow, a tear, a grief
I hide myself within these self-made high walls
secluded, concealed, my secret refuge from the world
I am safe within my box, I cannot be hurt in my fortress . . .
my box, my fortress has no ceiling and I can see the azure sky
the falling rain washes over me, the wind speaks to me, softly
snow, I gather like a pure white blanket
and my mind takes me to wonderful places, far off lands
and my fantasies are breathless and beautiful
and I write poetry, pages and pages, fluttering away
oh my box is a special place where tranquility dwells . . .
but sometimes, oh dark the journey, I visit death
down winding roads and I am a beautiful girl floating wispy
my long raven hair flowing like a cloud around me
and I stand before tombs, tombs and tombs
and those beneath the cold earth come to me
weeping we kiss until the light of dawn takes me away
back to my four walls, my box, my fortress with no ceiling . . .
and when I must venture into the real world, I wear a mask
a mask of happiness, I can never let anyone see
the pain within, it would shatter their hearts forever
oh my soul and heart are broken for all infinity, this is written
there has been too much death, too much sorrow, just too much
you have no idea, dear reader, you can even fathom it . . .
_______________________
February 19, 2016
Poetry/Free Verse/these four walls
Copyright Protected, ID 16-759-533-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Four Walls
Sponsor, C.T.
Second Place
___________________________________
Submitted to the contest, Second Place Contest
sponsor, Laura Loo
Seventh Place
I know you are sensitive,
not sentimental,
but it has been four years,
that's one thousand
four hundred and sixty one days,
since enlightened tides kissed
those island shores.
My soul was wrapped in worn ribbons,
mourning my misplaced muse
and you were a whispering rose,
wilting at the slightest touch.
Bleeding 3am vents,
with conflicting vowels and consonants,
the sirens of your ink screamed
for a silent troubadour to
compose cathartic bloodstreams -
but life is not as pretty as petals and poetry.
A mistress to moonlight,
I found you crying at an apathetic moon,
so I cracked open your volcanic cocoon,
to open your eyes to cinnamon
and persimmon horizons -
now you float like an empyrean butterfly.
I hope you soar forever and know
I could have written for you,
as many verses as you have seen stars,
but we cannot cultivate in fields of unfairness,
where only dead blooms now decompose,
as you keep ignoring Cupid's cries.
Despite contradicting crossroads,
my heart is deep rooted
in wayfarer's wisdom,
knowing when there are no more beats -
you will honour me with a
requiem for an artist.
Simple Musings