Best Framed Poems

Framed in Glass

Starburst crystals cling to the window pane
Lavish mounting for a frame
Cardinals in the snow


All rights reserved @ Debra Squyres 2013
Form is Kimo: 3 lines wih10-7-6 syllable count
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FRAMED

In submitting my last résumé
Jessica Rabbit inspires me to say
Though some call me a cad 
I’m not really that bad
It’s just that I was drawn this way

There’s a catch in assigning creation
Of our being in all its summation
To another as source
Who gave them the force?
Cue: an infinite reiteration

Still if I were the artist divine
And it...

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The grass was always tall and green,
Every day seemed like a dream.
In the tenderness of youth,
All of life rang with the truth.
Oh, the wind blew just for me,
When I ran so wild and free;
Cooled the sweat upon my brow.
It all comes back to me somehow.

Treasures of my yesterday,
Pick me up, take me away.
Memories etched deep...

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My DNA was planted at a crime scene
in an apartment that I truthfully have never been.
My fingerprints were found on the murder weapon,
a Bowie knife that was a gift from a long lost friend.
Buried in storage for decades is where that knife had been.
Until now, for me that Bowie knife was long forgotten.
I don't know...

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 You asked me to make sure your husband didn’t drink
that December day as I pushed your chair through glass-encased gardens.
A friend in need you had always been, I could deny you nothing,
but Paul lost it and left town when you died.
Living just long enough to see your first grandchild born,
it was a three-year battle...

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Once, while breathing an ideal moon's prime appeal,
my heart infused with long rained hues of feel for you.
Sadly, time blue-scored all joyous reels of love we knew.
I prayed for night to fuse my pain within Milkyway's zeal
that I might brightly heel from all your trashing of our two.

Divorced, you moved and our lives no longer...

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Framed Soul


Within their frames, like lovely captured dreams,
     my art and poems speak of life: green trees,
soft azure skies, sun-sparkled winding streams;
     a field of daisies leaning in the breeze.

With paint and words, I often rendezvous,
     commingling nature's glory with my own;
those imageries...

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Six weeks have flown by
With many beautiful hours together.
This morn we sat under the awnings
Sipping hot frothy cappuccino
Watching the first monsoon showers
Overflowing from the potted flowers
Drenching my thirsty listless garden.
My octogenarian mother smiled
With moist eyes held my hand and 
Chokingly whispered, ' I've never been
Pampered so much as in this break.
It's like revisiting my parental...

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He painted a painting of beauty and peach, 
Of her peering out through the glass,
Pondering her world of hope and desire, 
His paintbrush and her danced a dance,

And this image of love sat up in her house, 
Admired by her family and friends,
Sharing the love from deep in her heart, 
But this is where his...

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You gaze at me with outward glance,
your image framed, a photo trance.
Those eyes that seem to recognize,
the days on end I agonize.

This loss of you, so damn profound,
seems happiness, no longer found.
That vow I took, till death do part,
no words to deal with broken heart.

The years we had, and those we lost,
how love once shared,...

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Etched emotions carved
upon wood stained slats
channels of putrid odors 
behind polyurethaned glass
its stench guised by colorful hues

a dark laminated soul
dangles from a plastered wall
framed within a once proud tree
where emptiness once stood
now hangs my sanity..........

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I wake up this morning to a cloud of smoke lingering from the nightly bush fires of the mind;
I have been reminiscing but perfect answers to soothe my soul, I could not find
I feel this sharp prick in my heart, something on which I shouldn’t feed
Otherwise those cold thorns of void will make this heart...

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Swallows framed on an evening sky
Thatch roofs singing a lullaby
Children's eyes set catch the stars
Old folk tales for tomorrow's scars
It was all there then
And perhaps is happening there again
The village around the log fire seated
Children in old ring games repeated
Since the first wattle hut
With lime-daubed stone gut
This is my Knoxwood, my memory
The page printed with...

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A pot of gold sits at the end of a rainbow. Rendering it impossible to be found....

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How beautiful is the dawn when rays adorn the morn?
When sun sprinkles the sea with glints and sparkles.
When clouds flushed red, blush with joy and elation.
A crescent bow alight, bids adieu to night.

But is this presentation the best that dawn can do?
For our reflection frames beauty with expectation....

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