Best Frames Poems
And here I am this lonely, moonless night
All by myself in golden candlelight
The room is still, as I begin to think
My thoughts alone would have me take a drink
But then, I see across the low-lit room
Just what I need to lift me from this gloom
A table stands, three tiers to make a shelf
For picture frames, my family, myself
Each one I see, a simple work of art
By love displayed, each one to touch my heart
For Grandma’s smile, a frame of gilded glow
To warm my purpose more than you could know
A setting formed of jewels, sapphired delight
Surrounds my sweetest mother, dressed in white
My turn on Santa’s knee when I was three
Is mounted red and green, now just for me
My brother’s love, a birthday cake in view
The mem’ries call me, just to name a few
So as my candle flickers its demise
The tears of love and joy now fill my eyes
For could I ever really be alone
Oh, not with all the love that I’ve been shown
I think now as I start to say goodnight
I’ll sleep well with such reverie in sight
The glass once lucid
now deflects glow differently.
A chuckle clenched in the wind,
blanching and flaming.
Where were we?
Footprints echo, retreat, advance
sagging floor, missing nails.
Not long enough--
like a wheeze folding in and out,
a beam of light held in a still moment.
Sagging floor, nails missing,
steps forth, then retreat.
Where were we,
blanching and flaming,
a chuckle loosed in the wind—
now the glass, no longer lucid,
deflects the glow differently.
Colors of the sunset burst from behind the mountain range
Across the desert it looked like a fire blazing in the sky
I will never forget the miles traveled, to reach a sight like this
It still blazes in my memory after all these years
Sometimes, it’s that perfect moment, the timing is just right
When the world is suddenly seen in a different view
Struck with amazement, by all that this creation can be
Across the country, changes happen, realizations come about
Lessons learned by striking sights, through luring miles and time
While blazing new trails to travel, all in new frames of mind
Heidi Sands
1/21/22
Stalling the hand of age in silver frames
Yesteryears crawling around the edges
As time, falling like November leaves
Across younger eyes, enthralling still
Photographs tell a lifetime's recalling.
11/02/21
Something Beautiful in 5 Lines contest
Sponsor: charles messina
SEA OF FRAMES
Believe in difficult things,
stretched around a frame,
one thread at a time,
faithfully day by day.
Some seem monotonous
in naked tones of gray,
or simple flecks of blue.
In hope and faith,
in abiding love
we let the Master
craft us into His masterpiece.
If we’d dare open our eyes
we’d see the sea
of frames big and small,
ships that sail
all around us.
We feel the stress, pulled tight,
feel each needle stab,
but the monogamous nature
of the threadiness —
a breathless bride
for the King of kings.
9/4/2018
Picture Frames a poem
Children in families,
Grandmothers, mothers, fathers and grandchildren alike.
Memories, keepsakes found in pictures in Picture Frames.
Look at our Esha(Ayesha) she was 8 in this picture and here she is 10 years old in this other framed picture and;
She was 26 years of age in her most recent important picture taken at her community college graduation.
Ayesha will be 32 or 33 years old when she takes her Senior Portraits she’ll take them next year for her 4-year college commemoration. She will have a nice headshot in a white silk dress or a drape in Tower Yearbook along with her graduating class of 2014.
Our Esha the soon-to-be college graduate with so many memories of her childhood and difficult adolescent years.
Mom, step-dad Neil, grandmother, a few great-aunts and cousins on Esha’s mother’s side will be so happy for her.
Cleansing as the waves,
Flowing in the depths of mind.
Nature scenes bring peace.
No pictures in the picture frames
They just hang lonely on the wall
There's no fire in the firplace
No footsteps in the hall
.
Don't know when it happened
Know it wasn't just yesterday
As we were growing older
Our love seemed to slip away!
.
When I would reach out for you
In hopes that you still cared
But no matter what I did or said
You were distant - just not there!
.
They say one can see the future
Just by looking in their past
Should have paid more attention
Would have known this wouldn't last
.
Now someday in the future
I will fill again those empty frames
Build a fire in that fireplace
To see once again its flames
.
I know that I will hear once more
Footsteps echoing down my hall
Finding joy and happiness
With a new love after all
.
I don't know if that's my future
But I know that I shall try
When I give my love to someone else
I'll be aware of yesterdays gone by
Two wraiths in a gust in-between frames with a Third
...was it when i bumped into you last
a little put out by the awkwardness
something not willed not even by chance
who knows an air of Oh please spare me the excuse
eyes darting from cheek to contorting lips
the turning breeze curling into your bitten bud of an ear
expiring burnt breath
just the intimate release of breathless control
shifting feet somewhere in some other film frame
a door closing creaking in the soft amber sheen
of the flickering street lamp
was it in another slot
of time held in some half-remembered patched-up reel
footsteps slap quick-shuffled the soundtrack dragging the heels
The Third Man
down wet cobbled stones claroscuro classic
withholding comment
no time to grasp even the outstretched hand
a finger or two trailing no the index thumb and Mount of Venus
ever so lightly alerting the eyes yet for a fractured second
averting eye-contact slicing presences
or was it just that i wished to overlook the rebuff
thwart the unkindest cut into my roiling belly juices
the day you took careful aim
for some slight some mite of a pain complaint
a moment so gossamer thin so ephemeral no trace lingers
in the wind-swept thrusts of the pulse in the brain
does one hesitate in the accusing hour
an old sagging man cap in hand wordless and wan
hardly daring to lift lame will and sorry self
for once the back is turned no thoughts
of humped puffing breath bathing the cheeks
the lips the bacteria baked unbrushed stench
and the less than hoped-for wish trailing aghast
when next we stumble and slip
from one another's grasp...
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
what though there be a garden of flowers
the essense of the whole distilled to but a drop
the humble bee alights
frozen in time and purpose
sucking the nectar of its created heaven
in the now in the here
gridlocked
satin- framed pictures hang on glassy walls sketching lines of death’s face.
Monoku or ONE LINE poem #3 (old/new)
Contest sponsored by PD Linda
Bare are these walls...
I now stand before,
that were once adorned with picture frames.
The brown boxes are loaded,
and these frames of which I speak wait within.
The door frame, the frame of the home,
the borders that surround my garden,
and the walkways I meander in the mornings,
frame my memories, of a time once not bounded.
And time... the time I once had in abundance,
is now narrowed, like a punctuation that follows a thought,
or a phrase that concludes a story...
or, a casket that encapsulates a creation.
Frames on a wall or frames buried beneath the soil...
all are painstakingly aligned in parallel for the viewing...
breathing life back to our memories...
like some kind of voodoo.
"'Cause I'm a million miles away
And at the same time I'm right here in your picture frame."
Thank you, Hendrix.
Weird Monday
The morning sun first kissed my face
I smiled
Amazingly lacking an ounce of frown
Skipping in my mind
But solemnly pacing down the walk
Towards the car
Keys jingling
Toes tapping silently in my kicks
Lyrics of better days flooding my mind
Seeing inside my mind
Making better decisions
Not forcing questions
Days of better
Days of love
Lust
Days full of flavor
Live for the moment
Savor the day
And trust no one
Well, the creator crafted it to be dark brown like vanished pine
Some light brown and others painted with different tones for final touches
Shiny it looks, from a distance, when still new, you like it so much
But as soon as after installation, and the plastics are ripped of no one cares
He will be there by the entrance, cold on the outside, warm in the inside,
He will be there, scorched by the blazing sun yet cool in the inside
He will be there, all wet, dusty and rusty, yet striving to be still, stainless steel
And in good season you lean on him like he is a leaning pole
We take selfies from an angle that doesn’t show dented sides and scars
Dust off mats and dirty shoes on him
When you are hands full from the grocery store you kick him open
Lazy days you just stretch your sticky feet to close
On bad days you shout at him, slam him so hard the dogs would bark from outside
Returning from your night club you puke on him
And when he squeaks to say a word you rebuke him
When he cries out you add more effort
Then you start complaining about his looks
You start comparing him with the freshman behind his back
Until one day, when he can’t take it anymore, he collapses
And all you remain with is just photos, your selfies you didn’t crop
In the background, he didn’t photobomb, you notice him
He has always been there for you
But you never paid attention
#DepressionIsReal
Space-Poet
17/05/2019 @17:15
Frames hold nature best.
A shafting of light sifts gray marsh and water--
turning past dim hills of hay
solemn in silence.
An essence of earthworms fill the air
as light seeps through a colander of clouds,
catching the ephemeral cattle in a vase of sun.
How gentle is the hand that lightly places
and is gone
as evening rings clear and cool
like the edge of a wine glass.