Best Furl Poems
Yellow ribbons furl
on oaks that line our driveway
as we await your return.
Their luster's now pale,
reflecting the challenged hope
of a son you’ve never met.
I feel a butterfly inside;
its wings are cramped within my breast.
The weight of flesh, o dull cocoon,
prohibits my free flight. At best
I only soar inside; my wings--
gossamer, light, remain untried.
I wait...I wait...until the day
the barred' cage is flung aside
and airy wings lift toward the skies.
I have felt this graceful creature
flutter faintly deep inside;
then, at times, so ardently,
I think no way will it abide!
It will be loosed! Its wish to fly
will push the bars of flesh aside.
Determined is this butterfly
to show its colors multiplied
and wing its way through azure skies.
The time is drawing near, I'm sure;
the throbbing swells within my heart.
The cumbrous cocoon, filled with life,
is bursting now, falling apart.
The butterfly is breaking free;
no more its wings will tightly furl,
but lightly spread upon the breeze
their filmy webs, gilded and pearled...
and, then, my soul will leave this world.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987
EVE OF STORMS
As I look towards the horizon,
Without hesitation,
But with determined yet
Heartfelt trepidation,
And see a distant angry
Storm forging forth
Its spluttering vicious curvaceous
Fearful advance holds my gaze
With historical ageless
Heartfelt emotions,
That sink and dive,
And furl and curl,
Knowing no one may survive!
Poseidon and Neptune take centre stage,
And Eve of storms unleashes wrath,
Tempts oceans rage!
The beginning of time
Is about to meet Mythology
Eternity about to clash
With oceans and Astrology
The mystical ocean gods,
Meet Eve, the beginning of human
Temptation, against all odds!
The reptile has achieved
Its evil aim and intent,
Causing chaos and fear
Alone is it’s content.
The gods call upon God our Maker
To drown the serpent tormentor,
And quell this tidal wave
Ten storeys tall,
About to wipe out all,
This massive water wall!
Eve of Storms has angered God
She had already lost the keys
To Paradise, now interferes
With Poseidon and Neptune,
The gods of seas,
God the omnipresent and the
Only truth sends Eve back to Earth,
Is Eve of Storms,
Fiction, or myth people say,
But to this day
Whilst looking up
At starlit skies
We are no more the wise!
The Poet's Pen
Eternity awaits the poet's pen,
His essence sealed in golden words;
A message from the hearts of men.....
Life's pictures now, and then,
Days kept forever on his slate.
Eternity awaits the poet's pen....
Capturing the song of winter wrens,
And the wind on velvet branches.
A message from the hearts of men.....
The flowers in the shaded glen;
The fawn nestled in her bower.
Eternity awaits the poet's pen....
The stars abundance is his ken.
The moon's love of evening tide,
A message from the hearts of men...
Death will come yet once again,
To furl his banner of mortality.
But Eternity awaits the poet's pen,
A message from the hearts of men....
I furl myself…
in au revoir ruins …
within selfish flames
of a femme fatale,
where black pearl roses
weep with the ghosts of gold ~
grounded in the
glamorous requiem
with the grace of glittering glitz,
but in these gardens of grief,
I mourn with
the flawless footnotes
of grim obsidian mirage ~
groomed with faces
that forget
the patronus prose ,
petrified by
soul-stirred sunsets
with purple pigments …
I learned how to live unkissed, until ~
this emotion steered me
to the eclipse of heat ,
raining love riots …
even if it were
my imagination
and the moon tonight ,
were an honest manipulator -
O destined god of my dreams
let me melt in your lucid love-fire -
be the siren for sizzling seashores ,
and wake up with the wave ~
that whispers, whirling the halo
of white crescent wings …
as I need you …
within smooth strokes ~
that worship your
whistling heartbeat,
…and we dissolve
with devotion,
in the delusive design
of dusk-blush maroons ,
fading into
the evening evanescence
as those sun drops
glimmer with citrine stars ~
and I wear this
galactic wine pendant ...
in the paradise
of this dulcet demigoddess
weeping
~ smokes of d e s i r e ~
At the fold of day
a veil shrouds the hills
as rising fog drifts
over tapering fields.
Rain falls softly,
dimpling the river.
It’s sombre waters swaggering
beneath a narrow bridge.
Rambling oak trees line
the steep grassy banks.
Ferns furl
their long slender fingers
into tight fists.
They recoil
into rooted mouldy stone.
Moss carpets the woodland,
the earthy air, damp
as dusk slinks in.
A murder of crows
sweep the sky
smothering the light.
Squabbling
they swoop to roost
on tall tree tops.
Settling,
a rustling murmur
whispers softly, sweetly.
They sleep
under a saffron moon.
silenced
by a blackening night.
Memories flutter like Post-It notes,
with scribbles faint and worn.
Reminders fade in the winds they’ve made,
my pages are tattered and torn.
Notes twist and swirl, then dip and curl,
in a wild and frantic breeze.
A cyclone spins where thoughts have been,
scattering all my memories.
Papers alight and suddenly take flight,
spinning frantically far and near.
But the harder I try, the stronger they fly,
increasingly more unclear.
I feel bold and reach to hold—
but my notes slip further away.
And piece by piece, I lose my peace,
as my library fades to gray.
The scattered scraps come fluttering back,
then flicker, furl, and flee.
A swift retreat, my memories fleet,
I’m not who I used to be.
An unraveling mind, fading line by line,
my life in vanishing ink.
Clinging to time and what’s left of my mind,
my sanity is on the brink.
But the yellow storm still rages on,
the cruel winds blow with might,
And time will steal all that was real,
‘til there’s nothing left but night.
-Edward
What pushes my pen in this whimsical notch of the world?
Something whispers to me like an elder dream....
and the trees hang arbored 'oer a little stream of sea,
the feathered folk flit and flute,
and sip the may-season rill;
Where sun has finally come dipping like a diamond.....
I am measured to this mighty moment found;
and there is holly even in the most forgotten shade,
though royal (even) ----- with garland diadems made
It would seem the angels have foretold this:
to not forget the most beauteous of days;
with proud hours honeyed,
the long-loving minute endures in thy heart,
and remembers the kiss of legends
despite realms of sadness and dark,
the withered wind which blows old upon the sad hills....
too ancient for wise men; for in youth how pink the heart
and varied, new struggles are many -----
yet plain with simple solutions
Mercy hath not a mind for memory....
swift its song, its house clean of enemies lurking,
no bogey-man skulking the midnite hour,
no roving-a-wraith scratching the old attic boards;
Forgiveness sleeps in the quiet wood,
and wakes with whispers of faith,
with the ease of nestled lambs and recollected days;
What poor tragedy to fret with dark remembrance,
to furl hades in the denizens of thy heart ----
black-tongued as the devil in his den!
What fool would prefer a scowl to a smile?
enemies come and go.....
friends come and remain,
when the house is quiet with memories....
of youth and adventure in the old daydream glass;
more precious the ancient hours
and parched the pages of first chapters,
first beginnings, first faces in the ripples of time's pond;
fallen flowers furl
leaf paintings fill the weather ---
perplexed butterflies
11 September 2022
Autumn in Nature - Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
PS Syllable Counter Used
When the trees sway
I become a bird
Clasp the branch
Swing, sing and play
When the flowers unroll
I become a bee
Plunge into the flower
Rinse my wavering soul
When the clouds furl
I become a raindrop
Delve into an oyster
Turn into a shining pearl
When a chrysalis breaches
I become a butterfly
Unfold my wet wings
Virtues of life, I preach
When nature smiles
I emerge as a poet
Rend the veils and rules
Decipher knots and make it simple
June 14 2021
The glistening yellow sun shines down upon the golden brown fields harvested today.
Our gardens are cleared of the red, green, yellow vegetables and our canning is underway.
As we look across the orchard the pickers are on the last of the apples to be picked and sold.
The rustic color of the leaves are beginning to furl and we remember that fall has been born again.
As the sun sets it looks as if a fire was set to the orange, yellow, brown, red and green leaves.
A light breeze sets in and we hear a rustle as the leaves drop lazily upon the once green grass, as we drift off to sleep.
Written for: Russell Sivey's "Autumn, Fall Colors Contest"
Written on: 08/16/2012 By: Carol Brown
2nd Place Winner
Stark Arctic vacant for centuries
habitat white fur bears epoch
prom's on ice sheets breeze
cubs in search for mama's barrack
concurring ice surrenders whistle
remark the scent of sea lions
nurture's th' cubs haunting an angel
in freezing water bathing, stuns
cleans thou fur splash'd blood mud's
with a long wooden ice pick stick
Eskimo Indians with leather studs
an a husky right beside slick
Eyes wide fur fluff an irresistible speed
chilled they stay like family like bear
Different worlds apply suitability
passionate to live in thou world
leave mine an find solidity
among masters of ice pearl'd
like dolphin's feel in th' wide ocean
free spirits eccentric in this world
visual glitters under water at dawn
an sleep by morning sunlight furl
having such power an strength
thou art can't by any means measure
th' Arctic distance in length
memorizing thou atmosphere's odour
never enough for my passion to feather
my moral says i have to live there
an you'll probably wish me good luck
What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By Any Other Name would smell as sweet
Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare
ROSE CAPULET
Put aside the rose by any other name, the dozen scent
of lover’s potent petals, exacting thorns that pierce the skin.
His soulmate’s countenance - like baby’s breath and intent.
Her pink pinched cheeks, soft as velvet, a bright budding win.
The lovely romance of Capulet adorned with thrilling furl.
Sweetness permeates from Shakespeare’s intervening,
phrase caught betwixt the feuding, an idyllic poetic pearl.
Cruel cessation of fluttering heartbeats - unforeseen things.
Juliet’s petals still - like Aurora’s lips longed to be kissed.*
Her Romeo clueless to her pretense downs caustic curse.
His rapturous love awakens — wan rose can only coexist
in the arms of death. Dagger turns rose red in abiding verse.
11/14/2021
Robert Liguori’s Rose Contest
*Aurora was the name of the fairytale’s Sleeping Beauty who was awakened by her prince with a kiss. Juliet was in a temporary coma
but Romeo never received her explanation letter.
Hey, hey, I want to dance the *KARAGAM dance
*Hey, Sham, Manu, bring pitchers from archives
Fill the pitchers with water and uncooked rice
As rice symbolizes food that sustain our lives.
With twirls bodies move free with intricate steps
*Dhotis, jackets furl and the turbaned heads unfurl
Hands holding peacock feathers of rainbow colors
While small bells in their anklets and belts swirl.
The vocalists sing and the drum bits pick motion
And with that the vocalists start singing songs divine.
As the rhythm picks up, so does audience’s emotion
To invoke the Gangai Amman, the Goddess of rain.
================================
* A form of Indian Folk dance
** Indian names
*** Indian dress
March 15, 2014
Dr. Ram Mehta
Form: Free Verse
First Place Win
Contest: Impress Me with Small Poems V By Giorgio V.
Motif: Religious - A religious ceremony performed to invoke Goddess of Rain
Hent my heart from wandering concepts of affection.
Recant the murmurs of insecurity that riddled my temple.
Like a slow wound toy awaiting release from a child's grasp and attention.
Toss and birl, whipsawed into the oblivion of life's gamble.
Take away this wretched knife in my side.
A knife that twist with every incantation.
Those bastards! Jackanapes! Stirring in the tides.
Exordium! When I appear to disappear. Insouciance!
This tires me into a gaumless breathing, beating whole.
Furl all I can, these product of fallibility and madcap.
As I breathe deep into a bibelot diamond. The centre of my soul,
I feel the urge to plotz from reminders and blankets.
As I indite a subtle line of assurance. I contrived.
Culling into materials and conversations. I quelled.
Forgoing this disposition. Finally, Peace has arrived.
Retribution in it full essence. Salient though dishevelled.