Best Furs Poems
His poems live deep down in the wood
down in an olde hunting lodge
They are brown as the bears head that
hangs on the wall
brown as the dark leaves that fall
silently hiding the salt lick
from fawns who come in
the twilight to call
His poetry growls and grumbles and purrs
like a cougar alone on the rim
of the canyon above the olde
hunting grounds
where he writes all his lines
like a hymn
His poems stretch out on the furs
by the fire
and tell of the storms and the waves
that tested the strength of the words
that inspire
and sent many songs to their graves
for brave are the sagas
the odes that survive
the trek through the woods to the town
and as we go home we gather them up
scattered like leaves on the ground.
Brown,yellow,red ,a few of them green
His poems are places and things we have seen
but not from the view that the truth hunter gives
deep down in the woods ,where poetry lives
Blades of grass, wet under foot, insect eyes
Dusk, offset by the cricket orchestra
Muted and receding into the trees and bushes,
Tickled by the wind, rattling snake tail wind
While we may be in the company of wolves,
A long legged friend is late for the party
Eyes, little iridescent stars
Attending to each one, and look there,
There she is, making the most beautiful geometry
Parallels within the octagons, pulling silks
An arm for every task, little perpetual motion machine
Is that the Queen of the Night under the rusted iron?
A forlorn lady, black patent leather, kill a man, maybe two
With her danger red symmetry, oozing with youth
And a penchant for paralysis, no one can resist her wine
Then there's the hall of cob webs, threadbare handkerchiefs
Left by ladies who exhausted all of their company
To be a spectacle under the moon, in the wood pile
Dressed up in the finest furs, all earth tones
Stepping out to introduce themselves in girlish droves
Venus of another sort, these little cursed jezebels
Hovering on the skin of the water, or on the red brick wall
Must frequent every happy corner, and slip away at a moment's notice
A real lady always knows when to say goodnight
Such graceful exits through cement cracks
Back to the parlor, to glow in the dark
And they become spiders again
Winter’s Fantasies
Winter walks the mountain hills at nightfall
Breathlessly awaiting evening’s first flakes of snow,
An alpine carnival that rowdy clouds threatened to toss upon their faces;
When, at last, the brumaled storm releases a snowy masquerade
Sweet serenity fills dusky eyes with wistful fantasies of twirling snowflakes,
Visions of barren aspen arms embracing shivering jewels of glittering glitz,
A carnival of crystalline jubilee in wind whipped flakes.
Winter smiles as the evening sky slowly turns her dark side inside out
From black to white to turquoise and to blue
The moon slow pulls herself above these mountain hills in festival
To ride a winter sky watching over midnight’s silver shimmering earth
Alive with twinkling moonbeam stars, bright refractions of sisters in the sky,
When the mountains glimmer cold as midnight – blue as stars –
Wearing new ermine alpine furs -cloaks of argent sparkle.
1-12-22
Contest: Winter Wonders within Nature
Sponsor: M.L. Kiser
I'm an estuary of ivy-furs,
sleeping in monsoonal moonglades of love~
as the savannah sun of sunset blurs,
slowly unveiling stars with golden glove.
When russet- fairies twirl in a bronze lake,
singing with springs of watermelon wand,
an untouched summer unfurls behind ache,
lacing twilights with lush wishes, so fond.
Garden of grapefruit, doesn't forbid faith,
exotic eyes paint life with a rare art,
where hilly hues drape seashores ~ daisy-bathe,
my muse weaves magic on the 'bay of heart'.
Winter Fantasy
I love to walk through twilight
In mountain hills
Breathlessly awaiting evening’s first
Flakes of snow in a winter carnival
That rowdy gathering clouds
Threatened to toss upon their upturned faces
And,
When at last, making merry, the storm releases
A snowy vision descending on a dreaming world
A lullaby of sweet calm
Transcends sleepless visions like twirling snowflakes
To fill nocturnal eyes
With visions of barren aspen arms
Embracing shivering jewels of glittering snow.
Between wind whipped flakes
I see
The warm and cozy lights of homes
Resting in the trees
To cast a revelry of amber shadows
On the pure whiteness
Of a crystalline blanket falling from the sky;
They hide their eyes
Among the spruce
As love
But
With inviting looks
Beckon me abide
As I pull my hands into warm sanctuary pockets
To walk upon the gala of snow serene.
In a carnival of swirling flakes of snow
My footsteps
Quickly
Lose their warmth –
Now
Hidden by
My brumaled friends
As the evening sky
Slowly turns
Her dark side inside out
From
Turquoise to blue
To white.
And when the storm finishes
Emptying
The clouds
As feather pillows opened wide
The moon slow pulls herself
Above these hills in festival
To ride a winter sky
Watching over the silver
Shimmering earth
Alive with twinkling moonbeam stars
On outstretched limbs
Of aspen trees –
They twinkle in a jubilee – bright reflections
Of a sister in the sky.
The air turns colder –
Cutting right to the very marrow core
With sharp and brittle winter bite
When the mountains
Glimmer cold as moonlight –
Blue as stars –
As
They stand above the valley
Wearing alpine ermine furs
Sentinels of the day
Now past –
Guardians of tomorrow
And
Though they change their winter masks
For summer’s green masquerade
Their faces never change –
I would know them always!
1-1-21
Contest: Winter
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
So what are the Rule's ?
You wish to place place this wager on ?
And how is the Jury then to Judge ?
Your Bank Account
Your Real Estate
Your Stocks and Share's
Minks and Furs
Supercars , Jewel's and Gold
Versus
My 2nd Mortgage
10 year old Car
Overdrafts
And rising Credit Card Bills
Based on this alone I fear you win this wager
Hands down no contest
But what if we raised the stakes
To what we could actually
take with us to our grave
Like Friends and Family
Those we have blessed
Lives we had touched
I fear my Foe
The Currency in Death you shall seek
Will not be measured
In Money and Gold
But rather in Deed's and Actions
And whether or not you will be missed
Spring soothes with a gentle rain
With blushing blooms we once knew
Fragrant flowers will then reign
and everything becomes new
Summer bakes with sizzling days
Many enjoy time at the beach
But heat waves can put us in a daze
As birds flit on branches of the beech
Autumn chills with cooler climes
and adorns the leaves with colorful flair
A gnarly vine on the wall now climbs
As the forest blazes a crimson flare
Winter's brushstrokes paint a snowy scene
As snowflakes land on firs
Christmas decorations can be seen
People are bundled up in furs
10-12-2022
Homophone Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Hat Bueckert
GISELLE AND MOM
My name is La Belle Giselle,
Round my neck is a bell,
Love my mom, who feeds me,
But sneak out for a midnight
Snack up our lovely oak tree,
Or wander in the garden
For a yummy
Meal, fill my tummy
Then feel content, fat and cool,
Marcelle knows what
I’m up to,
He’s no bodies fool.
He’s getting old, so sleeps,
Just sleeps and purrs,
Next to Dad, both of
Us have such silky furs!
I always bring a small tit bit
For Marcelle, but tonight split
It in two, one for you,
Which I always do,
Giselle whispers to Marcelle,
And one for mom
She will be so proud
Of me, no doubt!
My lips are all bloody
And my whiskers too,
Had to tiptoe back in, but clean
Any mousy or grasshopper
Blood or goo, too true,
And jump up on the duvet
You bet,
And knead, a comfortable place
Next to mum, my own space!
Killer by night and by day
Lovable kitty,
Mom always lets me have my way!
Next morning, rudely awoken
By screams and a yell
Last night I had found out how
To loosen my bell,
So mom couldn't hear
And therefore tell,
But I no longer felt swell,
For there was a nasty smell,
Come here kitty cat said mum,
As she refastened my loose bell,
Sorry, I wanted to say,
It was merely a gift,
To say wow what a great face lift,
But will never, ever deign,
Bring you a dead mouse again!
Poetry contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
Write A Rhyming Poem For Fun Poetry Contest
Rhyming Doubles On My Muse's Stern Command
He who Lives, to green woods explore
and bathe in glowing moonlit streams
shall find his Love, begging for more
than pale ghosts in late midnight dreams!
She who his hot passion bestirs
in its fires, warms her eager heart
asks not for gold, diamonds or furs
instead, he a sweeter path chart!
He that her hand truly adores
in her light and grace, truly shine
oft wades along paradise shores
where sincere poets oft opine!
She that in his stead, falls to pray
accepts life's wrath and its dread
as for his sins she must then pay
sorrows born, when to death he fled!
He who lives, to green woods explore
and bathe in glowing moonlit streams
shall find his love, begging for more
than pale ghosts in late midnight dreams!
Robert J. Lindley, 11/21/2019
Rhyming doubles, on my muse's stern command
~~ ~~ ~~
I Then In Silver Silence Fell
My muse cried in my night dream,
to you, I gift a lyric sweet
so your honor you may redeem
and thus your hide, I will not beat!
I wept, you are oft my sad woe
in humble pride, I write my tales
caring not which way each spell flows
thus with freedom, my true ship sails.
My muse, to this cry was bemused
but with anger great, she then rose
tis' I that you truly abused
after I your worthless hide chose!
I then in silver silence fell
and in my morrows, saw so true
I had her under my dark spell
and thus my freedom could renew!
My muse cried in my night dream,
to you, I gift a lyric sweet
so your honor you may redeem
and thus your hide, I will not beat!
Robert J. Lindley, 11/21/2019
Rhyming doubles, on my muse's stern command..
Note:
Sometimes you just gotta cut loose and let the
captive rhymes dance and outward flow....
as in verses from a past youth's meandering
and lighthearted compositions....
As in the in the dark abyss of *Dark verse* one can not be embrace its blackness for too long.
A DINNER INVESTMENT (for Eve)
My husband Chris Adams loves to wine and dine my needs
In the most expensive places, one can eat.
Arriving in LIMO style
A humble waiter greets
After I viewed the menu I replied,
"Hun I am ready to order."
A T-bone steak -- fully cook the meat.
At our table, walked a gorgeous snake-eyed women
She leaned over my husband's seat
Approaching Chris with a big wet kiss
I stomped on my husband's foot
I gave him the look, of all looks
She slithered with her tongue in Adams ear
She whispers
"Go to that hotel and relax, I need some cash"
With one stare I yelled, "Chris how dare you cheat!"
"I had enough, I want a divorce MR. ADAMS!"
I reach over to slap him,
He replies, "She is my mistress Bath-Sheba my dear EVE!"
"I do not love her."
"I understand if you want a divorce!" Mr. Adams replied.
"But, remember, no more furs, luxury suite,
Winters in Barbados,
Summers in Tuscany."
"Infinity or Lexus, and first class plane seats."
"Forget about the Yacht Club."
"Party by the swimming pool, that land a hundred feet."
"It is up to you my Kitty Skat Eve to give it all up."
"You decide if these diamonds you want to keep."
Without thinking of taking a leap.
I saw Mr. Adams business partner Cain with a Jezebel in his arms.
I ask my husband Chris in a small peep.
"Do not tell me that Cain commits Adultery too?"
"Cain's blonde looks really cheap as if she works the street."
"Well, our mistress is prettier and looks real sweet."
"Honey, our mistress Bath-Sheba is worth the keep."
"Mr. Adams tonight you can call me Steve and not Eve,
Whatever it takes to satisfy your needs plus my gold lust!"
**************************************
(The moral of the story is what some Eve's
will do to keep their investment, I mean Adam's.)
A joke and dedication to Chris D. Aechtner
For THE Eve in Eden* (Contest) *
can you taste the w i n d . . .
evergreens . . . junipers . . . furs
love upon the tongue
In memory of Chief Seattle of the Duwamish League of Puget Sound
David Meade
Live Generously
Continued from Part 1
“Upon your knees in golden naves, while peeking through the slots,
You horded thirty silver pieces, downed a whiskey shot,
Then crossed yourself and wrapped yourself in furs of ocelots,
And danced on cleated cloven hoofs in purple polka-dots,
Then drank His blood from chalice cups with pious afterthoughts.
“You’ve treated men like mongrels chained, like little flies to swat,
By doing what you wanted to, instead of what you aught;
You’ve wiped your nose with dollar bills and paid your serfs with snot,
But when you’ve paused to preen your pride, you’ve scrubbed a scarlet blot.
“In ashes of our victories: the diamonds that you sought,
The crock of gold, the Golden fleece of bogus Argonauts -
In mirrors of your lifelessness, the evils you begot.
“The haunted winds strew leaves of time across a shallow plot
Where now, beneath the frozen stones blanched bodies bathe in rot,
Disintegrate, return to dust to feed Forget-Me-Nots
Amidst the bane and pits of pain where broken bones lie caught.
“In fields above the catacombs and tombs of Camelot
The black and withered tree of Death arises from the spot
Where oft beneath a bleeding moon you hid your gold in pots
Embedding doubts neath barren bogs where roots of wormwood squat.
“While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
Your soul, a beggar’s blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
With dangling pearls and diamond studs mid dripping crimson clots
And gaping wounds with bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
For wrapped in chains around your throat, the Reaper’s grim garrote.”
Yes, that’s the fate of all your kind, disclosed by Wise Men taught.
But that was, oh, so long ago, by now you have forgot…
End
There you sit...you patiently wait...
thinking of which animal you want to sate...
Observing a fine fox, who favourable flirts...
with sexy green eyes and the shortest of skirts.
She spots a wolf and scampers his way...
asking him coyly, "Do you want to play?"
A teasing Tigress arrives on the scene...
licking her lips like you are ice cream...
Throws off her furs and bares her teeth...
de***ishly dares you to make a leap...
She purrs softly, "Mount if you wish"...
encouraging you with a tantalizing kiss...
The energy pulsating, reaching new heights...
bodies heavenly entwined as they take flight...
After some time, they reluctantly descend...
exhausted, sated and ready again.
I'm very small
I am called Standing Tall
My story to be read as i live through it all.
Our Dakota lands are forest and vast
Where our ancestors have hunted
From long in the past.
Our tribes are, a confederation of seven
With our language of Lakota, Sioux heaven
We stand proud as we remember our past
And look to our gods, to make it all last.
A silhouette on the prairie hill i see
This shape in the distance is new to me
As we sleep in the night, we hear guns and blows
We arise from our camp, to look for the noise
We creep on the prairie to their surprise
Under the moon, where the land would flow
No longer the Buffalo.
We mount our ponies to challenge these men
What gives them this right to kill and maim
Bodies of beasts, furs cut away
Missing heads, a ghastly slay.
On reaching their camp our bows stretched
Arrows screech, hit the wretched
Watch them fall to the prarie floor
Just like the Buffalo did hours before.
Years have passed as we are moved from our lands
These poisonous men, and their poisonous glands
Bringing illness fever and strife
Ending many a Lakota life.
We reach a point in History
Which made the white man sit up and see
Their Golden Child General George Custer
And the Little Big Horn, my what a disaster.
Arapaho, Cheyenne and us Lakota too
Sliced the Blue Jackets, their Scouts too
The US Cavalry would have their glee
At the Battle Of Wounded Knee
Where Siiting Bull would finally rest
Standing Tall's story last's the test
If we Indians had the same resources
Like the silhouette on the hill
These praries we always had. would be ours still.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/native-americans.php
III
Below the cliffs a midnight tidal swell
as thick as tar now swallows heaven’s light,
a moment's dark as raven cants a spell
to cast his incarnation to the night.
A swirling tempest dwindles to serene
and, in the grainy dusk of twilight dawn,
his shape emerges, muscular and lean,
a manifest of human form is born.
He clothes his nakedness in furs of seal
and preens his onyx hair to mirrored guise,
as oceans, hushed, warn never to reveal
the raven that remains within his eyes.
He sets his kayak to the open seas,
and floats his haunting call upon the breeze.