Best Garbed Poems
Within the hallways of my mind a memory that clings
spoken words of wisdom, beneath the hush of Christmas morn
A little kitchen full of goods a gaze that said, " you are loved"
what a child remembers is all the days of one life's adorn...
Garbed in flannel wrapped in joy beneath the tree we'd sit
unraveling treasures with disentanglement and foresight
Outside the snow kept falling softly upon our little house
where just the four of us kept vigil with the Holy child.
Today the world has changed but one thing still remains
we still believe in Christmas, for its love that binds us all
recall your own Noel dear friends but do remember this
it's in the eyes of those you meet, that sweet, repeated bliss.
She morphs into a sultry Summer's morn
garbed in a cloak of alabaster fog:
gossamer thin, and casually worn.
And echoing the croaks of a bullfrog:
She stops to carry on a dialogue,
with croaks too numerous to catalog.
Slipping on Her slippers of sparkling dew:
She inks an ebony horizon red;
as the sun rises in a sky of blue.
Shadows get resurrected from the dead:
while spiders dangling from a silken thread
spin dream-catcher webs that fill flies with dread.
Nature's a wizard at staging effects;
like vermilion sunsets, jungles of green,
and vivid colors of birds and insects.
Wherever we go, She's already been:
let's keep Her rivers, seas, and oceans clean:
Her mood can change; She's not always serene.
I hear Her whisper secrets to the wind:
like Spring's approaching, or the ice has thinned.
Dahlias and daffodils dazzle as ice darts from the cold.
Dram is kaleidoscopic as moods and thoughts collide.
A rosy sun casts hues on the sky, mixing azure and gold.
Scarlet engulfs the star as a veil that swirl and hide.
The moon, garbed in a golden gown, glides in a gray sky.
Mars and Venus soar and gems and rubies adorn high.
Behind the flashing lights of a dragonfly, clouds sway.
Dawn paints skies with crimson, fuchsia, and blue.
The sun rises as aqueous gold, kindling its vivid hue.
When a fresh day dawns in the pearl flakes of dew.
A hazy horizon wanes in an abyss of gloom to unfold.
Velvet cobwebs contrast, glimmer in a silver snide.
Enhance the appeal of a green park where kids play.
On a buoyant beach where the breeze barely blew.
Written: March 09, 2023
1st place contest winner
Writing Challenge - 'K' Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
This poem form is the Fragmented Rhyme invented and Conceived by Constance La France. It has 14 lines with indentation, and a rhyme scheme, as follows: ABABCCCDDDABCD
Lilies plush, in coral-pink, titivate tidy yards
Swaying gracefully by manicured green lawns,
Alluring his glance there shadows dance
Where rabbits chase, and squirrels scurry by.
The lady in rocking chair, as always, says: hi,
Cheerfully poised, adoring red-roses rise,
Nonchalant of a poodle agitating on porch
Spotting a raft of ducks slowly, slowly cross.
He floats among clouds, his dreams amplified,
Buzzing amber desires in womb of eventide
Gawking fond musings that blush crystal sky
Lauding opaline aura glinting astral designs.
Ruminating jubilance, elated she’s feeling now
Lounging in thoughts by the pond in a park
As rustling winds imitate eve’s gilded sighs
Where she sits charmed, playfully beguiled,
Greeting him lovingly, garbed in mauve smile,
Caressing impulses that blazing passions vie
When Adele’s lyrics emanate from Love Song
Echoing tunes of romance from a car nearby
Scintillating lambency of love in longing eyes,
As fervid night muses of fairyland rendezvous
Divulging clandestine clues of lush stellar hues,
Riveting gaze, she proclaims: darling, it’s true,
Up high on amorous sky, the moon feels it too.
August 17, 2021
Placed 1st: This or That, Vol 5 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: On fertile ground
Stood here, alone, at the very edge, as quiet
Morning breaks;
Rumblings from a distant train, low overhead
A Peewit flies:-
Those strange, mewing calls; it sounds as if the
Whole fate
Of a diminished race should hang upon some
Shrill utterance of a wandering bird's cry.
And heard in that plaintive cry? All the vast,
Widening breadth found only in a far out solitude.
An unsettling, fragile stillness this. Just then,
Above the flattened, grey dawn, Jupiter stalling --
But grasped, to be tumbled in a mad, rushing,
Sudden downward swoop
Of scooped up air! Earth eagerly tilting to
Purposefully confuse
When urging about disaster -- the fractured horizon
Partly disintegrating whilst partly reforming...
But that masterful
Bird, buoyed, secured within his dizzying loop;
Where from, arrogant Jupiter, still garbed yet
In faded glory...now falling, falling, falling.
By his hand was grown a forest
trees aligned as fence posts
trunks accentuated lavender and blue,
but not as a spruce
and purple strokes, not disguised as prose
in a woodland cut short in proportion
somewhat a distortion of towering height
over wildflowers it stood,
sans a canopy of leaves
for the profusion of those umbrellas
would've barred sunlight from the copse.
Botanicals, merely painted as smears
A scene filling my senses
with thoughts of Spring... except
to mourn for branchless trees
barren to give motherly birth
and nurture buds as their worth.
Reflections on canvas of golden blossoms,
topaz gems and white faceted diamonds
windswept by Mariah's winds
blowing North and South
then, changing her mind... East and West
temperament is what she does best.
An undergrowth of green but
I don't find it serene
as side by side two plod
through stems and grasses
feet tangled in masses of vines
Was that a wise decision?
With derision, I wonder...
if the brush strokes had a purpose
a plan for the man to be more relevant,
standing tall, garbed in black, high-top hat
while barely visible, the fem
camouflaged in Van Gogh's jungle.
Whether facing front to back,
one coming or the other going
there's no starry night to be found
That would be profound
even to an eye that's unappreciative of art
when part of the scene
has no semblance of a sky.
The sky unfolded
Strewn with color
From royal red to violet
As far as the eye could see
Standing upon the beach
Waves crashing, sinking into sand
Euphoria and delight fill my heart
Such exquisite music
Feeling pure and free
A refugee before the shining sea
Garbed in white
The sun peeks at me
A blushing sphere
My one true love
I hold my arms open
And the sun rises higher
The untold verses strech before me
Etched in the morning sky
Where I see colors fading to blue
No longer shall I live in fear
Tears fall from my eyes and I murmur,
"Sabah al-khair."
Gypsies garbed in colorful robes
fortune tellers on the seaside boardwalk
sneers they get from nonbelievers
“Vagrants,” they call tramps
hobos from Hoboken to Alcatraz
quietly passing the bottle to all in the boxcar
don’t confuse thieves with gypsies and tramps
we can say, “No,” to gypsies and refuse handouts to tramps
the desperate who steal find a new home in jail
*Entry for Lisa’s “Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves” contest
Bare branches clicking together
Winter snapping it’s fingers
To a song composed by Nature
Sung by winds garbed in
White robes of snow
Choral composition
Season of transition
Music swirls all about us
Yet…given not
To Man to know
A song unheard…
Except by Angels
To mere mortals
E’er unknown
Of Winter days that
in most marvelous ways
Makes one want to
…write a poem…
I was not thirty yet, and it was fall.
My wife and I were touring in Japan
While on our summer break from teaching school.
Our luck, our parents lived to grow us tall,
And modeled health and art to groom wingspan,
Though there were times, kids thought it wasn’t cool.
Around the world two times by thirty-one
And this was all by choice; I chose each stop!
The temple gardens garbed in fall array.
Our luck, that we could serve and still have won
A splendid life that went on till we’d drop,
With even work so often turned to play!
Volcanos on the island’s southern tip
And Shogun castles float in Asian air,
Our Ryokans loved homes away from home.
My luck, that I gave Vietnam the slip,
For killing others is a sad affair,
But naught for me so sad as Church in Rome.
Somehow I learned to love a sword fight film,
Though as a warrior I would surely die.
My luck, the pen was stronger than the sword.
I forged computer skills to build my realm,
With walls of code built castles in the sky,
And over friends and foe alike I soared.
But in Kyoto lies my heartfelt fame,
A famous artist let me buy his work,
For what I had! (I would have sold my breath!)
He spent three days just showing us surname. (1)
My luck, I was mature, not childish jerk,
His painting hangs above my bed till death.
But crowning grace just seemed to come from gods,
Two fortunes gained from Buddhist temple’s prayer!
My luck, a monk agreed to read them too,
With mine in hand, “Ten thousand to one odds!”
“In all my life, I’ve not seen one! It’s rare!”
‘Among the lucky, chosen one is you!’
Brian Johnston
April 14, 2017
Poet’s Notes:
(1) For several days he drove us to his family temples, his favorite temples, to beautiful garden parks both inside and outside of Kyoto. We also shared several meals. When we had to go finally, I felt like I was leaving family
I have ceased staring at the allure
of moon and stars,
long past laying my head at loves feet.
I can pen no words, or expressive
musings; the rose within my soul,
withered...sullen thorns remain.
I am a strayed embodiment of Him
and my mortal confines, chases His shine.
~
I
have searched every smile and veritable
tears in unknown faces; lingered to inhale
the fragrant breaths of both young and
old. I dared graze
the pulse of undaunted hearts
hoping to catch His presence...
quick to sidestep those
garbed in wintry stone.
~
Today
I heard him clearly in a
child's laughter; inviting
and engaging …but the
message was not
for me.
~
I
have looked within natures
subtle passages; as I arise
before the sun each
day. Still I am
alone...ashamed
that even His shadow
eludes me.
~
Alas,
the vigor in my walk has
dissolved into a drunkards
dance...doddering and
pointless.
~
Yesterday, I closed
eyes and heart;
an apparition watching
my funeral's passing.
Suddenly, He was beside me
around me...everywhere;
alas, in life...I failed to turn
my head and see him.
We stood there in silence,
never asking for more;
we stood prepared for the violence,
garbed in full raiment of war.
In a moment of lightning,
a flash and a flare,
our defenses fell to the frightening,
our fortresses laid bare.
We knew what lay ahead,
and yet we carried on;
we experienced the chaos, the dread,
and still, the still face we don.
We bent our backs through the long night,
battled the forces arrayed against our ragged platoon;
to learn, to grow, to know what it is to fight -
to prove we and our forefathers of the same stone were hewn.
Then, after so long a struggle, finally came the dawn.
The sun rose, and we were men.
The sun rose, and all regrets over the pain were gone.
The sun rose, and we knew strength stood within our ken.
As our leaders spoke words over what we had just fought,
I felt on us the strings with which fate so often intervenes;
heard the call and knew what we had ultimately wrought.
As the colors flew, we saluted; forever we are Marines.
Ever on in silence we'll stand,
awaiting orders, waiting on your need;
the eagle, globe, and anchor forever our brand,
semper fidelis eternally our creed.
Oh Passiflora, flower of passion,
at the pinnacle of flower fashion.
Near-naked garbed in deep purple-pink plush
displays that make my begonias blush.
Your Summer’s secret garden is burning,
leaving your lusting young lovers yearning.
Stirring the manhood of the bumblebees,
and sirening hummingbirds from the trees.
Before the hot torch of the heavens fades,
and short shadows lengthen into long shades,
quick set all your seeds lest the fast Fall frost,
will bite at your bones ‘til your fruits are tossed.
I cannot say that I’ve grown wise
through all my passing years.
Yet one can surely win apprise
with open eyes and ears.
I see ego garbed as majesty
blurting nonsense called opinion
and hapless pawns of travesty,
misled by such dominion.
Then pride, that common drivel,
pours like rain into my ears.
Heralding the frivol—
playing on my fears.
Wise and precious minds
soar higher than the rest.
Overlooked, disparaged and maligned,
shame they’re oft suppressed.
By wise enthralled and fools appalled,
these two of diverse kind.
How is it then they’ll be recalled?
By what they leave behind.
GEISHA
Genteel girls trained to charm
Gentlemen with their wit,
Graceful dancing and song.
Garbed in silk kimonos,
Garnished with exquisite
Gems and embroidery -
Gracious teahouse hostess.
10/25/16