Best Gentler Poems
Gliding on the hills of forests you arise
Awakening the dawn of sapphire sunrise
Riding with the winds, twirling in my trees
Your invisible form no one ever sees
Softer than a touch, you're a seductive tease
Caressing my lips, like a romantic kiss
Courting with ease, you're my summer breeze
Blowing in my garden, gentler than the winds, you aim to please
Whistling on my walks, you let me breathe, a sigh of cool relief
Whiffing on the nectar, you liven flowers, flirting with the bees
Rustling the leaves, you buzz my air, my happy summer breeze
Hugging the expanse of emerald greens
Amber vegetation you flutter in the fields
Waving turquoise waters gently you kiss
Under the purple-skies donning amethyst
Softer than a touch, you're a seductive tease
Caressing my lips, like a romantic kiss
Courting with ease, you're my summer breeze
Blowing in my garden, gentler than the winds, you aim to please
Whistling on my walks, you let me breathe, a sigh of cool relief
Whiffing on the nectar, you liven flowers, flirting with the bees
Rustling the leaves, you buzz my air, my happy summer breeze
You go on picnics swirling with the kids
Flying their kites into lavender peaks
Soothing summer-vibes in reveling eyes
Greeting evenings of amber-fired skies
Softer than a touch, you're a seductive tease
Caressing my lips, like a romantic kiss
Courting with ease, you're my summer breeze
Blowing in my garden, gentler than the winds, you aim to please
Whistling on my walks, you let me breathe, a sigh of cool relief
Whiffing on the nectar, you liven flowers, flirting with the bees
Rustling the leaves, you buzz my air, my happy summer breeze
August 9, 2018
Placed 3rd in Summer Breeze contest by John Hamilton
NOTE: The sequence is: verse, pre-chorus, chorus
And when my body tires of me
I lie beneath a chestnut tree,
rolling among the broken burrs
where solid sleep rarely occurs
Waking up is the toughest part
when I've never slept to start.
I fear no place except the bed;
where pillows weigh upon my head
Memory foam gives no assistance;
insomnia thrives on resistance
It waits til eyes are almost closed,
never unconscious, then reloads
'Neath the tree is more appealing
than tracing welts upon my ceiling;
each one reflects a calloused lie,
the burrs tattooed on my naked eye
drilling dread into tomorrow night,
a future where there's no respite
This bed has worn me to the bone,
or have I worn its frame alone?
No dreams arrive; the lucid stays,
a consciousness that only strays
far from the tree l'm primed to be-
or not to be, ‘mid autumn debris.
# # #
I’m tired of the chestnut tree’s shade ~
being gentler than the bed I’ve made
Plunked down in chaos
from a gentler time,
blinkered from the traffic
he pulls the coach along.
Patient, in his harness bond
he tugs at hearts, with pathos-
as to his love of duty we respond.
Amidst the screech of sirens
and the blasting horns,
he stands and dreams
of meadows in a nosebag.
Such rhythmic clicking of
metal shoes on concrete,
full rolling of the carriage
wheels and he, confined,
down through the centuries
he thought he'd left behind.
April first drives up in a new Lamborghini,
Everyone knows it is one of her foolish tricks
She will be driving a beat-up pickup farm truck
In thirty days, when time comes to start the planting.
April, she flounces between winter and summer,
Calling herself spring but she is, frankly, confused.
By the tenth, she is tossing around snow flurries
She grins crazily; our warm coats are put away.
Next day or so her temperatures are soaring,
The snow has melted, and we are donning our shorts.
What the old folks always call "Blackberry Winter"
Strikes with vengeance, temperatures in the thirties,
April says maybe that heavy sweater will do.
She laughs by tax-filing day with strong gusty wind
Though ornamental trees are beginning to bud,
There's talk of late frost, April does not seem to care.
Another few days, and she lets the top down so
Warm breezes are embracing the faint scent of lime.
When April suggests a warm spring is here to stay
A blast of Arctic air nips buds with frosty dew
In a warm day or two, sure enough, April comes
Driving her pickup truck full of mulch and manure,
April plants the sturdy vegetables like kale.
Despite late frost, the tulips will soon burst open
Gentler rains, and April may settle down for good.
SIXTH PLACE WINNER
Written April 11, 2021
for "April Poetry Contest"
sponsored by Regina McIntosh
When you sang, dreams croaked, then you ceased to be a volcano,
It was simpler to become a rock, not letting yourself be unraveled by the waves of myopia.
After seasons died in your arms, resigned to your cold might,
You questioned if perhaps all flowers tear their petals in vain for you.
You were left emptied of greenness, a vast void where echoes can't return,
You've lost the appetite for light and horizons, a crownless tree in the purple twilight.
Oh, how you wished to remain the same old fir, clutching a world of rays to your chest,
But you let the day slip into night, you departed to become the leaf you await to fall.
Nymphs in chorus called you to shout again, for the wind to blow in your blue day,
But you stayed silent, and in your silence the tear of the sea extinguished in a fist of foam,
You feared the equinox that doesn't come, the persistent remembrance of a song once drawn,
And you feigned your existence into a white beginning of hibernation, like a silence before a revelation.
Do you believe that once you bloomed, the storm can't break the branch that holds you?
You stopped being the barbarian that made the echo in the mountain laugh at itself,
And in exchange for smiles, a sad pass settled on your face, casting long shadows,
An unanswered question that floats above you, a flight that no longer knows how to reach its destination.
Ah, you’ve lost her, that fearless bird that used to scent the filters of your soul!
You've ceased your word, halted the depth from caressing the root of the sky.
You've forgotten the whirlwind that lifted you above the world, and now you search for meaning,
You are a snail without a shell, feather without flight, a ripple without an ocean, a sky without a constellation.
Is waking harder? Is oblivion gentler than the sweet pretext of remembrance?
You wonder why the stars do not answer your indescribably late call,
The road back seems too long now, legends speak of new beginnings, barren horizons.
Slowly but surely, you lost it... in a pass of slippery fog over your world,
Now you are the slave to your own echoes, seeking a mirror in me so you can breathe once more.
Song of a Warrior’s Bride
He counts on me for beauty:
His eyes blurred by bloody spurts of war,
Scarred by deadly blasts of bone
And tissue, his vision marred
By chunks of men that shook him down
Into the oozing mud of sorrow,
And unscrewed the sockets of his soul,
Blasting windows that once shone luminous,
Into dark pools of madness, mocking
The watch he had to keep that night.
He stopped his ears against
The final cries of men turned babes,
Moaning for mama or a medic,
Gasping for a hand upon their head,
As prayers and curses were sucked
From bodies by the piercing blows
Of guns, while rockets puked
Hellish flames that blotted
Out the stars, until darkness
Swelled into a symphony of pain,
And his heart choked with agonies
He could not stop to heal.
I have learned to fasten his gaze
With the soft gauze of understanding,
A fabric thrown across the room,
Rich with memories between us,
Like rose petals sweetening the air.
I can still delight his eyes and lure him
From the tangled jungle pits he digs
And show him patterns of new mercies,
That reveals the hidden weaver of our days,
The keeper of our steps upon this turf
Of life, turned gentler now.
I drape and wrap, twist and thread
My warless arms around him,
Still fingering the loom of prayer.
Murmuring vows over his embattled brow,
I draw him underneath our tent, pitched
In the heat of hard fought love.
With my mind's eye, I can see...
With my mind's eye, I can see... everything
as it should be
people living together without fear, in harmony
helping each other, being truly happy
With my mind's eye, I can see...perfectly
the world as a kindlier, gentler place to be
With my mind's eye, I can see...true liberty
freedom from fear, freedom from pain
freedom from hypocrisy
With my mind's eye, I can see...true justice
for every man, woman, and child
no more racial profiling, rapists
or pedophiles
With my mind's eye, I can see... peace and security
when the hungry go from famine... to feast
I can even see peace... in the Middle East
With my mind's eye, I can see... an earthly paradise
living forever in perfect health
Why don't you give it a try?
John Derek Hamilton
May 27,2016
She's become lost in small
The oh so important insignificant
Living in her world of do, do
Doing so much
Accomplishing so little
Head down
Sun shining on top of her head
Complaining about the heat
Can't look up
Too concerned about her feet
Skin once dark
Now white like a sheet
Better moments
Floating past her head
Instead of seeing happy
She sees red instead
You might find her joyful
Unless you listen to what is said
She seems alive but inside she's dead
For her
others can't seem to get it right
Their failures, keep her up at night
Her disapproval rides high
She flys it like a kite
Subtley expressed
With a smile so bright
yet in her eyes there is no light
Hands by her side
In fists clenched tight
I'm left wondering
Is this really working for her
Rigid thoughts so solid
Now starting to blur
All those moments wasted
Completly lost for sure
If only she would listen
I would gladly talk to her
Instead
she grasps onto her small
So things they remain
just as they were
No other way of thinking
occurs to her
Still, I desire to see fully
Beneath the critical
To glimpse her beautiful
That enlargened wonderful
No more clinging to miserable
Within a single thought
Her life could start
True freedom within life's art
Right now and here
Best moment
better year
A less expectant
Gentler ear
Then she will find
Other small things that matter
Becoming less lost
Searching out softer ways
Exchanging a sharp tongue
For one of praise
Living to appreciate
No more wasted days
Less doing
More relaxing
Far more
Thankful
Blessed
okays!
Quiet Please
I was born and grew up on the relatively quiet side of the planet. Nevertheless, there was a train line right through the heart of town.
And there were also cotton gins, tractors, and lots of farm machinery.
Obviously, we were not exactly 'noise free'; but basically, the noise I heard most were an occasional barking dog, crickets, bull frogs, and rooster crows.
After high school, I relocated to a very large northern city by a great lake. Suddenly, all my familiar noises of crickets, frogs, and roosters were gone.
Without warning, the sounds of combines and crop dusting planes disappeared They were replaced by commuter buses, automobile horns, sirens, and garbage trucks.
In my late 20's, I moved again to a large western city by the Bay and the Pacific. There, for 30 days, my family and I resided in a motel embraced by a street car rail line. Also there, we were annoyed by rap and rock from loud radios, and more sirens. But also there, we slept sweetly by the ocean waves and fog horns; gentler noises.
03082017 PS Contest, The Noises, Shadow Hamilton
He came each day, when the sun showed noon,
Two heels in a plastic bag-
Thermos of hot tea
To have lunch and
Read passages to the yellow birds-
Usually an hour, til they took flight.
But today the bench is unoccupied-
Empty, except for a plate of hardened ice,
Stuck smooth and tight on the iron,
and frozen sheets on the lath.
Yesterday his footprints showed-
They were longer than most,
From shuffling feet and a small round circle
At the side, from the walking stick...
But now they are gone-
Covered by snow on the path.
The ducks look, and for awhile they wait,
Funny squawks and squeaks in their throats,
Heads bobbing with each step of feet,
Perhaps the only ones to notice the empty bench.
Strange, they have not flown south yet,
As their pond is nothing but a white icedrome.
Perhaps they were waiting for their
Friend to go first, and now that
he has gone, they will soon take flight.
He walks spry in a gentler land,
Beard no longer gray,
Sitting warm- no aches or pains,
Face with no creased lines...
Feeding the yellow birds
on a silver pond each day at noon.
Induced Interludes
Twilight disrobes a soundless star
It claims some gentler theme from me
Caught lingering in a unified bestilled embrace
Beneath a unique spotlight of its gleaming afterglow
gently now, gently
thus footprints bare none
alight butterfly rest on a finger
spilled words occasions the breeze
the gist of me shadows alongside jaguars
Morning star glint after dawns flow
Challenge arranges yet another measure
An opportune solemn hymn ingratiates breaths
Stages of a day follow blissfully edge to edge quietly
gently now, gently
a better course grace me
fingertip traces a fashioned grin
a made verse set rhythmically whispers
a softly caressed infant coos towards silence
Sunsets a mimed score entertains
Review disciplined superbly portrayed
Persuades descending rays an eyeful adieu
Nightwings greet dusk, whorls up into absence
gently now, gently
ebb star pivots another
penitent pose cradles prayers
pointed at fingers in lieu of sheeps
eyes seals behind dreams, genteel cast...
In whispers, I hear a transcending voice, flowing through me
like a peaceful river as it bubbles over the fins of every fish
below. I am washed in its warmth as I walk down a dirt road
leading me back to a lonely place called nowhere. The hushed voice
resonates, lightly touching my heart. It is gentler than a butterfly landing
on an oleander petal and more tender than a sleepy feline’s purr. Like a
hummingbird’s wings in flight, the voice is soft yet strong, a sound in
constant motion coasting down from the hills and rising from the dusty road
into my soul. As I slowly step forward, the voice stays with me, encouraging
me to keep moving. I can almost feel the gentle pull of another hand in mine.
Then, as I look ahead, my path transforms from dirt to shimmering gold.
In awe, I lift my eyes to treetops that reach a cloudless sky with sparkling
leaves draped like garland across the horizon. Distant laughter whispers
in sounds of joy, and stars align before me in streams of glorious sunlight.
Serenity fills my every cell, and the loving voice of a father whispers to me,
“You are on the right path. Welcome home.”
Written 6/12/20 for Regina Riddle's
Whisper to Me Contest
Priceless pearls scattered as the necklace
Was snapped, ripped away by greedy
Hands, envious of your sublime beauty
And even gentler encouragement. Bounc’d
Every one of them cross cobblestones, cracks,
And down the storm drain irretrievable.
Holding that golden empty promise string
Your fountain of tears so scalded my soul.
Could I but hold you, say comforting words,
I would have. But words are trite when the heart
Is blistered in injustice’s heat.
We gathered what we could, returning
To the Sea, knifing open more oysters
Restringing your dream, one pearl at a time.
A Golden Steed Gallops
A golden steed gallops in my dreams as of late
echoing sounds of my so darkly imagined fate
chastising my wicked deeds of an ill-spent youth
increasing the chasm between bold lies and truth.
Flowing trails of gleaming pain fly deep with that race
as precious , sweet memories burn up without a trace
flying away , names and faces of girls I so easily left
broken up like fine crystals falling from a high shelf.
An invisible rider brings racing steed to an abrupt halt
as it screams out, "yes you, it's all your damn fault"!
why did you not live a sweeter, kinder and gentler life
blame is on you for lost true love , loss of your first wife!
Golden steed stands at a graveyard filled with no headstones
lying about are several sun-bleached and broken white bones
dark wind races in whispering in a very raspy low moan
you are so dead , now you lay cold, dark and so, so alone!
06-13-2014
Another charming woman is
sharing with me what I used
to share with you without guilt,
even without a sad feeling or thought:
to find a substitute for this loneliness...
for that deep void you left inside!
The cell phone always rang
at the end of the evening;
and I was so thrilled
to hear you at the other end:
to listen to the sweet words that were
able to turn an uncaring man
into a gentler and kinder one...
and I learned how to care!
Oh,how I long to hear that voice again,
and like a dream that needed litttle dreaming:
you came knocking on my door at dawn,
and I let you in without hesitating...
so earger to touch you like nobody could;
so impatient to invent a magical world!
Another night is coming to haunt me mercilessly
with the beautiful memories and secrets
of two close hearts loving endessly;
what other choice do I have...if not look away,
and tell myself that you don't exist in my thoughts...
to find a substitute for this loneliness?