Best Gilt Poems
A citrine leaf in lingered lilt
did savor breeze of sapphire whisk
and Autumn’s honey-secrets spilt.
A hopscotch star.. an ember brisk,
she sighed and fell— then took her chance!
a citrine leaf in lingered lilt
with wind-a-whirl in saffron dance,
below the western-cirrus gilt.
Before the winds began to wilt
and aspen whispers rose a wail,
a citrine leaf in lingered lilt
did fly where camp-fire-clouds grew pale,
where songs are spun from angel dreams,
their rapture wrapped her like a quilt,
no longer needing rhinestone streams,
a citrine leaf in lingered lilt.
If I have the time, I’ll wait eons, to greet you in scarlet dawn
As you marvel its vermillion garb embossing marigold arc
Emanating golden sparks, piercing hazy contours of dark
While gilded ripples glisten pond, where floats a snazzy swan.
Listen I’ll, to the music of morn, in songs of gentle breeze
Quivering new growth on barren trees where chickadees sing
Shedding dread of winter, in adoration of vibrant spring
As you thrill in waltzing hills, where green conifers wheeze.
Ambling through idyllic meadows of my coveted dreams
I’ll emerge in gilt-sunshine on silken petals glinting dew
Where pink and purple rosy blooms enliven to enchant you--
Meeting you where giggling streams glitter in amber beams.
By your side in a quiet spot, I’ll watch the sparrows fly by
Hopping from branch to branch in euphoric random dance
Scurrying suddenly in curvy flight, inviting your glance
Celebrating freedom, flying high, into expansive blue sky,
And compose a chapter of doting allegory in romantic glory
Lingering in hearts where cadent verses of desires sway
Turning up the tempo, letting life’s ravishing rhythms play
As hours and days accumulate slowly, into eternal love-story.
December 17, 2019
Placed 1st: If you have the time for an enclosed rhyme poetry contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
HM: Strand select 10 contest by Brian Strand
The breeze annoying trees entices me,
I drift away afar to fields abloom,
with silver tongues untied their whispers free—
..ah prairie-weed does burn a sweet perfume.
The flowered spikes do strike a reminisce,
the musky scent upon each purple spear…
your kiss, our bliss… you I miss… you I miss—
I fall upon each heady spear, despite the golden air.
The gilt-edged frills and thrills of summer days— that flutter!
The guilt-wedged sway and suede of lusty meadow sage.
The jilted sun, once young, still shines above the haze— that clutter…
an unfledged page from when we came of age.
I linger lone and lost and loathe the lure of wind
as fuzzy leaves flaunt drizzle beads beneath the clouds chagrined.
Mystical amour of moonlight moth's whimsical lure,
a glowing flame in sensual saffron gold attire;
restless tease with every breeze, gilt-cavorting contour,
pale green fluttering, her wings stirring his breath afire.
Lilting lightness in beaming brightness, her dark eyes shine,
in the night renewed flight, fragile love on agile wings;
aerial display of desire's ache amaranthine,
hungry heartstrings crave what evening's ebony brings.
His illumination sparks her imagination,
heart’s replete, breathless beats, she basks in his halo-heat;
fascination with chance her hot romance, damnation,
flame’s fickle spurn, wistful wings burned, by love bittersweet.
Susan Ashley
October 18, 2017
~ First Place ~
Contest: Favorite Rhyming Poem Ever
Sponsor: Laura Loo
"A woodland path in the dappled sun, hushed and quiet "
~A Rambling Poet~
A canopy of trees
filters the sun for me,
and I am grateful...
For I do not feel like
having the rays glare
in my eyes today,
in a brooding mood I am.
The earth is damp,
drunken with dew,
seemingly commiserating
with me
I lay myself down,
jagged rocks beneath me
--cutting, rough--
and I welcome it
For it grounds me,
a reminder
that not everything
is sunlight and blooms
I sink in my darkness
and close my eyes
to dwell in it and drown,
just sighing
For an eternity,
I am mired with
muck and moss in my mind,
thoughts eroding
to nothingness
...until I open my eyes
to Wonderment
The trees above me
stand tall and proud
in their radial glory,
the sun just
breaking through,
shimmering, dappling
my cold being
Leaves gilt with light
blink back in awe
and I am floored,
blanketed by warmth
of hushed spirits
surrounding me
These trees
tell their tales
of growth and survival,
of yearning for
that light,
of their struggle
to catch a glimpse
of heaven...
of capturing
its light,
using it,
feeding off from it,
in order to
give back to others
some of them stumble
yet most of them
succeed
I am humbled.
I am awed.
Yes, the canopy
gave me shade,
temporary darkness
from the light,
I look up again
and realize
that the tiniest
pinholes of hope exist,
reaching deep within...
little sparks
that set off
a chain reaction
of life
--June 11-12 (2011)
Gold Fever
History will not record the bloated weight
Of this pious and bigoted race
Or count the fat and flaccid wealth
Of religions idolatry
Those pages have been scrubbed clean
By prosperous forgivingness
And the cruelty of established political dominion
Will not tally the bodies of the oppressed
To them, faith and belief are merely a weapon
A system of abusive control
And a means of power continuation
A dictatorial right to rule the population
History will not record the inheritance of opinion
But lay blind at the doors of massacre
The Aztec, The Aborigine, The North American Indian, The African *****,
Pray in silence to The Church
Centuries written in blood and torture
For a message of verbiage and usage
Extracted and leeched from the poor and uneducated
Created the western dream
The long night of the witch hunt is not over
The Inquisition has saved us
With fake blood and wooden crosses
This elite of moral perspective shall save us all
We have paid the price in conscience
Superiority managed by white skinned indifference
Holy mother church has welcomed all
All into its iron embrace of slack jawed wonder
And what more despicable rule can there be
Than to dictate ones own spiritual journey
Spouted by the rote of political expediency
And the promise of heaven
Ingrained now this so called Christian ethic
And so much of the truth left distorted
Forgotten now are the ancient mystical secrets
Which united mankind to understanding
Idol of gold and crucifixion
Of cathedral and stained glass objectification
Gilt and holy water of sumptuous ritual
Of silken pope and luxurious self righteous invention
An aberration of human faith and belief
An unrepentant destroyer of “ Loves ” dream
The curse of The Christ as you continue to translate
The Word
And where the paupers fist crunches the dirt
Where dried and parched lips pray for rain
Where the desperate cry for a reason echoes
Where blood flows in feted anger
Where children scream in fear
Where hunger and despair debase and demean
Where there is no light
And in the dark only pain
If you wish to care for the souls of mankind
Preacher
It is there with them
There
Is where you should be
My Handicap Beach
As I lay here and look out the window from our hotel at the absolutely amazing view..
It makes me wonder how something so simple creates such beauty and always seems so new..
I feel sadness for those who pass by every day and don’t think another thought about..
The beauty that surrounds them from the beach and the water with the waves washing in and out..
The lighthouse that stands unintentionally stoic and tall and lights the way for those out at sea..
And the sand that finally runs across my toes which has been a dream for so long for me…
This was only possible with the help of a loving person who got me where I needed to go…
And to whom I really hope does realize how much they have helped me in many ways to grow..
And there are always a few people that have to make a spectacle of a girl in a wheelchair..
As they walk by me and say things in a whisper as if they think I can’t hear along with a stare here and there..
If they only knew that It was one of the best days of my life and that I am feeling so relaxed and at ease..
I will take all of their comments and let them go over my head along with the beautiful breeze..
Because this morning I may have been the disabled girl on the beach which was a wonderful thing to me..
And until you learn to see the view from down in a wheelchair every day I don’t care what you think you see...
Because today my view was from the warm sand on a beach towel that was laid down just for me and was the best..
Day I have had in so long because I was no longer that poor gilt in the wheelchair and felt almost like all of the rest..
Of beach goers and comers to the new jersey shore in Atlantic City and right on the pier that is very well known..
For gambling and partying but for me it was just to feel the sand on my toes and feel like I was not handicapped if even for a few moments alone..
Coming home with my stuff in disarray the way it always is along with a few souvenirs because they are from my very first trip away from home..
I loved it so much and want to thank those who took me long on a short but awesome vacation to start me going more which I really hope..
Because it’s nice sometimes to go to places that make you feel different than the usual girl in the wheelchair always needing help from what I call in my head my proverbial rope..
Buffy Sammons
When your heart
corresponds
with your mind,
then, give it a shot,
you write
back to me
what expressions
you so badly
need
to bleed;
the characterisation
of letters
are alphabet soup
to me, child's play,
peeling tattoos
like bells ringing
over a tongue
not speaking,
I swallow words
hungrily
then I spit them out,
bullets that pierce
a page,
bulls eyes
staring back
through the black holes,
the other silent horns,
all silently complicit
small missions
of truth
cornucopias,
wearing through
the thin fabric
of ludicrous
fantasy
feathers that fall
from soft pillows
quaking against
levees breaking
the barriers hitting marks
the sands of time broken,
river banks splitting,
the bodies drowned
and sucked up
like works of art
in a hyped up
Hieronymus Bosch,
if you are in deep
you can make sense
of it all,
you know you're in it,
that picture, way, way
up to your eyeballs
brushing against
all the others, removed,
flotsam and jetsam
in the wash, sensing
the path they all took,
but the mystery
of never quite knowing,
like a smell, pervades
charcoal tears
melt all the ways
a heart can be kicked
down and gutted
witnessed through
gilt edged windows
full and jaded
to a gate opening,
the sound cracking
like a mouth
terraforming
dustied and green
the shaman soul
found underneath
it all, humourously
rustling sage over
the external,
a serious novice
for burning
small
exorcisms
smoking out
renegades, those
stubborn seeds planted
in long spent sentences,
those true romantics,
the forgotten ill-bred,
well-tilled, rebel poets
small
exorcisms
for burning
Candide Diderot. ‘24
violins.
Sometimes, I cannot help but sigh
and wonder--
wonder deep inside of me
whether I could ever be like you.
I riffle through the pages of my soul
and find a lot of them empty
Unlike yours, which seem to be bursting, blinding,
bursting, and still continuing to burst with brilliance...
So much so,
that your soul's light
has spread far and wide,
very much like sunlight's fingers
opening the morning sky curtains,
touching and warming
those who need it.
Tanglaw
Each step that you take,
each breath that you exhale,
each prayer that you whisper,
each beat of your heart
Tanglaw
I receive a smile,
and chat
with that man
who you've helped change...
Because of you,
the silent man now speaks, smiles.
You sit down to rest,
I see you talking to someone,
and I am almost fooled,
since you seem like old friends.
Because of you,
the lonely strangers become kindred.
It mystifies me sometimes,
of how you never seem to get tired.
It seems like I am the one who gets tired for you,
who gets worried for your own strength...
Then I see that glow from all around,
and I am reminded how you glean from this glow.
I see you as this beautiful ball of energy--
Never static,
bouncing from soul to soul,
illuminating parts of themselves
that even they never knew existed.
It is so amazing seeing this at work,
since the next thing I know,
the place is lit up,
Alive.
...and it is all because of you.
It makes me feel unworthy at times,
but oh how it also makes me feel so proud,
that I am a part of you,
and you are a part of me.
I have a lot of catching up to do,
since it seems I am lightyears from where you are
But I will try.
I will catch the tail end of your light,
clutch to it with my life, winding it around me,
let it embrace me--tight, so tight.
And I will never let it go. Never.
Until I also begin to glow.
Until I too, become that ball of light.
Hopefully when someone
riffles through the pages of my soul,
they will not find it blank,
but filled with gilt pages of light.
Just like yours.
Bursting and brilliant just like yours.
Tanglaw is pronounced "tang-lao"
Where I live, mothers are said to be the "light of the home"...
Thou art to me the fairest crimson rose,
A tender bloom with dawn's first colour gilt;
Yet ev'ry flow'r in mortal clime that grows,
Is here for but a time, and then does wilt.
By all I e'er held dear, I now aver,
That though a rose may wilt, yet still 'tis sweet;
I only hope a place I could secure
In fondest adoration at thy feet.
For fairness found in form and face will fail,
But that within the heart may shine undimmed;
Though nothing for youth's beauty may avail,
A heart with golden deeds may yet be rimmed.
My Juliet, in truth I do declare,
I love thee not for youthful beauty fair.
The sky shone gaunt gold
on the lip of the storm
before the anvil shaped clouds advanced
upon the burning margins of the world
Like a dream
the thunder rolled away
leaving cotton candy swirls
before a spreading dawn
Gentle white horse clouds appeared
pulling pastel chariots
bearing angels -
rainbows, tinted on their snowy wings
Down they plunged
gilt-edged, into a pit of pure white
popcorn clouds
Feeling God-like before
the breakfast service
I watched delicate washes of pale lavender
mist into daylight.
Dedicated to Connie Marcum Wong who worked as a flight attendant for many years.
LATE JULY 2018 STANDARD,ANY FORM OR NONE,ANY THEME,UPTO A MAX OF 20 lines
Contest Judged: 7/23/2018 10:59:00 AM
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
First Place
The stars above like dust arrayed,
their glow resplendent in the theme of night—
as remote to me the heavens, the drone now of my
footstep’s cadence compels me onward.
I urge my stream of thought again to reconsider bygone years—
and review in sorrow moments of regret I wish could simply evanesce.
A passing graveyard's dated markers make the past more vivid, and
as always there appears my own among them, adorned with gilt and guilt.
This sector of the cemetery seems untouched,
and painful stillness reigns until preoccupying words
if only somehow vanish from my mind, and absent these,
I leap joyfully to take my place at last unburdened midst the stars.
Dedicated to my dear and treasured poet friend Connie Marcum Wong, not so much due to content, as to its measured flow, which comes and goes in my work and over which I seem to have no control. Bless your days and nights, Connie.
Rebirth glides -
a bee balm ballerina
with dainty airs
sails soft upon enchanted wisps
of Spirit’s blown kiss..
wandering a nectar network
weaving amid shaggy blooms gilt-tilled..
a dancer in gold dust
her slipper feet
of light and peace
bring blessings of fruition
to wild-garden's frilly lavender fillies
Somedays I'm a pale apple wishing to be a tangerine.
Fantasy focused fulfillment fondles favored dreams.
Enthrall me free amid emerald enthused energy
while softly snuggle wrapped in sensual satin sheets.
Let gleaming gilt threads golden gloss this glorious bed.
May lyrical lilacs air link to lift and softly dance while
harmony twists and polished peace dips to dazzle me.
I shiver, smile and sigh sensing supreme sheen in sky
and see a grand ground gushing a generous grassy green.
Somedays I'm a pale apple wishing to be a tangerine.
The penthouse of Donald J. Trump
Has pillows quite plump for your rump
But it’s filled to the hilt
With the wrong type of gilt
Which is why I’ve been stuck in a slump.
If the guilt I’d prefer were displayed
Then I wouldn’t feel quite so betrayed
But the sparkle of gold
Even fake, I am told,
Is sufficient, at times, to persuade.
In the White House, perhaps we’ll be graced
With some glitz in Melania’s taste
And there’ll be no debate
Once America’s great
All that gilt will be warmly embraced.