Best Globules Poems
Sustained by the frequent spring showers
Adorned by rosettes of dark green
They burst into dense yellow flowers
The florets parading their sheen.
They sway to sensations of pleasure
The rhythmic allure of the breeze
Then rest in the evening at leisure,
Appear every day to increase.
But soon comes the time for reversal
The petals are destined to dry,
Then globules of seeds for dispersal
To nature’s intentions comply.
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This poem merits to win for the simple reason that
dandelions are ill-treated and spoken of badly by
many people, little realizing the beauty and good points
which they have to share with us.
Placed 3rd in Richard Lamoureux's contest
© 12th April 2019
When leaks my pen of flowing ink
I quickly staunch the flood
by blotting with my fingertip
the pool of chromatic drip
Escapees while my mind took flight
wandering across the sky
writing in script of a damsel's plight
until the globules caught my eye
Often, I've stopped writing to think....
there lies drops of my poem's blood
Swirls and whirls of rhyme and phrase
captured with the stab of a finger
Words trapped inside a maze
where my poetic thoughts must linger
a miniature portrait of my write
a tattoo in black on parchment of white
A welcome sight the lights ahead - like misty globules on ink black foam
The billboard elicits a sense of foreboding - Welcome to the Midnight Bazaar
A lack luster moon adds to the mystery – nervously I enter to ask my way home
A familiar song plays in the somewhere, the name eludes me - how bizarre
Somberly dressed people scurry past- eyes focused on illuminated screens
Refusing contact, shoving past rudely as I ask where this place would be
One of them in riddles tells me - this is home - the place to be it seems
I wonder if the scales of reality have tipped in favor of insanity
A stall arouses my curiosity and I look as a butcher of sorts places
Bleeding hearts getting desired effect - starts a pushing jostling frenzy
Uninterested in the clowns on stilts with their painted morbid faces
Children walk with sullen looks - expressionless eyes that fail to see
Crowds clamor to buy sea food - how absurd - especially as a smell of decay prevails
Fresh produce on sale with dyed color bleeding and truffles of mud is there something amiss
A man wanders around with passports on offer - Buy yourself a Life - his sign displays
Relief at last - a stall with books and maps – here is my escape from this tainted Abyss
This God forsaken place is not where I wish to stay
And I must strive to leave it before the light of day
An exorbitant sum I pay eager to escape his cloying breath, his black toothed smile
A commotion at the far end - some sort of bidding - curiously I venture courage giving me wings
A sign proclaims ‘Souls For Sale’- in rage I scream ‘you cannot sell souls - This is so Vile ‘
Dark soulless eyes in chalk white faces – Bore right through me – Look right through me
I run screaming, falling, clawing the map that shows all roads lead back to this Hell - I scream
Waking myself - knowing the name of that song still in my head - Shaking from this macabre dream
Footnote:
This was not meant to be a pretty poem. It exaggerates the state of a world that has seemingly lost its focus and empathy. Let's not let this happen
Take a bit of Dean Kontz, Stephen King and the unnatural things going on with food enhancements and you have the stage set for a macabre nightmare!
TWILIGHT'S AURORA
From the yawning west horizon stretch,
orange to red streaks painting the blue skies
Fleeting dragonflies flirt with the swaying breeze
as so the dives and glides from flock of starlings
Billowy to feather clouds unite
in a cosmic godly assemble rite.
The standing sound wind runs to blow
as the amber flames beneath the ashes glow.
Darkness inches it's way and wrath,
the lone farmer on the field then hurry to his path
as before the sunset, he needs to be home fast.
Crickets stalked with their wafting chants in the air
suddenly, soppy dew globules descends to the ground
crumbling to reach the parched earth bounds,
Drenched and tired after lots of strides
serenity falls to the farmer after the globules dried
_________________________________________________
Sponsor Kelly Deschler
Contest Name Simply Beautiful
---Placed 3rd---
6:10 pm, March 24, 2015
“The Last Mothers of Mars”
When the strange ones came
we thought they were
angels sent to save us
Open hearted
we waved our welcome
we were not warring, then
we were peaceful
we were noble
we were gracious
plutonium waves hit us
hydrogen radiated over us
Light, so bright, rapturous
we thought
they were angels
sent to save us
One day
we will be discovered
fossilized bones and hair
DNA deposits
in globules of sparkling chartreuse
desert glass
we were the last mothers of Mars
our lost children fused to us
as we lay embryonic
curled around them in the rust
waiting for you to arrive
to find yourselves
amongst us in the dust
(LadyLabyrinth/2021)
“Beware the bearer
of false gifts and their
broken promises
Much pain but still time
There is good out there
We oppose deception
Conduit closing”
"In appearance the locusts were like horses prepared for battle: on their heads were what looked like crowns of gold; their faces were like human faces, their hair like women's hair, and their teeth like lions' teeth; they had breastplates like breastplates of iron, and the noise of their wings was like the noise of many chariots with horses rushing into battle. They have tails and stings like scorpions, and their power to hurt people for five months is in their tails. They have as king over them the angel of the bottomless pit. His name in Hebrew is Abaddon, and in Greek he is called Apollyon."
"They come from a distant land, from the end of the heavens, the Lord and the weapons of his indignation, to destroy the whole land."
night market! a juggle of flavors
succulent and citrusy with
pears pumpkins peaches inflamed
and clothed in sweetened rinds like
watercolors of tangerine and mauve...
stems dipped in waters of tender sun
flesh touching flesh,
nectar glazing bronze on squirts turned into nectar,
into savory brine... then to wiggle
upon a harvest filling
quilted baskets sucked and chewed: beaded
globules, bulbs rippling in own honeyed pools,
tangy fruitage which bears the ripest of ovules
lacing the tongue ambrosial. tangy...
and ladies like rush home with flushed romance
in their heads
with piles of delicacies bending swirling
on their ample chests
to taste the liquid radiant syrup
of eve's craving for a night lovers' feast.
For Debbie Guzzi's Just A Little Bit Of Sugar
2/22/2017
Naked dunes recline and off the headland
Spume and dolphin fins hammer rocks,
Smithereens spraying skywards,
A roar of thunderous aftershocks.
Creeps in the tide and out again,
Leaving vortex swirls upon the sand,
Patterns changing, Neptune's scrawl,
Reclaiming atoms of the land.
The waxen polish on the surface
Holds the globules on the leather;
Droplet speckled transience,
Yet gripped in ever changing weather.
Grains of salt on lips that met,
And tasted ozone burning bright;
Devious undertow tugging feet,
Yet stand their ground in falling night.
With lighthouse tenacity, limpet strength,
Held each other, prayed for more,
And hewn of rock and ocean carved
Did yield instinctive on the shore.
After an hour’s incessant rain
On this cloudless evening
With the face of the sky
Washed clean
Globules of water
Have speckled the oiled surface
Of leaves on arching trees
They glisten in the evening light
Reflecting kaleidoscopic colors
As I look on, they quiver,
Dither, wobble and flutter
In their effort to balance precariously,
Each drop flops down one by one
With a sad refrain
Flip… plop, flip …plop
Leaving ripples in the puddles below
In the deep hush of Nature
On this twilight evening
Their distinct tinkling
Falls as music to my ears!
Placed First
For Strand’s (1063) Poetry Contest
Placed First
The cerulean sky suddenly turned grey.
Cumulonimbus clouds covered the sky.
The gentle wind turned into a noisy roar.
In the sweeping wind, the trees arched and bent.
At every gust, the dead leaves began to fall.
The blazing sun got veiled by dark clouds.
The day turned dusky as if the sun was about to set.
Lightning, like clashing spears cut through the sky.
Thunder was heard roaring in the distance.
Suddenly raindrops began falling in tandem.
It was such an exhilarating feel to watch water drops,
Hitting hard on rooftops and breaking into tiny droplets.
Its pitter patter, to me, was like a melodious refrain.
Curiously, I watched raindrops dotting the window panes,
And the water globules glistening in dim light.
Petrichor rose from earth's surface, wafted by the wind.
* * * * *
From then, it rains and it pours down nonstop.
In a week, our land has become a river bed
Now how we wish to see the clouds dissipate
And the rains stop and the sun takes over!
I cling to the tangibility of paper
its connection to earth,
the feel of the grain
on the skin.
Words do not exist
thanks to the mashing
of keys and buttons, but by providence
of the paper.
The forgotten paper
is still alive. Soft
and crumpled
yellowed with age.
Though forgotten
never erased. Never
extinguished.
I do not bleed red
cells but globules
of words, coagulated
phrases and lines.
The pen is a prosthesis,
supplementing blood
where soft flesh leaves prints-
other swirled lines an whirls.
The pencil
whispers
words,
lightly brushes her lips
against slate,
ever the timid lover.
Even when erased
the word is
forever imprinted, its curvatures
embedded in the soft
fiber of the page.
The screen
is an evil thing; coveting
its symbols and codes.
It hides
away your words,
entombs them
behind an electric moon.
When the screen dies
so do your musings.
THE SUN WILL SHINE
The elevator has malfunctioned.
Issues are surmountable.
I just have to see a way to defeat the problems I would not let hold on.
I'll climbed the stairway and go out on the roof to think alone.
The sun will shine for me.
So many images form from my past for me to scrutinize.
A proclaimed inclination of a defined destiny is only a heighten presence of an
aspired eternity.
Certain scenes are prophetic of perused and lucid thoughts.
The sun will shine and I will smile once more.
Entering my apartment and opening the patio doors, raindrops are hitting the
banister.
I will take a seat in my favorite chair and close my eyes to meditate.
I will breath in fresh air.
The sun will shine on me.
Globules of joy will form.
My dynast will be eternal.
__________________________|
PENNED JULY 18, 2014!
Bloom! Bloom! O! This evermore wintry tide
Whisper litanies, wondrous lullaby,
Caress skins in that comely way you ride
Marvels of seasoned rind of litany;
As you march avidly, a lone Magi
Desert of roofs blend, your trusty drummers
Quench their arid taste, dust tongues scream, twist, prancing
About. Cadence of words dry
Like fire throat, miles ran, visage of radar
Bridge and brace me to hearken, phone ringing!
Like the soft warmth that never try to hide
Of noon-lake, a swift cut of knife sharply
Through yam, perfect sequence of each slide,
Slices of ease drop, manna fall creamy
Upon eyelids-vertigo turn up sly.
I’m butterfly, cocooned in your fingers,
Spell the craze of disturbed markets racing.
Noxious nostrils, cold nigh
To spill chilly globules, tobacco tars
Ebb cursive; somnolent steps receding.
Now I am soft like tender foliage wide
To stark sun rays, woman splayed, slippery.
Rapture, I incline to your meshed inside
Grant that laughter of a nude history
Where specters feast, their bliss and empty sigh;
Anodyne rings of mirth with diameter
Copious, contempt of your feet pattering;
So my answer is wry.
Louse, I latch to the phone, sweet chat linger
Till rain cast her nest; am I lost dreaming?
First Place in Cyndi Macmillan's Contest.
Half flesh, half steel, sinews and twined wire,
Begotten in the heat of half-love, tempered
By hatred and the axe, fathered by one
Who killed her mother, the male chauvinist boar
Whose eye-teeth, razor-sharp, saw through the spine,
Joy-sword in sheath. Wrought iron, blood vessels,
Bone and cable, one part conceived, the other forged
On the hard anvil where gusts of blood are seed
Of all the axeman most does fear – cast iron woman
With stanchions for a trunk, iron breastplate,
A malleable black heart, a metallic chastity belt
No man may boast of stealing and still live,
Who beats men at their own battle games,
A dab hand with the axe herself, as salty tears
And globules of mercury exude from grey glands
Flimsy bubbles, of instant delight,
tickling senses in fanciful flight.
Sunlit shells encapsulate the air
into crystal balls beyond compare.
Glassy orbs that make children giggle;
as they wiggle, wobble, and jiggle.
Transparent globules, airy and bright;
reflect the sheen of sparkling sunlight.
Lightly popping with a ticklish splat,
they spray a mist, as if sunlight spat.
A flotilla of transparent spheres;
that playfully summon laughs and cheers.
Jewels in the world of make-believe,
that are impossible to retrieve.
For they float free, on the slightest breeze,
rising high above the tallest trees.
Omnipresent is Joy
Barefoot morn walk in garden
Soothing sight of silky blanket of grass
Morning dew globules sparkling
As if bathing Blades in freshness
Greenery splashed on earths canvas
Buds swinging, radiant Natures canvas
Eager to unlock youth freshness
Flowers gleeful as butterflies perch joyfully
Esoteric on pollination in garden
Fragrance radiating, amidst grass
Aroma filled atmospheres sparkling
First Rays splashing golden on natures canvas
Aiding photosynthesis,energy joyful
Plant and human balancing ecological freshness
Plants in orderly arrangement in garden
Seeds germinating in silence with invisible sparkle
Sacrifice, seed for tree, uneven blades for uniform grass
Mountains, rocks forever fresh
Treasure of minerals,herbs,grass
Wall to rain bearing clouds,life of many gardens
Mother to many rivers, oasis in natures canvas
Treasure of minerals, herbs, grass
Seat of saints for Peaceful joy
Protecting ecological sparkle
Changing of Seasons add sparkle
Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, varied freshness
Spice to atmospheric environment joy
Enthusiasm for new clothes, cuisine, party on grass
Nature bestowed different seasons canvas
Knowing, human love variety as desert love garden
Compassion garden
Love dotting rest of emotions as on blades dews sparkle
Inner light dispelling darkness in lifes canvas
Smiles, hugs, kisses, pats, way forward fresh
Individual joy as gardens each blade of grass
Spreading garden of cosmic joy
Futile is garden without dews sparkle
Cheer is soul of lifes canvas, inner search only lends freshness
Inner bliss smooth as silky grass, search futile for outward search of joy
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© Hitendra Mehta
(Entry for Members Contest - "Joy to World” by Deborah Guzzi)