Best Gold Poems
~Poetesses and Poets, Divine~
All over this great planet we live,
Penning our thoughts, and love to give!
With our hearts, as lanterns so bright,
Writing with hearts into this summer night.
Pen thee, then, of nature’s fine beauty.
Quietly, we are world Muses on duty.
Creations we form of happiness and sorrow.
Moonlight and dreams, on which to borrow!
A hug from me, now..close your eyes.
Tomorrow is both a gift and a surprise!
Hugs,
Panagiota Romios
California….USA
8/15/2022
~1~
In
your
absence
I float in
psychedelic ink
to design a labyrinth with
rainbow roses drenched in turquoise tears and metaphors.
But, if stars were gold, and I am love, you'll be the poetic garden that feeds my soul.
Maybe, someday, I'll be more than just a faltering feather~will you then, remind me, how to sing again, steal the light behind the jade moon?
To glide with inspiration above quilted clouds
Where birds so often soar
Glimpse a sunset hued in gold
With many colors to adore
To grasp the muse that swing from creative vines
And sway from abstract thoughts
Upon the page release the lines
Which meander within the plots
Clasp the quill as the ink flows
And carefully craft each verse
Clutch the metaphors in rhyme or prose
As throughout the page they intersperse
Sometimes the ending can hold a surprise
And cause a gasp in its trail
The words flow subtly and with guise
Its meaning you then inhale
6-28-2021
Writing Prompt Grasp - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
The beauty of life, which is often unseen
I guess each of us has some sort dream
Intertwined with our ambitions and hope
Sometimes it seems so impossible to cope
Some days are blessed others are cursed
Life; unlike a play, we don’t get to rehearse
With diligent effort we rise up to the top
Refusing to slow down let-a-long stop
Top of the mountain offers a beautiful view
A place to reflect on how dreams come true
I’ve thought it all over and I believe it is true
My dreams are mine and yours belong to you
We have our own path with rivers to cross
We cherish the gain and we regret the loss
Each one of us has our tools, which we use
The right to decide how we walk in our shoes
There will always be those who criticize and judge
Always be someone who holds some sort of grudge
Misery Loves Company is the saying they tell
No one wants to lonely especially sitting in hell
Its best not to believe in good and bad luck
Accept responsibility and not pass the buck
Reach the point where there’s nothing left to hide
That’s when you find yourself beaming with pride
I never look at another to judge my own wealth
I never judge another as hard as I judge myself
Life is a journey, which has a beginning and end
Each life has its own special meaning to send
If I die today, the story I hope my life has told
I measured my success through my heart of gold
I remember as a young boy, going out to play, I would sometimes see old Mr. Kimball, sitting on the steps of his porch, often reading the paper. World War II was in full swing so the newspapers and radios were avidly sought out for the latest news. Mr. Kimball was a fireman, and probably not even that old, but he seemed that way to me.
Sometimes, he would invite me to sit with him and we would talk about everything and nothing. I loved spending time with him because, he was the only grown up I knew that took the time to entertain the mind of a young boy.
In his front window hung a small flag. It had a red border surrounding a white field, upon which there were two blue stars. I was always curious about it, so I asked him what it was. He said “It's a Sons in Service flag. One star for each son serving. You remember my boys don't you?” I did of course. Chuck, the oldest, used to tease me, calling me a sissy to get a reaction. Bobby was a couple of years younger, and the bike I was riding once had been his.
Mr. Kimball went on to explain how Chuck was now in the Army and fighting in France. Bobby was in the Navy, aboard a ship somewhere in the Pacific. He didn't say it, but I'm sure he was worried about both, communications being what they were back then.
One day, when I was walking over to see him, I noticed that the flag had changed. It now carried one blue star, but the other one was gold. With the innocence that comes of being a child, I asked what the gold star meant. He quietly said “It means Chuck is coming home”, and without further comment, he turned and went in the house.
A couple of days later, I saw a hearse pull up to the Kimballs house, and four men carry a flag draped box up the porch steps. That is the moment the meaning of war came to a small boy. I knew Chuck was home.
“We’ll forget the sun in his jealous sky as we lie in fields of gold.” - from Sting’s Fields of Gold
One day in a museum, my mind on an old flame,
I found myself mysteriously being led
to a field of gold depicted within a gilded frame.
In the picture, pretty flowers beckoned, a brilliant red.
In front of it I stopped, thinking of my love and things we’d left unsaid.
I blinked, and in an instant, I felt sunlight
upon my face; then there escaped from me
a cry of surprise and sheer delight!
Finding myself engulfed by grassy sea,
with myriad poppies, I thought how could this be?
I twirled around. Yes, beneath my feet
was solid earth! Above was azure sky.
Spring was in the air, with fragrance sweet.
I was in the painting. I did not question why!
Oh, there was such beauty to make a poet sigh.
I thought about a song from days of old -
a song I used to hear on my car radio
about a man, who with his sweetheart, walked in fields of gold,
and I felt my bliss dissipating even though
I could still feel on my cheek the sun’s warm glow.
In the lovely flowered landscape, my time was nearly done.
It would not matter even if this were reality!
In fields of gold, I would lie with no one,
and no jealousy would blue sky have for me,
for even in my dreams, alone I’d be. . .
Written May 7, 2016 and inspired by
the "Within a Gilded Frame" Poetry Contest of Broken Wings
Recorded with voice in June 2016 for CT's Audio Poems (Spoken Words)
Friends who are so far apart
find it difficult to help when the
sweetest, gentlest people are in need.
How we of open hearts wish we were near:
to hug, and smile and tell our Catie-Did we care.
How we too are quite alone and wish
she’d write to us. How long the nights are
and the days. When all we’d wish for is a
sunny smile like Catie’s to brighten the gray.
Catie’s cards and phone call and general helping ways
have been the source of comfort to so many
even those far, far, away.
It takes a special person, never to taunt back
to those who are so weak of soul, they only
can attack. Catie cares in a Christian way
she turns the other cheek.
She’s full of words of poetry
but we’ve only seen a peek.
I pray she has more sunny days
I’ll do it right away.
Love YOU Catie Did
One winter’s day we walked in snow
as twilight kissed the sky.
And though it was so long ago
I still try not to cry.
I think about the way that you looked;
that image of you I hold
inside my mind until this day -
Those brown eyes flecked with gold. . .
Your brown eyes flecked with gold
so warmed my heart
I never could have thought
we’d ever part.
How I pray that you
still think of me
anywhere that you,
my love, might be.
Upon your face I wish
once more to gaze -
To see your eyes that shine
like summer days!
I’ll recall when times grow cold
how I felt that day we strolled,
and I never can forget
your brown eyes flecked with gold.
First posted 4/20/16
For John Hamilton's Write a love song Poetry Contest
Based on the song "The Shadow of Your Smile"
LYrics (as sung by Tony Bennet:
One day we walked along the sand
One day in early spring
You held a piper in your hand
To mend its broken wing
Now I'll remember many a day
And many a lonely mile
The echo of a piper's song
The shadow of a smile
The shadow of your smile
When you are gone
Will color all my dreams
And light the dawn
Look into my eyes
My love and see
All the lovely things
You are to me
Our wistful little star
Was far too high
A teardrop kissed your lips
And so did I
Now when I remember spring
All the joy that love can bring
I will be remembering
The shadow of your smile
Flowers In Your Hair, Gold Dust On Your Trailing Gown
( Robert Lindley and Nicola Byrne )
Flowers in your hair, gold dust on your trailing gown
You my true sky angel, had floated right on down.
Golden sandals on your feet, toenails glowing white
All eternity shan’t see a prettier sight.
Your soft and gentle voice, a million ways of sweet
Your touch is my hope and your kiss, love-food to eat.
Each moment a true blessing, you my darling gave
Each dance your gift, healing treasures, my heart to save.
Love of my life, sing softest hymns to this lost soul
For before you came, sorrows took a heavy toll.
Know darling, this heart and spirit you have thus healed,
Should fate deny us, with love, truth has been revealed.
Now every balmy breeze that blows against my skin,
Resonant of your kisses, brings a joyous grin.
In the sun’s warm splendour, a halo I doth see
Shine upon the waters, where love’s eyes swim to me.
And every now and then, blessed with rains from above,
I feel your tender touch, the glory of your love.
Your scent, like fragrant blossoms, straight from heaven’s lawn
Exhilarates the senses, waking me each dawn.
Firm witness is the world, to thy healing powers
and graceful presence, bringing halcyon hours.
All that I envision, to turn around a frown:
Flowers in your hair, gold dust on your trailing gown.
Collaboration by Robert J. Lindley and Nicola Byrne
5-22-2017
The poet’s world I’d read
about in English class
has faded, and alas!
It’s very nearly dead.
Its golden notes have fled
Like blooms from winter’s grass.
I’m in a modern time
where poets’ lines run free.
Although there’s imagery,
there’s little use for rhyme,
and what was once sublime
is now shunned poetry.
I long for grass turned cold
again to blossom gold.
May 22, 2017 For John Hamilton's
'Best rhyming poem May-July 2017' Poetry Contest
See "About Poem" for definition of this HexSonnetta form.
In the maze of concrete and glass,
where tall buildings reach the sky,
rivers of money flow,
but only to the chosen few.
Below, a shadowy city exists,
filled with hard work and grime,
where dreams are just whispers,
lost in the cracks of old streets.
The rich, wrapped in fine clothes,
dance to the tune of hidden power,
leaders of a silent orchestra,
playing a song of silence and control.
Their laughter, touched with champagne,
drowns out the cries from below,
where rough, tired hands,
reach for fleeting hopes.
Halls of influence, slick with promises,
echo with the steps of the elite,
their words, hidden daggers,
cutting through the truth.
In this theater of lies,
curtains of wealth hide
the machinery of greed,
oiled by the sweat of unseen millions.
From high-rise penthouses,
they look down on a sea of struggle,
where the hungry feast on illusions,
and the thirsty drink from wells of despair.
Marble palaces stand tall,
monuments to ambition,
while shanties lean on faith,
held up by pillars of resilience.
Markets buzz with chaos,
colors blend in the bazaar of life,
where the weight of a single coin
can tip the balance of existence.
Yet, the streets remember,
each cobblestone a witness,
to the dance of disparity,
the waltz of inequality.
Children of the dusk,
eyes wide with innocence,
navigate the alleys of shadows,
their dreams painted in hues of maybe.
In the rooms where fortunes are made,
decisions are inked in secrecy,
pacts that seal destinies,
unseen hands shaping the world.
But in the heart of the storm,
a murmur grows,
a rhythm of defiance,
beating against the pulse of oppression.
Voices rise, a chorus of unity,
challenging the gilded throne,
for in the contrast of gold and dust,
lies the spark of revolution.
The streets, arteries of rebellion,
pulse with the lifeblood of change,
as the fabric of corruption
begins to fray at the edges.
In the end,
from the ashes of greed,
a new dawn will rise,
where the scales of justice
find their balance,
and the city of gold
is built on a foundation
of humanity's unyielding spirit.
Who can resist the strangulating grip of time?
That which exists today may not be there tomorrow
Like shooting stars which vanish in the flicker of an eye
Life comes and goes quicker than a darting arrow
The only constant in life is its inconstancy
With time, even our existence turns a myth
As every sunrise follows a sundown,
Each birth leads to an eventual death
In the fluidity of time, we are in a state of flux
So don’t obdurately hold anything in your arms
Instead loosen your grip and let things go
With the ease of water through your open palms
Every lovely flower that blossoms once
Fades in time and eventually turns to brown
Even a leaf that clings tenaciously to the tree
When autumn blasts strike, falls down
Impermanence being in the grand design of things
To nothing in this world, one can permanently cling
So, willingly give way to herald in the new,
As autumn leaves cannot be laundered for the spring!
Feb.22.2023
~ Placed Second~
Inspired by Robert Frost’s ‘Nothing Gold can Stay’
Poetry Contest
Sponsor JCB. Brul
The last gold leaf hangs on the bough;
summer is just a memory now.
You, too, have gone, my golden friend;
our summer days came to an end.
We said goodbye; our chapter closed.
How I will miss you no one knows.
On eagle wings you split the skies;
your spirit soared. You had to fly.
My earthbound soul will bear its grief
severed from you on mortal reef;
but returning from yonder shore,
your love in waves will wash me o'er.
You've gone before, my trusted love;
I wait behind, your mourning dove;
yet, from across the great divide
your voice to me in dreams confides.
No, I think not that dreams they are;
but communion of the near with far.
On such sweet songs I stake my claim
to know and love you once again.
Copyright, 1987, Faye Gibson
Silver and gold; silver and gold -
our friendship is a sweet treasure -
a bounty of gladness always to hold.
Silver and gold; silver and gold -
a value of two-heart measure.
Your concern cushions my every footstep.
You never lean - I freely walk, talk, dance -
Knowing you would never seed my regret,
but remain golden with your acceptance.
Like pure golden ore is your lovely gift -
acceptance given without any strings.
Respecting each other, we’ll have no rift.
When free to be me, my spirit sings!
Silver and gold; silver and gold -
our friendship is a sweet treasure -
a bounty of gladness always to hold.
Silver and gold; silver and gold -
a value of two-heart measure.
My bridge of dreams could never safely rise,
protectively anchored to strongly stand
while arching to yet, higher calling skies
without your love securing it to land.
A bridge shining silver - indeed - it seems -
this friendship you’ve happily given to me.
Together lets climb it, fulfilling our dreams
as we love unconditionally!
Silver and gold; silver and gold -
our friendship is a sweet treasure -
a bounty of gladness always to hold.
Silver and gold; silver and gold -
a value of two-heart measure.
Written five years ago with a wonderful friend (Caycay Jennings)
whom I had newly made at PoetrySoup at that time
Entered Nov. 5, 2021
for Do- It (Duets) Poetry Contest
Sponsor: James Edward Lee Sr.
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