Best Golden Poems
The oyster shell
grows old
and gnarled
but
the p e a r l inside
remains the
same
Susan Ashley
March 22, 2021
(a monoku in non-traditional format)
Poet’s note: this poem is dedicated to my beloved father, Albert, who will be 94 years old on April 27, 2021. Though he deals with a myriad of age-related health issues, it hasn’t tarnished his golden essence. His mortal heart and mind may be aged but his loving spirit is ageless.
Updated note: my dad, Albert, a.k.a. pépé (French Canadian for grandpa), passed away peacefully at home surrounded by his family on June 10, 2021. He will forever be loved and missed by those of us he left behind.
How does it feel?
It's hard to tell
Sad when I pause
Taking moments to dwell
It's the pearl that is lost
It's the half-empty shell
It's the un-told story
It's the water-less well
How does it feel?
Deep emotion stirs
Where the long goodbye
Has now lifted it's curse
And the shadowy valley
At last is traversed
So the heavenly moonlight
Guides the soul, now immersed
To the traveller's rest
Angel bells welcome in
As adventure concludes
Ending all earthly din
Yet, we cheer and we shout
For a presence so full
Not a moment's regret
Nothing mundane or dull
The poet and lover
Of life and it's pasture
Your memory rich
While you journey to rapture
Though a vacancy sign
Is erected below you
As we move to conclude
Let our words rise to show you..
This love legacy, bright
It will sparkle forever
For you taught us of hope
As you bound us together
It's a beautiful tether
That will never be broken
Your legacy, strong
And of you, highly spoken
As our eyes may be teary
As these words are no measure
For the gold in our hearts
Is your love's lasting treasure
The meticulous melody of my musings is she.
Quietly my quill inscribes intrinsic ink upon the paths she walks.
Profoundly postulated in poems I've portrayed her in -
she's inspired ingenious imagery of beaucoup beauty.
I ponder without her what my life would be like?
With determiners of this, that, these and those, she is the
one who guides like an orchestra of street lights at night.
In times of silence I wonder what she is thinking of
when gazing at blue horizons that appear cloudless,
as her exotic eyes always crave for calming climes.
There is no measure in the pleasure of her treasure and
her artistry on a blank canvas turns stanzas radiantly starry,
so I croon a tune hoping to be the moon under her serene skies.
Yet not all lullabies of lovers can ease a melancholic mind and
sometimes it's difficult to write lyrics making sense of it all.
Not all verses compliment strings with an instrumental that's
an emotionally unbalanced mix of tones not seen as the best
remedy in episodes of rage - so I wonder what becomes of
tranquillity when her tempest temper turns her thoughts dark.
I regret those forgotten promises lost in broken symphonies and
until sanity soothes with words of softness, I'll hold onto all that is bright.
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Lord Byron – She Walks in Beauty
Golden leaves of autumn delight
Where season flaunts hints of romance
Blazing passions of smitten sight
As themes chromatic swirl and dance.
Charming dreams of romantic eyes
Golden leaves of autumn delight
As twilight blushes on mauve skies
Lauding missives of zealous night.
While amber notions waltz in flight
Spurring thrill of flaxen meadows,
Golden leaves of autumn delight
As tunes of love heartbeats compose.
Crimson motifs gelid winds blow
Twirling, whirling, as they alight,
Where gilded canvas glints on snow
Golden leaves of autumn delight.
Four “Golden Girls” seated at a table
Grey streaks our hair, but minds remain stable
Convention is underway
Michael has something to say
He opens our meeting with a fable
It’s about a tortoise that beats a hare
Some of the “fast writers” begin to glare
Joyce, Francine and Barbara know
It takes time for verse to grow
We’re the queens of rewriting; this we swear
Iolanda’s introduced to read her book
“Lava of my Soul,” no gobbledygook
We’re mesmerized by each line
At the end we toast with wine
Joyce says, “Now those words took some time to cook.”
It’s Karen’s turn to read “Silent Whispers”
We see tears falling into John’s whiskers
“Tears of joy,” Francine exclaims
For Karen’s Best Seller fame
Applause rings out from grateful listeners
After the “meet and greet” it’s nearly dawn
The crowd starts to thin as our comrades yawn
Joyce, Francine call it a night
But Barbara still sits upright
We two remain when most others are gone
One poet called us “Late Night Cockroaches”
This indignity did not encroach us
We call ourselves “LNCs”
Awake in wee hours with ease
Waiting for our princes to approach us
That’s when the James Brothers draw near
Peranteau and Fraser, to make it clear
With two erotic writers
LNCs pull “all nighters”
Knowing that we can propose; it’s Leap Year!
*Entry for Michael’s “A Table of Four” contest
At my table: Carolyn Devonshire
Joyce Johnson
Francine Roberts
Barbara Gorelick
Long gone are the golden
Dusty days!
Where once, like Blazons
On Armorial Shields,
The gathered bronze sheaths
stood -
Cut through at the stalk...
Raised from time honoured
swathes.
Burnished like brushed copper
By high summers slanted rays:
That were sliced so thinly
From the thickening air,
As they brightly
Caught the hot glare,
From the grass mowers blades.
For the singing scythes,
Once wielded so ably
By strong, capable arms,
Are standing abandoned and
Forsaken:
Blunted, left rusting,
Languishing alone
In damp, dilapidated barns.
Now their songs are forgotten -
Lost within a woeful winds
lament!
Blown far out
From the green meadows;
Separated from their verses
Once sung so heartily
With purposeful,
Lusty, well practiced intent.
So think you all well,
Next time you pause
Your drawn eye,
Upon Englands rich harvests
Of ripened barley,
Yellow wheat, and stiff rye...
To dwell on the lost seasons
With melancholy tears...
And think of the old reaper
Who cuts back at the years!
At first, remember how we were
skeptical strangers?
Then, by mystical magic, we
melted into close friends!
I hope we meet in the golden streets
of heaven!
Where our friendship never ends!
11-15-2021
Panagiota Romios
Trauma Center
Dandelions, daisies and golden buttercups
Carpet the fields, below a tree they look up
This colossus of wood with arms so spread
Capturing the sunlight, photosynthesis fed
Its reach out for life to the heavenly skies
Another marvel of nature in her portfolio surprise
The plough of the farmer and his sowing of the seeds
Turns this bright carpet to soil to feed our needs
When we have harvested the sown, and reaped natures rewards
The soil of life allows the carpet restored
Dandelions, daisies and golden buttercups
Like the colossus of wood, its their right to look up
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/nature-8.php
sun rise all day long
gold flowerworks exploding
van goghs sunflowers
Golden days and diamond nights
Another rising sun...
new days begun...new days begun
We're basking in love's rays...
in golden days...in golden days
Bridge 1
Spending the best days of our lives
in golden days and diamond nights
Chorus
These are the days for growing old
our yesterdays were bought and sold
Silver days are turning into gold, and
Sapphire skies... slip into... diamond nights
The years they went so fast...
days of glass...days of glass
The sky was painted grey...
days of clay...days of clay
Bridge 2
The hands of time, have been kind,
but sometimes...
the wind blows cold..the wind blows cold
Chorus
These are the days for growing old
our yesterdays were bought and sold
Silver days are turning into gold, and
Sapphire skies... slip into... diamond nights
Another rising sun...
new days begun...new days begun
We're basking in love's rays...
in golden days...in golden days
Bridge 1
Spending the best days of our lives
in golden days and diamond nights
Chorus
These are the days for growing old
our yesterdays were bought and sold
Silver days are turning into gold, and
Sapphire skies... slip into... diamond nights
repeat chorus fade
John Derek Hamilton
March 25,2018
… after Langston Hughes
You know how they do. They say that
we run, that we fit descriptions, but justice
ain’t blind, she just sees who she wants. Is
it any wonder we hold our breath? A
body ain’t a body when they label it a threat. Blind
fold her, watch her peek, call her a goddess.
Watch her drop the scales. Watch how balance is
a myth chased between our nana’s prayers and a
judge’s gavel. They got this thing
for claiming fear while standing over bodies. To
serve, to protect—who? Which
way to run when history's got a knee pressed upon the we
aried? Red light, blue light, a flash, a name gone black.
Mothers wailing thru the street. We are
n’t new to this. My father knew. And his father wise.
Still, she won’t look. Her
hands steady but the bandage
doesn’t stop her from peeking. It hides
but we see it slip. MLK's two
Americas on display. Wounds keep festering
and this country born of scars and sores
struts like a wayward siren. That
same scream, same prayer, same fear. Once
we thought time might change things. Perhaps
we were fools to hope. Seems we were.
Though standing here. Still, we look her in the eyes.
###
This repost has the audio, courtesy
of the talented Mark Massey, to
whom I owe a big debt of gratitude.
Yeah, that's me singing.
She dazzled me right from the start ... Refrain:
had bright brown eyes that sparkled
I opened the window to my heart
when I saw her for the first time
Her smile was warm as sunshine,
she had a glowing nature, so divine
I saw bursting sunbeams in my mind
when I first seen her walking in the moonlight
Whoa oh oh, ooh ooh oh oh Sunshine chant:
I saw the girl with the golden smile, Chorus:
girl with the golden smile
Girl with the golden smile ...
I fell in love with you
Chant Chorus
Repeat Sunshine chant
Repeat Chorus
Repeat Refrain
Repeat Sunshine chant
Repeat Chorus
Repeat Sunshine chant
Repeat Chorus
Chant Chorus
Repeat Sunshine chant
I saw the girl with the golden smile, Chorus:
girl ... I fell in love with
the girl with the golden smile,
girl ... I fell in love with
the girl with the golden smile ...
I fell so in love with you
Repeat Sunshine chant
Chant Chorus
Repeat Chorus
This song expresses how I felt when I first saw my wife, Delores
our beloved brother from India
Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold
board his magic carpet
woven with wit, intellect and insight
soar through sagas steeped in mythology
captivating revelations on cultural tradition
unique perspectives on historical events
clever concepts conveyed with humor
psychology, philosophy, behavior observations
materialize as “Mehtaisms”
stirring the soup
adding spice to the broth
supporting work of members new and old
our international melting pot
enriched by the work of a Literary Doctor
salute a special sage who graces us with gifts
Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold
* Dedicated to Dr. Ram Mehta in honor of Joe Maverick’s “Better than Gold” contest
Autumn's door opens
Golden vistas await us
Summer sleeps once more
Gorgeous boy, your skin shines in the sun’s golden hour.
Waves of your jet-black hair, short-cropped like Caesar's
dripping tendrils on a chiseled brow, wisps beside each ear
A bare-chested Apollo cycles in low-slung shorts.
Waves of your jet-black hair, short-cropped like Caesar's,
my ardeur imagines eyes a molten sapphire blue.
A bare-chested Apollo cycles in low-slung shorts,
calves taunt, thigh muscles pumping, a true stallion.
My ardeur imagines eyes a molten sapphire blue.
surely, the night sky is less beautiful than your eyes,
Legs with calves taunt, thigh muscles pumping, a stallion,
lovely man-child, whose dreams will you soon make true?
Surely, the night sky is less beautiful than your eyes.
Dripping tendrils on a chiseled brow, wisps beside each ear,
lovely man-child, whose dreams will you soon make true?
Gorgeous boy, your skin shines in the sun’s golden hour.