Best Gowned Poems
Neither puppy love nor lust, each insists
in its imperfect play. Their hearts resist
both by clinging in its barbaric way.
Youth forgiven. The wolf begs her to stay.
But a commitment is made in marriage.
It is not found in a baby carriage.
What do we know of love - it’s not first sight.
It is the highs and lows - bond holds on tight.
Love’s patient, kind, not selfish nor boastful.
It’s the making of memories - joyful.
To let go of bitterness’ a decision.
Poof like magic, the wrongs are forgiven.
Black and blues, the stumbles and falls, gets up
on the horse - believers climb to the top.
~
Now what of those years, of the worse decrease?
Does the sorrow make the better cerise?
Does the white-gowned wife, handsome groom resume
as if the bond is pruned, roses in bloom?
Yes, the rivulets of tears reverent.
The jubilee melody resonant.
When love is stirred with sugar and nettles,
sorrow’d years melt. Felicitous petals
land on silver hair and wrinkles. O God!
Yes, three cords complete and restore the flawed.
Love protects, hopes, perseveres in trials.
The truth of a lifetime's years in their smiles.
Shakespeare regales Summer’s hot gaze, short days.
Yet love stoked in the Winter’s hearth - O blaze!
1/30/2021
What Is Love
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
Hybronnet is similar to a sonnet, can have a variable rhyme scheme,
does not have to be iambic meter. The poet is given liberty to choose how to structure the rhyme of the Hybronnet poem into a combination of rhymes be it slant, feminine, masculine, etc. or apply it in any design deemed appropriate
A druid climbs the sacred oak, white gowned
to bring the holy mistletoe to ground.
With a golden sickle in his hand,
caught in his vestments, its brought to land.
Then, they feast beneath the sacred tree
gifting two white bulls for God's bounty.
My rueful spirit was gowned in a silken shroud of white.
Was there no chance my penitent cries had been heard?
I searched his pensive eyes for the palest glimpse of light,
then he wiped my tears away. His heart had been stirred.
Four line poetry contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Posted: July 27, 2020
Between me and empty sheets
you've painted my colorless dream
you took me to places
to your heart's oasis
There I bathed, gowned only
with burnished autumn leaves
I could smell the rich oaky fire
that burnt in flames of desire
There I danced in my sleep
awaiting our spirits to soar in the breeze
On the left side of freedom
where I lay my weary head
next to the cool pillow
in the comfort of my bed
That's where I met you
on that restless Autumn night.
Stoking the glowing campfire
our spirits took flight
we soared over treetops
slow danced under the moon
sparkled amid the aurora borealis
on our whirlwind rendezvous
Chorus gowned wheat heads
Ascending their August hymn
Final requiem
Bespangled
she sashays up the shore
from a sequin gowned sea
wearing the undulating waves
of aquamarine and ambrosial sheen
adorned with shimmering and shivering seeds of excitement
A thousand beaded fingertips
trace her coral curves
whispering sweet nothings
in the luscious language of brine and blue
drizzling down
her sea-salted soul-case
teasing and tempting
her cooled honeyed patina
to passionately impearled pertness
Enraptured as he is
enticed by her dreamscape
the yearning senescent sands sigh~
longing for relics of rose-water regrets.
Susan Ashley
February 8, 2017
~ Fourth Place ~
Premiere Contest: #400
Sponsor: Brian Strand
The Highland Princess
Sails again
Its captain and dove
To the Mediterranean
Now so much in love
To an island they go
To celebrate their engagement
For their love truly flows
This archipelago of seven
In this sea of blue
Aboard our babe
As we enjoy the views
Marina we berth
Settle in for the night
For tomorrow, our interests
Its historic sights
Early start
To the blue lagoon
For in the evening
We will love in tune
History surrounds
Every where we go
In its harbours and towns
Evidence shows
This island of class
With it's World Heritage sights
The Megalithic Temples
Still stand upright
These icons of age
To this island their worth
They are the oldest free standing structures
On this planet Earth
As the evening draws in
We head back to our yacht
To absorb our day
And what Malta has taught
Dinner and drinks
As we settle down
In comfy pose
Naked, but gowned
I take the hand
Of my golden dove
As we know in our eyes
Our evening of love
To our cabin we go
As our gowns are thrown
This captain and dove
Whose love keeps growing
Naked we fall
On our heavenly bed
Spooned together
To be sexually fed
Our bodies merge
As i grow inside
This gyrating two
Flowing with the tide
As i caress my dove
Her body and breasts
Nibbling her nape
In wanting zest
Our souls release
Potion so pure
Our bonding engagement
For future, sure
In the morning we awake
To the sounds of life
On our next voyage
She will be my wife
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love2.php
Sweet rain is hammering the dry ground
Dirt turning to muddy foundations
Leaves nodding their heads to the sound
Gaia smiling upon her creations
The earth with green is gowned
Eudora now pouring her libations
To Ceres, with grain is crowned
Patron, we give our adoration
The fruits of your harvest abound
[This poem first appeared in the anthology, "The Soul and the Singer," Young Publications, c. 1968. It was reprinted in my first poetry chapbook "The Lady in the Pink Hat," Candor Press, 1969.]
God rises from that distant hill
And surveys His wonder in silence still
Without reproach or bitter muse
For mankind's hostile subterfuge.
Not yet incensed with holy wrath
Against the impoverished aftermath
Of beauty laid in ruthless stubble
Amid earth's bent and broken rubble.
The mount remains in glory crowned
Majestic height is capped and gowned
And quietly repairs the ravaged simple
Chosen for the Almighty's temple
God rises from that distant hill
To frame the noble triune will
Responding to inhuman guise
With piercing but loving emerald eyes.
[From the note at the beginning, this poem was written sometime during 1967. I was twenty-six years old, at the time, but I had been writing poems since I was in elementary school. Most of them have been lost over the years.
This particular poem was always one of my favorites, and I was delighted to have it appear in an anthology by Young Publications, 1968.]
FIRST PLACE WINNER
for "The Throwback Challenge" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Natasha L Scragg
March 8, 2022
Sometimes, I find myself on a battleground
in the present or in sieges from the distant past
It may be a war I've been waging within myself,
a thorn that needs plucking so that I might heal
I wear no crown, nor do I wish to be gowned
in regal robes and sit upon a throne looking down
on anyone. For me, those things hold no appeal
I am rebellious against the many wrongs I've seen
and if you think it's mean of me to feel that way—
You don't know me well enough to pass judgement
With regret, I've been the cause of an Angel's weeping
when down a misguided path I chose to walk
Mistakes? I've made my share of them, maybe more
but I've always tried to amend my faults in some way
Indemnity is not always reimbursed with coin
More often than not, my tears the price to pay
Sometimes, even I have not found the sentience of it—
things I do; emotions I feel. No reason as to why except
that I am compelled without restraint or prudence to try
I refute the need to live by the creed of the golden rule—
for only a fool would claim the world is a righteous place
where smug faces play fair in games of love and war
If I am defeated, I never hesitate to stand again
for I've always despised the thought of white flags
and retreating like a coward again and again, in sad refrain
I garner resilience and strength from every enemy I meet
and in defeat, my stratagem sharpens much keener
I am not a warrior; that's not the path I want to take
I've been storm tossed in seas of turbulent weather
When faced with animosity, I will not shiver and quake
Offered silk or suit of armor— I prefer a softer demeanor
Self-professed I am supple of breast
Heart not crafted from leather
From flesh, blood and bone
Of the gender called woman
I was not chiseled from stone
Crowned in beauty bright as the morning star
you Mother of all Mothers Divinely created by far
Mother of good counsel ,
Mystical Rose
Seat of wisdom,
Woman of Divine Grace;
Guide me and protect me in all I say and do
Gowned in light you are yoked to Christ the King
whenever you appear all the angels choral-sing
Mother of Mercy
Comforter of the ill
Gate of Heaven
Morning Star
Bring forth your rays and your miracles of love
you Mother of all Mothers Divinely created above
Morning Star
Queen Of Angels
crowned in beauty bright as the liquid night ,
more scented that the Rose of pearly white
Place us all, underneath your Holy Mantle
Amen !
Sunlight was paling.
Was it drifting on the sea
like an ebbing tide?
It glinted farewell
to a day of sovereignty
as twilight drew nigh.
At the cusp of night
a new monarch took the throne,
glowing was the moon.
Regal as a queen,
gowned in luminous silver,
she decreed her reign.
Celestial diamonds
surrounded her radiance,
facets of starlight.
Supernal nova!
Were they ornaments hanging
in galactic skies?
Incandescent prisms
were reflected in moonbeams
of lambent colors.
Dappled light of morn
was woven with threads of gold
by dawn's gentle hand.
Then, appeared pastels,
lavender, pink and amber,
painted by the sun
on the eastern horizon.
A brotherly jaunt through sinister mirth
behold the brothers Death:
gowned and guided, an ill century
the fourteenth, an alliance of crop, of plague
in ground-down death of torrential pains
in sores and blood under the rains
that drowned the land, starved the bellies
there echoed howls of ill exclaim
a wanting of a light to shine
is where the brothers thought that they
worked well together, effectively
one would scoop from ruined crop
one from sickness, war, attack
the beak, a sign, of the plague mask
in shacks, where hags mopped weeping rot
crosses on doors, on floors of straw
with nothing in the cooking pot
the brothers danced and sang their wealth
of many clientele they sought
and on they went, and on they struck
perfecting songs on appetites
of pestilence and of disease
hand in hand like trees whose leaves
do smother, smite, in murderous breeze
the brothers, down the ages tease
and beckon, wreaking havoc on,
like rolling waves of seas on high
always taunting their sister - life
I follow an unseen trail of your seductive perfume
through the sand plains and dune spines,
the moon beams a target on your Temple
a wave of shadow glow in the deep night,
the cloak of my heart flutters
as I see you, gowned in the youth of star light,
a woman with no age, fresh and ready for love
in secret chamber made for the pulse of passion
a shelter from storm and sorrow,
You greet me as Warrior with eyes radiant in hunger
a smile that ravishes my final impulse of suspicion,
you tell me to let struggle escape from shoulders stiff
to remove my worry of what if and the clutch of false desires,
the need for your erotic enclosure of my body ensues
my heart and hardened limb speak the same language
an ancient tongue of wonderlust
want wettens my thirsty mouth for you,
I claim you as my Goddess of divine caress,
leading me into your valley of honey cream
we elope into the eclipse of desert bliss -
J.A.B.
Inside a bamboo garden, where I followed a red-crowned crane
an exotic treasure of another sort held me spellbound
seated upon the lawn, a courtesan beauty there did reign.
Guilty, I stood beside a Lychee tree, expectations of arraign
but she smiled with cherry lips, in pale blue she was gowned
inside a bamboo garden, where I followed a red-crowned crane.
A delightful scene of refined Chinoiserie, created quite urbane
Lotus flowers, Jin of bonsai, beside the paragon were found
seated upon the lawn, a courtesan beauty there did reign
Exquisitely she sat, blush on her cheeks, fragile as porcelain.
I longed to caress her coifed hair, cascading and unbound
inside a bamboo garden, where I followed a red-crowned crane.
I feared death, for when she beckoned my heart was being slain.
I bowed before the Eastern goddess in whose beauty I had drowned
seated upon the lawn, a courtesan beauty there did reign.
Worthy of gracing a palace, she and the Chinoiserie shall remain
no longer will I find her graceful figure on the ground
inside a bamboo garden, where I followed a red-crowned crane
seated upon the lawn, a courtesan beauty there did reign.
July 16th, 2017