Best Gray Poems
an ugly gray rock, so I kicked it along
amused by my memories, humming a song
it was jagged and rough - I gave it no mind
and punted it thrice, then left it behind …
I changed up my hum and walked on alone
not thinking it special, (it WAS just a stone)
yet the farther I got from where it had been
the more I considered that "plain" rock
again
something about its proportions or form
contrasted just slightly, was not quite the
norm
the way that it tumbled, or lay there, just SO
or maybe the way it had bounced off my
toe
whatever it was, I could not quite discern
but decided right then, it was worth a
return
so, I spun myself 'round, headed back to
that spot
still not sure of WHY - just a feeling I got
but when I returned, it had broken in two -
an incredible OPAL flamed red, green and
blue!
scant had I known just what "ugly" could
hold -
all the prismatic colors that smoldered,
untold!
well …
I couldn't help think that a lesson was there
of the plain folks we see, that we pass,
unaware
for they are more precious than any gray
stone
with such wonders inside - yet we leave
them alone
perhaps if we gave them a wink or a grin
we might find the bright of their beauty
WITHIN
the colors that light their charisma and
grace
the complexion of charms that don’t show
on a face
the places they’ve been or the roads they
have run
their moonlight romances and days in the
sun
the wealth of their spirit, their talents and
rage
they’ve a story to tell, if we’d just turn the
page
so, I keep in my pocket, a piece of that rock
to help me recall what I learned on that walk
not to take "plain" for granted, or push folks
aside
but instead, look for sparks of their fires …
deep INSIDE.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Overlooked Beauty" Poetry Contest, Jesse Rowe, Judge & Sponsor.
Lace hankie tucked inside her jacket sleeve
Hard candy filled the tin beside Mom’s purse
Gray mournings, nature’s gifts for those who grieve
At times when it seems nothing could be worse
So many dresses filled her closet space
And most of them I’d sewn by hand for her
I folded them as memories gave chase
Recalling the fine fabrics Moms prefer
Her perfume bottle nearly stood half full
Its fragrance still brought thoughts of Mom to me
And when I packed her scarf of finest wool
A teardrop fell that only Dad could see
For as I stowed Mom’s things, my Dad looked on
He knew I’d pack again when he was gone
*January 3, 2020
Late, I am gray of hair and mind;
I’m told it makes me look refined
the hair, the mind; they do not know
the black I hardly ever show.
I once was white, as were we all
but over many years, we fall.
I’ve tried some other colors too
I once was very, very blue,
then sunshine yellow for a while;
but all that smiling’s not my style.
I know some rainbow colored folk
happy, dashing, and so baroque
but I am gray, faithful, mature;
do I like it? I’m not so sure;
I wish I were still fiery red
but gray words are now safer said.
Pull out the easel
set the canvas
positioned long and slender clean slate.
Sketch the figures huddled and dark-bound hostage
to charcoal-cooled coals
etching in shadow images;
Faceless entities
slipping in and out the background
earth-toned sojourners accepting, alone, quiet, dying;
Still the images in silence
hard and disfigured
grotesque horrors in place;
Somber soul-drained eyes
skeletal socket holes
buried in the heart and mind;
Let tears fall down their cheeks
in wonder, awe, and
fear of what happens next.
Acrylic primers dilute the wash in the storyline
flaking and cracking
tearing each soul and truth away;
Polyptych blended burnish bleeds
quiet, soft exuding
whimpered cries, asking why;
Chiaroscuro collages of death from life
fading to diluent breaths
the heartbeat of an unholy silence;
Graded gouache monochrome scraper boards
releasing sfumatos of singularities
communal lives sacrificed
Varnish the final rendition
camouflage the realities,
the actuality of what it represents,
Time immemorial in genocidal atrocities
of Native Americans, Cambodians, Hawaiians,
Jews, Rwandans, Bosnia, Darfur,.
When does it stop?
The never-ending list
life is more precious than this
until change comes
Paint the Picture Black and Gray
pray
then act.
they say look, and the sun will come one day
oh, but they did not say all they knew
like vines that climb and choke the light
the stars are darker than the night
and the pain i've gained from losing you
like the absent dawn will always be gray
8/17/23
SEPTEMBER’S GRAY SHAWL
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
September fog, a grey shawl,
settles on the fields, the trees,
erasing edges, softening lines.
the sun, a ghost behind gauze,
offers no sharp edges,
only a mist-diffused light.
footsteps muffled on the path,
each one a gentle drumbeat~
walking meditation.
soul softens~
between inhale and exhale,
a quiet contemplation.
thoughts unfurl
like ferns in the damp earth~
clamor fades.
what remains~
the quiet hum
of my own inner landscape.
quiet silence
the continuation
of smothered thoughts
gaging howling winds
beyond an understanding
spoken in braille
ignoring order
colors forming to the right
Dorian Gray
a corrupted mind
kills with passionate pleasure
what virtue remains
quiet silence
the continuation
death resides below
await the reaper
dark—black chilling specter
ghoul in residence
awake—blood freezes
nightmares for the young and old
dawn draws the bright sun
tomorrow we will
paint another painting
less the color red
To gaze back upon footprints of my time
And see the prints so shallow fade to gray
As they dissolve and leave no trace behind
I'll hesitate to look beyond the day
When standing straight is a moment treasured
And hair once full is now a thin disguise
When my skin gains spots and wrinkles measured
I still smile every morning when I rise
When nothings real but passing time I live
And every deed pressed to my heart inlaid
I struggle with the things I must forgive
Before the mental photographs all fade
I'll watch the children of my heart at play
Before my footprints slowly fade away
2/7/14
One last gray hair clings to my breast
from times I held you in my arms.
It speaks to me of one last rest
but more to hold me with its charms.
Remembering,
and cherishing.
I pray its grasp is firm and strong
and holds my heart with relevance,
to know with you my passions long
for love not paused by circumstance.
Fidelity,
Serenity.
02/14/2018
Sometimes when matters are in the gray,
it ain’t always black and white
There are times when emotions are deep blue,
canary yellow thoughts can make us wanna fly, shy away
Then, bright orange glowing memories
bring gentle, evergreen smiles
As time’s seasonal change sunset down on us
Being lifelong lovers, we got
amethyst purple hearts of courage
that beats with
ruby red rhythms of loving perseverance
Here at this humble, brownstone garden abode,
two pink carnations have budded and bloomed
Now looking at the graying of the skies,
we can see the rainbows in each other’s eyes
Reflecting the soul spectrum of our love
Mist rolls through silently, ghost in the trees.
The near field glistens; the far fades away.
Spring creates longing on days such as these;
Winter’s advancing, has nothing to say.
The near field glistens; the far fades away,
formless and shifting, as far as one sees.
All is enshrouded and cloaked in the gray.
Spring creates longing on days such as these;
waiting for sunshine to come out and play,
water drops shelter, avoiding the freeze.
Winter’s advancing, has nothing to say,
intruding so rudely, quite ill at ease,
seeks no permission, intending to stay.
————-
A Trimeric, with A:B:C:D B:x:x C:x:x D:x:x. There are no rhyming or syllable requirements
~
Clouded skies somberly cascade
upon motionless vistas,
floating unrehearsed melancholy hues
where muted feelings roam
on an autumn morning echoing
a weary winter dream
I sit beneath a weeping willow’s
unhurried leaves fluttering
like silent wind chimes,
quietly pacing unheard melodies,
as dandelions seek the sun now
merely an absent reflection in my own tears
And I reminisce of the days when
magnolia petals were our sunrise,
sweetly scenting the virginal dawn
in soft aromatic whispers,
lazily lingering upon our skin
when your smile was my every morning
Now I wait below wilting branches,
listless arches desperately reaching
but never touching the ground,
allowing desolate thoughts to wallow
as the soft earth reclaims me
from an infinite finale in gray
~
Inspired by Sandra Adams poem Crimson Tears
Will you still love me…when my lustrous black hair your fingers are ever drawn to,
turns thin and dull and gray?
When that youthful glow and my rosy cheeks wrinkle and my beauty fades?
Will you still love me…When you no longer recognize the sultry sway of my hips?
The sparkle in my eyes goes flat, along with the full pout of my lips?
Will you still love me…When the smile you love is lost, one by one…when all you see when I grin at thee, is my pink, and toothless gums?
Yes, but will you really still love me…When my lovely figure deflates like a balloon? When all my rounded curves dry up, as well as my once fertile womb?
Will you still love me…if my thoughts become lost in time? My once sharp wit grows dull, and disease invades my mind?
Will you still love me…When my youth is gone and time has taken its toll?
For I know I'll still love you,my dear…because I love your soul.
Scrambling tooth and nail for a patterned fate
I approached the lofty mansion of Learning's Gate.
All cued up for a slip of paper - the one they call Degree,
halfway convinced that I hallucinated humanity.
For who under their own free will would venture
into this spiraling sameness:
this illustriously-in-debt, this Regal Club
of the Nameless?
I bellowed my voice into the air
(This great atrocity!).
But not a single student seemed to care:
So well fashioned they were,
adorned in their prized medals of mediocrity.
Along with their unwillingness to ever stray,
all too content to be but rainbows dreaming of gray.
I hung my head in such morose emptiness.
As I fashioned myself: the uniquely ubiquitous.
And what a fool I was to join the crowd - and yet so halfheartedly.
Striving for the cirrus clouds, the silver moon, and then the galaxy.
For my actions didn't match my cerebral creativity
I was statue still cursed with a meandering mind
(and other such extremities).
Exploding with hopes large enough for two
I sat clearly convinced languid leaps would do.
But one cannot daintily decide to dream the Dream
for it is merely the seed, another earthly deed.
You're not allowed to walk away, gandering as it grows,
for we are likened as the summer sun - keeping the rivers a'flow.
"Picturing profits in your hands
do not till the all too ready land"
explained the elderly gent with leathered palms,
"Someday soon you will understand."
And though we aim to be ourselves
gravity inevitably
brings us to the grid.
Imagination like a heavy rain;
we the paper people
so helplessly hid.
But fear not ye denizens
of the cherished cubbyhole:
where you keep under lock and key
your dust-laden soul.
If one burgeoning blunder
tore it all asunder
surely one single spirited spark
could heal even the most
dormant of hearts.
So fare thee well oh Cookie Cutter Coop -
Another day on that wretched plain, and I'd surely die.
I'm glad just to sever sameness in one fell swoop
by hanging on a star in the midnight sky.
NOTE: I always enjoyed using alliteration when I could... and with this particular one I went a little bit nutty... but I think it turned out okay.
Man of melancholy - memories ashen and shadow gray,
heart harrowed, solicits solace from her psychic energy.
An offering, his woebegone weeping wildflower bouquet,
teardrops titian, sorrow scintillant, reflects rueful reverie.
Heart harrowed solicits solace from her psychic energy,
free falling through forlorn filigree, he mourns at her gravestone.
Teardrops, titian sorrow scintillant reflects rueful reverie
of his Earth angel, soul-lifted too soon, spiritually sown.
Free falling, through forlorn filigree he mourns. At her gravestone
fragrance haunting, flowers flaring heartsick hallucinations
of his Earth angel soul-lifted too soon; spiritually sown
blue scented efflorescence of suffering lamentations!
Fragrance... haunting flowers flaring heartsick hallucinations
of inamorata, flame extinguished expectant with their child.
Blue scented efflorescence of suffering lamentations
bedevil his mind. Happiness, hope exiled, ego beguiled.
Of inamorata flame extinguished expectant with their child,
an offering; his woebegone weeping. Wildflower bouquet
bedevils his mind, happiness, hope. Exiled ego beguiled,
man of melancholy memories - ashen and shadow gray.
Susan Ashley
September 16, 2017
~Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: Favorite Pantoum Premiere
Sponsor: Laura Loo
~ First Place ~
Contest: Poems That Paint A Picture 2
Sponsor: Silent One
* based on a pencil drawing by Mike Theuer provided by Silent One on contest page *