Best Halts Poems
The unlikely alliance
for me you need not be clothed
I understand your fragility
of which the edges are like krill
To you I disclose my being,
for only you I rehearse my songs.
From the truest vestiges of the heart,
where the rumbling of the soul
and electric current making multiple zeds as if ignition cannot be..
until it does..
Erupts this volcano inside of me, the magma of the heart cascading walls and gleam.
Steaming, hissing ,smoking at your feet and there it halts, and there it cools and I deliver me.
Touch me I am warm
Feel me I am true.
Where us unlikely two shall meet, you the tulip, I the lava.
There your trusting brave will do what none would believe.
I give you that diamond of the earth, that stone that doesn’t melt,
under pressure it was formed.
Be sure to stand the allegations of my antagonist
How I need your alibi
Oh how I yearn for truth
Categories:
halts, beauty, destiny, for her,
Form:
Free verse
Walking all night
On the glittering wet sand of a sea shore..
In the shadows of twinkling stars..
Through a silver airial fabric
of a tiny waning Moonlight
Till the sun begin to rise
fom within the lap of distant crimson waves..
And gently start ascending to the magical sky...
With scattered purple clouds...
For this spectacular sight
Ocean halts and transforms to mirror
To wholly reflect the colours of Dawn
From its redish wine waves...
Wow, his view is like a pupil on the blue
Sun Ball far away on the horizon
Sea acts like the lower lash
While the sky like the upper one
With the magic of tiny pieces of hued clouds
Sublime!!
Perhaps a glimpse of big bang...
Or a corner of heaVen...
Eternity in every moment..!
(12-21 2020)
Categories:
halts, ocean, peace, sea, sky,
Form:
Free verse
Music is an undying
art of soul ~
an abstract eden, where,
euphonious unicorns
glide in strawberry sonatas,
amplifying rhapsody in
ballads of flight,
when fuchsia feathers
tease those
jingling breezes,
infusing breaths
in every lifeless aroma;
where I can soar
beyond the
brushstrokes
of symphonies that
planktons sing to me,
in the requiems of
forsaken pearls,
crooning with
silenced shimmers
beneath wavy blues.
Maybe,
I'm a songwriter
without words,
and my electric fingers
trace the tunes
of serene strings,
when guitars weave
a sonorous guilt
midst ruby runes
of regrets.
I wish to keep
swinging in a
cosmic cadence,
where celestial notes
choreograph
themselves in the
moonwalking
mellifluence of
lunar legacies.
I gossip with
neon nightingales,
laced with neutrinos
and compel them
to chant those
healing incantations
of love and glory,
like the forlorn
princess - Rapunzel,
desiring to feel
the glow of
familiar lanterns,
winged with
hazy syncs of
unsung yesteryears.
I wonder if,
I'm not meant
to compose
crystal canticles
in a Disney duet,
for, I believe,
I'm a soul searcher
in the flesh of
a soloist, concocting
an elixir of my
existence through
cinnamon anthems
of mystical
moonrises, as
they softly unfold,
a million
unheard tempos,
within tranquil
memoirs.
I'm the 'maiden of music'
resting as a floret on
every sepal,
yearning to become
a unique acapella
of nature,
where empathy
has an ethereal
dialect of
nurturing spirits
and tinkles
of magical waterfalls
whisper in
gentle lachrymose lulls
of our ambrosial Mother.
When the harmony
of my voice,
kisses those
ivory keys of
the heart-shaped
piano, they
echo a tipsy secret
in my sunset skin,
making me
believe ~
"I'm everywhere
in the essence,
yet nowhere
to be found...",
like the sweet
scents of
hummingbirds,
smiling behind
that first dusky star.
"In each husky hallelujah
of ribboned halts and replays,
life is a song ~
where every lyric,
phrases an ember of end,
and when passionate heartbeats
shall knit sombre medleys,
I will hum in the last 'chef-d'oeuvre'... "
Categories:
halts, art, deep, life, meaningful,
Form:
Free verse
While it feels in the noontide, just steps through the trees,
As the sky bleeds to twilight – the sweetest disease.
On a walk through the maples, an itch of romance,
As a warm breeze courts Eros at gloaming's advance.
Just a glance woos the shivers, through come hither eyes,
Nervous hands - now perspiring, by moonlight’s devise.
Down a path softly swaying, then slowly a waltz,
Till a feverish tango as all reason halts.
Soon the knees start to wobble and vision subsides,
As the world falls from focus in dizzying strides.
There’s no end to the sickness on warm summer strolls,
Should the moon cast its toxin on amorous souls.
**12/14/2017**
Categories:
halts, romance,
Form:
Rhyme
The mountain peaks in colored sugar coat
Of pinks and blues and lilac violet hues
The sky, just before sunrise, all windless and clear
The day is misty, bitter cold, and crystal sheen
But I am warmed by one small ray of golden morning light
From high upon a perch of snow top crest
A lone stag with graceful legs that fly
Carving out a quiet trail, like fleeting wind
The sound so soft, the hush of whispered steps
He halts, and looks at me with logic's eyes
And seems to smile in recognition,
His golden crown of antlers, gleam in morning sun
Just when I thought my crystal world would splinter
He tilts his head, and bids me to come
And like an eagle's wing, remote and sure
He darts away, just like a bird
Without a sound
Beauty of the wind....beauty of pure grace
I run after him, panting and breathless,
Through the glimmering, in search of answers
But, I cannot keep up, as he disappears without a trace
And still not wringing the answers from the slightest sound
Yet, I am left alone, and feel at peace
For Constance's Contest: The Nature Dream/Spirtual Dream
Carrie Richards
Categories:
halts, fantasy, imagination, natureme, morning,
Form:
Narrative
Quote: Every day is a page to write a new story.
DAILY DEWDROPS
Freshly fallen snow,
no print left yet.
An empty box,
with no pretty bow.
I get down on my knees,
to write a prayer -
a wistful prayer of bittersweet.
My finger shivers in the breeze.
I cursively draw,
on this wall of white.
As snowflakes fall
from eyelashes, I bawl.
A white bunny’s hop halts,
little twitching eyes read my poetic plight.
Dripping from my index pen, a blizzard of tears -
erases all of my faults.
Tomorrow, I will start anew,
writing my escapades
on a pristine white carpet -
perhaps many words, perhaps a few.
And what might each day bring?
A quilting upon white cotton…
An epic on framed canvas…
My emoticons might vary, but dutifully I sing!
12/12/2016
Nayda’s Quote Response Contest
Categories:
halts, emotions, writing,
Form:
Rhyme
T i m e stops for no one,
as searing seconds swerve
through seasonal squalls,
thawing frost that sleeps upon
the necks of onyx roses,
where pain is etched in skeletal sins~
across pruned plumes,
fleeting through amethyst air,
merged in changing frequencies
of wind and waves,
carrying ballads of a bruised bluebird.
But I have long known grief,
and I’ve tasted the bittersweet
cocktails of life and love.
I am s i l e n c e,
swirling amidst the wheels
of dusk and dawn,
like the unseen flares
of blazing boulevards,
for I am made from ashes of steel,
strong to the eyes
that see not beyond bleeding sighs.
I waltz faster than
my fears can grasp,
the obsidian t e a r s of petals,
leaving each abstract sunset
sketched in acrylics
on murky meadows,
thriving with grieving geraniums.
O beloved moon,
I see lakes of Elysium
through the chained windows
of my tortured tower.
I breathe against the
crystalline concoctions
composed from the ink
of curved constellations,
erasing kismet calligraphies,
cluttered with chaotic conclusions,
sailing toward an astrological sphere,
where colors of love
run free against
the gravity of diabolical dust,
designed on rings of rust.
So let me save the twilight sage,
before the last drop of wintry rage
is no longer tamed by the
treacherous tongue of fate,
for I am armored against
the demonic drumrolls,
luring the splitting sea-surge
to a bioluminescent shore
where Lucifer’s footsteps linger,
caressing the edges of snakeskin,
mimicking merciless mantras
of Medusa melodies,
orchestrated in seething strings,
oblivious to the t r u t h
that I am more than
a wounded warrior,
dressed in whimsical wisterias.
I’ve learned to let go
of every faltering feather,
that blinded me,
pushing my patience
into a labyrinth of tilted tulips,
tainted with twisted tones
and hues of hypocrisy.
Remember,
I am more than the splitting paranoia,
running through corridors of uncertainty,
I am flashlights in the monsoon sky~
emanating petrichor pastels
upon nocturnal nightingales,
singing without words,
dreaming amidst trickling chords.
~ and this is the truth of trembling t i m e
that halts not for the sleeping supernovas ~
Categories:
halts, destiny, fate, strength,
Form:
Free verse
Take me to a safe haven,
without soldiers at borders.
Where human rights empower nationality.
No one judges on colour or creed,
nor which super power you follow.
In a world of sincere justice,
where swords are only found in museums
and guns remain silent without bullets.
Where hearts beat without fear,
dancing to rhythms of love and peace.
No echoes of grenades, causing cries of pain,
only whispers of hope in a tranquil dawn.
Where discrimination dissolves and hatred halts.
In a society of unity, where all reside inclusively.
Fields of green are not ruined by tank tracks,
where children laugh and play peacefully.
Streams of serenity are not polluted by white phosphorous.
Hospitals are not over flowing with casualties.
No armies march, no flags create division,
where people sing the same song in harmony.
All nations embrace without barriers,
as a symphony of serenity spreads in the air.
In a realm where differences are respected,
where aching hearts find ways to soothe.
Composing a universe of compassion,
where wars serve no purpose.
Creating a beautiful testament to humanity.
Categories:
halts, peace, war,
Form:
Free verse
Written: December 31, 2023, For Unseeking Seeker Contest
_____________________________________
“God within me is the enjoyer of the aroma
As also this dopamine boosting flavour I taste
I surrender all pleasures to the dweller of my heart
Breath by breath thus that my soul presence be chaste”
I wrestle symbolically every day,
While whisking my whimsical mind
For palatable aroma of java-laced cream
Each tantalizing sip satiates soul scarcity,
I taste dopamine-inducing elixir
Idly percolating aromas amplify, blissfully
My psyche turns olfactory with each breath
Savoring pureness of quench coffee
True coffee lovers' sacred rite
Bred from mountain slope flora
Large, roasted grains
Combined with chives
Espresso of our selection
Invigorating the poetic muse.
A cloying symphony lingers
Caramel, chocolate, hints
Roasted beans croon a melody
Susurrous sumptuous surreptitious
startling soul's sempiternal shields
Java ushered to an ambrosian niche
Where time halts and fears sway
All worries dissolve
Java-infused serenade heals this soul.
Weary-treating opulent, black potion
Comforting and cheering
Sips reveal life's essence
A hint of sonata transcends clash
Every sip is a sensory delight
A fabulous favor, a flavor flipping
Utopian bitterness-sweetness mix
An inexhaustible smorgasbord style.
Aphonic aqua vitae aurifies my soul
Seeking solace in stories of slight delights
In this brew, I uncover truth
A breath of blissfulness brings youth
Let aroma spread as I sip and relish
Nurturing and boldening my soul
I am enamored with Java core virtues
An idyllic instant resolves everything
Breath to breathe, I'll purify my soul
Savor and sustain every drop
During my coffee ritual
Feel a link to a bit victual.
Categories:
halts, analogy, appreciation, character,
Form:
Free verse
Friends, fellow poets and countrymen, please lend me your ear.
I do not live in Australia, and I wish to make that perfectly clear.
I will not insult that country, for to do so I’d have nothing to gain.
To be so rude would buy me a seat, on Trump’s derailed a$$ train.
I am a patriotic American, this is where I choose to reside.
I love my great country, and by its laws I will always abide.
In our United States, you’re eligible to vote if you pay your tax,
giving you the right to bash Biden or ride Trump’s crooked tracks.
Don’t tell me my country is broken from over 8800 miles away.
You can kiss my grits for that slander! That’s what I have to say.
You dare claim America is broken? How would you even know?
Was it social media and Fox News, or did a little joey tell you so?
Your political intellect is subpar, your facts are drivel and fake.
Cut back on the amount of Gin used in your stale Kangaroo cake.
You make me laugh, attention seeker, because you are such a fool.
The blunder from down under is just a brash Trumpeting Tool.
I come to write, not to bury another country for its faults.
If you’re not an American, then it’s time your pen halts.
Stop the demeaning insults you keep slinging at our borders,
or people might start pointing out your disturbing disorders.
Categories:
halts, anti bullying, political,
Form:
Rhyme
Sailing on a ship of dreams, through a deep and starlit night
The wind softly hums a lullaby, as the sails catch the pale moonlight
Indigo waters fade to lighter hues, when we reach the Morpheus shore
Where the anchor is tossed by a somnolent crew, in the place we are to moor.
The ship settles down in a harbor, cradled between two arms of land
As though lulled to sleep within this embrace, the keel leans upon the sand
The tall mast reaches up to the heavens, to nestle amidst the clouds
While waves gently rock the quiet deck, with each dip of its massive bow.
Troupes of fish dance past the stern, silver scales casting prisms of light
While birds on the shore flutter exotic fans, with no thought of taking flight
Time halts to stand on its tiptoes, strained in balance it tilts and shifts
Then the stars wearily blink their eyes closed, and the tide sets the ship adrift.
The anchor is heaved and hoisted, each link draws a series of sighs
While the captain stands quietly before the helm, gazing at the brightening sky
His eyes crinkle up at the corners, emulating the soft rays of the sun
As Awaken brushes the horizon, with strokes of topaz, sapphire, and plum.
A yawn of breath unfurls the sails, with snoring puffs they billow
As tangy brine streams down my face, drops dew beads on my pillow
Floating thoughts of an uncharted course, bound on the seas of night
Sink as the waltz to the seagull’s song, bows into the morning light.
Dedicated to Evans, who gave poetry the voice to sing, and the feet to dance.
Categories:
halts, death of a friend,
Form:
Couplet
Galloping within the nights of her innocence
he raced around the field fire chasing the heat of equine glee,
the horn of his head, a wizard's weapon and a witch's wish
with which a poison may be whimpered and youth enriched with longer laugh,
rose gold gilding on the supernatural spike ribboned with ribs of silver spells,
sensing the magic of her intuitive love the beast of God's bridge halts,
her eyes pretty in patient approach, his alert with admiring admonition,
they tresspass upon each other by exhalation of warm airy awe
whirling from their mouths, measuring the elation of frienship newly carved,
although invited to mount, the Maiden rubs her chin along his velvet nose,
fingers glide through the mane like breeze through willow branches, he huffs from joy,
in a gesture of supplication she kneels to the Unicorn's lead leg, one arm around
and a hand of healing pressed against his ripened chest, be restless and alone no more,
nibbling her ear in acceptence she giggles at the thought of adventure's anxiety,
leaping like an angel possessed with purpose for playful liaisons,
his back forming a saddle of supple security for her healthy frame, they join naturally,
she names him Azyerbel and he rears in rejoice at the grip of her knees,
riding into hinterlands of history unborn, they share courage known only to legends -
J.A.B. written in honor of, and for PD.'s Unicorn Birthday Contest 2012 -
Happy Birthday my Sphinx -
Categories:
halts, fantasy, birthday,
Form:
Epic
O' lovely maid, in solitaire
so fair of cheek and silken hair
A wistful look upon her face
It matters not that she is late
This Sunday morning at the gate
she halts as if to hesitate
and looks around with hopeful chance
as if to take a second glance
for someone whom we cannot see
who stands in shadows out of view
to join her in the morning dew.
Perchance her love will join her there
and stroll with her in autumn air
She waits a moment at the gate
with silver threads laced over blue
a shawl of pink and flowered hat
in pastel shades of vast array
Blended scents of wild bouquet
where grasses grow beyond the road
in golden waves of amber hue
Flowers sprouting here and there
A steeple sits upon the hill
A stroller on his way to church
admires with secret glance
I wonder if she'll stroll the path
or if she'll turn the other way
to walk until she finds a place
to sit and pray, or fall from grace...
Or worship God in her own way
embraced by Sunday's autumn day
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Inspired By Isaiah Zerbst's Contest: Edmund Blair Leighton Paintings
Categories:
halts, art, autumn, autumn, morning,
Form:
Ekphrasis
maudlin
maudlin Monday's mostly mud
halts the weekend with woeful thud
laughs and sillies
get the willies
on maudlin Monday, what a dud
tintinnabulous
tintinnabulous Tuesday
is the second paying-dues day
we head uphill
but it’s no thrill
'cause we’re not there, but we’re on our way
wadd'lin
wadd'lin Wednesday straddles the hump
wiggles and shakes like a wide-angle rump
it’s a little too slow
with way too much show
wadd’lin Wednesday makes us “harumph”
thoracic
thoracic Thursday we’d like to send west
we want to get Thursday off of our chest
we’re not so sure
we can endure
thoracic Thursday'd be a good day to rest
finally
finally Friday, when it gets here
makes one take a look in the mirror
to practice a smile
to reclaim a style
time to get ready for giggles and beer!
sleep in
sleep-in Saturday comes with the blues
has way too many of those chore-ing to-do’s
so get outta bed
with hung-over head
and put off whatever you choose
shuff'lin
shuff'lin Sunday saunters along
changing tempo, just like a song
pretty soon then
it’s time again
for Monday and that is just wrong!
elusive
elusive, the eighth day hides from the rest
we like to think we’d like it the best
but we’d probably waste it
and then we’d lambast it.
an eight day week the Beatles addressed
Categories:
halts, nonsense,
Form:
Limerick
WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN
Jim’s fallen head over heels for a girl,
He’s forgotten his mates; they’re in limbo
One whiff of her scent, his head’s in a whirl
But why did he choose Sue THAT blonde bimbo?
Like a shadow they are never apart
Stuck together tightly with superglue
This bleached blonde airhead has stolen his heart
Jim bade all his old friends a fond adieu
Every single day they are together
Still they only have eyes for each other
Arms wrapped around her, true love forever
Jim wears jumpers knitted by his lover!
On bended knee Jim gives Sue a huge ring
He splashed all his cash to buy her some bling
WHEN A WOMAN LOVES A MAN
Sue won’t hear a bad word about her Jim,
with rose coloured glasses, Sue is blinkered
He lets out huge farts, but Sue will just grin
She just giggles and calls him a stinkard!
Jim snores like a steam train, he never halts
Sue turns over and pulls up the covers
She totally ignores all of Jim’s faults
They’re besotted since they became lovers
Jim’s mates pity him; he’s under the thumb
With a ring on her finger Sue’s smiling
They are contented and Jim’s never glum
Sue adores him; she thinks he’s beguiling
Forever in love through good times and bad
Sue chose Jim because he looks like her dad!
Two English Sonnets Contest
Sponsored by Mark Massey
Two Sonnets written with my sincere apologies to the Bard!
Checked with how many syllables 10 per line
12~14~16
Categories:
halts, humorous, love, relationship, romance,
Form:
Sonnet