Best Hearth Poems
yogi comes first
my old companion burr-backed hearth-warmed
his peat-dark spring fur shedding summer’s presence
he lies on the fireplace rug squirrel-dream naps
muzzle silvered as a frost-split hickory post
a soft whine mute devotion
shadowing me keeping a keen watch
honest kind sportive soul
glued to my side even in sickness
another briar-choked ridge
to crest
hunter and chocolate lab
and then gurty
sovereign aloof moon-milk calico-born riddle
velvet paws and stealthy grace
a small Athenian goddess of the numinous
who appears vanishes wistful-eyed
moon fragment star-salt morning breeze
she prowls each rooms edge dust-mice
soft-footed serene indifferent
granting affection, rationing light
withheld offered only the queen knows
a small sheathed killer
making the world right
by choosing not to strike
between them household diplomacy
two philosophies sharing sunbeams
a duet of difference
two cultures thickening smoothing
yogi with his fawning tail-drunk joy
gurty with her vigilance her whisker-quiver
reading each moment for oneness
he presses close
she circles observing rubbing
a synthesis of presence
unconditional
i have seen her groom herself
in the soft ritual of sandy-tongue washing
and him pause trustful patient
her calm steadying him
i have watched them soften
the sandpaper-and-silk
collision
become friends family belonging
where the good life abides
night settles
they lie in parallel lives at my feet
yogi breathing his gentle snore
gurty a moon fragment curled in thought
and i smile loosen breathe
mercy can curl or bound
love a dog’s warm flank-heat
a cats purring sovereign gaze
and the small miracle
of both choosing the same rug
in the same
deepening hour
sweet yo-gurt
Ho! Ho! Ho! It's sure a tight squeeze.
I was able to go down the chimney with ease
and miss the bed of coals.
Mrs. Santa is right; I have to start the New Year with new goals.
Everyone must have just gone to bed because the cocoa is still hot.
Chocolate chip cookies and hot cocoa will really hit the spot.
Oh, yes sir can't hurt their feelings. I'll sit, and take of my boots and rest
by the stone hearth from the cold burr and hang loose before I head west.
A mouse came scavenging for a bite of the chocolate chip cookie,
took one look at me and climbed on my lap snuggling in beside me.
Before, the snow starts to stir and reindeer decide to leave me behind;
I'll leave their Christmas gifts under the tree since they were so kind.
Slip on my leather black coal boots trimmed in faux fur,
back on my sleigh full of gifts for the kids before I forget how many there were.
12/2/2017
In flash points crackling moment of the exhausted,
Ecstasy’s burnt embers explode, colliding in
Raptures afterglow of passions flaming heart.
Castaway's silhouettes blaze, against a heated back drop,
Of sensuality sizzling, at a boiling temperature left
Uncontrolled, the union ignition switch burns red hot.
Restrains shackles are sheared tatters of materialistic
Fibers, remnants clothing tossed asunder,
To abandons shame.
Beguiling eyes of desires enamored, seek the
Erotic pleasures hidden beneath the nights shroud
Of mysteries secret realm, shared by these lunar
Disciples of lusts forbidden.
Nay let the sun rays be forever banished from the
Heaven’s themselves, torn apart singing the very stars,
Causing them to fall, as diamond shards unto the earth
Below.
Let the wrath of the god’s shake the world by it’s
Fragile edges, for revenges sake of malice’s intent,
For the sinful deeds done between these outcasts
Of loves intrigue.
Raw is kindling’s fuel, flesh to the bone,
Pleasure to the pain, raining ashes of desire
Thus do we burn, fire to the ice factor,
I’m a melting burg, turning to steam within
His embrace of thermal nuclear heat.
The weeping angels of salvation fallen serenade us,
Lifting our souls beyond the mortal fleshes returning
Point, we are the lost, drifting within each other,
The vowed dammed, secret lovers of silences hushed.
Abandonment’s servants left without prayers mercy,
Kneeling at the altar of the passion’s hearth,
Until the flames embers burn out,
And ashes Yule log has no more fuel to ignite.
But oh in memories we’ll relive that night,
Until the universe plunges into the black hole
Of the timeless infinite itself.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Heartstrings- For Hearth and Home
Pardon me, did you just heave…
“Aye, that’s right, you can leave”
Good you give me the heave-ho…
“Don’t say, just leave this ship-
You’re ban from the trip”
But wait, I demand to know
Why heart throbs callous fate…
Or naught’ say in this state?
Then, I get’ be on the row.
Retrench, though break, I grieve
…Still air, elsewhere receive-
D-day most furious must bow.
Fly wings, see no then clip-
A tip, handsome; don’t trip.
Ready, steady and will wow.
Cos yours’ to concentrate,
Theirs to see and relate.
Patience in all makes you grow.
_______________________________
Balassi Stanza: Two
Rhyme Scheme: bbaccadda
Syllable count: 667667667
Hestia,
Tender of the hearth.
Tender of the flame.
Oh, Hestia
Soften my hardened eyes
Warm my frozen heart
...an interpretation of a dream
From out the swirling surf
he plucked a maiden fair, and in distress,
whose innocence enthralled him so
that he could not express in speech,
articulate her loveliness.
He took her to his breast and blessed her,
held her close, and quieted her fears;
it was as if she knew him well,
such recognition in her eyes,
as joy and peace didst dry away her tears.
They joined in union, they enjoyed
the purest of all sacraments,
unsullied by lascivious display.
They blended, as a tree merged with the sky,
a fusion of the elements.
Was he a Sea King, she a nymph,
protected by his gentle touch,
a child of God in need of succor,
he the providence that calmed her,
proffered bliss she craved so much?
Or were they lovers found in time?
wanderers who claimed their hearth and home,
dreamers living heaven,
bound together now as one
and sanctified, no more to roam.
Hearth of Winds
From west to east you plumb axisal spin,
And darted on the limbs of the poles.
On longitudes and latitudes, you are dotted in silhouettes.
Just above the horizon of age, you journeyed,
Beckoning the threshold of syllabubic windfalls.
Sated with doldrums of lambent haul,
And the pomp of sycamore hover instill.
When you call again at the Isle of trench,
The oracles of time shall tune again the aviary.
Seated upon the pillion of days the carter roves,
Tilting in all directions with hopes of succour.
A long way from time indeed you are,
But as the tides of valour surmise you triumph.
Once I saw an array of humanic acclaims,
In a manger of Sylphic heath of tenderness.
The hills of tonic travails titivating the hold,
And all the flakes of materialism dancing attune the vista.
The tales of deeds will forever entail polemic puzzles,
And the spate of the weaver’s loom shall reckon amidst.
Adeola Yusuf Amuni
...an interpretation of a dream
From out the swirling surf
he plucked a maiden fair, and in distress,
whose innocence enthralled him so
that he could not express in speech,
articulate her loveliness.
He took her to his breast and blessed her,
held her close, and quieted her fears;
it was as if she knew him well,
such recognition in her eyes,
as joy and peace didst dry away her tears.
They joined in union, they enjoyed
the purest of all sacraments,
unsullied by lascivious display.
They blended, as a tree merged with the sky,
a fusion of the elements.
Was he a Sea King, she a nymph,
protected by his gentle touch,
a child of God in need of succour,
he the providence that calmed her,
proffered bliss she craved so much?
Or were they lovers found in time?
wanderers who claimed their hearth and home,
dreamers living heaven,
bound together now as one
and sanctified, no more to roam.
Tell me the secrets to your life, bushman
Show me how to befriend the garish land
Guide me through nature’s surviving devotion
Teach me with dry eye that knows no ocean
Lead me to hope in battlefields dead
Limit the sweat drops that stroke my forehead
Grace the cracked crevice of yesterday
Turn them 'to valleys of knowledge at play
Whisper to me the ancestral dream
Wet each subtle contoured stream
that smooth the plains of a timeous kingdom
Nestle me against the bosom of freedom
Forgive ignorance raised from infancy
Respectfully remind me of bliss and harmony
Make everything new, as it once was
Shelter my prayers in shallow graves past
Mark them with nourished droughts of fortune
Symbolised by strength and wisdom in unison
Synchronise peace through roots of your heart
Celebrate remembrance through sticklers of art
Let blood warmth that course through your veins
Recycle this savage ‘til the end of days
Navigate me to heaven hidden in the stars
Simmetrically ripen my thought battlescars
Understand and bleed into me as if earth
Entwine and bear with me, oh ethnic since birth
Candy coated sugared chocolate treat
Stuffed hearth hung stockings, we dream!
Concern, it's lumps of coal...
An ice cold firework
Discharges in my heart
Detonating out shards of ice
To pierce the mind
Pricking my fingers
As the heat
Drains from me and
Like a welcoming fireplace
Warms the souls of the
Dead hearts I've dug up
From the graves of fireflies
That never saw it
Past summer
Last year was the first time
Since I’ve had my own home
That I didn’t put up a big tree.
But you were so small and so active and all
And you hadn’t yet learned to mind me.
For two years they’ve been waiting
For their short chance to shine,
While you have been growing so tall.
Perhaps all my baubles won’t be such a lure,
As attractive as when you were small.
Near fifteenth of December
We’ll bring the tree in
And hang it with bright balls and such.
You can help if you like, but must understand
It’s something to see and not touch.
On tip-top goes the angel
Whom we first put so high,
The year that our sweet Joycie died.
We placed her with care, she was so pretty there.
We kept on with the task as we cried.
There are memories gathered
Throughout the long years
To be placed there, with sadness or laughter.
They will come out of storage for a few days of glory
And packed away very soon after.
The stocking sweet Carolyn sent us last year.
When she heard we could not have a tree,
Will brighten our wintertime mantel again.
We’ll fill it with goodies for you and for me
And it’s then Christmas joy will begin.
I’ll hold you in my lap as we sit by the fire
As I make out my Christmas card list,
Admiring the wreaths and the garlands we’ve hung
We’ll drain every drop from our big Christmas mug
And practice the songs to be sung.
We’ll read Christmas stories, my big Tiger cat.
I’ll tell you about the bright star.
Your eyes will grow wide at the wonder of it
As we dim all the lights, except those on the tree
And doze off in their glow for a bit.
By: Joyce Johnson 10/24/11
For Linda Marie's "Holiday Hearth" My holiday Christmas won a first
I saw the coffin of my daughter leave,
Ashen faced and pale darkened lips,
Her heart was dead and body cold,
Listless she moved out of my threshold to horizons unseen.
Turn back she would not, nor weep her doe eyes,
My soul gonged, the end of love had begun,
Never again my child shall return to the hearth of my heart.
Help she had asked, but was ruthlessly flayed
Silencing her heart to stone,
Tears vaporised and her eyes froze,
The innocence vanished and love buried.
The gurgle of laughter was heard but a century ago,
Dutiful she will be, but never ever be mine,
Never again shall my child return to the hearth of my heart.
Born were we as children and soon turned into parents,
Languishing for freedom were our hearts in an unhappy childhood,
Of restrictions imposed on dried young hearts.
Mental tortures we repeat that we in elders had perennially despised,
God's laws for loving and giving, trust and freedom, elders do disband,
The helpless solutions remain our crowning ego
Now my hearth is in embers when my child is gone.
December 22, 2015
Contest: Any Sad Poem
Sponsor: Broken Wings
An Ode To The Hearth
Everything born is birth
Anything dies is dead
Nothing ever really changes
Because nothing is new
Life is given
This same life is taken.
Emptied dreams
Emptied hopes and aspirations
At the river Styx eternally floats.
Lukewarm; of what is hot
And of what is cold?
Man's infinitesimal problems
Take all his times, for human life is
Indeed vain and strife;
Living to impress others impressing others.
Oh mother hearth,
Be revered, for home is
Where lies true love and companionship
Even at the end of civilization
Let there be thy ever burning fire
In our hearts, reassuring
Serendipitous.
Godwin Henry Osaigbovo Pa Shakespeare
Every layman knows that since long ago,
painting, sketching and sculpting
by those possessing valid talent
has produced art that exhilarates hearts
and/or thoughts as artistry caught.
Not all know that our modern times
paired fine arts’ aesthetics chime
with craft’s utilitarian cadence
under Visual Art's mega umbrella.
Many wish riddance to this ambivalence.
To me, the grabbing-high from creativity
comes when it moves me perceptively.
I’m not much for art particulars,
its critics, popular trends or scholars.
I have my own criteria for art to
be brought home and share my hearth;
it must spark my imagination’s girth
with a delight that bubbles forth.