Best Hews Poems
Do the immortals cry, what happens to divinities
Tears, crystal shards of frozen miracles, cascading
From the heavens above, swallowed whole by
Mother earth.
In the abyss of darkness, within caverns dark and deep,
Lies a hidden chamber, of wondrous creations.
Glittering stone shingles, that hang from cave ceilings,
Crystal chandeliers of opulence's brilliance, shining on high.
Diamond cylinders, made from the weeping heart, of a divine
Spirit himself, a stone garden of sorrows tears.
Exposed to reflected light's illumination, oh so do they
Shimmer and sparkle, rainbow prisms of color, frozen
Molecules held prisoner in status freeze.
Nay water is life itself, a living element of nature,
Creations clarity, a universe within a universe.
Oh in such magnificent beauty, lies this sacred
Vision, of this the almighty’s most secret garden.
Seeping mists of moisture rise, enveloping the
Flickering rays of lamp light, adding an eerie
Obedience to this textured display, in this
Almost blackened realm, hidden beneath the
Earth in fathoms deepest depth, the artistic hand
Of God can be truly felt.
Ricocheting light randomly strikes against variations points of
Color, setting aglow from the blue hews, to purples
Fuchsia, a palettes splashed array, bursting forth
This underground aurora borealis.
In granite's cathedral of stone, split by the elemental,
Giving birth to fusion, exposing natures raw force of power.
A blending between spiritualism, and science takes place,
To create this grandest of masterpieces, that I call the stone garden.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
A land of ice and snow, a picture perfect postcard,
It is here I walk alone, lost in thought, of glories utter
Amazement surrounding me.
Draped across the pine branches of evergreen, frozen white
Lace glistens, in the December sun.
Raw wilderness lain exposed, on a canvas of bare natural beauty.
Freedom's unexplored world, lies outstretched before me,
In this my wintery wonderland.
Crisp is the wind, blowing against my skin, it sends
An icy chill downwards, but I notice not.
I'm a dreamer set adrift, engulfed by a poets
Yearning, to put words of inspiration, onto an empty page.
Heavy steps, crunch the layers texture beneath, nay
I'll remain still, soaking in this forest portrait.
Before these eyes, I'm unable to grasp everything,
There is to be seen, but ti’s a spiritual moment,
Of reflection, in clarity's vision.
The mountains breath, is a thin chilling mist,
A fine thin halo, placed upon rocky peaks majesty, by the
God's themselves, a majestic crowning of divine design.
Covenanting these exteriors hardened edge,
It gives a taste of harsh flavor, to this natural
Paradise left undiscovered.
The blue hews of the sky, are Chris-crossed by
The northern lights, aurora’s multicolored rainbows,
Dancing in the Alaskan horizon.
An echoing peace lives here, a quite tranquility,
Humanity has forgotten for progress.
It is a magical essence of solitude, that
Speaks to ones inner being, a purity in the
Meaning of existence.
Within my little cabin, I'll rest, beside the fire side,
Warming these aching bones.
But the mind remains alive and alert, sparked by
A higher powers kindling, a flame, ignited with imagination,
In this my wintery wonderland.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
The Old Pier (a picture poem)
beneath the boundary layer of air and sea
twirling vortexes of frenzied waters
incessantly corrode
the aging pillars below
the ravaged tired timbers emit
anguished unholy screeching sounds
as ocean swirls beat non stop in and about
worn out planks attached beneath
the weathered decking
the riddled concrete sideling emerges
perplexed and whistles out its
protestations in echoes heard
across the raging tide.
in the bottoms underflow snail infested
warped planks buffer incursions of countless
schools of rabid predators that attack,
conquer, and devour unsuspecting aquatic prey.
above fishermen pray to the sea gods
to hook their water worn lines and capture
in songs of surrender the call of
a waiting bucket.
in timed release, ancient messages splash upon
silicon sharpened shores that resonate the sounds
of strident hungry seagulls
rummaging for their next meal.
wave upon wave of scattered foam wash over
brash crayoned streaks of blue and green hews
that seem to melt across and blend into
a continuous pallet of assorted colors.
at the same time the formidable forces
of untamed waters compete
in their final rush to win
the race to land's end.
C.A.K. 2-21-2013
Oh where does the dragonfly go, between the reeds,
And murky shore.
Gently dipping his wings edges, in the waters cooling
Ripples, dancing across the tingling ponds waves,
To moisten it's beautiful translucent appendages,
So sheer and delicate of design.
Danger's bullfrog, on the Lilly pads so sits still,
Waiting ever so patiently, for the dragonfly to slip.
Yet awareness’s great aerial acrobat, knows better
Not to mess around with this amphibian's slick
Devilish tongue.
So flights fancy leads him beyond, the flabby
Froggies reach.
Testing limitations boundaries, this lighter
Than air insect, soars at mercy's whim,
Gliding the currents wind, and tasting freedom's
Glory of wonderment.
Inspiration's tiniest of miracles, melts the poetic
Heart within, humbling one to pause, at nature's
Beauty beyond words expression.
Gleaming beneath the summers sun, the light
Shines and shimmers, as if made of glass,
A reflective surface of diamonds, cast asunder
With hews deepest blues, as it's aquatic canvas
Background below.
In this spiritual garden of the wetlands, cannot
Thee taste the essence of true purity, amongst
Clarity’s crystal clear air.
Oh do I not envy such a creature, as this the
Dragonfly, to drift a aloft from reed, to the
Abandoned Lillie pad, and see such magnificent
Natural beauty within nature itself.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
It was a first trip to Europe for Maiden Hews
Who was shocked by the statues of nudes.
She thought it a sin
To show so much skin
Some of which obviously struck her as news.
It was the first trip to Europe for Miss Hews
who was terribly shocked by statuary views.
She thought it a sin
to show so much skin.
Some of which apparently struck her as news.
At eases rest, he sits waiting,
The guitarist.
Withered arthritic hands,
Shake now.
His study gaze strains,
To read the noted page.
Thoughts drifting, pondering,
A gentler pace.
Reflections pause, amongst,
Remembrance still waters.
Life's forgotten rambler,
Traveling along destiny’s,
Long lost highways.
Castaways absent player,
In limbos mindless game.
A migrant hobo,
Leaving reality's seasonal,
Venues behind.
God's harvest lies beyond,
In glories golden fields.
No lyrics express liberation’s,
Abandonment, freedoms release,
From pains well worn shell.
Lifted above griefs, loving kindred,
Peal away regrets many veils,
Layer by layer exposing,
Destiny's beauty in misty hews.
A new adventure begins,
On horizons, magnificent canvas,
Behold a grand expanse.
A spirit soars, following an
Everlasting light.
It is peace without expression,
Mankind’s ultimate fulfillment,
And loves final achievement.
Celebrations joy receives salvation's,
Lost lamb.
In hymens sacred choir he'll join in,
Playing God's gospel, angel's voices,
Are raised in praise.
Strumming at his best,
Within divinities,
Heavenly band.
Sweet melodies song echoes,
Beneath stars shinning light.
The music man smiles,
I've finally come home at last.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
A crack of thunder splits a humid June sky,
shattering into millions of tiny droplets
to the the ground
a desperately needed respite from the early summers heat.
I belonged out here
I knew this as I observed the sugar maples dancing with a pre-storm breeze
as if the world were breathing a sigh
inviting me to stay.
A whisper so soft you could only sense it
The silvery undersides of their leaves
turning in the wind
The charge across your skin as distant lightning flashes then dies with
a rumble that shutters the atmosphere
The smell of fresh sprinkles sizzling on the black top
The sound of splashing boots in muddy puddles
The taste of raindrops on your lips
While others waited for sunny skies
It was these moments that were for me
When the trails were empty
And the cloud tops high
catching every puffy curve in creamy golden hews
Reminding me all the time
That I belonged out here
Mingling showcase crowds gathering amid the contemporary chambers
Within this the modern day museum of the poisoned pilloried minds....
Subjugation piercing the thresholds beneath conscious perceptions views!?
Gazing as deeper into the contortions abstract of framework they go
Entranced assimilations aside artful disassociations; brushed with black
And blues colours and hews, of acrylic paintings hung upon the galleries
Mesmerizing, paradoxic walls growing collection in....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
....Extramurals multiple personality disorders?!
She carries dinner and sweet tea
to her man in the field
as purple hews of sunset
streak down mountain sides.
An evening breeze is welcomed,
cooling the damp dress
clinging to her shape
in the shadow of night.
Darkness settles over Heaven and Earth,
bare feet caress rich soil
as bodies held tight in rhythmic embrace--
dance.
(In loving memory of my big brother, Reg)
Right within my den
Calligraphic letters you penned
Surfaced as reminder of the love we shared
I see picture perfect portraits
No negatives.
You do appear on wings of time
Like sun's penetrating light
In spaces, deep as the Caribbean Sea
Yes, you are reflected
In multiple hews, brilliant as you...
Blood of my blood;
Imagine fortified versions of you
I see courteous crews...
Beyond seven saintly specimens
Now your name is set abroad
As though Griot who ruled.
I remembered, you tamed my fears
And rose to pave smooth
One perilous path I walked to work
Yes, weary women in need of warmth, were
Cloaked in hand woven peace, given by you
Now, you're laminated photo...
Graphed upon walls of grateful minds.
I have seen you prodding time
Through lens of your mind
Tall as mahogany trees
That cools, and shelters multitudes
Now; who but time, will seal
This empty space
I feel within my soul?
You'll never be you I once knew.
*
A land of ice and snow, a picture perfect postcard,
It is here I walk alone, lost in thought, of glories utter
Amazement surrounding me.
Draped across the pine branches of evergreen, frozen white
Lace glistens, in the December sun.
Raw wilderness lain exposed, on a canvas of bare natural beauty.
Freedom's unexplored world, lies outstretched before me,
In this my wintery wonderland.
Crisp is the wind, blowing against my skin, it sends
An icy chill downwards, but I notice not.
I'm a dreamer set adrift, engulfed by a poets
Yearning, to put words of inspiration, onto an empty page.
Heavy steps, crunch the layers texture beneath, nay
I'll remain still, soaking in this forest portrait.
Before these eyes, I'm unable to grasp everything,
There is to be seen, but ti’s a spiritual moment,
Of reflection, in clarity's vision.
The mountains breath, is a thin chilling mist,
A fine thin halo, placed upon rocky peaks majesty, by the
God's themselves, a majestic crowning of divine design.
Covenanting these exteriors hardened edge,
It gives a taste of harsh flavor, to this natural
Paradise left undiscovered.
The blue hews of the sky, are Chris-crossed by
The northern lights, aroura's multifcolored rainbows,
Dancing in the Alaskan horizon.
An echoing peace lives here, a quite tranquility,
Humanity has forgotten for progress.
It is a magicial essecces of soilitude, that
Speaks to ones inner being, a purity in the
Meaning of exsistence.
Within my little cabin, I'll rest, beside the fire side,
Warming these aching bones.
But the mind remains alive and alert, sparked by
A higher powers kindling, a flame, egnited with imagination,
In this my wintery wonderland.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Sit, watch the evening low and born today of but three last clouds
A bruding closeness threatening about the body and house
Await the door bell in one hour she comes maybe just at close of day
Tomorrow not signalled as good just yet by sky red notes and sheperd's deilght
Wind calmly waving the chestnut tree and Holly tree no blood red berry to offer up
Adjust the wicker chair. Looked, a heron zed shaped and flat lining across the last two clouds
With grace and solitude well heard but lost against the descending blue night
An orange and pink of quick left and right brush strokes blazes the sky
At horizon's edge it sits pushing towards me towards my window so quick
Within the blink of moving my red wicker chair there's no blood red wickered sky above
As night closes ever more a plane a double trail of vapours lays it's lines
before the sky it heads west to Atlantic waves 25 miles yonder
Laid double pink but not red disolving at one end all the time
The door bell alerts my love announces do you like my new dress
A dress so red and bright for my birthday night but not blood red to match the sky night
The night arrives and bows to the blue of day now in hews of deeper orange
darker pink darker pink brown. Grey lines interlaced. It chokes and tightens
Squeezing away it's last colours but not quite not quite. I look no more
Two sugars or one my love my favourite red cup. The day breathes it's last.
Colours gone to blackened clouds my cup red but not a blood red sky tonight.
oblique inverted potting vessels
full of luminescent onions.
half the bulbs have grown out of their
habitats sprouting at night over roof
tops on saint james avenue.
the other half hang down along
telepone wires across the street.
celestrially conspicious reflecting in dull
orange hews on the pavement.
me and saint james stand there
looking up to count them.
rows and rows of electric globes.
under orions nocturnal orchard they
flicker in the light of their own myths.
i to am a dreamer this night.
i to move with the spheres first
in the garden now under the lamps.
Discussing together, faire play
We sustain the living
The position of hews
The generation of does
Succession of woes, Stonehenge
Phoenix, of the United Hacking Ass
Returns, flying clearly, fairly, disbussing
We fly this far
We fly with a Cinquento
With a purpose, but half the man of Aeronaught.