Best Hilltops Poems
Dark night flees,
And the first incandescence rays
Of the glorious golden sun
Skim over the haughty hilltops
And filter through the dew-wet leaves
Of the tall and stately pines.
A new day dawns.
My sleepy eyes slowly open wide.
I see a bright and summery sky,
A world of unsurpassed beauty,
Nature’s best incomparable display.
My heart grows warm
As golden rays penetrate my soul
And I feel uniquely fine,
For I know only too well
It is your hand, O Lord,
That wrought this radiant masterpiece
That grants me each day
With a fresh start,
Truly a miracle of life.
Just as bees squeeze like watermelon seeds
Spit across apricot fields
My wife and I on Friday
Join the lines of highways up north
Pulled by hilltops to the Leelanau blue sky
Where lakes stir in the wind at the citrus rims
Of wine valleys below
And cherry orchards blossom in row after row
Like sheets of cupcakes spiraled with frosting.
Tonight we will sit tight around our lakeside fire
As petals closed upon this blaze of flower
With a Loon trilling her flute of bones
To the stars salted across the night
And voices bump from shore to shore
Murmurs softened beyond repair
The cabins flickering to a second life
In a fuse of fire lit around our lake
A tradition. We stop the car a ways away
From my mom and dad’s cabin
And let out our kids on the shoulder of road
To run like deer the final half mile.
Image: Cloud Fantasy, by Susan Lawrence
On spring's green carpet I repose, revitalizing the soul
passing slow minutes pondering the sky
The lake whispers a morning meditation
as memories abound of cloud fantasies
a thousand ships of condensation dreams
Assorted sizes, shifting shapes
capriciously changing contours and colors
white, dun, pewter gray, dusky purple
magically mirroring my many moods
Fleecy, flitting, tiny, quiet, wispy cirrus all alone
like first day of school in a new town
Thunderheads colliding with cold fronts
hurling lightning in angry retribution
resolute battleships storming towards war
Stratus clouds, flat and unruffled
soothing, like grandma holding a cookie sheet
embracing landscapes like a comforting blanket
hugging hilltops in a friendly fog
Misting up at a feel good story
spilling tears on the gloomiest of days
A nimbostratus orchestra performing
a symphony of snow for mountain dwellers
a reverie of rain for desert denizens
Bouffant hairdo like a 60's prom queen
strutting across the sky adjusting her tiara
cotton ball cumulus, billowy like a verbose uncle
enhancing sunsets with colorful stories
.....
The soul of the sky is Sol-
our daylight and warmth, essence and marrow
The stars are sky's artists painting our stories-
archers, dippers, swans, seven sisters,
scorpions, lions, hunters, heroes
The heart of the sky is Luna-
a nightlight for sleepy children
a lamppost where lovers meet
a lantern for the darkest of trails
but clouds are the personality of the sky
written 24 May, 2022
//Inspired by the wonderful art of PS member Susan Lawrence, after viewing her landscape paintings at susanlawrence.net. Each landscape is framed by a different personality of cloud; I encourage all to pay a visit to her website to enjoy her portraits and abstracts as well as landscapes ~ John//
I climb high up the tortuous path
Of a ragged hillock and
In pensive solitude I look around
Upon the universe that surround me.
There from on high
I spy so many mysterious wonders
That God endowed this worthy earth,
And blessed all His creations
With wealth, momentous and great.
The waning sun creeps down over the horizon
To gain its well-earned rest.
A reddish dusk tinges the hilltops
As swallows glide serenely below the ridge
In search of a homely sanctuary
To dream the dark night away.
The multicoloured flowers in the valley
That swing in nightly breezes,
And feed the insects bright;
The trees that grow so mighty
Whilst bushes provide haven to so many
Graceful creatures of the wild.
The glorious stars that light the dark
The dazzling sun that ripens crops,
The lakes and seas that ripple
And reflect the mountains high:
Is it not easy to understand
How blessed we all are?
Yet do we ever stop
To thank our dear Lord
And ponder on these gracious gifts?
Written: October 02, 2023 For Robert James Liguori Contest
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Fervent mishaps start life's biggest wins.
The first crocus shrieks and grins.
A bird's song caused snowflakes to bloom.
Pink, peach, and gold hues in the sky loom.
A fib said once might have afar-reaching effects.
Even as there's time for the truth to tie its elects,
I once took a pathless route to a sluggish win.
Suitable people can clash with the truth within.
Appearances may mislead, and secrets may hide.
A brave and savvy tale, hiding an enigma inside.
Cross rivers and lofty hilltops to find the truth.
Seeking truth amid a world of lies and sleuth
Aged tale as Eden Tree, vernal as a raw tooth
Men grasp lip-thatch form, art, and truth.
Erstwhile, tales, and fables tell.
Truth, rising from the depths of its well.
Authenticity faces life's storms defenseless.
Yet slyness stays sealed to strife senseless.
Justice and fairness ensure all are rated fairly.
Dark deceit and evil send spun wiles sparsely.
Be brave—the liar is a coward and a slave.
Sneaky, skilled at scams and lies, awful knave.
Being honest is punter than money and status.
Stick to the truth, relish light, do not tend to fuss.
Righteousness is power; truth must prevail.
True bravery for an hour typically will avail.
Under any disaster, selfish wails yield no gain.
Inspire with grit and firm will, not always pain.
Block by block it starts to rise, Great Wall of China begins,
A barrier to stem the horde, marauding Mongolians,
Must be bigger and better, than ever attempted before,
Also should be breathtaking, far into the clouds will soar.
Where on earth do we start, going be thousands of miles long,
Everywhere at once, of course, otherwise it’d all go wrong,
Need to find lot’s of workers, ten million on the ground,
This is China, unlimited manpower, labour forces abound.
Build a wall upon mountain ridges, never been tried before,
Yeah it’s a pickle ok, most shall die, replaced by millions more,
Emperor decrees, “Thy Will Be Done” no matter what it takes,
Nothing can impede our way, even the country’s deepest lakes.
So onwards and upwards it goes, for better or maybe worse,
Now he demands a road atop, for soldiers to ride their horse,
Crowning glory, the beacon towers, seen from all around,
These almighty fires, warn our armies, from hilltops to town.
Like most things in life, comes with a double edged sword,
So ulterior motive triumphs, for planners and overlords,
Even back then, a master stroke, laughs Dynasty of the Ming,
By keeping invaders out, our slaves imprison themselves within.
Best N-A poem of 2020 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton 13/01/21
N/A COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE(38) any theme any form
Brian Strand 12/3/2020 12:00:00 AM 11/5/2020 1:08
It’s cold here in Central Texas
Winter has laid its hand upon us
The night is clean and pure
With just a whisper of oak and mesquite fires
Burning on the hilltops
And villages of old German hopes
The coyotes are calling
Packs move in the night
Instinctive without knowing the reason
They find their way into town
Old men with rifles sit on porches waiting
But nearly always miss
For winter is the friend of the coyote
And the bones of men
Are appendages meant for warmer climates
Civilized cravings or hunger drives them here
Or maybe it’s just an Comanche tear
That fell in this place
And stained the ground forever
What ever it is I welcome them here
For they are clean and pure
Of what burdens men
Just twenty days. The mystical
Libra will turn rosette boughs into
fading auburn… nights combing
the breeze colder and quite somber ,
as if women on bare hilltops await
the arrival of men in some far oceans
when bleached summer gives way
to icicles of endurance so patient
and wives, lovers tremble in this anticipation
swaying
back and forth, balancing the cold
clutches of afternoon’s light and
destitute clouds wearing mufflers
for near or far elegies of snow.
It is grippingly delicate: I mean, watching
the changing hint of a breeze growing
paler.
Yet wiser is October rising to chip the
glow of studded stars, bit by bit, dying
in the gray of grayest sleet to bear
the tunes of venial woes. Yet, it is the cycle
when courage bides its time for amiable joy.
It is the cycle when her adolescent stage
transforms ladies into maids-in-waiting...
how much longer must the women endure
to find an armada of loved ones back home?
And the weight of contentment drips, drips
in a season fulfilling its own quest.
There are
no answers; only reflective surrender.
Contest: Waiting
Sponsor: james rogers
9/10/2015
Where to? Just to walk?
Dressed in long garment like ghost?
A question mark in purse… gold!?
She preferred a walk!
Missed her crooked edgy boat!
Just went to walk down the road…
Looking at picture
In the hands of the painter
Van Gogh’s mystery nurtured
He drew her prayer…
In her purse she did question
Why!? Was just a tough question
Wondering how could
That happen in night’s second!
Hefty waters dashing… haunt!!
The chimney trembles!
An earthquake wakes up fixed days!
See a muddy unpaved ways?
Though all wide paved roads
Reach Britania’s bay… north?
Shown on left corner’s foot’s coy
Enlarge picture here…
Her garment is night-time sleep
See the shooting stars racing heap?
Umbrella is closed
Carried lest harsh rain is dropped
Fall signed surprises to roll…
The roof is breaking!
But picture of landscape’s tweak
Is seven degrees… earthquake’s squeeze!
What caused that earthquake?
Look close… hills’ dance! Wave!
Tsunamis launch big headache…
The sun’s round high rays
Amazing view! Beneath slate!
Above roof tops water stays!
Can’t take my eyes off
That white house’ name looks… hello!
Van Gogh meant… white house we know..!
The cleverest knew
Floods and blubbers can dash through
The Atlantic Ocean’s see through..!
Since past styles distort
But now all styles run the show
The broken boat… does not flow!
The ark as in boat..!!
Seems like Noah’s ark… didn’t row!
Got broken on hills… the road!
Looks like Broken Wa-
gon town fits show on sheer Van
Gogh’s print… water’s sketch grade’s class!
Under her smooth feet
Hilltops’ visage… very week...
Vast landscapes flattened… see here?
Till water recedes…
With hefty tears of few years
Trotting in Van Gogh’s tart dreams.
BY: Nadia F. Shahwan – September 2009. The portrait of “White House at night” by Vincent
Van Gogh was the inspiration of my poem-Seven Degrees.
Miss Allegheny Mountain
On her stone back the sleeping lady lies,
while on upward ride to the Western skies,
in blue lavender treeline's veiled disguise,
Miss Allegheny Mountain grows in size.
Azure cheeks are kissed by the dawn's sunrise.
Toward morning stars point her tree lined thighs.
Appearing on horizons in surprise,
Miss Allegheny Mountain fills our eyes.
On hilltops tall the mighty hawk abides,
cross valleys green where daytime swiftly flies.
In golden dress she bids the day that dies.
Miss Allegheny Mountain gently sighs.
Friends and love ones say hellos and goodbyes,
Miss Allegheny twists in lows and highs,
with sights so lovely one would truly prize,
a pleasure journey of her mountainsides.
8/24/16
He was howling at the moon,
it was mid June's heyday, she
was naive beyond reproach
her innocently lit chiaroscuro
made him hunger all the more,
til one day she let down her guard
'neath an impatient violaceous sky
drinking effervescently blissed wine
kissed him with rosé blushed lips
But his instincts betrayed him,
devouring the petite blossom
of her youth, teeth bared,
eyes glaring crimson, her stardust smile
no deterrent, appetite’s salacious intent,
stomach growling nocturnal desires,
claws scarring milk-paint skin
till groans released vibrations
felt ‘pon shadowed earth
shattering movements
ground-breaking momentum
sent horizons a' rocking
motioning to constellations
as they synchronously liquefied
tilting universes' on their axis
a little death's furtherance
uttering god's hallelujahs
lit beyond obscure sighs
Now two silhouettes,
midst harmonious moaning
echo upon auras' illusions
cresting lofty hilltops
can be seen this night and all others
when the skies turn dark
and celestial bodies' tumult
simultaneously ignite thunder,
diffusing smatterings' explicit
flight surrendered furthermost
heart-stricken otherworldly lovers
'Collaboration ~ Chris Green & Paloma'
Lost was I amidst the Scottish highlands
The evening sky was blushing heaven-kissed
Hilltops pierced the dusky fog like islands
As soft a horse came swimming thru the mist
Pausing to consider its intentions
I stood there hypnotized and still as death
Thus its beauty quelled my apprehensions
And naught there was but magic in its breath
Like the grand Bucephalus he gestured
Nodding with his head for me to follow
With the trails deep in the brume and vestured
Held no greater hopes until the morrow
Building in my gut were pangs of hunger
Outside the hopes of finding further aid
Sixty and not getting any younger
My future hinged on choices to be made
Little left to lose I started hiking
Just steps behind the stallion as he led
Even in the dark his hide was striking
His color white as sheets and purely bred
On we walked for miles through the night, dim
Until I spied some farm lights further on
Stopping to remember him and thank him
But searching through the darkness ... he was gone.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Some Paradise Where Horses Go" Poetry Contest, Michelle Faulkner, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "Eight Words Challenge - 24 Lines Maximum" Poetry Contest, Robert Haigh, Judge & Sponsor.
( Ten syllables/line, counted at HowManySyllables.com, no cliche's, via cliche' tool at PoetrySoup.com )
If I were allowed, just one last precious day...
Only twenty four hours, to swallow away
To fear, or to fret, what a waste of the gift
So I'll say, I'll confess, what a blessing it is
to be given this choice on how I might spend it.
This last gift bestowed, to spend as I please
Would I want to be shown, the most spectacular things?
What would I do, and how would I choose
My mind would be spinning like whirlwinds in spring
Would I run away to a tropical sun
take a brief holiday, with my hopes on the run?
My mind would be topsy, my soul would be turvy
and my heart would be yearning for those who I love
I have come to conclusion...after pondering, long
The choices, though many, aren't hard to resolve
I would spend it with loved ones, in the same, simple way
With things quite familiar, under the same morning sun
Time with my with family, so simple and fun
Laughter that rings through a house on a hill,
Hamburgers, sizzling, outside on the grill
Little ones shouting, teasing, frolicking,
Until evening breezes gather us still
In the dark on the porch, while my son plays guitar,
with a dish of ice cream, while counting the stars
Love reaching out with a unspoken sound
filling the silence, of a promise untold
Watching the sunset...in the hilltops above...
How grand is one day.... until the daylight is done....
A perfect days end..... if left with just one.....
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Contest sponsored by Thomas Martin "Days"
As I walked beside the water, feeding ducks and skimming stones,
I was whistling to the weather and the winter wind that moans.
Dreaming dreams of summer sunshine with you walking by my side,
In a land across the ocean, on the beach above the tide.
There was snow across the treetops and the ducks were glad to feed
And the sun so weak and wat'ry that it lacked the heat we need.
But my dreams were warm and balmy filled with ocean breeze and spray;
As I walked beside the lakeside on that chilly winter's day.
As I strolled across the hilltops feeling icy winds that try
To assault the lonely walker and bring teardrops to his eye.
I was not a whit distracted from the dreams that filled my head
Of a walk in summer sunshine where a foreign sheep track lead.
With the views of snow-filled valleys like some massive Christmas card,
I was lifted to the heavens, though the climb was rather hard,
But my dreams were filled with walking on some lazy summer hills,
And the thought of you beside me was a cure for all my ills.
In the woods of winter magic, where the trunks are ghostly souls,
I was walking in the snowscape dreaming dreams of happy goals.
Of a land of forest flowers and a smell of warming pine
With my arm around a lover who has whispered that she's mine.
All the days of winter beauty fade like visions meeting dawn,
As I dream of summer sunshine when perhaps I shall be born
In a life of sweet renewal and a second chance to be
Just the sweet contented poet that I think is really me.
When I close my eyes you come crawling
stirring up my soul
diving in my dreams
delving thru my seams
Flutter my butterfly with vestigial wings
let me chase after you
where the catail do sing
Fly over hilltops seduced by the sea
slip off to the sunshine
and visions of me
Enter my pasture where waters run deep
place your wings upon my shoulders
and let yesterday's sleep