Best Honed Poems
Untroubled is the quiet night
How peaceful is a world that glimmers white
Frost and moonlight have whipped a silver glaze
And silhouettes of trees are black as ink
The only sign of life are whiffs of breath
I stand transfixed beneath the sky,
to rest my mind with reverent eyes
upon the silky wonderland of snow
Among these masqueraded hills,
the night's aurora soothes my soul
Winter has dressed our world in alabaster white
Familiar landmarks wear a new disguise
And yet, we'll see the sky remains the same
where a thousand thorny sparks have kept their flames
burning low to light the dark
They welcome us like longtime friends.
These polished stars against the sky,
are brilliant new, with points honed thistle sharp
How peaceful is a planet that shimmers bright,
that to stand in voiceless wonder and gaze,
If we were to speak, the crystal world could shatter,
too fragile to bear the weight of words
Categories:
honed, nature, planet, sea,
Form:
Free verse
As blaze of August fades into the Fall
horizons new have burned and turned to ash
and textures of the change of seasons clash,
a plague of frost becomes a rose’s pall.
The supple smooth confronts the brittle break
as petals silk matures a wrinkled skin
and winter’s snow to bury sins begin —
a fallen cloud the shroud for briar’s wake.
The days of glory sun and ruby rays,
across the skies, these hues were once my own,
beneath the blue above the green, my fling...
dressed not but strands of dew in solstice haze.
When youth was sown my roots were honed in stone —
I died… but I will rise again in Spring!
Categories:
honed, age, death, destiny, life,
Form:
Sonnet
Exquisitely frail, a lone flute exhales, leaving this heart in a flutter
Cascading aloft, soft violins rise, from the flow of smooth silver rivers
Swelling the throat, sending spirits afloat on a sailboat of pure ecstasy
Transforming me now, through the mist all alone, where the music can take me away
A symphony of poems, transcends from above, where folklore and hope never ends
Soaring along, and honed from the heart, from the one who knew the divine
Yesterday's score, sublime as it is, takes me beyond today's shore
______________________________________
Inspired by the music of Smetana
youtube link to music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3G4NKzmfC-Q
Categories:
honed, beautiful, music,
Form:
Acrostic
When Thor struck his hammer
upon the flat ground on Earth
it was the pieces withstood the blow we named rock,
constructs we came to know as the mountains.
Even before that time
I crossed my fingers
wished I'd one day experience
...you.
I knew you before heavenly purity grew wings
before angels blessed hearts
invoking what we now know as love for our brethren .
I held you in the sphere of my understanding
as the lover I'd never meet but always carry
in the most cherished of my thoughts.
When Zeus handed me his quill and inkwell I knew
I would only use his gift for my inspired notes to you.
Though I was not blessed a poets words
like Robert Browning
he who took Elizabeth Barrett into his heart from the first time he read her
so I did with you.
Only laid blood on parchment
to declare the love you inspired in me.
Like a schoolboy's first kiss
was the day my eyes embraced the body of your work.
Before the first pine broke the ground, the first lark sang,
the first orchards rare enchanted the rainforests.
Before the first chameleon blended
into the multicoloured break of dawn.
Before infinite rows of wheat invitingly waved from the fields to greet Hera.
Before liquid rose to separate into
creeks, swamps, rivers, lakes with fish of all kinds
wasn't it me who rode the first seahorse just to make you smile.
Anything, all...
possible
with the swirl of a letter
the turn of a word.
I found an immense love tracking the shores of your fine poetry
always a chill that ran up my back.
No one.
No one!
Only you.
Your fine talent,
gifted,
honed
perfected...flaws and all...
moulds
sculpts,
breathes life into ordinary words,
creates poetry
owns me.
September 26 2016 MY
Categories:
honed, beauty,
Form:
Free verse
A hardened and disciplined man drove to the grocery store lost in thought,
with setting of sun, the long day's work almost found it's end.
Hoisting his daughter to shoulder, he walked from the parking lot,
and barely noticed her hair smelled of shampoo and pool chlorine blend.
He searched for fresh loaf of bread, and pound of peaches,
careful to tally up each purchase with well-honed skill.
With family's dinner waiting, and worn wallet short on wages,
thinking, that tank of gas will have to wait, and hoped it will.
Looking up from the myriad of baby food jars in the next aisle,
slowly he became aware, as a dense fog clears on a whim.
Now noticed a woman with mouth played in a strange smile,
her instinctive gaze fixed on something behind him.
He turned to see what elicited her quizzical beam,
and his heart melted at the sight in the shopping cart.
A straw haired helper, fast asleep, slumped over in a girl's charmed dream,
her little head now resting against his arm.
The day's worries quickly fled, tough exterior, now stripped senseless,
life's hard lesson and true measure of a man's love now shown.
Left wondering how a resting child could leave one so defenseless,
and that, which a man holds important..,could be so wrong.
Epilogue
I live the rest of my days wiser and more carefree.
For my darling little one, it wasn't I that carried you,
but you that carried me.
Categories:
honed, child, dad, daughter, father,
Form:
Rhyme
A Debutante’s Ball to Remember
In the autumn of my life, oft have I recalled that superb summer night,
when I finally experienced my long-awaited heart’s delight.
Family and close friends were all ready for my entry into society,
to celebrate it with a grand debutante’s ball filled with gaiety.
In a dreamlike state, I felt like a princess with a golden crown,
making my grand entrance wearing a champagne chiffon gown.
With matching gloves, and a pair of satin shoes on my tiny feet,
my auburn hair was adorned with butterflies and posies sweet.
The ballroom was magically transformed with gas lights all aglow,
and a glittering chandelier reflected on a highly polished mahogany floor.
As the orchestra played, my body and soul were enraptured and consumed
by its rendition of Ravel’s enthralling “La Valse” which pervaded the room.
Elegant ladies were all dressed to the nines in exquisite pastel gowns
of winter white, baby blue, powder pink, pale peach and beautiful browns.
In tacit competition to out-best each other, social charms were well-honed,
as they daintily fanned themselves and gossiped animatedly in hushed tones.
Refined gentlemen in their finely-tailored tails navigated the room to mingle,
keeping an eye out for eligible heiresses beautiful, graceful, and single.
Wafts of mild masculine colognes came from discretely dabbed faces and hair;
while the fresh feminine floral scent of French perfumes permeated the air.
Armed with a full dance card, I waltzed the night away with ardent admirers,
curtsying and coquettishly smiling, moving on to more exciting suitors.
My enchanting evening climaxed with Strauss’s “Vienna Waltz” filling the hall.
Oh, what a tale I will have to tell as my granddaughter prepares for her first ball!
11-21-2014
Contest: Your Favourite Old Poem (06-08-2015)
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Placement: 1st
Contest: Ballroom Delights (12-16-2014)
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Placement: 2nd
Categories:
honed, celebration, dance, fun,
Form:
Rhyme
Born of glaciers, rivers flow,
turquoise ice and untouched snow,
deep green valleys far below,
ancient stands of hardwoods grow.
Icy rivers running deep,
through the mountain's midnight sleep,
darkened waters crest and leap,
earthbound secrets rivers keep.
Stoically the mountains stand,
nurturing the age-old land,
born before mere time began,
when Earth was pure, devoid of man.
River rocks were once rough stone,
water-smoothed, by eons honed,
each grain of sand is sand alone,
truths unspoken lie unknown.
Listen to the waters speak,
every river, ocean, creek,
there lie answers all must seek,
flowing from the mountain's peak.
©copyright2009DanielleWhite
Categories:
honed, allegory, imagination, nature, philosophy,
Form:
Rhyme
Imagine someone watching you
who wants you for his own
Imagine in the catacombs, a secret plan is honed
It echoes with a wounded heart
of someone so alone
He hides his shame behind a mask, that smolders, but is cold
Look beyond the chandelier that blinds you in the eye
Can't you see him lurking there, while waiting in disguise
If only you could see in him
a face that isn't cold
Behind the mask he wears for you,
a man has lost his soul
Search beyond the mask he wears and look into his eyes
Be wary of the rendezvous that he will fantasize
If only he was more than just a phantom of your dreams
If only you could find in him a promise to believe
Don't be betrayed by what appears to be for you alone
But be afraid, a million tears are hidden in the stones
He'll tell you from the very start, to search beyond the scars
He'll hide from you that you are meant to be his secret star
Sing to him your aria….. But don't forsake your heart!
If you believe he'll set you free, he'll tear your dreams apart
Sing to him of love, Christine! Sing to the rafters high
The chandelier will shatter then, into a million cries!
If you plead to him of broken dreams, you'll need to tell him lies
Sing about another love, but be prepared to die!
Sing your song of love, Christine,
it is sorrow you have found
Sing to him your aria…….. then, slowly watch him drown
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
11/17/16
Contest: "Phantom of the Opera"
Sponsor: The Seeker
Categories:
honed, art, fantasy, lost love,
Form:
Lyric
What tales your leaves must whisper
of youths tall in your strong arms.
Pretending to be pirates
in a terrible, fierce storm.
Or lovers in your shadows
making vows they sometimes kept;
dreamer's secret hideaway,
underneath leaves, young boys slept.
Many years honed your boldness,
growing taller, stronger, blest.
You were proud to play sentry
standing guard so birds could nest.
You were the featured player
in those years of grandeur past.
Years have now turned against you
and have burdened you at last.
Growing older with seasons,
branches balding, and falling.
You stand proud as you listen
to echoes and their calling.
My good friend, grand old oak tree
I will sit with you at last
We'll tell each other stories
of those days that have long passed.
April, 2020
for Wisdom from Trees Poetry Contest
by Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Categories:
honed, age, appreciation, bird, childhood,
Form:
Rhyme
R a i n ~ a misted mirror
coated in petrichor pain ~
fused with memories
pirouetting through the
veiled salt of the earth,
caressing the Pina Colada dreams
adrift in the icy-blue air,
amidst clouds soaked
in prismatic hues ~
arching like opalescent canopies,
to hide the despair I’ve draped
in dragonfly hues that no one knows
but the moon and his
merciful silver, forever stroking
the silken surface of s i l e n c e ~
homed within my
heart that aches…
And along with the thunder ~
came confetti of scars,
a piercing flash of metallic truth
revealing midnight rays
of how I’ve long been the storm ~
a murky sky of cracked constellations,
a rush of roaring torrents,
driving my thoughts to the honed
borderline of tremors and torture ~
teetering on forsaken fragility.
O dahlia dawn ~
I am the splitting tempest,
the spectral outline of
electrified lightning.
I taste the bittersweet flavors
of opaline stars ~
trembling in angst,
as fleeting sparks of the buried past,
too, feel the hurt beneath
the pansies of paradise,
where angels unfurl their
wings, sprinkling tears of hope
upon the battlefield of
shattered dreams,
lamenting the endless war
that burns in the olive-green
orchard of the grief-struck mind,
where fairy-lights
flicker neon hints of
prejudice through broken twigs ~
a pitiful perception,
amplifying the echoing embers
floating above puddles
of weathered lilies,
stained with dust and powder,
weaving a requiem for the
f a l l e n jewels,
walking through the trails
of bruises and tilted tulips,
bleeding poetry ~
beautified with
polychromatic phrases
and falcon ink that cuts
through paper promises,
leaving nothing but a restless reverie,
breathing in the quivering
warmth of quietude…
Categories:
honed, angst, imagery, poetry, poets,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Such a finely honed sword is this loneliness
Slicing through tenuous sinews of yesterday.
I search for obscure corridors of happiness
Knowing that somehow I forgot the way.
From gloomy clouds I harvest the sorrow
Dripping into the cupped hands of my heart.
For there is no optimistic promise of tomorrow
As I curse my ship and unintelligible chart.
How bitter sweet this gateaux of quiet solitude
I garnish it with sprinkles of immense silence.
For loneliness is but a mere shift of attitude
From peaceful design to destructive violence.
I gather the jigsaw pieces of empty conversation
Falling snippets swirling on the winds of sound.
A soliloquy of madness expressed in futile oration
In chilling isolation the laughter of my soul is bound.
I strain to catch the words swirling on the breeze
Yesterday was surely a symphony of chatter.
This finely honed sword cuts deeply with ease
And though I bleed... it surely doesn't matter.
Categories:
honed, introspection, life
Form:
Rhyme
One moment east of twilight
Shadows outdistance the sun
Sharpening peaks and hallows,
Honed against the sparks of light.
Deep in the brow of the silence
I stand to watch the moonrise,
Overtaken by the dark
____________
For Contest : 215
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Categories:
honed, dark, eve, nature, night,
Form:
Verse
When the night wind changes course
sending breezes from the north,
when farmer's fields lie brown and fallow
and empty ropes swing from the gallows,
when children's faces are drawn and gaunt
and earth-bound spirits wail and haunt,
when eagles scan the barren snow
and field mice shiver deep below,
The dragon stirs deep in his lair,
the townfolk sense him with despair,
the mountain rumbles as he wakes,
he spreads his wings, the valley quakes.
He snorts and breathes a sulphur fire
and eyes his cache with dark desire,
gold and gemstones line his cave,
a sea of diamonds with emerald waves.
The trees are black against the snow,
one warrior stands to face his foe,
chain mail clanking, his sword is honed,
he goes to face his fate alone.
Fire breathing, wing-spread vast,
the warrior is at first aghast,
the dragon's chest and stomach, too,
shine with gems of multi-hues.
He'd slept so long upon his loot,
he wore a jewel-encrusted suit.
He saw the warrior's weapon glint
and chuckled at this innocent.
The dragon swooped and breathed his breath,
the warrior smelled the scent of death.
Many times the dragon dove
and set aflame the fields and groves.
Lost in this game, he gave no thought
to the warrior who mattered naught,
and as the dragon flew by low
the warrior drew his mighty bow.
The bow and arrows were Elfen-hewn,
inscribed with words in ancient runes.
The warrior held his breath and aimed
and steeled himself against the flames.
The dragon saw the arrow cocked
and turned his head, their eyes were locked.
The arrow's flight was straight and true,
into the dragon's eye it flew.
The warrior was elected king,
he wore fine jewels and heavy rings,
but though he tried, he found no peace,
he'd formed some strange bond with the beast.
The corpse was plucked clean of its jewels
and all the people danced like fools,
though he was king of hill and glen,
they never saw him smile again.
Categories:
honed, adventure, fantasy, imagination, science,
Form:
Ballad
It was not my intention to ever post in PS again
but through an open window I've caught a glimpse
and smell of what's been dumped into the soup.
No pleasure to poets will cruel deception bring
through mendacious words with a venomous sting
Clumsy are the fingers thrusting a poisoned dart
Villany flows from the arteries of a wicked heart
What keeps one hidden in fear behind a mask
lurking in shadows whilst imbibing from a flask
It's a path encrusted with derision and pretense
One a fool walks when guilt becomes immense
What price for a soul that's died too many deaths
or a life once more restored with sinister breaths
How many graves dug when loose threads unravel
Move on before the judge wields his mighty gavel
Only the naive and gullible would dare to believe
such repugnant lines written and meant to deceive
A weed in a garden, secreted among stalks of wheat
soon to wither and wilt. Such is the fate of a cheat
Vinegar in ink from a pen's nib has been interlaced
Woe to a deplorable life when it has been disgraced
Jagged, the rusted edge honed by a dour personality
In darkness looms the lonely; a hallmark of depravity
Categories:
honed, introspection,
Form:
Rhyme
Graffiti frames a tunneled tomb, beneath the city's core
where writings stretch upon the wall in dialects profaned
A hallmark and a tell-tale sign, but somehow, no one sees
Unspoken fears have set apart the lives that mingle here
In every shade the masses grow, and mingle side by side
Day, by day, the same routine, sardines until they die
The writing on the tunneled walls is just a sign to come
that walls have grown to come between the hands of humankind
They board as one, but coldness churns through veins beneath the ground
Habits honed have deafened ears to echoes all around
Distance tumbles through the aisles, small words too frail to say
"How are you, what can I do to help you smile today?"
Too occupied for reaching out to be the other's friend
No glance, no chance to say hello to the stranger by your side
No hands to grasp, no questions asked, just eyes in downward glance,
A phone in hand, whatever land, beyond all human touch
As seasons pass, left in the dust the silence breeds and feeds
more apathy, that beats the heart, as cold and hard as stone..
The sound of silence just rumbles on, until the walls come down
_________________________________________________________
4/27/18
Categories:
honed, people, places, society,
Form:
Free verse