Best Hummed Poems
In Dreams, Her Spirit Sallied Forth: with Lin Lane
Through frigid months, she waited for Spring rains
to give relief and ease heartbroken pains,
Nature will award that which Life commands
placing her true love, in its gentle hands.
O'sweet promise of passion's fine delights,
candlelight dinners and intimate nights.
With eager dreams her spirit sallied forth.
Away from winter's chill, in the far North.
Countless, were the eventides spent in dread
Praying he'd stay safe 'fore lying abed
She wished on stars in darkened Winter skies
as tears pooled in her melancholy eyes
Arctic winds blustered; through tall pines they'd blow,
layers of oceans, in white waves of snow
In Wintry dreams, her spirit sallied forth.
Away from winter's chill, of the far North.
Pictures sent from her beau, her Southern man
whose dashing looks, deep blue eyes and bronzed tan,
had her heart remembering their first kiss
Without regret, love said, "Hold onto this!"
To wake with dawn's sweet warmth, upon her face
would ease her sorrow and heartache erase.
In ardent dreams, her spirit sallied forth.
Beyond the frosty chill of the far North.
She brushed her hair, raven tresses fell
Her firelight shadow evidenced the swell
Softly, she hummed, cradling her unborn child
A motherly instinct that brought forth a smile
Having a babe, they had both long revered
That he'd be back in time, she deeply feared.
With anxious dreams, her spirit sallied forth.
Further from winter's chill of the far North.
She was haunted by his voice in a dream
and awoke with the sound of her own scream
Rain, her companion, on an April morn
Pains let her know their child would soon be born
Alone, she prayed that she'd know what to do
In the door strode a man; eyes of deep blue.
No longer a dream, her man had come forth
To deliver their child in the far North.
11-01- 2018
Thank you for writing with me yet again after such a long break my friend. Your invitation to do another collaboration was a great gift and a blessing given to me. I sincerely appreciate such great kindness as well as your great advice given on poetry/editing. As such shows great talent and true poetic heart. You magnificent verses makes this a truly golden poem.
God bless always..
Mandolin melodies harmonised horizons,
yet the only strings being strummed
were those of my heart.
In the midst of enchanting melodies,
where nothing else mattered, but her,
we wandered barefoot, hand in hand,
as the tenderness of our steps decorated the sand.
In the simplicity of pure beauty, lost in a moment of perfection.
We lay admiring the heavens, watching daylight drift away.
The jealous golden orb silently sank, as colourful skies summoned
illuminated expressions to light up a black and white world.
In darkness we lay and gazed
lost in the silent serenity of the stars,
until the tranquillity of her sequin eyes
hypnotised my soul and I danced devoted
to the magnificence of her delicate elegance.
The whisper of sweet sentiments
revealed our secret serenade.
In the distance an orchestra of humming birds
hummed the chorus of our passionate song.
Her arms like celestial wings, embraced me close.
Her surreal kiss guided my lips home.
As waves washed away our footsteps,
the moon closed its eyes, as millions of shy stars
hid behind a blanket of nocturnal clouds.
Silent One
Simple Musings
10 December 2017
Through frigid months, she waited for Spring rains
to give relief and ease heartbroken pains,
Nature will award that which Life commands
placing her true love, in its gentle hands.
O'sweet promise of passion's fine delights,
candlelight dinners and intimate nights.
With eager dreams her spirit sallied forth.
Away from winter's chill, in the far North.
Countless, were the eventides spent in dread
Praying he'd stay safe 'fore lying abed
She wished on stars in darkened Winter skies
as tears pooled in her melancholy eyes
Arctic winds blustered; through tall pines they'd blow,
layers of oceans, in white waves of snow
In Wintry dreams, her spirit sallied forth.
Away from winter's chill, of the far North.
Pictures sent from her beau, her Southern man
whose dashing looks, deep blue eyes and bronzed tan,
had her heart remembering their first kiss
Without regret, love said, "Hold onto this!"
To wake with dawn's sweet warmth, upon her face
would ease her sorrow and heartache erase.
In ardent dreams, her spirit sallied forth.
Beyond the frosty chill of the far North.
She brushed her hair, raven tresses fell
Her firelight shadow evidenced the swell
Softly, she hummed, cradling her unborn child
A motherly instinct that brought forth a smile
Having a babe, they had both long revered
That he'd be back in time, she deeply feared.
With anxious dreams, her spirit sallied forth.
Further from winter's chill of the far North.
She was haunted by his voice in a dream
and awoke with the sound of her own scream
Rain, her companion, on an April morn
Pains let her know their child would soon be born
Alone, she prayed that she'd know what to do
In the door strode a man; eyes of deep blue.
No longer a dream, her man had come forth
To deliver their child in the far North.
Thank you for opening the door to me for this write, Robert. It began on a cold Winter night, but Spring rains brought with it, a new beginning. Writing with you is like opening a treasure chest of beautiful gemstones.
When I refused to ride with Death
He tied my hands and feet,
Then tossed me in with some poor guy
He'd grabbed up off the street.
Oh, what a hurry he was in!
He slammed it to the floor.
We sat in wide-eyed, abject fear,
Each clinging to a door.
While whizzing past the school, we saw
The children run and play.
We passed the fields where tractors hummed
On this, our judgment day.
We captives introduced ourselves,
Shook hands, and sadly talked.
When Death heard unfamiliar names,
He gasped, slowed down, and balked.
He made a sudden stop beside
A swelling of the ground.
He scratched his head, he murmured low,
And then he turned around.
" 'Tis centuries until your time!
I've made a grave mistake.
Seems I misread the pick-up sheet.
You're free, for goodness sake!"
"In the echo of silence, the whispers of the Divine are heard." By Rumi
I entered the winding path into the captivating vale
Surrounded by ice-capped mountains and ancient trees
Firs, larches, redwoods, spruce, and ash, all grand
I shouted in glee: “I’m here!” All around some Echo replied.
A repetitive Echo, always vibrating and mesmerising.
What a singular sound to hear nature at its best!
I lounged beneath the shade of an old maple tree,
Where the verdant vale lay sprawled in front of me.
Balmy breezes blew through dark green trees, an Echo divine.
Tiny thrushes flitted from bush to bush.
They permeated the vale with their familiar songs.
Occasionally they rested on a dense bush,
Hush! Did I hear the song again?
Choirs of echo resounded all around the lush plateau.
Down on the majestic plain, a babbling brook meandered
Towards a clump of cottages, providing water for all.
The rivulet was a sight with fronds of ferns unfolding.
How delightful to hear the water emanating such dulcet echo
As the stream zigzagged around rocks and small waterfalls.
Every echo ended in silence profound and I was in God’s peace.
A holy hymn hummed serene: echo after echo, all divine.
Placed 1
"These woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.”
~ Robert Frost
I'm an echo of the salient sea,
weeping in cascading embers
that cautiously creep through
vintage and vine shadows of
a velveteen spirit.
Swept by the corrupt assonance
of graphite seafoam, I float in
obsidian lullabies hummed by the
translucent tides, along darkling
dawns of crepuscular daydreams.
Beautifully blackened in
gold-ochre beams of the
paper sun, wishfully I wither
amidst pale thistles of
decaying dusks as mellow rays
melt in ice-blue vapours of
camphor oceans.
My heart is a severed garden,
strolling as an illusive memory
in perpetual plains of misted ache
and rotten apple-skinned reminiscences.
Laced as a serene embroidery
of turquoise chrysanthemum
weeds in chocolate veins of
marshmallow coffin, I rise akin
cinnabar smog upon cactus-valleys,
For, I'm as elegant as those shiny
fuchsia stars studded along
coral-peacock lawns,
yearning to kiss the ebony silhouette
of crystal-coal midnight.
Will His sapphire fortune
envelop this graceful ghost's
etheree-like shadows
in an emerald-maroon sheath
of pastel herbs and heal every
cell, tangled in cobwebs of confusion,
within shrieking seconds of flaked hours?
Gene stood. Skyscraper demanding. Cold steel.
Thirty-five hard years. Over now. Just like that.
Corrugated box. Family photo. Timex watch.
Bitter coffee.
Stale sweat.
He walked out. Sun blaze. Fireball. Air thick.
Sidewalk. Familiar corner. Man there.
Black skin. Weathered face. Cardboard sign.
Gene stopped. Eyes met. Silent understanding.
"Seen you," the man said.
Gene nodded. "Fifteen and a half years."
"Never spoke."
"No. Never did."
Gene sat. Concrete cracked. Chill. Hands trembling.
"Lost everything," he said, eyes downcast.
Shame heavy. Guilt girded.
The man waited. Silent. Eyes knowing.
"Wife. Cancer. Kids ghosted. Job now too."
Gene's voice cracked. "Wasted. Empty. Life."
The man reached down. Pulled out a bottle.
"Drink?" he asked.
Gene nodded. Took it. Swigged deep.
Bourbon burned. Good burn. Real.
"First honest thing. In years."
They sat. Shadows lengthened. City hummed.
Bottle passed. Back. Forth. No words.
Gene breathed. First time in years.
Bygone dreams. Flickered. Misty.
Husband. Father. Provider. Lost Purpose.
Night fell. Stars peeked. Traffic thinned.
Gene stood. Legs unsteady. Mind unclear
"Thanks," he said,
The man nodded. "Tomorrow comes" –
Gene stared out. Horizon blurred. “That was yesterday.”
Street light flickered. Old worn dress shoes.
A sound.
Empty bottle.
Spinning.
Parting gift. Timex.
Ticking...
I dreamed I was inside a bulb—
a cathedral of filament and glass—
not dead
not born…..
but shumming**.
Glass walls curved like time
sealed but translucent
my fingers curled around voltage
like a secret
God was transcending.
The socket hummed a lullaby
of static.
Every breath of mine made sparks
the air electric
with grief
and longing.
I saw myself outside the bulb
in a room wallpapered with eyes—
each iris twitching
like a seismograph.
They watched
as I shimmered like an angel
in a jar of fire
as if I were proof
of something
too holy
or too hideous
to name.
The room beyond
glistened with wallpapered surveillance—
each gaze a blink
each blink
a test of identity
a hymn of entropy
and wonder.
I touched the glass—
cool as frozen memory
thin as a promise—
and the world on the other side
shuddered
like a dream woken
too soon
My thoughts turned tungsten—
spiraled
stubborn
resisting
the spark of enlightenment
or extinction
I spoke
and the words bent back
like boomerangs
buzzing
with static regret
A child approached
barefoot
real
impossibly tender…..
She looked like someone
I might have loved
if time had taken pity.
She placed her palm on the bulb—
her skin against my sorrow
the warmth of it
startling
as mercy
a forgiveness.
“Why are you in there?”
she asked
or perhaps
thought—
her voice the color
of candlelight.
I tried to answer
but my vocal cords was hardwired
my tongue
a fuse
My words came back
distorted
looped
charred
as if language
were combustible.
For a moment
I flickered
between purpose
and obliteration
Then
the ceiling cracked open
like a wound
and light poured down—
not to reveal
like revelation
like judgment—
to burn away
the questions
And I understood—
not everything illuminated
is meant to be seen
not all vision
is freedom…..
Some truths
are meant to flicker
fragile and holy
inside the bulb of the soul
unspoken
unchosen
alive.
================
**Shumming: Shimmering Humming
She shuffled by our house, so slow and bent,
No second thought of where the lady went.
On her return, no one around to see.
A shaded path, she blended with the trees.
We children always giggled, as she passed.
A group emboldens others to harrass.
Our high pitched jeering from a hidden niche,
The frail, sunbonnet lady, we yelled "witch".
One day a fever kept me home from class.
I saw her weary shuffle down the path.
My over-active need to know convened.
I followed with excitement and unseen.
A house engulfed by weeds grown thick and tall,
As vines of every species claimed the walls.
Around the side, a window to peek in;
A man in bed with twisted, throbbing limbs.
.
The lady rubbed a salve to ease his pain.
And hummed a long forgotten song's refrain.
I blurted all I'd seen to mom and dad.
He stood in shocked alert and mom grew sad.
How soon the path was plowed into a drive,
A grocer truck and red-light cops arrived.
I last recall a fancy bike, brand new.
Events seem blurred, with growing up to do.
.
Gene Bourne.
07-17-14
.
A torch carried on forever, indeed,
for the aggressive rhymer in me,
is alive again, unshackled and freed,
rising to challenge another day, I see.
As I found myself lost deep in Tolkien,
with epic Star Wars, never ending,
surrounded in a geek paradise, serene,
optical illusions before me, suspending.
Life's songs on guitar strings strummed,
an epiphany unlike they've ever heard,
euphoric dreams in my visions hummed,
as I pen archaic word after archaic word.
Artistry is born only to be my brother,
encircled this star, a pentagram made,
my day is done, I have conquered another,
as the sun slowly brings down the shade.
A Word Collage For Chan Hurst
(Cyndi MacMillan's contest)
The Fall of The Winter King
He had risen to power
fueled by a vicious and ruthless determination
to reclaim a lost throne.
His tactics had stunned the unsuspecting,
laid barren the fields,
blanketed the forest,
silenced the sounds of life itself.
A dictator, seeking no counsel,
accepting no offers of surrender,
driven by the desire to destroy
the kingdom that had usurped his throne.
Rumors spread of a daring bud – sprouting -
a tune hummed by the imprisoned trees
adrift on the whipping winds of war
in defiance of the heartless king.
A call to arms sounded
by the most gentle, the most delicate.
The first acts of open rebellion,
The resounding crack of the ice jamb
the aching roar of the river’s rage
surging over its banks
awakening those still held captive.
Slowly the insurrection took root
buds gathered in hidden clusters,
trees quietly bloomed
muffling the screeching gales,
offering safety to bands of rebels.
Flocks of warblers met -
feathered archers - hurling their
darting arrows against the glare
of a cold king’s horror.
Sweet grasses spread across
the brown, despoiled fields -
a verdant gauntlet tossed in the face of dread.
Flowers crept from thawing dungeons
waving their colors,
swarms of banished pollinators
followed the call to duty.
The ebb and flow of battle -
frosted retreats,
clandestine sunrise maneuvers.
The resurgence of heart,
the growing hope of warmth.
As memory of the chilled repression
faded preparation was made
to receive the beauty and bounty
of a new and peaceful King.
John G. Lawless
1/11/2015
For SKAT’s Winter’s End – Poetry Contest
A Magic Adventure of Peter The Pan/AKA Peta The Fwying Pan
Peter was a fine young pan with blue eyes
Like all the other pans his age, except,
Peter could not yet pronounce 'R's'--he tried...
And 'L's'...so hard he tried. He even wept.
School had been especially hard today
Peter had been poked, teased, and made fun of
More this day than any other school day...
And the ride home took so long on the bus.
When he came through the door, his mama knew
"Why the long face? Are you hurt? Are you sick?"
"No ma'am," said Peter, "Just tiwad fwom schoow".
"Some cookies and milk may just be the trick!"
Mama said, as Peter sat down to eat.
By now, everyone was gathered around
To hear of his day--and sneak a treat.
So he told them his story...and they frowned.
"How can someone be so cruel! Makes no sense!
You are the smartest and brightest of pans!"
Said Debbie Dishwasher-- then cycle rinsed.
The rest agreed and came up with a plan.
"Okay! It's agreed!" said Bob the blender.
"You need magic!--THAT--we can render!
Charles Chalice and Gail Goblet--my dear
Bring what you have, for this magic milk shake.
Michael Magic Grill...you go get us some beer
And also get Peter a great big steak!"
Then everyone sang together with cheer:
"A parr-ty! A parr-ty! It's a parr-ty!
We are all...having...a magic--parr-ty!"
Everyone was busy, hust'ling around.
Tams the Golden Toaster was making toast.
Tex Texas Tea Pot hummed a whist'ling sound.
David Dish and Sara Spoon danced the most,
Except for Marlon Mop--he could 'get down'!
Carol Crock Pot was fixing up the Soup.
Russell Rolling Pin had rolled out a crust
For a magic pie with love from the coop.
Joann Juicer made fresh smoothies--a must!
Suddenly...a sound was heard on the stoop...
"Who could that be? It's nearly midnight!"
Said Cyndi Chandlier all bright with light.
Christopher Cutting-board called, "I'll go see!"
Vienna Vaccume said, "Not without me!"
"Wait!" Debbie Dishwasher cried from the sink.
"Let's look at more options. We need to think.
It could be someone in need of a meal...
Or, it's a burglar--come here to steal!"
"Everyone else! Quickly! Hide inside me
Until we find out who that sound might be!"
deborah burch©
5/23/2012
*****end part I...conclusion in part II
I awakened about midnight in the middle of the day.
I was crawling swiftly toward you as I slowly raced away.
I hummed a merry melody that truly had no tune
As I ate my cup of coffee and then drank my bowl of prune.
The pot of beans boiled over upon the pristine ceiling
So I tossed out the banana and I ate the wormy peeling.
The cat was barking at me and the happy dog meowed
As I stood out there so lonely in the middle of a crowd.
The sun was shining brightly in a snowy blackened sky,
I was a girl so much in hate I wished I that I could die.
The wilted flowers were nice and fresh just as they ought to be,
The ugly ones you sent me from so far across the sea.
The postman brought the email that I had mailed to you.
He said it had no stamp and so he couldn't let it through.
I long so much to see you and to look in your brown eye
And I cannot wait to hold you and to say a sad goodbye.
If you want to read my letter, please do call me yesterday.
I cannot wait to see you so please take the long hard way.
My daddy said he’s happy to give you my eager hand,
The one that’s always begging for his money, understand.
The guests are now arriving in their wrinkled, tattered rags
And the ushers have been drinking rare champagne from paper bags.
The musicians have their bag pipes out to play a cheerful dirge.
And I'm waiting for my bridegroom from his boudoir to emerge.
The honored guests are seated in the front of the back row
And the flower girl is directing everybody where to go.
The preacher stands beside me as I search the smoke filled room
For a candidate who's better than is my intended groom.
You know I love you more than all the pimples on my face,
As I claim you as my husband in your denim dress of lace.
Oxymoronica Contest by Kristen Bruni 13th p[lace
Winter’s cold chill cuts through my chin.
Within its bleak and brazen embrace,
My brisk days are turned brief and barren.
They are lengthened into sordid sepulchral insomniac nights.
I slither and slip and am hurled into hibernation.
Once I stood with you immune to wanton winter’s wild whiplash.
You wrapped me warm from the wrath of winter’s whirlwind.
Our life moved in homogeneous harmony.
With one glaring glance from you, my heart hummed halcyon tunes.
I danced blissfully in tandem to your sweet soulful songs.
Your luminous, lambent light shone brightly,
Blazing the dark and desolate caves and crevices within me.
Now I stand and stay rooted like the trunk of a leafless tree,
Giving no shelter or shade to anyone.
With despondent dread and disappointment,
I watch the sap and serum in me going dry,
And the feathers on my wings wilt and wither like dead leaves.
With the flaming fire put out, winter has brashly barged into my life.
My lips once so eloquent now have fallen still and silent.
All the words I have carefully gleaned and garnered,
Have slipped and slid into a bottomless abyss, never to be heard again.
My lulling lyrics are replaced with the reverberating refrains of a lament.
An icy crystallization is speedily spreading,
Through my sentient soul like an ache, I have never known.
Grey cumulus clouds of pain have rolled into steal,
All light, luster and luminosity from my bright sky.
Now my world has cracked and crumbled into a bleak void of grey.
I twitch and tremble in cold as you have withdrawn your warmth.
A late realization has now daringly dawned outside my door.
I am not to perish and putrefy in this cold,
But be dauntless and dashing to fight, thaw and tread my way,
Battle the intense cold in flaming, flaring fires.
After every frosty and freezing winter, other seasons will arrive .
Summer is an inviolable and unassailable power within,
And in its warmth I can vanquish the chilling cold.
I shall wake up with a syrupy sweet song in my lips
And find myself in the luminous light of a dawning day!
Lilac lavender leaves fluttered ethereally
over the smooth sea of the placid lake.
A shimmer of light shone over the calm waves,
as they rolled silently and collectively
towards the sandy shore now lit
by the rising of the amber full moon.
Wave after wave composed
a lyrical enchanting melody
played by the rising orb.
The leaves formed fragrant shapes
emulating the grandness of the scene.
In the gathering darkness two lovers
heard the alluring symphony
and felt each other entwined
in a dance of love as the moon
in a dreamy crescendo shone
brightly evermore.
Until the eclipse took place.
Then it hummed no more that night.