Best Illuming Poems
PROLOGUE
The Flame, aflicker, licks and flays,
illuming evening’s negligees
With braided curls she swirls and sways,
and flits and floats in light ballets
APOLOGUE
A Flame, to conquer creeping fog,
flew dancing towards a random log
Her flight perplexed a leery frog
beside a silent somber bog
The Flame, a ripple, all alone
alit on leaves where birds had flown
The aching twigs began to moan
A rising breeze began to groan
The Flame arrayed an ancient oak
with torrid tongues and veils of smoke
A beaver bailed, the dam had broke
The leery frog soon ceased to croak
The Flame uncoiled and lashed midair,
consuming crowns with utmost care
A crazed coyote fled her lair,
left in the lurch bewildered bear
The Flame, unfurled, went wild and grew,
enkindled cats and caribou
Remaining... not a residue,
as reeking vapors bade adieu
The Flame revealed her strength unshackled
Flora, fauna crisped and crackled
Fire Witches clucked and cackled
One more forest stripped, then hackled
EPILOGUE
The arsonists were well aware
the Flame would travel everywhere
The weirs are gone, the land is bare,
and soon you’ll find a city there
A bright announcing beacon
Of that divinely vivid moment
Casting out it’s cleansing light
For all to see and partake of
Calling the Magi to the manger
Purity of deference for the Messiah
Illuming human shadows with belief
Granting all the peoples a choice
And the gift of chance for…eternity
Bozhidar Pangelov&Vania Konstantinova/In Memoriam/
Under the Coat of Arms
In Malta, in the ancient walls
is beating the sea so salty.
Somewhere behind,
distant,
hidden
are shining through southern almonds.
There is no moon.
The light is illuming
herself
in the pearl of your eyes.
Harmonious.
Without gunshots
of the squadrons by Lepanto.
The falcons on the coat of arms fall asleep,
never wanted,
in honor
and dignity.
Vania Konstantinova
Behind the Gates
Behind the gates
of Mdina I hide you,
far of any nemesis,
of foam and stretched sails.
Behind the towers of the castle.
In the most inner yard.
Under the spurts of the cascade,
more precious than silver.
Here they see only
the eyes of the peacocks,
whisked their tails
for cooling.
Keepers of the secret
with their tongues wrested.
And when your brush sculptures
the bracelet around my ankle,
reflected in Venetian mirror
like a trap –
I forget who you are and the sin
with head chopped off,
I forget about the death …
Vania Konstantinova was born, in Sofia. She graduated Classical Ballet in
her native town and in Petersburg as well as Polish Philology in Sofia University and
Jagiellonian University, Krakow. She's co-author of the poetic book Four Cycles (along
with Bozhidar Pangelov). Her collection of short stories Thank You Mister One is published
in autumn of 2008. Death 2015
http://www.public-republic.com/vania-konstantinova
The brisk Autumn breeze
crisply smiles and leaves
inviting seasonal ascendance.
Past dark hollowed eaves
her departing breath weaves
a path for Winter's wondrous entrance.
Courtly canyons kowtow
the mighty mesas bow
sparking December's grand revival.
Barren branches applaud
as mountain peaks laud
Jack Frost's ever welcomed arrival.
Carols liltingly sung
whilst wreaths are gently hung
silver enchantment lusters the ground.
The old and the young catch
snowflakes on their tongues
choirs of church bells neatly resound.
Cozied from silent chills
tapered candles sleep on sills
illuming the dusk’s frosted splendor.
A forest brook’s trickles
forge tiny icicles
dripping tears of crystal surrender.
Christmas trees brightly greet
joyous townsfolk on the street
tiny tots, all too well, understand.
Ole Saint Nick and his sleigh
are just a few stars away
from visiting their white wonderland.
Truelove skaters take flight,
under an arctic twilight,
snuggling snowbirds coo and entice.
Deer and bunnies espy,
'neath the moon's watchful eye,
young lovers etching hearts in the ice.
Winter’s sparkle and glow
softly sings in the snow -
her grandeur is timeless and few.
Yet, before her winds shift
she bestows us a gift
and Spring makes her yearly debut.
She landed on my moon,
Even though she was from Pluto
Too cold, to get too close
Her confusion kept us from fusing
She felt she shouldn’t feel this
So insisted I was an illusion
Yet and still kept intruding
She knew my light was to illuming to elude it
But too deep to consume in
Would she choose to refuse it or pursue it
How could I loss this
I lived my whole life stiff and tight
But she’s who I get loose with
We fit, so for me she makes room quick
I know she is complete and whole
But together we are continuously improving
She the one win when I’m losing
So this won’t be confused with
Any other emotion
I know that you can see from the sea
That I am an open ocean
Only for you to float in
Don’t focus so much on its
Approach just notice my closing
And know this, it won’t end,
My devotion
Moonlight eyes
cold as night
retrieving from love
its light
orbiting around
in cycle
repaying hurts
real or imagined
with lie of pretending
to vanish.
Bitter sweet
debris
storming
clear water of love
with turbulence
midnight darkness
ahead and beyond
only light
limpid in the night
the I Am Star
Sun of midnight flowers
ripening figs out of cycle
God's fruit of love
available
in season and out
crystal clear spring
flowing untapped
quenching thirst
by human love
unquenched
illuming path
with permanent sunshine
for sunflowers hearts
drunken with light
to follow
madness of
never ending
love
First Place Winner-Brian Strand-All Yours 6/4/21
Third Place Winner: Constance La France-"N" Poem Contest-9/21/21
Johnny MacAlister was six-years-old, young enough still for wishes,
Baby sister, Rosie, was all of three, all giggling and adorable kisses.
With fond, indulgent parents, the family was content in their home,
In a town, sleepy in sunlit day, where a scarlet cock used his comb.
Johnny played with Rosie every day. He loved to get her laughing;
As if a gaudy parade of jesters and clowns, chanced to be passing!
Forget-me-not days brought fast friends, in fruitful times of flowers,
Fuchsia and filled with fragrance, highlighting fun, burgundy hours.
Fair days bloomed where fall had faded, and fortune brought family;
Like festive fireworks of celebration, illuming sunset skies, uncannily.
Johnny lived in the house of joy, and tiny feet, ever pitter pattering;
And of playing, mauve dawn to dusk, like bluebirds, ever chattering.
Sapphire, dusk skies twinkled smartly, beyond their street of scents;
When scanty, pink sun fled, scorching, while night waited in suspense.
With naive, newborn day, came neighbors, for hot coffee and nougat,
In green, noisy days of nearby birdsong, and violet butterfly contact.
'Fairy magnolias' created such magic, and 'hummingbird' blooms knew;'
And hibiscus 'imperial dragon' roared, as eyelash plants, lovelier grew.
Cape primrose 'wow,' awed, while syngonium ‘milk confetti,’ glittered;
And begonia 'ring of fire,' was smoking, while purple martins tittered.
Johnny's birthday wish had come true, he saw when he unwrapped it;
And found a pair of blue, roller skates, like a rainbow, shining for a bit.
But, before he could finish eating, the dreaded rain had begun to pour;
And his childish impatience grew as, instead of less, it showered more!
Yet, Johnny made another wish, magically granted, as skies brightened;
When the rain slowed, midst sunshine, its silvery-gold drops, so vibrant!
Johnny had such fun that day, for all the days of childhood, allow magic;
And never forgot the day silver fell like coins, like an old, golden classic.
'Rain, rain go away,
Come again another day.
Rain, rain go away,
Little Johnny wants to play.'
My little silver shooting star,
such energy you do possess:
A chilling, silky elegance,
from you, I would expect no less.
You twirl about me gracefully,
illuming, as I lay you down.
The planets play a raggish tune
while diamonds jive about your gown.
My little white marionette,
oh are you meant to play that part?
For there is not a single string
confining your resplendent heart.
You stagger-step so perfectly
into my orbital domain.
The Taurus comes to break our bond,
but quickly you restore the chain.
~That said, the Sun began to set,
awaiting mother Moon’s reply.~
My little flaming center piece,
so gentle is your citric light.
Your seared momentum shepherds me
to compass you throughout the night.
You never falter, though the dance
has rhythms far from uniform.
You brave the floor so passionately
with feet as skilled as you are warm.
My little spheric candlelight,
how is it that you grant me peace?
Perhaps it is your steady hand:
O may this feeling never cease!
You bend your knees as I bend mine;
such mimicry deserves great praise.
You are my other shining half
who lifts me up on golden rays.
~Together now, the two hold hands,
enveloped by each others glow.~
Our little black tranquility,
an endless plane for countless steps:
it’s here our joy first learned to dance,
a feeling we have always kept.
We set the shadow-sky ablaze
with symphonies of lows and highs.
Into the night, we scatter dust,
the twinkling-tango fireflies.
Our little distant chandelier,
a stellar lantern burning bright,
compelling and immensely grand,
we sway beneath its blessed light.
For us, there is no solo act:
our sep’rate ways we’ve never gone.
How could we ever not perform
the pas de deux of dusk and dawn?
~Eternally, the pair will last,
for night and day must always be.~
A little cosmic serenade,
the melody of time well spent.
Celestial bodies resonate
to compositions heaven-sent.
Your vision is delicately illuming the edge of my mindfulness.
A significant pondering in the lucidity of my spirit otherness.
Leaving me with a grin in the corner of blissfulness.
Had been enclosed by the heavenly palms of awes kindness.
I was stuck in the previous foggy musings of loneliness.
Showers ran against the early window shadowiness.
Like blooming buds were spread to catch the lights noblesse.
Like angels, our spirits are carried over the clouds of softness.
1St Place Contest Winner
Written: August 22, 2021
Your Favorite Rhyme Poem in August 2021 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Motivation of complexity,
A web of mystification where
The beauty of numbers emerges…
Holding the meaning of logic, of
Equality, of righteous thinking,
Making the world more meaningful,
As it modifies what is unknown… its
Trance enraptures the minds of many,
Illuming the world with brightness, with the
Chants of knowledge, that continuously
Sing along with its numbers…
Dedicated to my great guider and teacher: Mrs. Lina Siblini
Binge fiend of opulent fear. Between two way mirrors sponsoring fright, pale sheets of red color paint. Tell me if you believe in the boogey man.
Does it nip the tips of your toes while you sleep? Dreams of animosity teethed at the hair strewn rind of bedlam.
Or perhaps the pair of bright bleached eyes illuming in frosty despondence, a closet of decadence with a grain swollen grimace.
Do you believe in the boogey man?
-Mitch
~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~
Love all the elements exposed to.. growing up free,
gentle winds, warm rays, light snow.. all nurture me..
Bowing down head, believe.. I love soft rain most,
sprouting up untethered, I wind up round fence post..
Sharing soil with weeds.. still my sole life's blooming,
will be.. I hope, as a flowering sign.. illuming..
Through my lifetime to standfast.. with beauty and grace,
purpose never waivering, I will present a rosy face..
Sun banishes shadows away.. in natures own magical way,
in midst of thorns.. "Rose" basks in peaceful day..
~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~
lowering lids
on starry eyes
velvet black
on moonlight
smile
on silence
mantle
slept
day from work
to rest
illuming lips
stone fire
heat
love jets
fountain
drunk head
pierce
ball exploding
in meteors
streams
vagabond
love
star wish
dream
circling forever
in firefly
spring
clock hands
embraced
in nostalgic
glee
dew sparks
smiles
that sigh
and flee
vagabond
ecstasy
love spring
mystery
Honorable Mention-Brian Strand-Your Choice K-4/8/25
Seventh Place: Craic Cornish-Vagabond Dream-9/10/21
As The Pendulum Sways
and Time Drifts Astray,
and the Wind swifts away all that was
and returns it to it's Essence beyond the Ashes and Dust,
and the Ticking Withers into the Frey
leaving only that witch was Forged along The Way,
and all that remains is the Sacred Flame Of Truth
the Eternal Spark Of The Absolute,
Illuming like Stardust Into the night
and Scintillating unto the Sun Light,
Ever-Enduring, The Great Soul is Wise
Progressing, Evolving, Ever-Upright,
Ever- So Bright, The Sacred Torch burns with life
Coming and Going, All Knowing, ALL TRIUMPH!
miasma of despair
motionless
matter-of-fact
in brooding silence
loneliness
a sense of isolation
so near
so intolerable
unremitting
a contant pressure
to conform
this unique challenge
to unblock
the creative urge
to free the muse
within
trapped frozen inert
run dry
lacking in confidence
impatient
awaiting inspiration
a trickle of anything
to hear to imagine
visualise
an unspoken intimacy
an eye perspective
a space to dream
the intimate unspoken
a flower of creativity
a moving image dedicated
to life
unique in a style
from this diary of existence
in this
dream
landscape
face aglow
raised to the sky
warmed through
recollecting thoughts
all senses open
an accustomed feeling
lingering awhile
unobtrusively
adjectives arise
in metaphor moments
illuming the process
organically
this concept
delivered as
a poem
on this
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