Best Interlope Poems
In Spring there’s friendship that’s lasted through the Winter,
all those cold nights of salted drops and quilts of snow.
The obsidian plague of midnights, melancholic drapes,
but all the while the candlelight of friendship did glow.
you’d think she’s the sun -
i wax and wane in restraints
having lost my way
The flickering of her tongue as she wet our weep with wine.
O how the shadows flickered on the walls as if in mirth.
The slow burn lasted as the wind howled, the chimney choked.
Her wrinkled, waxy skin, a kin to suffering and pain.
each deep etched line spoke
a sticky web of knowing
lips barely moving
That Spring, she showed up with an armful of daffodils,
and silliness, tears stinging her neck, this honeybee.
She understood madness, and the brumal sun. Outliers
could not drink our elixir nor interlope upon our phoenix rising.
cascade of the moon
no longer afraid of dark -
white lacy curtains
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When Winter comes, remember me
beside you on those ivory sands
If frozen fingers reach for thee,
arise and fling aside her hands
As you awake on shortening days,
when Winter comes, remember me
We'll pray that Frost forsake his grays
and set arrays of color free
Light snow may fall so subtly,
bright notes on parchment sheer as sleet,
when Winter comes. Remember me,
that I might play each shimmering sheet
Short interlope of Summer gone,
I'm owed no scope of reverie
but hope you will, from this day on,
when Winter comes, remember me....
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Between Sundays and the week to come,
it’s Thursday wondering where the days have gone.
The flow of tick tocking the passing through,
when the rushing of the important is to pursue.
Days just disappear to wondering grieve,
while nights to sleep are to short to believe.
Moon tides smile growing full of restless sleep,
when that exhaustion only ask for that deep.
The tragedy about time that just perish,
when we cannot get hold of the now to cherish.
Taking life by the day that forever last,
so that we can celebrate it with a blast.
No more promises for tomorrow as hope,
and yesterdays regret a habit interlope.
Thursdays from Latin is Jovis related to Jupiter,
called the remover of all obstacles for the better.
Then as we know everything can happen,
on Thursdays even when you don’t know Latin.
it is imperative that we do not circumscribe to being thorny
Veritably all will acceed to rising in the morning.
Though melodramatic we must abnegate and repress that static. All the pervading overcast of complicity we must abtly resolve. Hear many cry God Save the King, iconoclastic remain and God save us all.
it is our allegiance to the world we interlope, enfranchised from the phlegm that strangles hope. How heavy are these portent gestures we bare? Our struggles will engender many to care. Those who resonate vying as something glorious, do sway from that which is tantamount and decorous.
Acknowledge this morphology to unfold, brighten the efficacy from cold. Leave these words engraved posthumously in your mist and quail not though our time desists.
Outside the box there lies some hope,
As those who come in darkness grope,
Upon a broadened path are led,
Unto a cross where Jesus bled,
For hearts to change and learn to cope.
Caught by judgment on downward slope,
Wayward souls lynched on devils rope.
No thought of Him who died instead,
Outside the box.
To often men may interlope,
In realms of darkness beyond their scope.
Falling hard, lives are filled with dread,
But till they lie among the dead,
And grief cries aloud; there’s still hope,
Outside the box.
The rondeau consists of thirteen lines of eight syllables, plus two refrains (which are half
lines, each of four syllables), employing, altogether, only three rhymes. It has three stanzas
and its rhyme scheme is as follows: (1) A A B B A (2) A A B with refrain: C (3) A A B B A
with concluding refrain C. The refrain must be identical with the beginning of the first line.
She had a shark in her shoe
The doubts they just crash and tolled of pain a cry, I’m insane
Bodies broken just left to lie on the fields of inventing a new past
Relenting misrepresenting align to everything we once were
Wait but don’t stop, fall but don’t drop, someone’s cigarette smoke in your face
It puffs out to hold you its hostage, I can’t match your power, I attested in disdain acquitted remitted of appearance, a life of bold and honest to their purpose
I can’t see the bad, I can feel it, but all I see is good, but I can’t feel it
You are karma the act of the past the mission of the gods who laugh and interlope being a business of bland
My thoughts are with me to no longer search to be captive and to feel no bounds and loose my chains
But it’s a game, to see an age and see what matches is found by courage, with no pill, no wine
Now washed up on the shore, from somewhere foreign a tropical paradise, off with the shoes, home sweet home
Feeling good out for a swim surrounded by sharks
Spring Sonnet
The microscopic lifeforms in my soil
Sense the rising in degrees Celsius.
Old Summer’s red wiggler worms now uncoil,
While hungry birds look down most odious.
Most showers now done, the weeds envelope
The surviving herbs, flowers, plus veggies.
Like the weeds, slimy molluscs interlope,
Quitting the shadows with their progenies.
Scooping composted chicken & steer
Into my orange Home Depot buckets;
Troweling in costly mineral grit -
Then turning the soils, crushing silt nuggets.
The difficult tasks done, seeds in the grounds –
October pumpkins will surround the mounds.
The yolk simmers
a large golden spread
far as eye can take
The heat piercing through
dots the lavish paint
with tiny red wounds
The ragged yellow-brown
greasy lace curtain
hugs the ashen wall
A child is waiting
the outsides interlope-in
sounds,smells,sweet'n sour
In haze within
fleeting shades swirl
on a weary-go-round
Eternity ticks on...
he's a willing puppy
after one fatty bone!
The canvas lifts
and in the russet dungeon
a sudden growing glow
A glimmering amber force
striding down stone steps
and then...he's free!
To a universe pink and green
silken air, velvety earth
riding on a rising cloud
The light appearing
in swaddling white
urges him on...
Jubilant, wondering
he takes a doubting step
but he falters, then falls...
Rigid Mountain
There is a place where all minds go
To the Rigid Mountain range
Of blackened streams
And hopeless dreams
To stop and rearrange
There is a place where thinkers sit
On rigid rocks and broken clocks
Of cedar trees
And willing pleas
As empty boats undock
There is a place where skies are bright
And hopeful golden rays
Lift their thoughts and hopes to float
Above the Rigid Mountain choke
To skies of song and play
There is a place, above the range
Where hands all grasp in hope
For men with wings
To lift their dreams
Where lovers interlope
That is where dreams lie
Feel free to chose how you live your life .....
Be free to chose either a husband or wife ...
feel free to decide what is that gives you joy ...
I really dont care if its a girl or its a boy ....
My message to you short and oh so sweet ...
If someone makes you happy ..I am glad for you to meet ...
We all deserve love and a feeling of hope...
So just make a choice and let no one interlope !!!!!
Stretch out your arms
Lie on the mossy forest floor
Feel the cooling fronds
On your back
Be embraced.
Join the family of trees
As they chemically chatter
Beneath you. Silently.
Interlope and envelope
An exciting vibrancy
Of Autumnal shades
Before Wintery sleep pervades
Douse your soul
In the pine scented oil
Of calm, ancient, understanding
Bathe in the beauty
Of stillness..
(Ssshhh)
Bob Hope,
at birth Leslie Towns, died at one hundred and his life was an interlope;
admired for his comedic timing, facial expressions, and a great one liner,
the "road" movies with his pal Bing- for comedy there are none finer !
Bing Crosby
at birth Harry Lillis, this man so funny and never ever sang off key,
he did so many things before he died at seventy-two, some with Bob his friend
accomplished much and it is said he was the most admired man to his very end
__________________
September 29, 2021
Poetry/Clerihew/Bob and Bing
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1391-891-29
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Clerihew 2
sponsor, Joseph May, Judged 10/29/2021
First Place
In the subway, a flute player,
at his feet, cents, and dimes.
He is young, skinny,
large peppery Adam’s apple
bobbing,
all sharp elbows and pursed lips,
an old time preacher channeling Bach,
not hell-fire, but more the flame
of creation.
At a distance,
watching him hunched over the notes -
too shy to stand in the presence,
I interlope; try not to intrude.
Is the breath in his lungs
from God or hunger?
God does not bother
with questions,
unconcerned as She is
with the speaker or the listener.
She does come with Her music however,
when I hunger.
Should this be the apex no i mean
point at whats my
flawlessly interlope
with a masterly
a man has a stroke mid stroke
soz just a
joking with
time tell him i will see him at the
end of the
partly partial
and s p a c i a l l y
inept
Lone Wolves in The Fog
Memories like lone wolves in the fog interlope my conscious mind
Pedigrees that are hierarchical that seem too cruel and unkind
Energies that are patriarchal that permeate throughout mankind
Reveries that are anarchical rare contradictions that run through the mind
Graceful tones of purity that provide a calming of the soul
Spaceful clones of assurity that prevent you growing old
Careful drones of high security that don’t do what they are told
Caseful loans from in obscurity that bring them into the economic fold
Up lifted by the notion of compassion toward my brother
Shifted by the ocean of passion that we have for one another
Gifted by the light of fashion that makes you unlike any other
Convicted by the rations that they left when they lost their darling mother
Interlacing space and time with words that cannot be replaced
Interfacing place and rhyme that’s heard and spoken without disgrace
Constant pacing up and down so absurd when your about to be erased
Embracing face time with something unheard that you eventually retrace
Abominations of my mind can’t find the way forward this morning
Consolidations all combine to pay the way for conclusions forming
Infiltrations u don’t want to find when you say you are inside the warning
Commendation of the kind that way is close to a beach for storming
The End Cooyright Elizabeth Moroz