Best Intermingle Poems
I wiped away a single tear
That had fallen from my eye
(You told me simply we were friends)
You left me after only a year
(But you conceal your aching heart)
I often sit and ask myself why
Looking back on our time together
I remember those halcyon days
(My love for you it never ends)
I thought we’d be together forever
(You told me simply we were friends)
Now memories are a fading haze
Your hair so dark with eyes of brown
(Dreaming of you my heart ascends)
So full energy with a sense of fun
(Forbidden love keeps us apart)
Always happy you were never down
We’d go out together and have a run
(You told me simply we were friends)
You’d always reward me with a soppy kiss
(But you conceal your aching heart)
I’ll never forget the day you got knocked over
Never a day passes when you I don’t miss
How I loved my darling dog Rover
03~05~15
Do You Love me – Triolet ~09~26~14
How I miss you Rhyme - 09~22~14
Contest - Intermingled – Craig Cornish
The night like clouded charcoal scorched,
A sea of trees with starlight torched.
A night where laws are sound asleep,
Anarchic prayers running deep.
Alone I hear the wretched screams
Of screeching trees... or so it seems.
The cries protract into the air,
Without a sound they disappear.
The shrieks have bartered now anew
With sounds of meat and boney chew
Discharging from the faithless trees
And snarling with my memories.
But creatures' gruesome growlings drown.
I smell the gunpowder and frown.
The waging sounds of war advance
In battle stance with gun and lance.
The sounds of bleeding men enhanced,
The sounds of fate and time and chance,
No sooner do they cross the trees
Than fade as all their voices freeze.
But worse than bombshell sounds occur;
The storms, the winds, the thunder stirs.
The roars that shake the forest's roots,
The flowers, soil, and passion fruits
A rainy resonance restocks
The grass the air the woods the rocks
And washes with its dancing tingle
All the sounds that intermingle:
A dreaming forest in the night,
And trapped within its fanfare fright,
It chokes me in its thunder thrill
And hangs me in the silence still,
And hangs me in the silence still.
My Saddest Day(A Dog Gone Tableau)
I Had to leave him
(though he yapped and whined)
at the adoption drop off,
(I still loved him so)
with folks that I'd entrusted
(he was my dear friend)
with his safe keeping.
(He'd turned old and blind)
His mournful howl followed me
(when we let him go.)
as i exited the door
(How can my heart mend?)
My two poems for the Intermingle Contest of Craig Cornish:
My Saddest Day, written a while earlier than actually posted on 9/21/2014
& A Dog Gone Tableau, posted 10/17/2014 a few days after I wrote it.
By Andrea Dietrich
(The idea for what to use was inspired by my wonderful friend, Harry Horsman)
In the beginning it is just a lovely cloud
Collin comes across her in the coffee house
One of his friends calls his attention
Look, your mom is here, let’s go elsewhere
A descent of birds pecking at his brain
The cloud he keeps looking at for quite a while
The face and the figure look like his
He goes to the toilet to look into the mirror
The semblance he sees is a puzzling wonder
The birds dance and sing in tumultuous chorus
His friend confounded when he is told
Collin does not know who his mother is
He had been adopted when he was just two
The lady too looks at them off and on
When a bridge comes up none can say
The next few hours he passes in a daze
Is the quest for four years going to succeed
Is the cloud preordained for the sudden rain
Or it is just a fortuitous resemblance
But then isn’t it an exactly mirror image
Returning home Collin scrutinizes himself again
In the mirror he finds the same chiseled face
The same desirous dreamy eyes, head full of hair
He recites poems and talks to himself
Same grace radiates from the daffodils
The plant with the flowers hangs in the air
The charm and the fragrance are irresistible
He craves to rush forward and hug it tight
And flood the flower with crimson kisses
The scented air stays elusive nonetheless
Collin says everything to his adopted parents
They are very glad and cooperate to get to the truth
There would be no problem in living all together
Collin laughs and says very forcefully
The twenty two years old son is no more an introvert
When the magnet works in the very stem cells
The eventual fusion is inevitable obviously
She takes him to her apartment
She lives alone her husband dead
No shadow of children nowhere in the rooms
Thousand wasps biting inside his head
The pain is traumatic for the hidden truth
Light and dark interchange day after day
Poems of love keep churning the two hearts
Drama outside and a flood within
The day DNA test confirms the gene
The two intermingle to a river serene
______________________________________________________________
August 8, 2016: For the Contest: Long Lost Family
Sponsored by Silent One
I was three the first time i remember
seeing mamas bedroom walls
springtime colors on her quilt
Though it really could of been December
I don't remember much at all
I have to thank god for that
except for his soft footsteps down the hall
not Gods cause he was still asleep
I didn't know enough to be afraid, YET
He came in the room, that's when I still loved him
then I was on the bed, daddy loves you
daddy saying shh shh, don't talk
we're hiding from mama, I giggled
and then the pain, stop it shaunda, be quiet
be a quiet girl and I'll give you a dime
I didn't like it one bit or the sounds either
I turned my head and saw mamas messy shoes in her closet
I loved mamas shoes and I always put them in a row
in her closet nice and neat
she always gave me a nickel and said very good Shaunda
that's when I still loved her
and she still loved me
I watched the shoes through the pain thinking
when daddies done I'm gonna straighten those shoes
all in a row so mama will give me a nickel
and why do dimes hurt so bad
All this running through my head laying on her bed
while the sounds and the pain intermingle
in my body and mind while wondering
why Karrie gets to go to school
and why oh why can't I be five too
Ahh. The joy of childhood memories uncensored
Initially, it appears
Jackson Pollock's interspatial painting
"Ocean - Tribute,"
overtly oversteps the boundaries of abstract art.
And the eye struggles
to validate its bewildering beauty,
hidden amongst the dribbled droplets of paint!
But then, seemingly spontaneously,
the blobs and dapples of color
intermingle in purpose.
And you see a kaleidoscope of shapes
and forms merge and disperse
into limitless shifting patterns;
as your imagination
gains access to the artist's dream.
Unique to the beholder:
interpretations tap into the imagination,
to abstractly convey cemetery and fluid motion
in the natural cadence of chaos.
Beyond beautiful; it's breathtaking!
Things look bleak, hopeless...
A tapestry of images in my head
swirls and tells me a story,
hauntingly beautiful
then unravels so fast---
I try to catch ahold of it,
but fail.
Or so I think...
a single thread of thought
stays with me,
it winds through my fingers
and glows
Another thought floats by
so I pluck at it.
I let it intermingle
with inspiration,
then mesh it together with creativity
My loom is my imagination
my thoughts, my thread
urging me,
compelling me
to weave the story
and so I do.
For I am a word weaver.
As thoughts go in,
words come out
to create something
that warms the heart,
that uplifts the spirit.
I am a word weaver of life.
Allow my tapestry to comfort you,
even just for a while.
01.18.10 125am written for Deborah's "How do you do it?" contest :)
When truly embracing life, one must
also embrace the mortal chain of death
as friends and family continue passing
in harmony with the earthly seasons,
in quiet tune with celestial movement.
What being in profound contemplation
when dealing with melancholia,
ever lived their life without flirting
briefly with the thought of suicide;
the persuasion of drink compounded?
The joys of life intermingle with sorrow
in a stage of life when Time ironically
becomes an enemy as well as a friend,
when one endeavors to share wisdom
that may be unappreciated and rejected.
The sudden glint off the wing of a
passing silver bird with many souls,
recalls to mind the madness that still
dwells in corners of dark and light,
of years gained, yet lost in flight.
© 2012 Connie Marcum Wong
Velvety smooth I caress your face,
Lost is time of this moment and place
your scent, very mellow at first
your love of your man quenches his thirst
hands intermingle for a moment or two
and then exploration, first me and then you
your lips sweet as buttercups, softly on mine
your loving embrace it's feeling divine
Your passion, driven with desire
I can feel your heat like a volcanic fire
My heart pounding nearly out of my chest
the wanting that I feel, your incessant caress
together we link like a fine golden chain
clasped one together,without any refrain
In that final moment, the heightening peak
so out of breath that neither can speak
suddenly sullen, we collapse with a smile
this love that we share, which none can defile
it's easy for me to love you this way
soul mates that we are and will always stay.
For Mary.....I love you.....
Mix the meters
Color the cadence
Intermingle the breaks of line
Torture the iambs
Scent the flowers
Tint the edges of sunrise
Mellow the moonbeams
Offer an invitation
A subtle “come hither”
Of mystery
Slowly close the door
As you are drawn
Into inky shadows
Left alone
To fathom
The cut, fit and drape
Of garments
Woven with words
Stitched with secrets
John G. Lawless
©5/4/2023
Scarred and Blackened
In Tasmania’s rugged but scenic South West
Lies an ancient land of pristine wilderness
Protected by a World Heritage Listing
An eco-system a thousand years nesting
A land of Aboriginal spiritual dreamtime
Where rare native flora survives, like Pencil Pine
And fauna abound on the Button Grass plains
With rugged mountain ranges never tamed
Hunter Gatherers burned to reduce the fuel load
The protectors now heading down the wrong road
By letting the fuel build to immense dimensions
A massive fire just waiting to turn the land ashen
The spirit of storm clouds gathers up high
For the rangers this is pleasing to the eye
But alas, this building spiral of cloud is dry
Just building thunder heads in the sky
The inner circle of the clouds one big mass
Intermingle, then with violence they clash
Spewing bolts of lightning to the ground
But not a drop of precious rain to be found
A searing bolt of lightning grounds
Amid the drought-stricken pencil pines
An explosion of sparks, then flames
A fire is born the lightening to blame
Spreading quickly with the brisk westerly winds
The fire races through the dry Button grass plains
A massive cloud of smoke drifts east
Alerting the protectors to this massive beast
The call goes out for fire fighters and water bombers
As the black smoke causes concern to near-by loggers
For the fire now a catastrophic inferno
Consuming the wilderness like no tomorrow
The water bombers and man-power useless
Against this cataclysm of wild fire that has unleashed
Thousands of acres of pristine wilderness
Now blackened and scared, a nothingness
For weeks it burned, some 100,000 acres
Now tamed by remote area fire-fighters
But the scars from the fire yet to discover
A landscape that will take years to recover
Global warming, to blame many think
As this South-West area was always wet
Many years of below average rainfall
Perhaps Mother-Nature having her revenge
The dance commences, I retreat a step
Shattered from archaic engulfing patterns
You cha cha your storm forward in
Swirls of ancient abandonment and as
I skip back another, gasping for sufficient safety from suffocation,
You unfurl your blitz clawing the lioness’ leash
You decipher my terror and it emboldens your raging compulsion
Which suspends our inner children in connected cocoons and yet somehow
We cant reach each other as we intermingle desperately
It makes us stoic, empty and musically atrophied but
At a closer distance, oxygen less and congruently alone
And it sits frog like, stale and poisonous between us and still
The spire flattens and petrifies our reflections powered by a
Stalemate which devours our fragile humanity with a timid jocularity
You start out green and new, as a brand new shoot, nurtured by a ‘Loving Mother Tree,’ and surrounded by lush, growing sibling leaves all
In relative, naive Harmony.
You mature and grow into The Most Beautiful Version of Yourself, peaking a little too early, given the length of your life cycle.
After you’ve served Your Purpose (you were never told what it was), your kindly mother turns on you;
Once she nurtured you, watered you, and warmed you by sunlight.
You were whole and thriving and complete.
Now, She cuts off these vital nutrients.
All of a sudden, you’re given no light, no food, no water.
And no answers about WHY.
Your sibling leaves are going through a similar situation,
So they are of very little use to you.
Frankly, they’re every bit as confused as you.
You slowly starve and dry up until you’re officially “desiccated.”
Then, the Mother Tree drops you.
The winds of change blow you onto a completely random path, forcing you to intermingle with leaves you don’t even know,
Making one last splash as “fall foliage,”
Which you don’t even enjoy because you look so differently than you did in your prime , you barely recognize yourself anymore.
The next thing you know, you’re 5 miles down the road, in a Stranger’s yard (not even a nice one),
Being raked into giant piles and stuffed into suffocating black garbage bags,
Kicked to the curb to ferment a little while, and then
Carted off by some rather grubby-looking men to be burned and cremated.
By that point, you welcome it.
The ultimate compassionate
sensation resonates beyond
daily circumstances, travails
It is calming serenity
tapered by lustful indulgences
tempting peacefulness
You wonder how such blessings
could have been bestowed
upon a common utilitarian
personality rife with imperfections.
It's mind boggling
how forces intermingle
creating spheres of happiness.
It dangles illusions
of utopian perfection
transforming everyday misanthropes
into circumstantial bliss
that encapsulates illustrious
transcendental thoughts.
Mind altering realities
bestowed upon simplicities
of thoughtless ramifications
turning lackluster days
into something magical.
My Lark, whom I plucked in the Dark
Alouette, gentille alouette
Aloutte, je te plumerai
Alouette(a) we are all a wetta
Alouette(a) I will pluck you dry
Pluck you dry, pluck you dry
Ben oui, mais ben oui, lets look to the sky
Alouette(a), gently let me caress you
Alouette(a), these words make us wetta
Je te plumerai le bec
Je te plumerai le bec
And a kiss
And a kiss
More more kiss
Alouette, let me kiss you oh my my
I will look you in the eyes
Avec un bec
Je suis un mec
Alouetta, let me make you wetta
Alouetta, let me hold you near
I will pluck your wings you hear?
Just to keep you close and near
Alouetta, let me keep you here my dear
And you legs
And your neck
And you your eyes
Alouetta, I caress your coeur so red
Alouette, my love will make you wetta
Et le cœur
Et le bouche
Et les ailes
Alouetta, je te donne un bec(a)
Alouetta, je te plumerai
Alouette, je suis un beau mec (a)
Alouette, je te donne un grand bec(a)!!!!
Svp, Svp
Alouette I will make you wetta
Alouette I will make you mine!!!!
Notes and Physiologists notes!
Ok LOL where to start
Alouette is a Lark in English
"Alouette" is a popular French Canadian children's song about plucking the feathers from a lark, in retribution for being woken up by its song. Although it is in French, it is well-known among speakers of other languages
I of course used many play on words to turn this into a lyrical naughty love verse based on the song. Not only did I intermingle French and English, but some of the play on words apply, even only in French. I know many will not understand the French, however the English language is universally used for the very reason that is does incorporate so many words from other languages. Anytime you bring ideas together, you are uniting rather than dividing, a theme in many of my poems.
Alouette = Lark, I misspelled it sometimes as Alouetta as that’s more how you would pronounce the word in English.
Je te plumerai = I will pluck you
Bec = beak in English, but in French can also mean a kiss
Ben = is closer to how the Quebecois accent would sound
Mec = boyfriend a term more used in France
Svp = abbr for “please”
Some words I spelled phonetically for those with cell phones.
Do I really need to explain “wet-ta” ? LOL