Best Invitation Poems
When fields gleam aureate and song birds sing
and transient stars in clusters scintillate,
when sweet perennials are coaxed by spring
to blossom forth, he comes with sprightly gait.
He wends his way along the mountain trails
past opalescent rush of streams and rills,
goat-footed, on the paths that ribbon dales
and wind around and up and down small hills.
Then nymphs appear as, through the woods, he trips
to flower-smitten meadows. Fancy-free,
he leads them with his reed held to his lips,
till blithely they embrace his rhapsody.
So hear the music; watch the wood nymphs spin. . .
Then captured by sheer merriment, join in!
For Nathan A.'s ANY POEM GOES Poetry Contest
December 25th- The Christmas Wedding
Head-to-head,
Surrounded by seasonal silver bells
Scarlet passionate pink poinsettias sit
Foliage scenery
Entwined by Christmas and Wedding bliss
Frosty winter weather warmed up by:
Rings of “I Do!”
The eyes of Eve hide underneath a white veil
Beautiful-
A bride walking down the misty mistletoe isle
Wondering why the majestic mustang moon sank without trace?
The aroma of pine trees idle into the death-defying fog
Fine firm decorated ribbons snug unopened gifts
Desperately-
Mistletoes wait above the tenable tint threshold
Kissing and Cheering
New Christmas Vows
In her hands, a beautiful bouquet
-Bridal flowers for the maids
Forsaken by dark dusky dullness wedding cloud
Flustering fragrance thicken the chestnut cold air
Ornaments endured dreary tears
Despising the drapes of fog
That covers the newlywed winter show
Harmony withdrew from that winter wonderland
A white gown, not meant to be
Christmas crushed by her greed
The unkind erratic earth exchanged her own silent vows
In a horrifying hoary haze
A heavy foggy breeze dropped in like debris,
Blowing her tiara dreams away
On this very exact Christmas Day
:-)
11-22-13
*** COME POETRY ***
Belle Poetry! Be kind!
I am already exhausted
From long passed hours
Taking dictation from you — I am
But human and sometimes fragile,
While you often come divine.
Sister Poetry! Even as I listen
To music by composer Andre Rieu, to help
Waltz words across these pages,
I plead with you, seeking
To grip, grasp, hunt, hold, seize, and
Assign apt words to their deft places…
Be kind! Impart the sequence of syllables
Clearly to my tired mind, so they will
Play well in their penned flow,
To turn Poetry’s wish to written wine —
Felt imagery; being true in wisdom;
Creative in expression; vibrant.
With a similar kind of invitation,
Ravel takes us away in imaginings, while
Traveling the rise in his Bolero,
Captive to the mounting repetition —
Music to motion. Expression to power.
Inspirations…A ready harvest in the heart.
Desiring Poetry, send here your printed score
To sound out as easily as does a pluck of
A violin’s string to begin a concerto;
Or humming a hymn may bring peace to a room.
Speak on in dreams! My pen awaits,
Listening even when near a nod to needed sleep.
Eager Poetry, life’s “Alleluia”
First coarses through you
In the displays of wonder; in all the consequences
Of emphatic things done; and of your intuited
Knowing in progress and process with the All
Collective unconscious — from clouds to clarity
As God with first thought made
The first word.
——Dedicated to the souls who hold the address of poetry within them, with all its bliss and pain, my sisters and brothers living in perception. ———-—————————————————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 10/3/22
Thanks be to God
I do it often,
drag a perfect morning
in through the front door of myself
and make it a reluctant guest,
replace its colors with my own
dour palette, drown out
its soft voice with noise.
It has become a habit, trying
to confine the morning's
width within my space,
hold its edges so it doesn't stretch
beyond my reach. Its freedom
is almost an anathema to me
for it exceeds my own.
How small my world has become.
The distance from one side
of myself to the other is getting
narrower, the little room left
is depleting breath by breath.
The light squeezes through
ever smaller windows.
And yet, as it came upon me
this morning, I was met
with a bright abundance
that had gathered at my door,
carrying forgiveness
for my habitual ignorance
and an invitation to step
outside myself, once more.
The announcement of their special day came today
But I just looked at it briefly and turned away
Hearing of their wedding day brought sadness, dismay
An invitation for me? I didn’t know what to say
Stinging sadness in my heart I could not convey
I gazed out at the landscape and let my mind stray
Just months ago he gave me a colorful bouquet
Frail roses of red I proudly put on display
But he quickly plucked two and put them in my hair
Pledging his undying love with romantic flare
The pure ecstasy I felt was beyond compare
Each day since, I cut two more from the garden to wear
Then suddenly he went away; I knew not where
Tapestry on my dress now holds tear stains of despair
How cruel this message seemed, how terribly unfair
Knowing the life I had longed for, we will never share
Other scrolls remain unopened, I’ve no desire to read
As with restless hands, strings of a lyre I knead
The blossom of our love has transformed to a weed
To open my heart again, I feel no need
The pain that lingers won’t allow me to proceed
Leaning against the column, I’m forced to concede
This is one scroll I’ll remember and reread
Though for the answers I seek, I vow not to plead
*Written July 31, 2014 and inspired by Lawrence Alma-Tadema’s
painting “Poetry.”
Lay your head beside mine if you dare and enter the world of my nightmare. A long hall
before you is lined by many doors, and opening each one exposes terrifying horrors.
Unlock the first and see the cemetery where so many ancestors have been buried.
Unkempt graves covered by thorny vines propel you back to tragedy-filled times. A
second door reveals a room filled with flames where lost souls scream for second
chances in vain. Behind the third door my late husband lies as I emit such mournful
cries. I rush to the fourth door and watch the rerun of a fiancé who drowned while
together we had swum. A fifth door swings open and I see a lonely woman, aged and
forgotten by those who once loved her. There is something so familiar about this forlorn
soul; a glimpse of my own future I behold. Have you the courage to take this journey
with me into the terrors that come in nightly dreams? And if you are willing to behold
such sights, should I see you as a demon or an angel of light? If you choose to lie at my
side, perhaps these dreams will subside. But there are few who are up to this task. Are
you one of the few I must ask.
Night terrors seem so real as they occur, but by morning they may just be a blur.
Perhaps it is my fate to remain, as now, alone, because few lovers will venture into the
unknown -- a misty place where fears and tears collide. What partner would be willing
to share such a frightening ride? A journey through this realm of horrors requires a
spiritual guide. Those who promise to take us “for better or worse” are never truly
prepared to endure such a curse.
Oh, visit me, though I've not looked for you
Show me you care; come share a word or two
Look for my name, in all the names you see
Come spend some time, be ray of sun to me
Visit Me
How will I know if you like what you read
I long to know that I fulfill a need
That what I write is solace for your soul
My little rhymes, a balm that makes you whole
Visit me
Come let communion wash away your fear
Let words of comfort dry away that tear
In blessed little rhymes, is sweet reprieve
and warmth and comfort in the lines I weave
Visit Me
Come visit me when others tear you down
Come visit me when in despair you drown
Come visit me when hope from heart has flown
Come visit me when pain is all you've know
Visit me
My words will be the kiss upon your cheek
The elixir of youth, when you are weak
My lines will be the bandage that will bind
I hope that what you seek, in me you'll find
Visit Me
Come and visit....ME....
Eileen Manassian
[Verse 1]
Girl, I don’t have to know you
To see you in your rhymes.
Yes, it’s true we’ve never touched,
But I’ve felt you a thousand times.
You’re a summer gypsy dancer,
Wild, smart, and so free.
It’s you whose door I knock on—
So will you open up to me?
[Pre-Chorus]
Some may say it’s infatuation,
To have this moon angel on my mind.
Lost in those almond eyes,
A sweeter soul I could not find.
Your tender scent, a spark of light,
You shine like stars in the darkest night.
When you see me standing there,
You’ll never have to wonder why.
[Chorus]
I’m only here to seek your heart,
Romance can find its way.
God knows I’m not in a hurry,
We can start with perhaps someday.
Let me be with you while writing,
I’ll pour the wine, sing you a song,
And watch you make the magic,
See if here, we both belong.
[Bridge]
I can hear the wind whispering,
Secrets only you and I could know,
The moon’s got a plan, babe,
But we’re the ones who’ll make it glow.
Take my hand—don’t hesitate,
This moment’s ours to claim,
Behind your door, it’s all untold,
But baby, we’ll never be the same.
[Chorus]
I’m only here to seek your heart,
Romance can find its way.
God knows I’m not in a hurry,
We can start with perhaps someday.
Let me be with you while writing,
I’ll pour the wine, sing you a song,
And watch you make the magic,
See if here, we both belong.
[Outro]
I’m at your door, island girl,
Heart racing, time stands still.
Beautiful brilliance on the other side—
Open up… I pray you will.
It is not the music,
for one knows it in the heat
that rises from a cool miasma,
sardonic, self-igniting--
the one that ravages and never warms,
consumes, and cannot care.
Cold flame is of another art, and passionless.
It is the counterpart of a humanity
that gasps at loveliness
but grasps an aged, trembling hand
and cannot understand a trembling deity
which would implore and not demand.
It is a danse macabre...
there is no peace in pretense, for
it smells of fear, the while
its nourishment is truth.
It strikes through speaking
through closed hands and open hearts.
It makes of war and gentleness a home,
an irony, and often even does it
arm in arm.
And how importunate, the lead
who dares to ask of poverty
a share of its insolvence--
knowing greed is corporate,
while sacrifice is of the self alone.
To find it set apart for lesser goals,
it lies and gathers slippery sides,
setting off solutions for another day;
the night shall have its queen!
For she is Paradox
who sweeps across the room.
In gracious rule she covets,
blesses solitude, and ridicules its joy.
Hers lurks behind a mask
of beauty and romance;
the skin is putrid, the conceit
is infinite.
Hers is the blood that feasts
upon itself, that beats
upon a tympanum within--
its cadence to the dance
forever incomplete.
~
blushing teenager
ruby cheeks, cerise hot lips,
given coral rose.
A Crafty invitation
Cut him open, just go nuts
Reach inside and pull out his guts
Cut out his eyes, cut out his nose
Work your way down as you go
Use a little ingenuity
And cut him good for all to see
Don’t be afraid to make a mess
Join the pumpkin carving contest
Ocean calls,
From the endless to the shore.
Not one,
Yet,
Countless waves,
Calling your name.
Never mind the numbering,
Foolish to know,
Only this,
From Beyond it's proclaimed as Love.
Heaven to the opened sea,
The blue beauty must obey,
Inviting you to walk on,
Go deep,
And in between.
Therefore,
Sea water,
Ink in pen.
Ocean tide,
I hear you well,
In the calling,
Her name.
You know who you are,
Time to go poetry swimming,
My Friend.
Ocean Poet-
God came May the 15th,
And took Aaron in His arms.
He took his little soul,
Away from earthly harm.
A beautiful bundle of joy,
Quickly turned to tears.
And pieces of my grief,
Are hidden through the years.
His short-lived life,
Sadly broke my heart.
Six and a half years ago,
He began his heavenly embark.
One day we’ll meet in Heaven,
And reunite in celebration.
Until then, I will muster on,
Until I receive Heaven’s invitation.
________________________________
Robin, these are for you,
I hope you like what I've written.
My best friend was murdered,
and it is still fresh on my mind.
It's only been 2 years,
And I remember it like yesterday.
Take care and Happy Holidays...Raul
Hidden reservation site,
Buried behind wardrobes of femininity.
Aged wooden metal chest,
Handed over by grandparents.
Containing matters,
Yester-innocent,
Tears weeping melodies on pink white ribbons of little girl's wearing.
Matching dress of lovely splendor,
Mr. Teddy tucked under,
Barbie slumber in all this,
Ken waiting for hope in joy kid.
Tea set with long passed memory gone beneath blanket of protection.
Thinking words gave her mother this reply as a teen,
"I am not an infant any longer, womanhood is mine."
Knees found,
Floor one,
Spending the peaceful night in journeying,
Rearward season of past.
Heart returns from crystal dusty fragment of no end count,
Swept by hopeful faith of mending broken back in place,
Union,
Beat of one,
Soul restored.
Sudden darkness wintry,
Reminder frosty,
"Lovers come & gone."
"Children all grown up."
"Bill collectors cannot wait, daydreams will not pay them off."
Laughter howling scream touches her skin in goose bums fear.
Than One,
Enter in overcoming cloudy reignful thoughts of black,
"Still listening to the wrong god, of this world."
"Who do you think lead your heart to opened the memory box blessed?"
"Returning calls you home my dear child of Mine."
Invitation To A Funeral
The night cold with it's sharp corners
Cutting comfort through my skin
With drunken footsteps of a soldier
I'm a tourist at your door again
My knock is full of empty
A vacant echo its reply
Consequence provides the answer
Circumstance the reason why.
Can't mend my bleeding ego.
Pieces of me cupped in the hands of my mind
Memories dripping through my fingers
A painful pleasure suicide
Your broken promise castaway upon the waters
Now washed up on desolate shores.
I've become the company
That misery enjoys
My imagination without wonder
Muffled thunder in broken skies
Love is an invitation to a funeral
A memorial service where death is eulogized.