Best June Poems
My front porch welcomes your return each year.
Built like a Sherman tank with wings - the night
is filled with music to the springtime ear,
the buzz and clatter of your noisy flight.
Announcing to the world it now is June,
you fly into our lives and cast your spell,
reminding us that summer beckons soon -
sweet season of youth's freedom from school bell.
Ah yes, first love that bloomed in June's warm sun -
that first kiss, blushing like a timid squirrel
and holding hands in public with the one
who showed me I could be loved by a girl.
Your tenure brief; then by July's first day,
like childhood and young love, you've flown away.
Submitted to Summertime Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
daisies in bright skirts -
bees in yellow jackets
come courting
Christmas Gifts
Christmas time was lonely for this young boy.
He lived a homeless life upon the street.
Remembering before, when life held joy,
Inside, warm and cozy near a hearth's heat.
Snowmen always seemed to share such delight
That he thought he would build one near each home,
Maybe joining in a fun snowball fight,
Always creating snowmen in the gloam;
Sweet surprise for families unaware.
Giving the only gift he could think of
In building each snowman he took such care,
For it was his kind way to share his love.
These gifts brought him such happiness to see
Smiles upon surprised faces filled with glee.
ring size 6 purple, green or blue
A silky-spun weave captures my attention
with its soft circular radiance
reflecting rainbows;
its fixed yet floating form
plays in sways of dappled sun,
appearing, then disappearing
as it is caught and released
by lighthearted fingers of light..
filigree beauty of the vacant web
captures my smile.
Amidst the ample weave
and supple spill of trellis green,
fruitful with a passion-palette
of June's nectar trumpets -
sprightly iridescence with a lusty hum
zips then hovers then zips again -
vying to capture my attention
with its flashy
flash...
nectar of my spirit healed with joy
my smile lasts an eternity.
JUNE 1944
they kissed with dreams of peace in clover - for him fulfilled in Norman field
Monoku - Cliche: All’s fair in love and war
September’s almost coming to its end.
The shining green that clothed the trees in June
Has darkened as the shorter days impend;
Their battered leaves will presently be strewn
Beneath the boughs, which tremble in the chill
That rushes in where winds till now waxed warm,
With Summer's swelter weakening until
We sense the Equinox's looming storm.
Because for all its beauties and its joys
No Summer can persist resisting change—
When held too long, what first creates, destroys;
And only then is born what’s rich and strange.
For Autumn heralds Winter, which will bring
The frosts which in their turn give way to Spring.
October 2, 2019
Previous title: "Summer's End"
Revised October 15, 2019:
The second quatrain originally went--
Beneath the boughs, which tremble in the chill
That rushes in where winds till now blew hot.
The days fly – they inevitably will—
Still, that is inescapably our lot.
But the second sentence seemed to me to be too weak and even bordering on the trite, so I rewrote it as above. Apologies to all who've read it to date!
Four-score years ago, the youth of Allied Armies stormed Normandy's shore;
Men in the December of their years returned today recalling the gore of war.
They wept at comrades graves who freely gave their all on that crimson strand;
Heros reaped by the Scythe of Death to ensure that freedom would yet stand.
Old men wept as the dulcet notes of Taps was played,
And rendered smart salutes as Old Glory was displayed!
Many of the veterans leaned on canes to guide their stride;
Others in wheel-chairs were helped by guides to ease their ride.
Gnarled hands that once held the fearsome weapons of war,
Beckon for peace that we shall know war nevermore!
Upon the plain above Omaha Beach lie 9000 buddies they mourn,
Who await Gabriel's clarion bugle call on that Triumphant Morn!
The glistening sand that once was stained by a hero's blood,
Is now cleansed by the ebb and flow of decades of tidal flood.
The beach that once resounded with the cannon's roar,
Now trembles with the booming surf rushing to the shore!
The hardships these gallant men suffered, we shall never know;
So much, so very much, to this Great Generation we owe!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
skies of azure blue
honeysuckle vines seeming . . .
to climb to heaven
king sun shines down as
muskmelons ripen in fields . . .
marigolds wear crowns
with easy labor
month six gives birth to summer . . .
dusk sweetly lingers
I d r
e a
m away
from the golden-laced drapes,
tracing smoke-veiled cloudscapes,
reminiscing rainbow reveries,
raining with musical laughter,
mirroring the sun within
my maternal spirit,
drawing cerulean smiles
across the kaleidoscopic sky
with initials of my
beloved June child.
As in acrylics, I find happiness,
and in palettes of pastels
I feel the twilight twinkles of time,
revealing rosemary reasons to rhyme
in rhinestone radiance,
releasing runes ~
ricocheting colors
of my hibiscus heartbeat…
O kismet constellations,
I breathe glitters of gratitude
to the sapphire stars
and swirling sparks
drifting through shifting monsoons,
cradled in the
blissful sighs of my son.
For in his presence,
murky mists of melancholy
fade into neon nothingness;
in his words,
a thousand gardens glisten and glow;
in his eyes,
I see hues of hope ~
ballad of a seraphic summer.
Perhaps, the voice of this
unconditional love remains
the synonym of happiness,
the syllables of zen,
and the metaphors of euphoria,
bound to the skin ~
of rooted truth,
truth of a mother
dressed in the dulcet dews
seized from the dawn
when he learned the light of life…
So let me rephrase,
in redundant dialects,
to write in coherent cadence,
of the warmth I weave,
of the peace I paint,
within jeweled lines of lavender…
I smile not because I see no sorrow,
but because my existence
is a mere iron-arched
gateway to guide astral rays
above the island shores
where his footprints echo,
porcelain patterns,
erasing fringes from
the blemished blurs
of grieving moonlight
caressing the sanguine sea
rippling with turquoise tranquility ~
a tale of teal tomorrow...
Sol
stands still
last of spring
Strawberry Moon
June
May 20, 2019
June or July Lanterne Poetry Contest
Caren Krutsinger, Sponsor
may her flames never burn out
whilst I can rekindle active embers
all that lies beneath
fullness of beauty
this form, this aura
smoulders
though she lies sleeping
she lights the room
every aspect of her shining
I gaze upon fabric that drapes -
in awe that nothing that touches her skin
can fail to become beautiful also
she falls artfully into slumber
the very representation of a dream
shimmering as if a thousand sunsets
shroud and surround her
comfort she finds in her own frame
equilibrium, stillness -
breath may or may not disrupt
so I dare not breathe
for I do not wish to disturb this beauty
may she exist forevermore
resplendent as evening sun
for she transcends
what it is to be mortal
I woke up changed
but love stayed ~
for my cluttered consciousness
escapes into the cosmos,
where the Flame-June stars
are christened with
healing hieroglyphs
hibernating within
your heartbeat
mimicking the murkiness
of this mind that
noiselessly misses
the metered magic
you composed cautiously
into redolent reality
with acrylic colors
from dawn after hailstorms…
and I drown… O beloved
I swallow my ink...
stained with your scent
in lucid dreams
steeped in seared sienna
wrapped in stimulating silence
as faith meets me fearlessly
beneath the kiss of an angel
that left me lethargic
longing for the levitating light
of a sultry sun that
clothed me selflessly
unspooling the urge
to pirouette through peace
that looks like homely solitude
as hope rests in the
saffron soul of clouds
where your rhymes return…
so trace me amidst the
trail of thoughts I find
myself weaving
with wildflower wishes
into the glistening sky
glazed with
passionate promises
caressing my pensive skin,
while I plead
with the awakening moon
to teach the tuscan
tones of my phoenix sun
to soak my silhouette ~
a saving grace beneath my hair…
but these feelings
are not severe symptoms
of persistent exhaustion
or spiritual emptiness
this is the sound
of my pulse ~
a piercing ache
to feel the lips of
an empathetic empyrean
to breathe siren’s bliss
into the arteries of angst
like waves undressed
unreservedly obsessed
with the thought
of being seen and saved ~
a prayer perfumed
like a dream designed
in citrine gold crystals…
*Inspired by the art "Flaming June" by Frederic Leighton
Summer set the dewy grass
Through my castle I pass
The sweet scent of the flowers
Bare feet dancing in the showers
08.06.2018
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
When A Fourth Line Helps It To Rhyme! Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
2nd place in the contest
every leaf stands still
cold raindrops pelt hot pavement
beast rumbling in sky
One plus one, square rooted in love, equals Won!