Best Jutting Poems
The ocean waves come rolling in
There’s not a soul in sight
With heaving breath they break on shore
And burst in brilliant white.
The sound of wind is in the air
The jutting rocks stretch high
Tall redwood trees defiant stand
So tough, and yet they sigh.
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Theme: No 2 ~ Shoreline
Form: ‘common meter stanza’
Author: Paul Callus ~1st April 2015
Contest: Let Me Feel Your Lines
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Placed 1st
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Poem of the Day ~ 2nd April, 2015.
Categories:
jutting, sea, wind,
Form:
Rhyme
in silence, we connect through gazes
knitted by starlit eyes ablaze
like dusk's luster wafting by the sill ...
and we need not ramble in paraphrases
of night’s canticle, while folded hands
caress the rhythm of twilight's melody.
how deftly breaths and fireglow understand
our same tunes, our same wafting waves,
gentle as entwined roots jutting out
from your palms, my bosom… together,
we feel the stillness of love from the same face,
and if our flesh doesn’t chafe in the peeling
of autumn’s chill , it’s because…
we have been soul mates
before time was ever born.
Your Best Poem EverContest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Written 9/24/2014 Resubmitted 6/19/2020
Categories:
jutting, inspirational, soulmate,
Form:
Free verse
As the weather softly turns
Beckoning in the Equinox
Clusters of colourful bulbs
Dance and sway in the breeze
Eagles swoop up on thermals
Flying high until they are specks
Golden feathers gleaming amid
Heather glowing white on the hills
Indigo skies with puffy clouds
Jutting into various shapes
Kale drift by lazily snapping flies
Luscious grasses adorn the meadows
Mushrooms appear nestled under trees
Nightingales sweetly sing in Spring
Osprey dive deep for fish
Plunging in time and again
Quaint old fashioned flowers
Radiant with rainbow colours
Spread rampant in the beds
Tulips dip and bow in greeting
Under the hosta's a dormouse lives
Velvet nose twitching the air
Watching out for birds of prey
Xanado bathed in sunshine highlights
Yellow buttercups which coat the ground as
Zenith of Spring soon now will fade away.
Categories:
jutting, spring,
Form:
Abecedarian
Creeping creepy creepers, the crawling trellis
jutting out of everywhere
snaking through country and metropolis
twisting turning in floral bliss
but more like snakes that hiss
But in quietude feign death for self-defense!
Weeping willows with an unreal surreal sorrow
weeping tears of dew onto the silted furrow.
Perhaps weeping for bretheren felled
in deforestations and land clearings in
my imaginations of the call to preservation.
Against ethnic cleansing of greenery for selfish building
As per man's construction for mere recreation
Velvety-green tear- stained faces or rather foliage
When dew is stuck on them as nature's trinkets of pearls.
And over there touch-me-nots swaying coyly
like prim and proper maidens
in the fantastic floral gardens.
And what in the world is this case?
Imitation flowery in place of imitation jewellery?
Yeah, thats poinsettia in a vase
Leaves in the disguise of flowers
Its actual flowers relegated to backstage.
And ethereal fairy-slippers await their never coming wearers
and Indian pipes to be admired by Red Indian sightseers.
Oh and here's another spectacle- but sniper tactics this time
Yikes! Let the naive insect world beware!
Whilst the bloodthirsty killers lie in ambush
Those camouflaged jungle guerrillas
or should we say the venus fly-traps!
Or a more harmless one yet mimicking the scary
A snap-dragon flora, its mouth opening and snapping shut.
Then watch that mega-sized jumbo giant flora
The world's largest flower
No stems, no leaves, plant-eater plant, rafflesia.
Is it too much for the faint-hearted ha ha.
And wow now watch that incredible costume, oh my!
A flower masked as some pesky fly!
None other than the remarkable fly orchid.
And yet another, the silent music of the fiddlenecks
Fiddles as if for the light-weight fairies.
And lastly not forgetting ofcourse
the sky-blue unforgettable forget-me-nots
A memorable bouquet but themselves devoid of memory.
Ah nature lover poets if you wish to view
more of flora in a fancy dress masquerade
Go ahead and flip through the pages of
a botanical, floral
horticultural
pictorial journal.
And see for yourself the fantastic flora's charade
or else imagine them dressed as a floral renegade!
Categories:
jutting, abuse, environment, flower, garden,
Form:
Personification
strange it was there just the other day
hanging about as usual,
reminding me in my mirrored image
of my definite femininity
now gone, am I less of a woman?
will you look at me differently,
or strangely as I do myself?
I never really gave it much thought before
of how things come in pairs
how lonely one would be without the other
how misshaped one appears,
no longer jutting forward,
proclaiming sensuality
thrusting into the limelight,
now scars and a flattened ego,
fill my robe, bras useless without stuffing
men, look at me in horror,
women in shock and pity
and with gratitude, yes that it is not them
my left breast is missing
no not missing, taken, stolen...
it was just a lump a few weeks ago
a tiny pea shaped knob,
that hid its cancerous intentions
so very well, yet lay in silence waiting
to steal away that part of me
that defined who I was
what purpose I served in society
am I still a woman, a sexual being?
I'm not sure, my right breast thinks so
but yearns for its mate,
the image in the mirror just doesn't seem right
unequal in its proportions, glaringly lopsided
my left breast is gone, surgically removed
I can still hear its scream
Categories:
jutting, introspection, life, loss, sad,
Form:
Free verse
it's morning again;
i watched the sun yawn across the sky
making its way to my window
but the stars were still in your eyes
and last night's dew, still fresh
as i laid in your arms wanting more
wanting anything but a new day.
i always hated good-byes;
arms locked tightly around one another
lips pressing firmly while tired tongues whispered
"i love you" over and over again
but the hands of time never held still
and we'd start to part, then repeat the process
over and over again holding what we could from night
but day always dressed us
moved us along
left us standing alone.
i saw lover's leap;
it was this big rocky cliff
jutting out of the side of a mountain
and i settled deep in my own thoughts,
i'd like to climb it,
before sunrise,
when the stars are still fresh in your eyes
and the dew still wet between us,
kiss you,
close my eyes
and whisper "i love you"
over and over again
without having to say good-bye.
Categories:
jutting, love,
Form:
Free verse
cascading
over jutting rocks
the melodious water
of salvation
cleanses my soul
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Placed 1st in Brian Strand's
Pick A Contest (April 2020)
© 29th February 2020
Categories:
jutting, metaphor, water,
Form:
Tanka
It would be a wondrous thing
If I chanced to see
Unicorns of ocean deep
Swimming nearby me.
Each one with a spiraled tusk
Jutting from its jaw,
Swimming round about me; oh,
I would be in awe!
Clicking, squealing, whistling,
Swimming in their pod.
If I tried to join their group,
Would that seem too odd?
I could try to click at them
With my little tongue.
If I whistled, would they think
Songs were being sung?
Swimming with some narwhals though -
It will never be.
For I’d freeze so deep beneath
That cold Arctic Sea!
Written 10/9/15 in the 7/5 Trochee form for the Narwhal Contest of Skat
Categories:
jutting, animal,
Form:
Quatrain
A pond sits in the glen
bright fish dashing about
casting silvery shadows
ducks chasing after them
eels making their way to sea
flying birds circling back and forth
green frogs croaking for a mate
herons gobbling them up
in the depths a pike floats
jutting out its pointed head
keeping hidden as it prowls
lurking between the rotting logs
minnows swim by unharmed in shoals
newts eagerly snapping them up
out in the reeds lays up a catfish
playing dead it patiently waits
quick to react to its prey
reaping the bounties little fry snack
sticklebacks swim lazily through reed beds
trout leaping catching fly's and midgets
under the calm waters life abounds
vivid rainbow trout spawn
while the blue waters thrive
xanthine filled plants floating
yellowfin cutthroat trout dart by and
zander perch fill a fisherman's net
Categories:
jutting, fish,
Form:
Abecedarian
Unlike the number one which stands as one straight line,
the number I am thinking of supports three other lines on top of it,
and these three other lines are also straight.
We see no curving lines like which appear in numbers
zero, two, three, five , nine, and in double-bubble eight!
Number seven has one short line jutting from its tall leg,
but the number I am thinking of
on just one leg is balancing three lines of equal length,
which if you were to finish them off, would form a perfect square.
Fair and square, this number means stability.
It’s safety, security and strength.
How strong is its foundation to offer the calmness
we would find inside the walls of our own homes!
Embodying the number of those things we most depend on -
our seasons, our directons, and the elements -
how special is this number I describe.
A number of spirituality too, it stands unique among
the single-digit numbers.
Feb. 10, 2020
For Juliet Ligon's What's in a Number Poetry Contest
Categories:
jutting, math,
Form:
Free verse
~ As early nightfall tousles my hair prism light,
the alchemy of a ceremonial parade begins
in this panel of a forest like a mystic scene
~ fondling my skin…jutting from nowhere,
a relay of tigers and flamingos swivel
on glowing shafts in the pale dark ... I freeze.
Some quick time frames away, the jungle rises
with raw stirrings of wildlife; an explosion
~ from a world curving a zebra's flowing movement
of unrehearsed art, of twilight spontaneity
~ oh so blind to human, mental gazes;
they slide away from such calculated moments as
.~ my body enters their changing symmetry
collapsing in mindless trance that nothing
from my eyes is ever hidden, not even the low
gushing in my breath… I shut my lids to memorize
the anatomy of their kind faces, those rising limbs
simply estranged from rehearsed gaiety.
And I seize their impressions defying the seeming
~ cramps of man’s robotic strides;
yet, i cannot hold them inside this head’s waves
~ of memory , consumed with the grace displayed
by creatures’ unbridled rites to its gods…
I become the humble slave of divine beasts.
`~ ~ ~ ~``
*from my journal about a night safari in Singapore
for Debbie Guzzi's Etcetera by nette onclaud
Categories:
jutting, body, inspirational, mystery,
Form:
Free verse
The Mighty One
(A Description of “Scene du deluge”)
He straddles jutting rocks beneath a pall
of sky. Beneath is swirling water, and
the crooked arm of one lone tree is all
he’s found to cling to with his left curled hand.
An older man, who also grasps the tree,
upon the young man’s sturdy back is borne.
His legs are dangling. Awful weight is he
for him who stands exposed, his clothing torn.
His wife hangs from his other hand. One breast
is clutched by her small babe, and from her strains
another child to keep from dark waves’ crest.
The burden of them all - one man sustains!
Can he, mere mortal, thwart their cruel demise?
Stark terror holds the answer in his eyes.
**Many years ago I visited the Louvre, and there I beheld a picture by Girodet of the romantic
era . This painting stood out for me because of its depiction of a family in such huge peril
that they were totally dependant on one man and only his strength could save them all. If
you copy and paste this link, I hope you might see this stunning picture. The picture's name
translates to "Scene of a Flood"
http://www.postershop.com/Girodet-De-Roussy-Trioson-Anne-Louis/Girodet-De-Roussy-
Trioson-Anne-Louis-Scene-De-Deluge-1165956.html
Categories:
jutting, natural disasters
Form:
Ekphrasis
A déjà vu? What can I say?
I know the track so well.
It is so dark yet treacherous.
I am not afraid. Careful, here is a curve,
it almost turns onto itself.
An old oak tree stands there,
just off the corner. I can smell
its delicious odour or feel
its sturdy trunk, its cracked bark.
I hear the lower heavy branches
swinging slowly in the breeze.
Watch out, there's a ditch there,
dank water, that smells like drains.
And just before it a small jutting rock
that can easily help you tumble
into the murky stinking place.
Walk on, do not mind the dark
nor the screech of the nightly owl,
just mind where you step
for the ground is quite treacherous here.
It's not far now. Hear the dog
on guard, barking its warning.
Not to worry, it knows me all too well
although I cannot see it.
How can I? I'm blind.
Categories:
jutting, senses,
Form:
Free verse
I heard a story once about people up north.
Where there’s long days and long winters
And the snow piles higher than houses.
They hunt wolves in winter,
Finding ways to do it safely.
Horrific and brilliant methods.
Take a knife and dip it in blood
Freeze the blood on the blade,
Do this over and over
Ten times over.
Until the blade is deep beneath a thick coat
A winter coat of deepest red.
Leave it in the open blade pointing up
Saluting the sky
Taking a bow before the grand performance
The great seduction of the beast.
Curiosity can be wonderful,
Curiosity can be devastating.
A hint on the wind
And the scent makes itself at home
Amongst happy memories
Eating dinner with family.
You come out of the trail
Seeing this small tower of red
Amidst this ocean of white,
You remember this shade of red.
It wasn’t the first lick that killed you
But it sealed your fate to be sure.
Those that live by the sword die by the sword
Those that thirst for blood drown in their own.
Niceties we say to excuse our guilt,
You never stood a chance against this trap
It looks like food
It smells like food
And it even tastes like food.
Your tongue swarms into every crevice
Made by the swirling vapours
Of your hot breath excited
Panting with desire and hunger.
You lick and lick and lick
And endless fountain of your favourite flavour
You denied yourself nothing.
The blood just kept coming,
First from the frozen blood
Thawed by your warmth,
But then it switched and you didn’t notice.
Did you?
Can’t pinpoint the second but sometime
Your tongue met the steel
Blood now spouting from many sources
And you swear it’s the best day you’ve ever had.
You died in a garden painted red,
By the fleshy brush jutting forth
From your strong jaws
Bathed in your own paint.
I just listened to the story,
Dumbstruck.
I’ve never understood
A wild animal better than now,
I’ve been betrayed
By my longings too.
Curiosity can be wonderful,
Curiosity can be devastating.
Categories:
jutting, faith, inspirational, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Mocking the dead,
the vampire on the hill, high
above the cityscape. Why
does his cloak wrap around?
It moves with a hissing sound,
blackened on the outside,
blue on the molten graveside.
Sharpening incisors on the crag,
but
the villagers with their worn rags
tight fisted with their goodly lights -
those lanterns, infused with salt
of garlic, compelled forward in the dead
of night. Mockers and murderers, fed
by rage, want to dispel the wine and bread.
Hell,
the strangulation of fire, lava rolling
down the hill. Mocking, laughter -
the shivering of the old church rafters.
The reborn, new creation, settled
on roof-blowing praise. Nettled,
old Nick, the vampire king unsettled.
Mocking the dead,
making his own bed, jutting at jugulars,
darkening the atmosphere, drawing
congregants, unholy. But, someone holy
has his heels on the vampire’s head.
He’s been banished…dead heads’ rolling.
The glorious light of the lamb, consoling.
Categories:
jutting, dark,
Form:
Verse