Best Lake Poems
I wander far from the coal-tar smog
and buzzing sounds of the city
to a place where I can smell
fresh-cut hay in a tepid breeze.
I stroll through a woodland path
winding its way along evergreen trees.
Like a silver-lime leaf my heart
settles in Willington waters
I know I belong to the lake.
In distance white butterflies follow
the whistling tunes of an old railway train.
Infront of me set sail long canal boats
Behind me dogs bark,men walk
A grey-haired lady stirs crystals of sugar
in bone-china cups filled with english tetley tea.
The out-stretched arms of dandelions
welcome home foraging honey-bees
A Peak District Chalet in the little mountain village
awaits my return,my forgotten pen
and new sunset dreams
Inspired by my last trip to England.
Daffodil majorettes lead the spring parade
Mom fox had lured out a reluctant kit
Verdant grasses are growing lovely shade
For dainty dulcet purple violet
Gentle nurturing rain from day or two
Coaxes her lace lilac to gently wake
Meadow rainbow chiffon a lovely hue.
Faerie-felt awe surrounds beautiful lake.
Carpet of tulips arrive on the scene.
Growth can be felt every hour or two.
Resurrection of weeds, not being mean.
Cyclical magic for me and for you.
The woodlands, the meadow, the lake and the dale.
Rebirth of spring yearly, without fail.
Written Feb 24, 2019
Contest: Springtime Rebirth
Sponsor: John Hamilton
glass-like smooth of even's yawn
just I, myself, with one cob swan
trace cursive paths upon the lake
for we’re both OF the earth, not on
so sets the sun to blow a kiss -
in hushed glissades of feral bliss
cleaving surface - gentle wakes
o surely heaven’s much like this
swan and I, we share these eves
in feathered white tuxedo sleeves
he follows while I row the skiff -
my chaperon as daylight leaves
I think perhaps he's lonely, too
a-searching for a soul-mate who
shares his love of blushing skies
and parting mirrored lakes anew
the water's darkened interludes
reflect both images and moods
hopes we held of love this morn
are put to bed as day concludes
ere we meet when dusk is drawn
I’ll say a prayer that he'll be gone
that one of us shall find true love ...
for we’re both OF the earth, not on.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 9" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 3rd Place ~ the "Beauty Of Solitude" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Your Choice (7), Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Just as bees squeeze like watermelon seeds
Spit across apricot fields
My wife and I on Friday
Join the lines of highways up north
Pulled by hilltops to the Leelanau blue sky
Where lakes stir in the wind at the citrus rims
Of wine valleys below
And cherry orchards blossom in row after row
Like sheets of cupcakes spiraled with frosting.
Tonight we will sit tight around our lakeside fire
As petals closed upon this blaze of flower
With a Loon trilling her flute of bones
To the stars salted across the night
And voices bump from shore to shore
Murmurs softened beyond repair
The cabins flickering to a second life
In a fuse of fire lit around our lake
A tradition. We stop the car a ways away
From my mom and dad’s cabin
And let out our kids on the shoulder of road
To run like deer the final half mile.
Swans so gracefully gliding o'er lake
Delightful scenery they create
Dressed all in white feather finery
True beauties of the lake dynasty.
Falling in love with love forever
Swan mates dance on water together
Singing a swan lake song as they roam
The glorious lake they've made their home.
When swans in love kiss with a beak peck
A heart shape appears betwixt their necks
A smaller vision between the eyes
Romanticism in lake's paradise.
Swans raise their precious baby cygnets
Till they've grown to become strong and fit
Off to their own world they glide away
The circle of life in a relay.
Elegant they live, with poise they die
On angelic wings away they fly
Then when they've entered through heaven's gate
Swans will sage nirvana with lake sate.
The Lake of Charity
The hill stood tall and stately,
Wind soughed through its sparse trees.
Below a lake spread, at times calm,
At times quite horribly stormy.
He knelt in meditation and asked for:
Prayer, the source of renewal,
Patience, the capacity for tolerance,
Pardon, a grant of friendship.
Three rivers flowed down the hill
and joined together as they swirled rapidly
towards a cascade of heavenly mercy.
Remember O man, that the name of that hill,
Never forgotten, is called Golgotha.
The waters irrigate our devious hearts
And change it into a lake of charity.
swan lake
a feather falls
silently
Not sure what it is
about this land
that grabs you
but I was grabbed
long ago.
Trip ends today,
last night I stayed up late,
sipping remaining whisky
as the red sun set
neath hill's dark shoulders.
Crisp morning
up before six
lake like glass
rustle up the fire
and make coffee.
Rest of camp
sound asleep
so I solo
cast the back bay
release a hammer handle
then troll the north shore
into a freshening wind
nothing.
Move out
to deeper water
perhaps a morning walleye
but the wind’s up,
and the sparkling sun
puts fish down
still nothing.
End of lake
head back
cast the shoreline
snag a bush
retrieve the lure
test line – it snaps.
Retie, change lures,
Tom got a good fish
in these narrows
but today
nothing.
Ignore my watch,
change to a deeper lure
last point, a satisfying tug
good pike – strong fish
open water, use net
she’s mine.
Paddle back to camp
with fresh fillets for home
and memories
of when the lake
and I were one.
Finally, as afternoon sun splayed
through the picture window
onto wood floor and last pieces of furniture,
I packed that summer on the lake
into a box, mitering indigo corners
between squares of bubble wrap,
ripples appliqued with lilac jacaranda blooms
blown on the water.
Kids would leave for college and grandparents died,
but that year bees hovered in marigolds and violet alyssum.
The moon's marshmallow singed umber, impaled on a hanger
over golden flames. Dawn's opalescence would flicker
in pale aquamarine, receding shadows uncovering
beads of cerulean icing and pink lemonade shimmering
on shamrock and juniper.
Tiers of skinned knees and runny noses now framed
by cardboard and plastic were stacked like red velvet cake
atop a knotty pine picnic table as terns called in the distance,
then sealed with oak and concrete of our final day as we cannon-balled
off dock's end like it was the last thing we'd ever do.
Spring sneaks through our path in the wake of
hints still left from winter. Snow white pillows have been shoved
and scattered. Timeless treasures of floral engagement blooms,
earthy perfume plants still entering into our world.
Twill nightfall's and an ocean of abstract wildlife
settle for the night or feed under the moonlight.
The early starlet sun rises with hints of scarlet blush
and the pop warmth of tangerine glowing gloss.
I crawled out of my warm sleeping bag and small tent
reborn from a good night's sleep; into a picturesque
cool, and crisp morning on the craters rim
to a view of the cobalt blue lake and hot spring.
12/26/2018
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A poem lifted from my lifes delightful memoirs in jubilations
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Beauties virginal night lost within, my lipstick loves, coronation ~
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* “An Excerpt, From Page 69” *
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"...And then she spread amid her desires, my soft yet burning thighs
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Clutching unto her flowing locks tightly, as I closed my loving eyes*
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Lingering upon my wet lips her very own; ecstasies design ~
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Squeezing my breast as I moaned she entered, our destiny defined..."
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“Amid Raptures, Lava Lake of Love.”
* “Dedicated * Unto All of The Beautiful Girls In The World.” *
Unruffled beauties
float in boats rowed by their beaus
one warm Georgia day.
With fragile paper-white hands,
they fold their fans at twilight.
For the One New or Old Tanka Poetry Contest of Rick Parise
tongue tied
the bell on the sunken ship
relives the trauma
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: Sing Me a Senryu
Sponsor: Maureen McGreavy
Inspired by the song:
“The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" by Gordon Lightfoot
https://youtu.be/9vST6hVRj2A?t=3
Placed 2nd
My legs ran fast; my back was strong
those sunny days when life seemed long
and whispered possibility!
A loon far off was mocking me.
Instinctively, I took a road
and asked few questions as I strode.
But as I moved along carefree,
a loon somewhere was mocking me.
While strolling on, I did not stray
far from the path along my way,
found neither fame nor infamy. . . .
but one lone loon kept mocking me.
I felt my body, like a length
of relic fabric, losing strength,
and as it tattered, I could see
the loon that had been mocking me!
It’s now with care and with some dread
I tread to where there waits ahead
the lake that mirrors destiny. . .
That lone and mocking loon is me.
From July, 2010
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 19 Poetry Contest
" In titanium haze of love,
truth is but a mere lie,
never unlocking gold vaults
of feelings, for,
honesty weeps somewhere
in perfumed odes of
inkless pages,
hidden in our forlorn fate..."
If twilight roses were
reincarnated angels,
they would carve
a zillion destinies
with feathered letters,
flickering beneath
butterfly glitters,
adhering glossy
wings of rosemary,
like a balm to
invisible scars
and encasing
my soul in a
hundred hues
of blood.
But, I never knew,
the secrets of
nebulous-cloaked
vengeance which
infused in
nightingale's
forevermore fortunes,
echoing eerie whispers
in elora moors of
scarlet jasmines,
at the jinx of
midnight's omen;
for thou emerged
as a lover in
ninety-nine novels,
but a guised
killer in the
farewell fantasy.
As I float by,
in the swan lake,
losing myself to thee,
I wish upon
defrosting your eyes,
that got submerged
beneath icebergs
of betraying harbinger
and bleed my soul
in frosted heart's
snow-sealed
milky ways,
as these flaked
clayey leaf
pamphlets of
sakura scents
aren't enough
to erase thy
fingerprints from this
poisoned chalice,
that sung sinful
serenades in
deadly paradise
of Eurydice
and sliced my spirit
to sooty shreds,
in this diamond dungeon
behind sage valleys.
Laced in
ash grey lies,
I'm a corpse
enveloped in
crimson croons
of confetti,
whilst lips
soak acrylic
dewdrops of
melting roses,
that once
blanketed our
eden in the
arms of heaven,
with starlit petals.
So, as Nymph,
in the orisons,
with hemlock
fused heart,
be all my sins
remembered.
For, love is a
smoke raised
with the fume
of sighs, demising
to sacrificed
meadows, where,
this kismet tale
departs in the
very ecstacy
of cradling mist,
and thus,
with disoriented
twilight's kiss, I die.