Best Lattices Poems
Farther than mantles of a pewter night,
Comets reel in their own immeasurable world
Past earth's sky, gloaming through lattices
Woven by celestial bands... a grandeur
From a multiverse illumined with other heavenly forms
Like asteroids unknown to human eyes, mirrored
Only in a roulette of divine Infinity : Out there,
With the bursting spiral from gas, fire, molten rocks
Twirls a dreamy carouse within a hub of Life Source.
My heart aches to greet them beyond zone's limit
In star-studded cast of aureoles...a poetry in motion,
Which alights into Borealis songs, their haunting lore.
And through sacred Mystery , I connect with this force
Designed by one Galactic handiwork-- moons, stars
planets circling around Milky Way, ever vibrant...
And to bestow a natural pace
of night and day,
Season upon season, I see myself as one
With creation reaching ---out for God's light.
...............
Re-post 6/28/2019
Contest of John Hamilton: Best Free Verse 2019
Originally written 2/20/2019
Categories:
lattices, creation, world,
Form:
Free verse
My spent colors still speak with my environment
Gray frost seeking a golden sun however little
Dulcet sounds if any come out of this interaction
When words like birds come and take seat in joy
From the lattices of thought is born a poetic line
The lines seek dance of words in melodic intellect
Flashes of suggestion through forms and colours
Movement of phrases for an impression of life
In a definite language in which the poet lives
The lines get together in cohesion to sit in a stanza
Whether in rhyme or in prose matters little
The stanzas love the light and shade of poetry
Even when you say: your touch in the bread
Exudes an warmth this morning, sweet heart
I’m glad that like the stars you’ve excused me
The guitar has to strum in voices of modernity
Instead of saying violence now we say swords
For love you the modern prefer pink whisper
Dream you say is weak and need replacement
I look for shapes which have blurred by now
As I write this my grandson plays with a blue ball
Stripes of sun and starlight raising ripples in air
That meets the happy birds flying towards it
Leaving the yellow and red mango tree in summer
For another taste from another tree in the vicinity
However strongly you plead for prose in poems
The fact remains that we live in a prosaic world
Of cut glass rat race fat loss suicide bombers
And for a lemon shadow in a melancholy corner
We obviously look for poems and not prose
_____________________________________________
31 May 2017
Categories:
lattices, guitar, life, metaphor, poems,
Form:
Free verse
A rainy night's walk: the street lights are gleaming
a dream's fluorescence in obsidian sky.
Halogen wishes are far away beaming
illumined teardrops that I refuse to cry.
All windows are dark, their silence is screaming.
Ebony trees are stiff guardians nearby.
The sidewalk in charcoal is colder than rock,
my constant companion on this midnight walk.
Low raven hedges are barriers of leaf,
marking the boundaries of family pride.
Lattices of flowers shield lifetimes of grief,
the shadowy bars that keep secrets inside.
My house is one lighted; it's my true belief
that yellows and peaches push sadness aside.
I see my porch light in distant resplendence,
a shining white angel's bright incandescence.
9th Place
Form R Contest
7/7/17
Categories:
lattices, home, imagery, loneliness, night,
Form:
Rispetto
It was just an old ravish smile
that caused me alarm,
when all those years ago you first
resonated within my chronic confusion.
I thought you were my father
back from the dead,
remembering he was never slow in
creating lattices of fabrication either.
After what seems an eon it is
so strange meeting you again,
the wallpaper as changed
yet here you are,
with your haunting ravish smile
invading my affliction, which
just ambles on, till once more I feel
the warmth of wellness.
© Harry J Horsman 2020
Categories:
lattices, angst,
Form:
Free verse
Hearken to my call, Sweetheart,
beneath the stellar windowpane -
the garden of the fairy child’s refrain.
A white foam sea of lattices part
the way, leading to the gloam
of sylvan green - grass blushing
against our tender toes, that roam,
with happily ever laughter, crushing
burgeoning hearts, that burn for me
or him, or just our love that lasts forever.
The censor’s forgotten too pure flesh -
two that kid and splash, refresh.
And after cool has touched the dawn,
softly reflected diamond-light and song,
your brunette’s hair on your strong shoulder
your doe serenaded in sunswept throng.
12/27/2019
Categories:
lattices, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Illustrated delicately across the page,
Are imprints and collage of poetic verses
Which flicker with the air-brushed strokes of life—
That from my very essence they need to fly ,
Transporting me to mystical hemispheres
As dips of imagination bleed upon endless hours,
Soaked in the glimmer of fireflies, ponds, lanterns:
Within this vivid mind, I allow a crescent moon
This pleasure, this spill of art’s radiance,
To glimmer through a moistened quill
Just how these drawn hands first began, inspired…
O my thoughts drifting into night's allure
On a parchment cast through lattices of sky,
As images rustle unfearingly, upstream!
------------
8/19/2019
Joseph May's One In Four Contest
Line #4
Categories:
lattices, imagery, writing,
Form:
Ekphrasis
Ashes of humanity
Scattered and lingered in hearts of purity
Hallowed and spirited within the psyche of infinity
Weaving with man's joy and sorrows
Entwined with lattices of honey yellows
Drifting in clouds of human form
Numeric and linguistic crypts of cuneiform
Endearing are thoughts and words, not jive
Sprinkled ashes etched on books of archive
Doors that opened to human interest
All come alive in ashes, blots and dearest
Your ash is the strength, honor of the fittest
Categories:
lattices, spiritual,
Form:
Acrostic
Delicate Verses
Memories choke me; leaves me silent,
yet for loves sake and nothing less
than
to confess it... I open up my soul to
scribe you in metaphors that I can
taste, touch; but alas the tears fall
like bleeding rain staining these
empty pages before I can lay
down my heart. So when
the stars are weeping, I
plant dreams of you
and I as forget me
nots;
face pressed tight peering
through taffeta tattered
lattices, perchance to
catch a glimpse of
a love that once
bloomed.
~
I record the most fragile parts of us
in verses that flow, and form our
completion; soothing sonnets
uninhibited and unbound,
trickling from my pen held
hand. Mad words, sad
words, love words,
darkly risen words;
Poetry inspired
by a muse that
bears your
name;
Pleasure
and Pain.
Categories:
lattices, love, nostalgia, sad, love,
Form:
Free verse
Prime….
How can you shape your life?
If there are no prime in nature then how can step in lawfully.
If you had no keys to door that grand then how you can come in.
Innings have ways and tricks.
Labors of loves have laugh at last.
Words are lace works and forces are means.
With no lattices draw in red then there are no blue.
Babe blues are sets of moods.
Life propositions are loves and wealth.
Physiology all are may be normal as shaped.
All across the boards are buys and sells.
Buy me but no sell me.
Who look up to china commie and who just look up to loose cannons.
Life that made as FRAUST would be living hard devices and lame questions for life.
What are news?
As china commies black out our worlds or acting about with laws that bad or with hearts that false.
To be primed to do our propositions must be good but lured.
Lusts are sexes.
Who play a trick or pull a stunt.
Genes of deer could be horses in case of fake syllogism and china tyrant dictators’ means of words and literary persecutions.
Can fetus be conceived by men?
Of courses but there are china forced abortions and men torments both.
What is true that resemble prime?
-----------Cheung Shun Sang=Cauchy3------------
Categories:
lattices, change,
Form:
ABC
THE AIR-OCEAN’S PLANKTON
Snow falls like icy ocean-plankton. The air swarms
With their immense unsullied nebulae swirling in waves,
Tiny immaculate individuals in an innumerable host,
A silver-ivory myriad to be harvested.
Trees taking gulps of air-plankton, great chunks of airy snow,
Stretch lattices of arms and hands skyward to catch them,
Each numb finger and thumb laden to the very nail
With its neat impeccable pile of alabaster fishlets.
Sky-net filigrees, their great interstices seafoamed,
Filled with unblemished air-fish, blank white plankton:
The trees overfill every empty arm with the light white host:
Like women grasp fleamarket bargain necklaces of pearls.
Categories:
lattices, allegory
Form:
Free verse
Ah, what beauty around!
This day began deliberately.
Even the sky and river Neva have a same a blue colour.
Between them domes fly,
and a thin steeple rises
with a little gold ship at the top.
In the Smolny Cathedral,
the bells whisper.
On the Gulf, calm and silence prevails.
I see unearthly beauty
in the lacy lattices of fencings;
lanterns guard bridges for you,
my St. Petersburg-Leningrad!
Here, palaces have stretched wings.
Here are fountains, as if a mirage.
The architects and masters
of the different countries and epochs
have constructed the Hermitage
next to the Neva.
Delightful cathedrals,
and the most elegant Summer Garden.
This proud facade of city is the fruit of a talent,
the tears and the loving of them.
Stone lions and sphinxes sit observing the Neva.
They look mysterious, even strict,
as if they store secrets and the past of my city
in these restless, difficult days.
I see Nevsky Prospekt in flood of lights,
and the Summer Garden - the SILENCE lives there!
I see for a window of my love and memory
So many different, beautiful days!
Categories:
lattices, art, history, nostalgia, places,
Form:
Lyric
I am The Artiste.
I draws lines by cutting carcasses, among other things.
I am the crazed dancer, down pouring a diaspora of red essence and entrails as I sporadically spin.
I am the antagonist; the anti-hero jester with a ricin covered knife.
It’s poisoned point thrusted through regal robes; to rest in the fief, flesh and fealty of the king and his knights.
Making a mosaic of the martyred by combat and tactical subterfuge; again and again enacting battles of attrition.
Each successive version of ourselves adjacent to the next, compartmentalized in seclusive panoramic positions held together by Gravitons.
Vacuumed by a stretched string in infinite dimensions; making an Omni-vector to temper the fool.
Ah but I am the axiom of chaotic-kinetic dynamism; I distort lattices and break symmetry.
I am the Goldstone boson & Majorana fermion, I am the Tachyon.
I command my Pions to intersect and form a Rho.
Regimented in units, they leer over fortified Dirac and Neumann boundaries.
A coalition of rebellious Quasi-patrons; under siege by Gauge Synchronicities and Eigenstates.
But I am still my own worst enemy; myself and my anti-self.
When living in a world reborn on God’s Sword & Shield, many of us are left on edge and apprehensive; but we will always die in God’s heart.
From there after our remains are gestated; by the womb of empty space & silence, the true Matriarch Mother of skies.
Categories:
lattices, anger, conflict, creation, loneliness,
Form:
Free verse
The alluring morning mail
Blue cover and red letters
Those smiling peacock feathers
Alas, I'm fettered
Red breasted Robins ruffle
My waters, psychic scuffle
Defiant windows won't shut
My ripples seek shores
The lark is somewhat restless
Greed glistens in the diamonds
Of my restive lattices
The mail overwhelmed
No, no more fetters today
Some way I have to make hay
Lovely mails in golden braids
Poems in fountain
I have to scale the high wall
The surge is growing quite tall
There has to be a jail break
Embrace the red breast
_______________________________________
1/11/2016
Categories:
lattices, bird, dream, imagery, metaphor,
Form:
Dodoitsu
At our home, in Rio and Rome, let morning come
In tattered twilight twin towers tumbling down
Beech Birch Banyan Neem being brought down
Your moon pales in homeless premonition
Let our madness calm, let morning come
Dark too much cumbersome let morning come
On the bank of Tigris a little boy plans to take up the guns
To no end, for no rose. Let morning come
Our habits, our rabbits, make them less unwholesome
Through the lattices in the wall, let morning come
________________________________________________________
18/9/2016
Note: Neem is a tree in the Mahogany family native to Indian subcontinent.
Categories:
lattices, dream, metaphor, morning,
Form:
Verse
WordScape Triptych #1
Coming from the Underworld as a ghost, just sauntering out of the depths like you did;
With all the rest of us just watching and wondering what you were going to say;
Tell us young Beatrice what shavings you encountered in your intrepid sojourns;
Regale us with splendid tales, and grand dishes with squid meat and fried barnacles;
Intrigue us with your newly-learned dances taught by dead men beneath the grasses.
Manipulate us with your pouting grimaces when sad phrases turn inward the head screws;
Sweet Beatrice, there is no relief or recourse from these exacting heart exercises;
These time-stopping surrenders to the moist touches of absolute skin arousals.
Please lovely Dulcinea, guide us to the far-away stones piled atop the ancient green expanses;
Where screaming armies once pondered mortality amidst the spreading proliferating weeds;
Soothe us with your tender eye gazes which shoot through the airy spaces with calm affinities;
Made immaculate with silent prayers and lifted legs around the shoulders of the nobilities.
Create us for your strange mansions and your strange universes made of chalk, and fingering fears;
These soothing squanderings of doubting time, and the strange splashings of forgetful mercies,
Made manifest with the urgings of the stones, and the apex gods with the sharp plastic crowns;
Please Dulcinea, sing to us with your tenor gyrations made of pickled stardust and squid meat.
And proffer for us, sweet sweet Laura, your lilting songs celebrating the recurring exhalations;
From the lips of bearded nomads coming like leopards across the squared-faced, death vistas;
Expose to us your battle-scarred appendages where bleeding arrows found the stringed lattices;
Reveal to us your arched spinal bridges which flatten and turn with the seeking wind shears;
Gather us, lovely Laura, to your immense home hidden in the spiral ferns for tea and secret games;
Teach us how to be present and aware of the artifices, as rendered woodenly by the blind gropers;
Yes, sweet sweet Laura, we are at your service, but finally, kill us, destroy and annihilate us,
With your slithering clandestine movements behind dripping tombstones in the snoring graveyards.
Categories:
lattices, poetry,
Form:
Free verse