Best Legend Poems
To the legend of silence
that speaks in trembling stillness
I’ve seen your halcyon halo~
that illuminates wilted weeds
and tilted tendrils
unfolding perfumed wings,
allowing sizzling seas of stardust to rise.
But something about the way
your soft skin caresses
my bruised bones,
ignites poetic sparks,
carving scarlet skies of fears
with luminous letters
and nomadic numbers.
Yet I, the mistress of metaphors,
remain hypnotized by the harlequin blades,
in your virtuous garden of butterfly serenades,
searching for a phrase to describe
the selflessness that you
portray,
through jasmine scented analogies.
I empathize with your locked-up tears,
cloaked discreetly beneath feathered sunsets,
for, in solitude, your soulful song soars,
unfolding sorcery from a symphonic tapestry of darkness,
like a broken bandit dressed in lion limbs,
walking through nocturnal nothingness.
I heard the soldier within you
shoulders heavy burdens~
as an aquamarine armored savior,
to the ones that long for petals of peonies~
that emanate healing through peridot gates of your midnight eyes.
Sometimes, I wonder, how you
stand so firm,
unmoved by the wicked winds,
carrying hail of heinous hymns,
unfolding your fingers to weave unerasable auroras
across greyest horizons,
enabling the blind a lilac ladder to the tangerine moon,
where flowers flourish like fairy-dust blossoms.
If only, you can see yourself,
through these words,
maybe then, you will realize,
your picturesque patience
and presence is enough to paint
every wrong right,
amidst the fickle fog against the sharpness of your sight,
I see you as the rainbow star that
sprinkles hope,
upon my anesthetized heart,
there I walk above lunar-kissed ripples,
embracing the empathetic silhouette of your tender twilight.
Tonight I’ll wear sage to sleep,
hug you from miles,
let memories of the sun that thawed wintry thoughts
be the lullaby,
as I look for you, astral waltzing,
to place my cheeks within your empyrean embrace,
where home is a feeling I find with you.
Who was that masked man?!?
Brian Williams, rides again.
He was in Amilia Earhart's plane;
even rode with the Dalton Gang.
The day the Titanic went down;
In the rescue boat when Rose was found.
He went on expeditions with Louis and Clark.
Once gave his seat to Rosa Parks.
He was actually the first man in space.
That shadow on the moon........ It's his face!
The earliest woman, they deemed to be
bones in the desert they named Lucy.
She was his niece, tho she drug her knuckles,
so he really is a monkey's uncle!
He walked miles and miles on the Trail of Tears;
wondered the desert with Hebrews for forty years.
He dated Cleopatra; drank wine with Moses;
gave the Queen of Sheba a camel and roses.
He's walked with Bigfoot in the hills;
been bitten by vampires, but magically heals.
He has had great adventures of every kind.
He's Brian Williams; a legend in his own mind.
Maybe I can be one of those news cast stars.
This is Arlene, reporting from mars........
Couldn't resist this little tribute to the wild stories of reporter Brian Williams who was fired for seemingly padding up his stories....
William Bonny AKA Billy The Kid
A Tale Of Billy The Kid
By Robert Gorelick
“Quien esta?”
Bang! It’s over,
you’re a legend now,
Billy.
Born in Hell’s Kitchen in
ramshackle consumptive squalor,
New York’s crammed gang infected
rat-infested shacks
and alleys.
Amid the iniquitous stench
of rot and the soul’s decay,
in a nation at war,
pulling, stretching, ripping
to shreds the frayed fabric
of its precarious union.
An abused juvenile fleeing west
emerging from the muck
to where a soul and body
may heal, breathe deeply,
expand.
At last—life
New Mexico territory spreads open
and wide, easy to be seduced by cynical
range-war ranchers’ welcome greetings
they pay you well for
every cattle rustled,
then desert you as you flee the
sheriff’s posse.
“Quien esta?”
With a concealed knife
you stab a drunken gambler,
self-defense is no excuse
as the ruffian had
important friends.
You’re set to hang, Billy
in a daring display
you shoot your way out,
steal a horse and gallop
off to your woodland
shanty.
Midnight, your shack’s pitch dark,
there’s breathing nearby,
your Mexican novia?
Why doesn’t she speak?
“Quien esta?”
Bang. Pat Garrett guns
you down.
A throw away kid from big city squalor,
becomes a legend of the wild west.
You’re a legend, Billy
1/8/23
Metrical Tale Contest
Sponsor: Hilo Poet
*Murder most foul. Rod Serling, Stephen King or Ellery Queen?
Picturesque place on the edge of nowhere, small town American life.
Suddenly subject to media glare, reports of the mayor's missing wife!
Search parties, rescuers, all on the scene with rumors of mischief afoot.
People keep asking, "What does it all mean?" Some lock their doors and stay put.
“Over here,” someone yells, as a spotted owl hoots, “There’s something here under the brush."
The ground shakes and rumbles heavy with boots, the now gathered crowd in a hush.
As I cower in fear and stare at the scene, the victim's head's there on the ground.
The body is searched for until it is clear, they'd covered the whole flippin' town.
The mayor of the burg remarries so soon, suspicion’s on everyone's mind.
But with nary a witness except for the moon, the law stops pursuing in time. Ten years have passed and the story's still told, the horror of what we had seen. I was a kid just eleven years old, yet the images still haunt my dreams.
To this very day I've never gone back, avoiding those woods at all cost. Something transpired unholy and black, our innocence on that day was lost.
But what they don't know and perhaps never will, is the way that my stepmother died. With hatchet in hand and a thrill for the kill I swung true, and never once cried. Eleven I was and a daddy's girl too, together we made such a team. And I'm happy to say, no one has a clue- as for me, I'm livin' the dream. And if you should ask where the body's been hid, I'll tell you, but don't tell a soul...
From the moment I heard about your myth,
I searched for the legend of your soft lips.
I wandered like a bewildered wordsmith,
confused if such elegance did exist.
I became a pilgrim of devotion,
roaming paths to oceans for just one glimpse.
Struggling to express this rare emotion,
I kept hope you would end my unloved jinx.
Upon a balcony facing the shore,
I saw a celestial sight of patience.
Before I could find the way to your door,
I became lost in a maze of silence.
Timid tongue was stubborn with resistance,
as you disappeared into the distance.
bewildered wordsmith
express this rare emotion
end my unloved jinx
a celestial sight of patience - legend of your soft lips did exist
LEGEND
we are all legends no matter who we are
cruising, and confusing ENIGMA to bizarre
I am a legend, no need to be a star
I am a legend ,with no need to travel far
In and out like the sun
I am a legend, I' m not the only one
living this world with one quick run
we are still a legend, we control the gun
drinking all the water from the dam
drowning in a lake is what i dram
a legend I made the river where I swam
after drinking the water from the lamb
legend when our hearts are lost in the ground
legend we become when we are found
legend we are all destine to bound
legend by the weight of the smallest pound
legend down to the bone
legend even when you're alone
a legend does not always carry a nice tone
a legend is your name engraved in the stone
by : p.d.
During a wintry storm in Newfoundland
A very pregnant mom went into labour
All on board died when ambulance crashed
The fate of that night was in no one's favor
When others finally arrived on the ghastly scene
They discovered mother's stomach was ripped apart
Not from the outside in, but from the inside out
Claw marks to get out chilled everyone's heart
In the freshly fallen snow distinctive tracks were found
Of tiny webbed newborn baby hands and feet
Grew to be known as Webber living deep in the woods
Coming out after dark to devour children as a treat.
As a child I was warned regularly to be home before dark
The fear of being eaten , I did not have to be told twice
I truly believe that my mother and grandma thought this to be true
Snuggled safely at home before twilight was sound advice
March 4, 2020
-~For Favorite Legends Poetry Contest ~
~ Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke ~
"Of two sisters, I was the follower and she was the adventurer."
Quote by _ Constance
Suzanne, leads me
to her place in the cemetery
and I can hear the night sighing
I want to stay with her
Oh, you may think me crazy
but I will miss my sister forever
I wish we could drink tea like our yesterdays
green tea all the way from China in fancy cups
I tell her how much I love her still
but have brought no flowers in this dream
and she lets the sparkling stars answer
whispering I will always love you too
and I want to kiss and hug her
for she is my legend and my hero
she is my sister love
Suzanne, was an adventurer
one day we climbed a snow mountain
we stood so proud from our high tower
surveying our kingdom
and then we were slipping
and she let go of my hand, falling
sliding off the mountain of snow
I screamed her name over and over
as a sea of snow crashed down
leaving her broken below
and my life would never be the same
she had let go of my hand to save me
as she sank like a stone
oh, how many times I have wished to die
and I want to kiss and hug her
for she is my legend and my hero
she is my sister love
Suzanne, is floating
and is leading me to the cemetery gate
she is wearing a pretty dress
bought from a thrift store for her funeral
and the moon shines down like honey
as we move in silence
past the praying angel statues
headstones and decaying flowers
oh, she saved me that day
when we were just children playing
sisters who loved each other so much
and will forever and evermore
Suzanne holds the gate open for me in this dream
and I want to kiss and hug her
for she is my legend and my hero
she is my sister love
Legend has it
She cast her spell to gain his love
With a lock of his hair and feather of a dove
He murdered her on all hallows night
Then planted a pumpkin on her grave site
White as her hair the pumpkin did grow
Legend says it is so
Wow 50 words burns up quick
that was harder than i thought
it would be.
A battlefront benefactress,
She has her fortress, a fortified Princess, inside the dungeon of distress,
Tiled with the bone chips of ingratitude colored in pigments of black bright & rugid red,
An arrowhead chandelier illuminated by wicked tears, wet with woe,
Everybody saw her wedding dress, they all knew the warfield wardrobe,
But how many cared to touch her sorrow gown, how it hung on those exhausted shoulders,
The lilac one piece she wore for private pain,
Gain gauged by perseverence of self defense, vengence on Victory's tombstone,
How many visit that ceremony, where love is isolated amidst jealousy's cackle,
Do any of them frown with sympathy for the debt of her crown,
For every jewel in the tierra there exists a bruise upon her beautiful body,
An assault levied by the 'learned', the rape of a writer wrought by the wretchedly wanton,
Honors earned ransomed by pitiful rivalry, kindness taken in the grip of disingenuous delight,
Some say her very name is a curse, an anethema from some God foresaken moon,
Poet Destroyer, 'Too much nerve, too much passion' they exclaim,
Its only natural for her ingrown throne to be a thorn
In the fingertip of the editorial 'elite',
They know we will bleed for her grace like the children of wild sport,
The Poet Destroyer shall not hurt us as educators of deformity do,
She will not impose false limits on our brows,
She will not strike our eyes with rotten ink,
And look now you vultures of vice, we are Legion,
We are Brothers and Sisters of the Quill, raise your sight and behold our Worshipful Queen,
She rests not long in the sanctuary of her inner star, here we are,
Leading the war march towards you with captured & dried quills
Of imposter poets lashed to her sheild of cauterized parchment
Imprinted with the blessings of all literary Titans who have warred before,
We step forward While chanting in crazed concentration,
Oh woe to you,
Victors of vanity, victims of sanity!!!
This composition has been made in honor of the Poet Destroyer, aka. Linda,
A beautiful woman, a guiding Light, a warrior of liberated and Divine Art.
J.A.B.
Creature of myths and legends
most deny that you ever exist
yet time after time you reappear
history the world wide names you
Depicts you with spiral single horn
gleaming white starry coat
its said only in a virgin you trust
when you will lay your head
In her lap as she tames
your ferocity and wildness
only then can you be caught
yet should we capture you?
Is it not best to leave you free?
some things are best left alone
never to be proved as fact
I know I believe you to be real
Yet a wondrous creature living hidden
that forever free and wild should be
allowed to roam in our minds and hearts
bringing hope and joy to future generations
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
for PD's contest written 06/11/2013
The unicorn is a legendary animal from European folklore that resembles a white horse with a large, pointed, spiralling horn projecting from its forehead, and cloven hooves. First mentioned by the ancient Greeks, it became the most important imaginary animal of the Middle Ages and Renaissance when it was commonly described as an extremely wild woodland creature, a symbol of purity and grace, which could only be captured by a virgin. In the encyclopedias its horn was said to have the power to render poisoned water potable and to heal sickness.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A legend in our time,
Nessie lives in Loch Ness.
And while monster to some,
he is loved by the press.
Moonbeams gilded the waves,
like golden filagree.
And it’s beauty was such,
that he just had to see.
His head broke the surface,
leery of stray yachters.
And small ripples stirred,
in the placid waters.
Snout out of the water,
he soon started to choke.
And exhaled puffs of mist,
like he was belching smoke.
But it was well worth it,
to see the moon and stars.
And glimpse other planets,
like Jupiter and Mars.
His eyes aren’t use to light,
his world is inky black.
And after surfacing,
he now dreads going back.
Legends of the seas,
Washed up on the white, crystalline shores,
Countless untold stories,
Unlocking new doors.
If each shell was able to tell its own tale
In the wash of the tides, in the wind and the gales.
A story of a princess in the sand dunes of time,
Locked in an oblivion, of a world without rhyme.
A story related by the seafarers,
Of times long ago,
Of a young princess,
And the magic gardens she sowed.
It is told, that her father, the king of the sands,
Betrothed her to a prince in a far, faraway land.
The little princess who so loved, her cherished white shore -
And, a father's royal command, which she chose to ignore.
Passed on as a fable -
For many hundreds of years,
A prince from tomorrow,
A young princess' tears.
Rather than take passage to a frightening new land,
Leaving her cherished, gardens of sand,
The princess chose not, the easier course;
She would employ her one, only, tour de force.
An elixir taken in the mid of the night
Changed our little princess to a dune in the sand.
And even if we fast forward, to this very same day,
She's managed to evade, the king's pre-nuptial plan.
Now, never more separated from her gardens of sand,
She sits on the beaches overlooking the tides.
United forever in a union of love;
Waiting on a lonely beach, with the sea at her sides.
Legend says if you look closely
In the sunset of eve,
You can see the little princess,
In her royal garden reprieve.
It's also said, if you hold your ear to the wind,
Tween' the roaring sounds of the emerald green sea,
You may hear a small plaintive voice calling -
Enticing an understanding Prince Charming, to come set her free.
There is an old cemetery in my city full of legends,
and stories, one I find creepy is people being buried alive;
back in the day there were many buried prematurely,
according to tales, once there was an earthquake and caskets;
were discovered with scratch marks on the inside of the lids.
There were even stories of people waking up during embalming,
I guess the determination of death back then was questionable.
The fear was so real for the wealthy and paranoid,
they purchased "safety caskets" so just in case they could signal;
from the inside to the outside world by ringing a bell,
or raising a flag to say, I'm alive here six feet down, please hurry!
So the legend says.
________________________
April 5, 2017
Narrative/"Buried Alive" Creepy Legend
Copyright Protected, ID 890129
Written for the contest, Urban Legends
Sponsor, Nayda Yvette Negron
Upon this world in centuries long past,
Dwelt in woodland glades and pastures fresh,
The spirit of Utopia was cast
By nymphs and faeries in their pristine flesh.
In innocence and truly wondrous ways,
Phantasms of delight would greet the dawn,
And gentle creatures thrived in ancient days,
The phoenix and the lamb and unicorn.
Yet tides would turn and slowly parasitic
Denizens of darkness trod the land,
With sterile minds, their trespass scientific,
Indoctrinating methods came to hand.
Cities sprang on barely distant plain,
Structures towered, spires of steel and glass,
Spreading like a cancer-ridden stain,
Eating each and every blade of grass.
Streets reflected harsh magnesium glare,
Pesticides produced with no delay,
The blackness of a future painted there
With creeping scents of graveyards and decay.
Concrete drowned Utopia to death
And dragged the dreams of legend down as well,
Mother Nature's lungs were starved of breath,
False paradise defined a living hell.
Yet gadgetry malfunctions to a halt
And science on it's own cannot set free,
The heart and soul of man by some default,
It never is enough nor will it be.
Soon nothing moves, a chill breeze starts to blow,
The things that once were great or so was said,
Are drenched in sheets of radioactive snow,
A mortuary world slabbed cold and dead.
What science could have rescued them from this,
What reason of the night seek to undo?
For when one looks into the dark abyss,
The dark abyss looks also into you.
Thus now the graveyard world collapses on,
With screams engulfed in falsified euphoria,
With hopes and dreams redundant, dead and gone,
Comes darkness, death, decay to Robotoria.