Best Lengthening Poems
“If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.”
~Oscar Wilde
the sky smiles as it watches us
dance in the light of a silver moon
on the veranda of an infinite cosmos~
the only way to make a star
dance in the light of a silver moon,
to music of the spheres as it falls
into a symphony of our poem
on the veranda of an infinite cosmos
where time is the choreographer
of tangos and tragedies~
the only only way to make a star
is with each spark of love we fling
into night's lengthening shadow.
"For all sad words of tongue and pen,
the saddest are these, 'It might have been'."
~ John Greenleaf Whittier ~
I knew that someday you would break my heart
we loved too fast and much too strong
the pages of our story were being torn apart
as foreshadowing moments began to unfold
yet we clung to our dreams of tomorrow
hoping for us, the best was yet to come
I loved waking beside you in the glow of dawn
then gently falling into your welcoming arms
For just a little while the world was beautiful
but there were signs, I was not the one for you
Too soon our tomorrow filled with sorrow
I knew for us, the worst was yet to come
Signs were clear that what we once held dear
no longer mattered to you. With vows forsaken
your path was taken, leading you away from me
My grief was overwhelming but you remained aloof
turned your back, walked away and left me crying
I knew this day of reckoning had finally come
We turned our backs on what might have been
cherished dreams haunted by lengthening shadows
that were swept away into the depths of the sea
of animosity where love is never meant to dwell
My wearied heart grew numb; a withered leaf
falling in Autumn. For us the best will never come
~~~~~~~~~~
April 20th, 2017
When Summer starts her transitory reign,
King Sun, her beau, has steadily ascended,
brightening a sky that, for a time,
shall be his lovely mistress’ domain.
He reaches out his welcoming warm rays
across the span of Summer’s first official day,
lengthening them just as far as he is allowed
so he may well receive his paramour,
enveloping her in the fullest of his golden grand embraces.
But when night descends, Sun’s power wanes.
His wife, a goddess, the fair and steadfast Luna,
arrives to spell her king,
along with her attendants, a host of radiant stars.
Meanwhile, Mistress Summer softly slumbers,
faintly breathing out the warmth that Sun has wrapped her in.
So even in the dark’s coolness, she prevails.
In the dewy dawn, when she awakes,
Summer sees the beauty of her lover’s light and eagerly,
she spurs her King Sun on.
No two were ever so well-matched as these,
for both heat up the days with their consuming ardor
till the time of the equinox
when Summer is exiled for nine months,
to have her rebirth in the following year.
And year after year, for what could be eternity,
Sun bides his time, for he has many lovers. . .
But as lovers go,
it’s Summer who’s most expert at inciting the passion in his soul.
by andrea dietrich/ Motif is nature. Also romance
For the Impress Me Contest III of Giorgio V.
Spring
When the Season turns and Old Winter spent,
Sudden colour blossoms on budding trees.
The daffodil blooms and young Spring’s sweet scent
Is gentle carried on the evening breeze.
Fast changing period of restless mood,
Faltering sun and uncertain showers.
Sleeping souls wake from Winter solitude
Aroused by Spring’s lengthening daylight hours.
Migrating birds return on sun warmed wings,
By shaded woodland the yellow primrose
Blooms. Nights shorten and the first Cuckoo sings
And all around Nature’s industry grows.
Barry Stebbings
21/02/17
Like green leaves that turn yellow and wither away
Like buds that blossom and fade away
Like white clouds that turn sullen gray
Like lengthening shadows darken the day
The whirligig of time brings forth
Mysteries hidden in time's womb
The only certain destiny death
That stone cold tomb.
Like a flickering flame blown out by the wind
Life's breath is soon extinguished.
So we too shall pass away
And while on this journey we may
In this deepening gloom, shine a bright ray
Love, help, encourage, pray
A new beginning everyday.
He is caught between one life and another
while my pain lengthens like a shadow of the moon
We are like leaves, played with by the wind
O lengthening dark vision
reaching across our lives
It came, at last, without a sound...
his leave taking came without a word,
but we both heard it in the silence....
His world is in the palm of his hand
and my world is this moment that does not move
O furtuna, sternit fortem
O furtuna, rota tu volubillis
Never was he mine, never was he not mine
The child, no longer, child that bends and sways
My eyes reflect the clouds upon the sky
for he reaches out a hand upon my crown
and I feel the gentle warmth upon my head
A knowing hand of man, not boy, that once I vowed to keep
must leave and know that I will weep
as if I am the child, ....not he,...instead
O fortuna, velut luna
Statu variabillis, semper crescis, aut decrescis;
I force a smile, and watch him fly away
Quod per sortem .... Sternit fortem,
never was he mine, never was he not mine
-----------------------------------
For Deb's Contest: Bi-Lingual
Latin translated
----
O Fortuna (O Fortune)
Velut luna (like the moon)
Statu variabilis (you are changeable)
Semper crescis (ever waxing)
Aut decrescis; (and waning;)
Quod per sortem (since Fate)
Sternit fortem, (strikes down the string)
Rota tu volubilis, (you whirling wheel)
Corde pulsum tangite; (pluck the vibrating strings;)
Quod per sortem (since Fate)
Sternit fortem, (strikes down the string)
Snow draped folds like loose Cashmere curtains cover the evergreen boughs
pining for the lengthening days of each succeeding sunrise,
reticent to see the cold of night fall once again on the lonely landscape.
In this fallow world of darkness quiet is the norm, hushed silence,
nothingness, invading the shadows that fall ominously across the reaching branches
giving a sense of preternatural sleep to each living creature, each plant,
inhabiting the frigid winter's lonely, desolate abode.
Surreptitiously, the awakening begins, slowly and without notice,
Cyclamen hidden deep in the forest break free from their frozen bed of bounteous soil
oblivious to the naked dreaming deciduous trees that surround them.
Malaise broken, they reach their softly painted petals to the warmth of the sun
in perfect unison dancing the Danse Macabre to remind winter of its inevitable demise.
Narcissus will soon send forth his papery white blossoms to mock the
glow of the radiant gleen of the melting frost.
Summer still distantly drowsing cares not for the struggle of life born
out on frozen winter days and Autumn is but a memory now glowering in its
ostentatious robes of leafy brilliance; though, the
nor'easter may yet blow, just look and you'll see the signs, Spring is coming soon.
03/23/17
After winter's cold drought
Before the summer's bright
Comes the weeks of waking
Diminished shades of night
Each new dew-drop sunrise
Finds lengthening, the light
Greens begin their creep
Hallowed - life's rebound
In this rouse from sleep
Jutting thru cold ground
Kissed and petal-crowned
Life finds its way
May bursts alive
Now the new day
Opens to thrive
Priceless this
Quiet change
Renewed bliss
Spring comes
Then cheers ...
Us.
( This is a Diminished Hexaverse that I did in Rhyme and ABC as well )
Potion number nine to six mixing instincts
Primitive passion possessed bodies boiling points
Love consuming lust traversing together past trust
Tangled hands mingle with talon arms lengthening lost time
United legs step to cross paths at the same rate different lanes
Claiming bottomless renewed nights holding on tight
Tossed and turning rolled up with wait filled yearning
Playfully pulling the hearts pleated burning branded heat
Blazing fire fuming fragrant sweet scent heads rush
Secreting supple skins sensitive soft tender touch
Invisible love that consumes dark atmospheric distant
Imagine life full of face forced fuel feeding feeling
Satiated daily indulging less thought more action
Lonely laps body traps tracking lack of love making
Consuming loss seeking body love instead of heart shaping
Grapevines flow in gentle lines
blanketing the rich hillsides.
Clothed in hues of golds and reds
harvest barreled wine in sheds.
Dappled light breaks misty morn
blackbirds stir and are reborn.
Spiders weave through branch and leaf
dewdrops glisten, earth smells sweet.
Lone oak spreads its branches wide
reaching up to touch the sky.
Lone cow lingers in the field
bows her head, then eats her meal.
Chill of morn gives way to day
butterflies flit ‘round the hay.
Workers glean the harvest crush
‘midst pungent smells of purple must.
Hours pass as sunlight fades
lengthening the shadow’s rays.
Vigor wanes as strength is spent
hours of labor, time now to rest.
Sunset rays fill fading skies
brilliant color prisms rise.
Luminescent moonlight beams
through fall leaves and harvest dreams.
Written on 11/27/2017
No bougainvillea here,
Wind and wave-tossed shores
Know no such blossom.
What blooms next stormy seas
In western outposts far removed,
Unknown to sun-soft living ?
When silken purple drapes
The open sky, and folds of grey
And pastel blue hang mingled,
Dark-mirrored in the land below,
The daily reckoning may be heard,
Another storm from off the ocean,
Or might the sombre grey dissolve,
Transformed with silvered promise
Of brighter lengthening days ?
For when the earth relents,
As now it surely must,
A universal sigh is breathed
Across the waiting dormant land.
As expectation stirs, the great unveiling.
A curtain raised upon a glorious stage,
As now the islands of the west
With wondrous spectacle are blessed.
To my mind, and for what it's worth,
The flowering of the machair
Is the greatest show on earth.
Paratroopers stealthily slide unnoticed,
chutes deployed, small blazes of white obscured by
fog that lingers lazily, til their numbers
cover the meadow…
Faster, faster, not just content to cover,
reinforcements filling in, words unspoken,
synchronized with perfect precision, ever
picking up tempo…
Occupation utterly overwhelming,
swamped defenses, raising a flag, surrender.
Long, the arm of conquering winter, brings a
lengthening shadow…
As school children scurry to school
like the multi-colored leaves that will soon
be hurried along the roads by October winds,
we feel and we know
that a new season is upon us.
Stifling summer’s ardor, autumn almost seems
to hum a melancholy tune
as its breezes caress a multitude of trees,
and peaks of distant mountains are garlanded
by fleecy clouds in dawn’s gleaming light.
A new ardor of its own is brought by autumn
as trees become ablaze
with a rhapsody of colors -
vermillion, amber, rust, gold.
Apples red and green adorn orchards’ trees.
Sometimes at dusk we can see
when persimmon skies might fuse with terrain
as the sun descends
on rows upon rows of orange pumpkins,
round and lying lonely beneath the glow
of a luminous full moon.
Days crawl a bit faster
into lengthening cooling nights.
About midway through October,
an Indian summer may appear
to fulfill my sun-drenched dreams
before the season proceeds into November -
floating those last glowing days
away.
Frost touches down, and radiant leaves,
like small yellow finches or cardinals.
soar through the air one last time
before settling and eventually crumbling
onto ground growing dull and brown.
Oh, lovely autumn, may your bright days linger
until they pale.
Please, autumn, let winter stall before we fall
into its cold clasp.
It’s the circle of a trickle sliced from snow
at the mountain’s very top.
Widening and lengthening, it gushes and grows,
and at the steepest slopes it rushes - cascading
as a froth of diamonds
sparkling in sunlight.
Splitting where big boulders sit,
it splashes on its drifting way.
Shifting - ever shifting - it tumbles
over countless stones and gravel
or meanders with susurration until at last,
it is a river.
Broad or narrow; shallow or deep,
it can be tempestuous at times,
while other times
it’s as placid as
patches of mellow moonlight spilled from sky.
At last it flows to where, estuarine,
it melds with the destiny of other river shifters -
Oceanic.
June 23, 2021
for The Shape Of Water Poetry Contest
Now for 'A Brian Strand July 2' Poetry Contest
I walked the garden path holding all the intimate hands,
nurtured in the impermanent world the hope of durability
of me loved and belonged, and me owning and retaining.
Times changed, didn’t know why storm of dismay surged.
The garden got ravaged, the trodden flowers tarnished,
I now walk a lonely walk in the garden turned wasteland.
The crushed thoughts rise from debris in the void mind,
blankness drags dreams down to the edge of extinction.
With the submerging spent sun in my melancholic sky,
the twilight colors of my listless life slowly sink to oblivion,
night waits for my moon at the fringe of the hazy horizon
to ascend across the insurmountable span of the onyx rift.
The wisps of disappearing cloud tinged with fading hues
weave for me the fading tapestry of the departing day.
Behind the shroud of the nocturnal gloom my stars hide
beyond the edge of the immeasurable distressing gulf.
The dust of despair drizzles in darkened supine skyline
from the descending night enveloping the ebony future.
My mangled mind can’t recover the dwindled dreams,
lost in the unfathomable depth of the agonizing abyss.
In my splintered mind at the edge of hope I search,
discover the inner light showing the reality of reason
God has given me to subsist in this life so beautiful,
there’s no cause greater, no motive better than to live.
My fragile footprints fade in the threshold of ashen dusk,
as in lengthening shadow of obscurity I walk the last mile,
hoping to feel God’s grace in the rays of the new sunrise,
I stand too close to the edge of the unbridgeable chasm.