Best Like Butter Poems
While at my window seat, I watch spring's Dawn
come easing into day with amber rays.
She lays a gilded glaze upon my lawn
and with her advent, scatters gloomy haze.
Like butter on my morning toast, her light
is smoothly spread enticingly across
my portion of the universe, for Night
has yielded to the magic of her gloss.
I quickly dress. Behind my house I run
to see her at her zenith. Dawn now spills
a plenitude of honey from the sun
onto a field of brilliant daffodils.
How kind Dawn is, how lovely to behold
in seasons when she touches Earth with gold!
First Place in Brian Strand's Contest:
Up To Thee Max 14 Lines
Now entered in PD's Contest for #1 poetry
~
A lilac endeavor
of promised importance
came strolling along
on a path in the sun
Its fragrance unfurling
this side of September
when springtime was singing
for winter was done
With meadowlarks chatting
in off color language
while watching the roses
now bloom by the wall
She fancied a smile
in lace covered cotton
with hair gold and windy,
the belle of the ball
I stood there a’ staring,
my eyes hardly leaving
the shape of her world
filled with raspberry dreams
Along an old footpath
with grass patches growing
and banks touching lilies,
all lining the streams
My heart felt a tremor,
like mountaintops falling
in piles of pebbles
and granite like things
Her beauty a fashion,
none other was wearing,
a fine velvet cloth stitched
in apricot strings
She looks my direction
with eyes colored passion
and lips made of honey
as sweet as the bees
Now watching her fingers
collecting the samples
of Ginkgo leaves floating
the back of the breeze
She laughed in the open,
a bright sun was shining
midst butterflies tinting
their wings greenish blue
I followed her northward,
my hand in my pocket,
then pulled out a poem
said, “This is for you”
An unfolded whisper
‘tween petals of daisies
now telling a story
of love or of not
Her glance towards the paper
was finding her grinning,
her painted toes tingled,
her breath just forgot
I melted like butter
on sidewalks in August
when feeling her smile
pressed tightly to mine
I guess in the verses
with lines penned in rhythm
she knew of my joy,
I had told her in rhyme
So now we just wander
directions that beckon
when autumn is sleeping
and summer awakes
Picking up branches,
like sculpting a sunset
or bridging a pasture,
whatever it takes
With overall blue jeans
and knees wet and muddy,
we tend to the gardens
the earth it does claim
While sharing our wine
with a cat and a moon bean,
enjoying each other,
now who could complain
I, a salty scarecrow, roam the shoreline
The moon melts soft like butter on the reach
Squalling seagulls sip the morning sunshine
While dropping clams to split upon the beach
The moon melts soft like butter on the reach
Thus drizzling heaven's hem with Hollandaise
While dropping clams to split upon the beach
The giggling gulls high-dive the dawning haze
Thus drizzling heaven's hem with Hollandaise
The bisque horizon christens bright, the morn
The giggling gulls high-dive the dawning haze
Oh such as this, should all good days be born
The bisque horizon christens bright, the morn
Squalling seagulls sip the morning sunshine
Oh such as this, should all good days be born
I, a salty scarecrow ... roam the shoreline.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Seagulls" Poetry Contest, Eve Roper, Judge & Sponsor.
Required line: "Squalling seagulls sip the morning sunshine"
( Syllables = 10 per line, counted at HowManySyllables.com )
My broken heart melted like butter
when the heat of your love hit me.
My soal soared out of the gory gutter
where my ex pretender plunged me.
Lead me to the pinacle of your heart
where life and love beam sweet rays...
Rid me of the pains that tore me apart,
and let your desires drench my days.
I used to love for the wrong reasons;
lured by fair faces and fluffy figures...
I was taught bittersweet lessons...
till you offered me timeless treasures.
My broken heart melted like butter...
when your sun crept into my room...
You saved me from a cruel clutter
and gave me glow for my gloom.
Do you ever see me?
I see you every night.
I see your lifeless body under the street lights.
I hear you mom screaming let him be alright.
I see the gunshot wound going through you like butter with a knife.
You blood keeps pumping with no end in sight.
You stair at me with a look of dead eyes.
You ask me for help, but why?
I didn’t make the choice to take my own life!
Then the look I’ve never seen comes across your eyes.
It’s like I can see the soul of a man I’ve never met until tonight.
I see the pain and heartache you’ve had to survive.
Tonight is the night I’ve seen a a dead man eyes.
By Chris Day
05-30-2018
A spirit is what it is,
sharing yet selfish, starving yet sated,
a humble sky that can erupt into a hurricane,
can be an avalanche on the mountain of confidence,
it will be a maternal calm in a moment of marbled mania,
or shatter the laughter of happiness with the pompous scorn of suspicion,
This element of unapologetic adrenaline is magnetic,
tickles our tastes like a feather of silky sweetness,
shapes the clay of a body's cunning with lust lost in a thirsty lick,
bestows bravery on Jealousy and can make a fool of Devotion,
Destiny is the web of it's dance, Fate the funeral of it's expectations,
Designs dreams and shares tears with Death,
weddings and wars, crimes and kindness are famiar family,
Joy, the breakfast of it's youth,
Determination, the dragon of it's desire,
walks like weather too cool for sunshine
breathes like butter burnin in a salty simmer,
the only force known
to be capable of creation and destruction with equal ease,
Love is the name, Life is the game,
cinnamon on the breath of suspense -
J.A.B.
My feelings use to be bottled in
so I didn't know where to begin.
I picked up a pen and let my story begin.
Do I write because I'm right
or for others delight .
Do I write out of fright
or do I write because there is enough light.
If my beats aren't tight
Lord let my words still take flight.
I'm not a fighter I'm a writer.
That's why I will only fight you on paper
where it's much safer.
I will always fight for what I believe in.
So to all my haters,complainers,
intimidators,and all debaters.
This will never stop me
because God's spirit is within me.
May the words I now utter
melt hearts like butter.
I don't know where this might go,
but I'll keep writing
and watch it grow.
Come meet me when the sun has melted down
the mountains’ peaks like butter from the sky.
Come meet me far away from all the town.
It’s summer; on a blanket we can lie.
And although what is coming is foreknown,
we’ll still anticipate what is to come
when sun relinquishes to moon his throne.
Come lie with me and hear the evening’s hum.
How many are the songs of nature crooned -
those sweetest lullabies that we can hear?
We’ll listen in the gloaming, and attuned
to dusky sights and sounds, I’ll kiss you, Dear,
for soon to be enraptured by the moonlight,
with bliss we’ll linger on the edge of night.
Oct. 31, 2018 for Janis Thompson's Soap Opera Titles Poetry Contest
My life has been a winding road
of circumstance and clutter.
Yet my Savior takes my load
smoothes my soul like butter.
I dedicate my life to Him;
it's the least that I can do.
For He fills my cup to the rim
with mercy and rapture too.
He loves me even when I'm small
while His love washes me.
With Jesus I feel ten feet tall;
forgiven,clean and free.
I shall praise Him all day long.
I'm wrapped up in His love.
To Him I'll sing my victory song
and dwell with Him above.
for contest "Sing to Me"
Inspired by the song "Blessed Assurance"
My feet are cold; my tiredness lingers;
My back aches from stooping so low.
Dampened by the frigid water below,
I breathed warmth into my numbing fingers.
Again, I dipped my shovel into the coarse gravel
Of the stream dredging up with a gurgle
A mixture of pebbles and sand;
Into a bucket I poured it, firsthand.
In this wilderness I'm not alone, there's bear.
Mindful I am of the sounds around me;
A churning stream, rustling leaves, an elk groan,
Snapping twigs, anything that would put a scare
Or raise my hair. I looked around for a tree,
Somewhere to flee before darkness set in.
Not far from here, I spied a log cabin.
Into this stronghold I placed my supplies;
Nature's calm was just a disguise.
I latched its massive door; and bolted each shutter.
In its stone hearth, I started a fire;
Basking in its warmth worries melted like butter.
Outside, darkness enveloped the cabin;
Strong claws raked its walls peeling away its skin;
Relentless growling resonated through the dusty din.
Suddenly, I awoke huddled next to a glowing flashlight.
Shivering against the muddy walls of a beaver's lodge,
I could hear the bear feverishly ripping
Through the muddy grass, and the disjointed timbers
Above me. Deep beneath the surface darkness arrived
Just, as my flashlight flickered, then died.
I hereby resolve to declutter.
I’ll slice through my closets like butter.
What looks dated and torn
Or what I haven’t worn
Will be bagged up and tossed to the gutter.
I say the same thing every year.
When I promise, I’m really sincere;
But for true execution
Of this resolution
A fairy would have to appear.
And then, with a wave of her wand,
Old garments would up and respond.
They would float out the door
And I’d lock it before
With my newer things she could abscond.
A fairy’s unlikely to show,
So my closets will still overflow;
But I’ve learned how to cope
Though there’s always some hope
That I’ll give a few things the heave-ho!
When your eyes match mine, like cinnamon sugar.
The hotness or the sweetness pours over my heart.
When I can feel the tulip stems, their leaves buckle my knees.
The blossoms explode in every direction, breathlessly.
And lips soft like butter, glide and linger, stay on mine.
I surrender to the Summer ride, Venetian gondola.
When memories, shared, bring joy and tears, so many years.
I’ve never believed you’d rush out the door, leave me pondering.
You’ve loved me with intensity and with a simple smile,
curved, lighting up your lashes and cheeks, and by the way, mine.
The pace of little feet, stretching bodies of progeny, comfortable
in their security you’ve brought this family — they feel our pulse.
Love me like you mean it, Dear, not for moments but a lifetime.
Your grand promise kept, as I kept mine, to love you all the time.
11/29/2019
Love Me Like You Mean It Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Julie
Written in unrhymed couplets
Time and rhyme, from somewhere it will shine.
Time and rhyme, will sometimes, be mine,
and when it does, it makes me high.
I want you to feel my long lasting sigh.
Please lie with me and taste these letters.
Make it better. Drink, and utter sounds that
make my lips feel like butter.
I think of you and purposely I try to flutter.
Float ideas and kiss your mind so much it floods
my words with thoughts that matter.
Lend me ears, and lend me eyes to
dream your face, and dream your thoughts
seduce you wet, untidy, naughty,
even though we never met.
I feel the fleeting whispers of the wind
it fills my fragile wings like yellow sails
to float about these mellow marshes
in dawn’s light
a scenic dream, setting all things right.
Alight with life, I make my dizzy way
among the reeds
and lazily loop both high and low
to drink a sip of nectar, brief
or maybe a morsel of tasty leaf
then land and settle underneath.
This dream is bright and hopeful, too
with silky edges, soft and new
that carry me along these fields
where egrets pick among the mud
and swallows croon from up above.
When fading skies bid the shadows come
my melting wings, like butter from hot sun
grow weary as I seek to hide and rest
within these mellow marshes in the west.
Written on 7/8/2020
His fingers sailing on the string
Arousing enchanting rhythm from sleep
Solace to desolate hearts bring
And penetrate the craving souls deep
Music drifting in the air like perfume
Healing wounds like the miracles of Jesus
Prevailed serenity torments consume
Like a flower’s bloom elegant and gracious
Melting like butter the hardened hearts
Soothing like balm the anguish and pain
Healing the wounds of the suffering’s darts
Trickling like rain drops on a sun baked plain
Bestowing tranquillity and serenity to soul
The onlooker’s hands busy in ceaseless applaud
As on the Sitar his magic fingers roll
But his life beleaguered and misfortune clawed
Would tomorrow's air be perfumed by his music?
Would his means promise togetherness of his body and soul?
Would anguished souls still crave for the balm of his lyric?
Or the hawks of society devour his art as a whole