Best Loamy Poems

Written: June 22, 2024
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Lovely, two-week luster.
lasting sylvan smell, 
lavender, blue, crimson, lilac, pastel
light...

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Snow crested range backdrop, gurgling creek allurement
At long last was the field, ours its loamy splendor
Our fertile paradise beneath stars and thunder
Within this promise, we planted our enchantment
Time sprouted our hearts’ dreams with sunlight reverent
Steadfast home to shelter love through frost December
Joyously nurturing new lives,...

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Blinking away the last vestiges of slumber,
the cub takes a few tentative steps,
her paws sinking into the soft,
loamy soil.
With each cautious movement,
she pauses,
her small nose twitching,
as she samples the myriad of scents,
that permeate the forest.
The world beyond the den,
is a wondrous tapestry of sights,
sounds, and...

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One eye of burnished brown
The other of glowing yellow
Coat the color of loamy ground
An imposing, fearsome fellow

Peers about and leaves no doubt
Those orbs so fiercely feral
That to try to pet, one might regret
Best be done at one’s own peril

Muzzle abounding with teeth so white
Sharp claws...

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1. MORNING HAS BROKEN 
The men, in lines, tramp two by two,
forgetting all the women who
indulged them through a night of tricks
(their lips designed with crimson sticks,
their eyes a wild mascara mix)

and think instead on times ahead
when they’ll be gone, their bodies dead
(some rotting slow’,...

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SHACKLES IN THE ANGLES
By Immaculata Ortner

Woe at thou faint hearted blacks
Thou at neither black or white
Wishing our black could blend with white
Which spot like dirt in our prudent race
As our black blood, bled, blue
To Water their loamy fields of flowers
We clustered in the sun!
And toddled...

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Incumbent summer days 
bleed vapid ichor in recession, 
upon the arid soil 
in ceremonial concession,

to announce their ending reign
and precipitate succession 
of amber days of autumn
in a vibrant coronation.

Heaven crowns the season 
with ultraviolet restoration,
delivering ambrosia rain 
for harvest preparation.

A newly-quenched earth
throws loamy spores in...

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His hands were wrinkled and scarred from a life of grueling toil,
From years spent working in a factory and tilling the loamy soil.
They were firm but gentle hands that disciplined me as a boy;
Hands that could fix anything, especially a broken toy.

Daddy's hands were always...

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......Africa my Africa.......
A land flowing with milk and honey
based on the Ancestral Savanna
A land of beauty and radiance
A land of strong warriors and built men
A land of strong men with forsight
A land where tobacco has its root deep into the loamy
Africa my Africa

Africa my Africa
A...

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THE OLD FARMSTEAD
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS




So many sunsets since I last tread this lane
Stirring deep seeded emotions so hard to contain
I know it’s the same place where I grew
The old farmstead is far from what I knew
The house is sagging and in need of paint
The porch...

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OCEANS ODD OVERTURES

Supposing boats could swim and fish could sail—pertaining purpose would still prevail
starfish fall from the sky, twinkling planets up high, under ocean beds would lie
tides and currents would be still, skies above strident storms may generate at will
sharks in playful schools through waves...

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there at the foot of the hill
stands a lone durian tree -
tall, strong and stately;

from its branches hanging
fruits with oval, spiky rind
prickly and sharp as nails;

the foulest smelling fruit
on earth the durian crop
it makes you throw up;

but crack open its shell
then you shall uncover
food of...

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A bent knee ...

Cloaked in black nylon, a briny drop from
The smooth cheek, contingent baptism
For a closed hand, it's precious cargo,

Now consecrated by circumstance and
Fate, moments before this it was but
The root-stuff of weeds and worms,

Now the sacred repository for all words
Unsaid, all emotions unspeakable,...

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Tom Mboya, son of Ndiege
From the craggy islands of Rusinga
--the craddle of his progenitors
He sprouts like avens in the loamy knoll
And out to the urbs he sets off his journey
A parlous journey to his martyrdom

Look him; brilliant young man
Valiantly he stands up
Loaded with the spirit...

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A golden day, my mother said.
She had taken my father (who was dying - in the final stages of metastatic lung cancer, his face swollen and disfigured from the medicines, his once thick head of hair long gone from the radiation, his sure-rootedness now reduced...

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