Best Lure Poems
Out at sea, serene and soothing,
on a sheet of lapis lazuli,
a graceful forward motion,
kissing the coast line,
sailing at high speed,
skimming over the salty waters,
the breeze caressing my face,
filling the taut sails with power.
A short distance away
sunlit vistas, rugged rocks,
and white washed villas.
Afar a dolphin jumps out of the water,
above gracious gulls glide
foraging for food, the tasty sardines,
turtles paddle close, a rare sight.
I veer to evade a close companion,
a masterly maneuver,
a sense of elation,
beauty, peace and joy.
Let me live here forever
or at least until summer lasts.
As I stand alone
in reverie
A lavender sky
envelopes me.
Trees whisper in calls
with quiet breath
To mark the time
of indigo's death.
The crisp scent of spring
refines the air
As dawn graces twilight
with colors rare.
Still lake reflections
in morning light
Share an aura
with alluring sight.
The streets of yesterday, comforting
The landscape of tomorrow, forbidding
Familiar foods rouse fond memories
Tampering with tradition, disapproval
My well-worn armchair's form-fitted to me
That new recliner, stiff as a bad knee
Your scent, your aura, ingratiating
All others, alienating
A striking splash of iridescent light
The inspiring moon the splendour of night,
So many minds that scan you from afar
Making wishes beneath your shooting star,
My telescope focused I see your face
Oh! Alluring Venus the lure of space.
© Harry J Horsman 2012
The tingling sound of the moon does lift me
I float towards the heavens where I'm free
I reach to the light that emanates there
Beauty is like none that I can compare
Swirling right near my head are the dark clouds
It looks like this night sky has some dim shrouds
The ground below me is moving away
As I slowly, but surely, upwards sway
I start to breathe the colder air that’s high
The moon is getting bigger as I fly
I see imperfections of the moon’s face
Stars blink messages, I try to keep pace
That grand lure of the moon that’s before me
Brings me higher than I could ever see
Russell Sivey
It's a dreadful land,
And it's long been banned,
By the one's that fought it's snow.
But, it's full of gold
In the stories told,
And I knew I had to go.
I sold everything,
And the diamond ring,
That had bound me to sweet Anne.
And the one small pack
Resting on my back,
Was enough for this free man.
Well, his name was Bill,
And he stood quite still,
As I hiked along the Bear.
I walked up to him,
And he gave a grin,
As the wind swept through his hair.
Yes, I met him there
In the clean fresh air,
Of this god forsaken place.
Though he was not old,
Twas a story told,
In each line upon his face.
Was in '64
That he closed the door,
On his father's hopeful dreams.
Though, his mother cried
He was not denied
The spell of the Yukon streams.
It was gold he sought,
And the battles fought,
Seldom brought him more than pain.
But, an ounce of dust
Would revive his trust,
In the fortune he would gain.
And it's been like this,
With a sparkling kiss,
That would block his memory.
Of the bone chilled times,
And the haunting rhymes,
Of the poem 'bout Sam Magee.
It's an ancient spell,
And the gates of hell,
Most would rather come upon.
But, it's here he'll stay,
For another day,
Up until his days are gone.
"Yes, it's rough," he said.
"And there's many dead,
That were ordinary folks.
It's a special breed,
That will learn to heed,
Mighty Yukon's deadly jokes."
Well, We stood right there,
By the creek called Bear,
And I heard his stories told.
"There's a lot of sand
In this dreadful land,
But, there's really not much gold."
"If fortune you crave,
You can dig your grave,
In the bed of every stream.
And I hope for you,
In a month or two,
That you'll know just what I mean."
"Break the fever friend,
It'll bring an end,
Of the dream to fill your sack.
Throw away your pan.
Call your dear, sweet Anne.
And I'm sure she'll take you back."
His advice was sound.
I was glad I'd found,
Such a wise and honest man.
Now I'm on my way,
To a better day,
In the arms of my sweet Anne.
And... Old Bill sits back,
In his creek side shack,
Counting nuggets found today.
With a wise man's smile,
And a cunning style,
That can turn the best away.
A creature lurks with a formidable eye
using bright color as a disguise
the sting of the fire breathing mastadon
seals the fate of a life gone wrong
Demonic pleasures to be obtained
through taboo-stricken means
and the real scheme being
there's such pleasure to be gained
Larger doses surrender you faster
numb and quell, but quickley to pass
spinning the charms of cursed masters
who seldom watch the hourglass
The excitement woos, enticing your will
now duped, you believe the feeling is real
black widows with venom bring darkness near
into the solemn night, no soft voices here
Intoxication weave's it's heavy glow
as you slither away with no one in tow
going...going...a long way to go,
trapped in time's disturbing woe
under the midnight mural
Karen anglesey 12/22/02
Each night he stares up at the moon and watches as it peeks
Through many wispy, floating clouds as both play hide and seek
His human heart tormented by the demon in his soul
A part of him fights to break free, the other to be whole
Soon the man will be transformed and he will roam the night
No longer can he fight the urge, his will too weak to fight
Although he wants so desperately to quell the beast within
Temptation always dominates and he succumbs to sin
The lure to be a savage beast is burning in his blood
So strong are the emotions like a raging, river flood
The man has given in and now until the morning sun
The two parts run together, man and monster joined as one
Fill my craving with your zesty rind
In the mist of my longing, come splashing
Ingest my inn with your piquant smiles
Will you rain like dew for my pipe is parched?
Drizzle my windows with decorative light and
Melt your pot in that multihued bend
Be my condiment in this insipid snack
But preserve your liquiscent state
No! Not in the canister
Who says this dye belongs to Freud?
After you entice my eyes and tongue.
Then citrus filled my air now back to stanza one.
Orange
For Nette Onclaud’s Color My Word
Adjudged 3rd Place
Glenn L. Sentes
If you have never felt the lure of the desert,
you cannot understand why people like me
prefer to be surrounded by sandy dunes.
An inexplicable lure, that acts like a drug.....
Until I was kidnapped by four senile Bedouins.
There was nothing senile about their guns.
Courteously I was led into their tent
built near a small oasis. I was fed, sort of.
And then the entertainment began.
From behind the curtains, someone strummed
a melody of eastern music, eerie and mysterious,
but still unpleasant to my ears.
Two men performed a sword dance.
Then a lovely female dancer took the stage.
In the dim light, the air was smoky with hookahs,
she stood in the middle of the tent,
The music climbed slowly in a crescendo,
her dance matched the rhythm, slow to fast.
I wonder why she did not interest me.
I was more concerned about the weapons
Aimed idly at me. Someone handed me a drink,
like nectar. I drank and drank and drank.
The end came, abruptly.
I woke up groggily,
and was sent to the nearest town.
The senile Bedouin smiled:
"The desert has its beauty, my friend.
But be careful. You can get lost."
Still, the lure of the desert will always beckon.
Cloaking misty hills and many a deep valley floor:
The empty Moor presents an outlook, stoical and dour.
Seemingly barren, this mute guardian of history,
Emits an air of arcane intrigue and darkest mystery.
Stunted Jack Pines, seen clustered on a distant knoll,
Stolidly defy Nature, though she exacts her toll.
They, as living record of ravages exacted by time,
Struggle to survive the harassment of its harsh clime.
Of other trees that one seeks, there are but few to see;
Except for a solitary Oak, a rugged, ponderous tree,
With deeply gnarled bark and stout branches entwined,
That survives, whilst all others, the Moor has declined!
When storm clouds threaten, and the midday dims,
This land, subject to Nature’s unpredictable whims,
Sends all Moor denizens scurrying, helter skelter
To seek the comfort and safety of familiar shelter.
When evening winds, croon their eerie symphony,
And babbling rills join in, to send haunting melody
Echoing across the ling, it provokes fresh fears,
That warn the Moor is no place to be, when night nears.
When the Moor is lit by a full moon, still there’s deceit,
For deep hazardous shadows, often trick unwary feet,
As bog and tussock, seemingly reach out to ensnare,
The ill fated interloper who chances to stumble there!
For Nature strives to erase all signs of human hand,
Would return the Moor to what befits this native land.
Her awesome control, allows for no compromise,
As those who would challenge her ways, soon realise!
But I enjoy the freedom such visits offer me;
For tis therein, I find peace and serenity.
So when solitude is an urgent need, and my goal,
The Moor brings composure to my tormented Soul.
Rhymer August 20th, 2016
Detailed perfection
Seafoam created beauty
Aphrodite's lure
Ageless, eternal temptress
Birthed by oceanic surge.
Is this love real?
Or is it just a sin?
Is this agony just for me?
Why do i see that ghastly grin?
You cast a spell on me,
I await to make it real,
You tear my skin abruptly,
And have it as a meal...
Lure me, would you?
'cause I'm tied in a fake amity,
Lure me, won't you?
I believe in this vague vicinity...
I feel so good, it hurts my belly,
Your owls sings to the brine,
This pain is arousing my soul,
Forgetting about this grimy crime...
Oh, you can tear my heart apart,
But no blood for vengeance would come,
As your hands wickedly plays those strings,
Your work is already half way done...
Lure me, oh, would you?
Please hit me with those poison darts,
Lure me, oh, why can't you?
I'll listen to your dreadly music, till my saneness departs...
- Adhyatmika Tripathi
The art of cooking never changes,
it's lure to us debates
taste vs. smell,
then it all rises up in memory like a colorful dream,
one of art that has been raided by veterans of the old country.....
My grandmothers never ceased to feed us,
"eat!" they would scream,
and their work worn hands would bring forth Polish and Ukrainian feasts of
pierogi, borsch, babka, and love,
blended into a holiday festivity that never disappointed, fresh from a sea of hand picked ingredients.
New York City was our place of initiation to that congregation of food and loud, loud people who thrived on second helpings.
I reincarnated this time just to be one of them.
Luna’s lovely lyrics lure
cosy chrysalis to start to hatch
Finally free from captivity
beautiful butterflies emerge
Their fragile wings unfold and flutter
I watch in wonderment as
bright blue butterflies begin
dancing to delightful disco music
in the magical moonlight
Gorgeous gossamer wings
glisten and gleam like glitter
in the sparkling silvery shafts
of La Luna’s lambent light