Best Mirabelle Poems
Mirabelle orb ascends,
under clementine and pomegranate skies.
Absent,
in delight of daylight.
Eyes set adrift in dawning daydreams.
Calm heart is an oceanic concerto,
flowing along sapphire tones.
Deep breaths walk upon water,
caressed by Poseidon's piano keys.
Pulsating palpitations beat eloquent echoes,
rousing freely along rhythmical ripples.
Searching for symphonic serenity -
composition of waves, amicably,
pave a path towards destiny.
Hope vibrates like Apollos's lyre and lute strings,
as winds whistle lost tunes from Athena's flute.
Melodies of the silent sea summon torpid tides,
as desire merges in harmony with the harbour -
passionately embracing barren shores.
Aroma of dusk's dew cools in night's velvet sheen,
as sinking sun is submerged into the deep blue sea.
Sprinkling of pearls appear - their reflection
shimmering upon watery midnight blue stillness.
In silent clarity of blackness,
flowing footfalls of fate purify -
awakening mind from its reverie.
The Silent One
6 September 2020
Mirabelle - a plum, also known as mirabelle prune or cherry plum, is a cultivar group of plum trees of the genus Prunus. It is believed that the plum was cultivated from a wild fruit grown in Anatolia.
Poseidon, in ancient Greek religion, god of the sea (and of water generally), earthquakes, and horses.
Apollo has been recognized as a god of archery, music and dance, truth and prophecy, healing and diseases, the Sun and light, poetry, and more. His two musical instruments were the lute and the lyre.
Athena was a talented flute player, as she created it, but others ridiculed her when she played due to her cheeks. In disgust, she threw away the flute and said whoever picked it up and played it would be severely punished.
Written: January 06, 2024
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Shimmering swaths
of cerulean sea
ionize comely light
purple-tinged sand
strewn with tattered shells
during low tide,
summon imperial thrones,
tartly lovely youth
amid sparkling Tyrian swells,
whilst peering
solace amid
vibrant splendor
of landscape,
as serene slopes
and lucid pleas prevail,
I wait with ebbed breath
for an ethereal grace
to ignite a spark
of hope.
We haven't touched yet,
we're just syncing
over ariose love song,
as warm rain and clouds—bow
"Salut d'amour",
violins string opalescent tones
that rise and fall in pitch,
as a link to ink
an iridescent origami doodle
of a jewel-lit song,
summer nights of
ochre acrylics—a plethora
of fairy flickers and fireflies
amid a flurry of filigree,
to inveigle her into playing.
We draw on our kinship
as we float freely,
over crestfallen ocean
a pen swayed in time,
with an Elysian rim
on my horizon,
I whirl my love whims
and swirl the walnut wood
in disconsolate loops,
In a spice grist mill
sprinkles to spice my life.
Keys and gaunt codes
to demure this dalliance
served with Mirabelle tart
and for the sake of Muscat,
as the breeze tickles
those are my shutters
I fantasize about lying,
over her fastidious breast
as empyreal lee of
a sun-kissed knoll,
should she ever grasp
my hand and our
lips converge,
in an esoteric way
would we fit snugly?
as a dovetail joint in unison,
or would we plummet?
to our deaths
in shattered light?
8th place contest winner
Hushed morning.....
A winter scene from my bedroom window
of soft pearled fields sloping to the sea
Rose hips, blood red with white frosting
Naked branches as snow falls from bough to bough
Pale melon sun shines, as a thaw struggles in
A steel grey sky mirrors a stilled ocean
Shadows of Spruce elongate the milk carpet
Pistachio ivy clings to the tree trunks
freezing fog lingers, the feeble sun waning
as a blackbird hops, mirabelle beak pecking
Adorned in pearls and silver lace,
the moon's tranquility veiled her virtuous face.
A white flowing satin gown she did wear,
as moonbeams touched upon her silver hair.
'Twas beneath the blue moon’s exulted arch,
the night awaiting the sun’s returning march.
I stood upon the sun bleached sands, felt ocean's breeze
of that which took, I dropped down to my humble knees.
Beset of love, in quiet quest of great romance,
where long ago my Mirabelle wistfully danced,
and all the clouds of soft and gentle form,
the stillness round between the heaves of storm.
And there along the soft and golden strand
she momentarily held my quivering hand.
Through the mist of Love of great renown,
the sweetness of her lips 'tis what I found.
And washed ashore the deep blue waves
we marveled at its white cascade
bathed in light of the glistening moon
'twas there our melded souls communed.
It’s but my imagination a passionate dream.
No, never! thou that yet dost lovelier seem
'twas not to be, Mirabelle belonged to another
‘Twas but a lambent flame which I must rent asunder.