Best Mist Poems
A nighttides talk amid this sea of Celestia's stars
Silver wings trimmed in gold horizons brushing dreams
Wherein only love shall glow her gleam; dropping times pebbles
Into reverberating waters images circling reflections voices these branches...
The lightning strikes a distant chord; their rippling mirrors her refrain and notes
As Autumn's colours swept into hands gathering love's petals; heart's, silent no more.
***Dedicated to a wise old man
I once knew***
-----" There is no such thing
as death..."
------ an old friend
'O desolate wasteland,
filled not with flowery rushes,
threshing green fields silted,
earthy and ether months;
there can be no solstice,
no progress ----
where the tides are naught
The barrows long for life,
the painter's easel and stroke;
yet not even rainbow shadow
could colors so evoke,
life into thy nostrils -----
English barrow grave;
the dead are not there.....
Saxon King no more.....
Though they are not gone,
for very long;
our hearts be all we have,
among memories,
tides, and song
So do they hearken
"The Arabian Nights"
Underneath the oceans' veil.
A mystery lies within.
Beyond Orion's belt, I shift my mind to sail.
Within, every constellation hides the secrets of sin.
Allowing me, to the time frame the world of yesterday.
I found portals with no way out.
Covering every bruise that my body had on display.
Drawing along the mist of no doubt!
I tie eternity into loopholes with no end.
Singing a song that lacks the strength to be strong.
Trying hard to swallow words that have no end.
Babbling at my tongue, when one's heart is wrong.
I hide in the light, away from the darker mist.
A sprint sensation lurking down-under.
Anthologies wrote only to exist.
A place that strikes louder than thunder.
Eyes that port and slow everything down.
Mysteries behind, a deadly desert storm.
Slaving under the 3rd crown.
Candlelight's guiding a new wedding form.
Executed in a thousand tales, of romance.
Knocking at my door ending another dream.
A sensual marriage with regrets, and loss of chance.
Dancing streams with no means.
Avalon, closing over an Arabic Night.
A story cradling me in bed.
By morning dawn, I will no longer see the light.
Waking up to another Arabian Night.
. by;p.d.
NOTE~ I read the book 5 years ago.
"ARABIAN NIGHTS."
As dawn breaks across the rugged land,
vague shapes begin to blurrily appear.
images of mythical creatures now seen
briefly then brushed away they dissolve.
Is it these images that give legends birth?
the tales of Unicorns and dragons?
The stories of three headed beasts
that wander through the mist shrouds?
Pea soup mists that you can almost push aside
abruptly vanishing as the sun burns them off.
Leaving the landscape we all know and accept
yet memories remain of fantastical things.
That re-emerge in our dreams
leaving us with uncertainty and
knowledge deep down within
that mist cloaks and blinds
what lies beyond the veils of time
In
Stillness
I dream of
Your last salt tears
kiss
The mountain peaks in colored sugar coat
Of pinks and blues and lilac violet hues
The sky, just before sunrise, all windless and clear
The day is misty, bitter cold, and crystal sheen
But I am warmed by one small ray of golden morning light
From high upon a perch of snow top crest
A lone stag with graceful legs that fly
Carving out a quiet trail, like fleeting wind
The sound so soft, the hush of whispered steps
He halts, and looks at me with logic's eyes
And seems to smile in recognition,
His golden crown of antlers, gleam in morning sun
Just when I thought my crystal world would splinter
He tilts his head, and bids me to come
And like an eagle's wing, remote and sure
He darts away, just like a bird
Without a sound
Beauty of the wind....beauty of pure grace
I run after him, panting and breathless,
Through the glimmering, in search of answers
But, I cannot keep up, as he disappears without a trace
And still not wringing the answers from the slightest sound
Yet, I am left alone, and feel at peace
For Constance's Contest: The Nature Dream/Spirtual Dream
Carrie Richards
LOST IN THE MIST
Grey fingers soft as a pickpocket’s,
Soundless and sightless, have taken the sun -
Poacher in the kingdom of the blind.
Guests and ghosts of the realm steal in and out,
Cozened into thinking that
Feet pressed to the ground -
Ensure the lost land will be restored,
The theft of the sun will be recouped.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written 21st August 2014 by Sydney Peck
For contest THROUGH THE MIST
Wind-driven, deceptive, mysterious,
cries vixen's pulsating, debauchery
with haunting arias, mesmerizing!
The lighthouse, fearlessly, captivated,
by siren's symphonic orchestrations
shines brighter, exclaiming calamity!
She cautions vigilant navigators...
fog's mirage masquerades mortality!..
______________________________
Inspired by Nette's Contest: The Lighthouse
9/23/14 By Carrie Richards
Winged Steeds of Mist
Out in the vales of freedom,
of rippled hills and plunging canyons,
there is nought but wind
to carve through the wild horse
Light mane, nostrils flared,
veins like sacred rivers;
heart with a hawk spirit
flight strikes music from
bright pinioned hooves
Coats of shimmering autumn,
pied shadows, blinding snow
Time and mist have scribbled fear
into the sinews
Winged at the first breaking
sounds of intrusion
fear of capture awakens a scream
far older than the sound it emits
escape,escape
pound,strive, wild horse
snort fire and acquire
the secret of flying
In dampened blur of violet dawn
as angels’ weep did touch upon
a mourner’s shoulders mist enshroud -
to soften edges gauzy haze
that hug around these painful days
and mellow memories endowed
in sacred stillness of time gone.
In silent water droplets clear
is beauty precious every sphere
collecting on the silvern spires
midst leaf and scented lavender
reminding me of when we were
devoted in our love’s desires -
each flower holds a lost love tear.
Susan Ashley
September 29, 2018
~ Third Place ~
Contest: Your Choice Flower Verse, Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Hazy
remembrances
wither in dim corners--
our laughter not kept through night’s edge
and yet…
panes rustling from ardor’s downfall
mirror your bare outline,
your scent wafting
like mist.
For Jenish Somadas' Contest
Let the Pens Flow--Butterfly Cinquain
5/9/2020
He almost said it, that one sweet word, but a moment lost it would not stay.
He reached for her hand, she lost in thought, pulled it back and looked away.
Was she the beauty he had married young, or an illusion from a fairy's joke?
Would the cold chill of the evening mist be waiting for him when he awoke?
Pain in his head and strain in his heart felt like a clock that was losing time.
Time had opened his eyes and he noticed that the long years had taken away her prime.
"Nothing in common" was too late to say for their paths took a divergent route.
Their anger was quiet and their words were sparse for they had nothing to talk about.
He almost said it, that one mean thing, "Perhaps we should go our separate ways".
He held his tongue, she gave a laugh, saying she'd be gone for at least five days.
He was glad she'd be gone and happier still that he would not have to take all her crap.
But the chill evening mist hanging over his head made him see he was caught in a trap.
The morning's mists
mix with the
woodland's scent
To fill me with such
wondrous happiness;
I see her wet but
gentle hands are
bent
And reaching out to
touch with
loveliness
The trees, and fills
my heart with
wonderment
At how her fingers
curl with
curiousness
To stroke the ragged
faces of the rocks,
Or run her dewy
fingers through the
phlox.
{Written by Isaiah
Zerbst for the
poetry contest
"Through the Mist"
on the 20th of
August, 2014.}
Winter spirits rise
Released from snow they dance, warmed
Weeping tears of mist
copyright Kristin Reynolds 2008
The mist swirls through the deep vale
shifting slowly and giving glimpses
of the lush vegetation and flowers.
Slowly it dissipates in dawn's sunlight.
Teasing as it lazily drifts
showing for a brief second
a colourful bank rife with flowers.
Then blankets it from sight.
As the day warms up
it appears to thicken
then yield oh so slowly.
Wisps of mist now fading.
Before our eyes lies
startling beauty.
Nature's riches displayed
a wealth of orange and yellow.
Pinks, purples and blues vie
each more beautiful
and lavish green trees
gently shade the saplings.
The Treasure of Nature's Canvas
is now stretched out before us
while the birds happily sing
as they rush to build their nests.
Insects buzz with joy as they collect
the pollen and nectar from flowers.
In this new spring day
life itself is reaffirmed.