Best Misted Poems
She is young and free, and most of her love lies in front of her
As the dawning twilight holds one breathless air under misted whispers
A sight she often looks beyond the vast land that always ends in the ocean
Upon the rocks driven by a seabreeze salted fragrance lingers
Waves and natural forces full of power draws upon sound and rhythm
Mixed echoes crying gulls rise and fall as they crash ringing home
To walk along the beach barefoot, she has time to be young
Reflecting back on each step forward petals of a sunbeam enters
Feeling divine happiness every second heartbeat without a special reason
Time begins to challenge the labours of the trodden path
Live it is to dare, nobody has gone in her step before
Standing upon the apex captivated by thought spiralling
Form a sculpture of wet sand, without being critical
Leaving an imprint under the shell where holds precious pearls
A way to expose oneself to something unfamiliar and unsafe
Petals of a flower dancing to a winds melody rings midnight bells
She dreams of love, with expectations and hope to be a queen
Under the starlight where a moon's cradle swoons her with a smile
A hand to hold, the first kiss ... a puzzling thought
Where memories are born a fire always burns regally sealed
A collaborated poem
Anne-Lise Andresen and Liam Mc Daid
08.06. 2017
(unrhymed couplets)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
When it's soup season on Poetry Soup
Ingredients are in large selection
Creamy chicken soup is yummy
for both body and soul
it is simple to fix
Step one:
Joseph and John catch the chicken
it runs wild in the back garden
Step Two:
Robert and Richard pluck the feathers
and takes out the entrails
no one else would do this work so well
Step Three:
Wash your hands (I bet they smell)
Step Four:
Tania and Evelyn
fry the chicken in butter
together they sing a cheerful song
Step Five:
Ilene and Jan
is responsible for
leek, bell peppers
and carrot in the pot
their tools are humor
not razor sharp knifes
Step Six:
Hiya who is "chicken" in the group
adds boiling broth stock
Linda tells her to be cautious
kitchen window has been misted by steam
Step Seven:
Let the soup boil for ten to fifteen minutes
Sara says to her husband Bill who stirs the pot
Step Eight: Crème Fraîche
Paula and Heidi adds an extra dash
and taste a little with a wooden spoon
Step Nine:
Victor chops some fresh parsley
he feels refreshed and hungry today
Step ten: Pick your place around the table
Welcome to Soup - Enjoy
Modest woman moderate woman
Your inner beauty strikes me
Like the tongue of noble eloquence
More than gold even refined gold
Or our purged fulgent silver.
Black woman proud woman
Your pride is not haughty
But a humble pride of eaglets;
Your black eyes are so glittering
As the eyes of our dark rivers
Filled with messages of peace
That banish the broody turmoil
From those panting hearts
Of your foreigned offsprings.
Gentle mother diligent mother
Your kindness kindles the fires
Of my heart –
Your dexterity dresses
The table of our ageless history
And the thought of your being
– Oh kind mother! –
Makes the most delicious menu
For my heart.
I remember your naked feet
Fast and fair as a pigeon’s limbs
Treading the invisible paths
Almost covered by shrubs
Small shrubs misted by the prime mist.
I remember the wood from the wood
The water from the water
And manifold items from jungle alleys
Borne by your delicate hands
And upon your soft black-haired head.
I remember the constant match
To markets and to farms
And your bright face smeared with
The ash dust
Making you more beautiful
Than any woman whose feet
Ever touched the naked earth.
I remember those burdens
Upon your cheerful kin-souls
And babies strapped to your backs
Babes full of unspoken words
To unborn others in patient wombs
Waiting in an endless turn –
Indeed, mother is dove!
A black dove and a dark huntress
A hunter’s gift from the maker?
Mother is like a weaver-bird
Building a big foot-like nest
Filled with corn and warmth
A bundle of eagle-flight
Mother is dove
And the hunter calls her
The clan’s eternal dove.
Oh, mother loving woman
Gentle as our black horizon
To you we humbly come
From these far and lonely lands
Hoping to grace our love and beauty
Before that jealous grave
Makes her temporary feast.
Blood Red Moon
Deep devouring passions bleed now from this solar eclipse
As black blood flows from an evil army of “undead” beings
Whose fangs hideously and cruelly pierce the veins of their
Mesmerized and unsuspecting victims who are held at bay.
In such silence burdens prowl inside deep sad heartbeats
As ghastly living shadows creep eerily in and knot the
Tortured guts of a twisted scared bloodless life falling
Under the dark macabre gaze of the Blood Red Moon.
At night uncanny black magic spells are intoned in the
Old Latin scripture as large spider webs cast a gloomy
Presence and envelope now all those trapped by them as
The misted breath bleeding hearts howl to Heaven’s roar.
Standing upon a rugged and lonely mountain crossroad
There can be no release from the devilish glare of the
Vaunted “Blood Red Moon” whose evil presence pervades
Every breath you take and casts a demonic derisive stare.
My senses are now frozen in place as a deep chill shakes
My soul to the very core of its primordial existence as I
React to the cutting cold of a dawning maleficent darkness
Invading every corner and space of my psyche and existence.
The wicked jaws of a rabid beast seek now to bite and rip
All beauty from me and all thoughts I hold close and dear
As I gasp now for life and painfully feel my tired heartbeat
Slow as my immortal soul numbs and cries crocodile tears.
I’m cursed now to walk alone forever as my spilled remains
Are cut now and my ties of human existence have disappeared
Putting me on the ground on all fours as I ponder my ultimate
Fate in the hands of a supernatural force beyond any mercy.
As the shadow of Lucifer’s Blood Red Moon passes over my
Tortured face I spy a look at one demonic siren prompting me
Now to follow her as my body is placed on a sacrificial alter
And my life ebbs away as I’m kissed by spirits of the damned!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – October 11, 2015
(Narrative Quatrain)
Everything Froze
a giant crystal wind chime spread its tone
teeth of icicles consumed a home
misted rain encased fence posts and rail
power lines succumb to winter’s weight and fail
vehicles in free style pirouettes
slide beneath the curtain call of white
taunted by the feigned applause of wind
stinging critic of a dance that will not end
children do the snow day dance of glee
parents know how long this day will be
until the child that lives within them all
makes and throws the season’s first snowball
streets await the toothbrush of the plow
snow men don old hats and carrot nose
angels in the snow cold trumpets blow
to celebrate the day everything froze
John G. Lawless
2/14/2014
He walked with her a good mile
and talked with increasing smile,
with wonder he sat,
for the gladness in her heart;
...spent her days with wild hope ---
that he was in her eldest dreams,
from the beginning smote her monsters
and eased her deepest fears...
Now he rode with her again on his great white steed,
'til the edge of some mystic dusk;
and turn they could though too darkling
the winnowed wood, and chasing with shadows
the misted nite path, and she finally bade him
and his hidden forest hideaway;
so quaint and annointed with its little beds,
and bruin skins 'ere the hearth
and lordly portraits above its mantel;
and he lit it alive with warmth,
and the moon had come swift through the garland window
And in her hand he thrust the dearest of wine,
with nectar lush for a goddess,
and dearer her heart for him more they dined;
yet he pressed no closer ---
and gazed delicately glancing her bosom,
remained mostly her lunar eyes...
and bade her a fine warm shawl ---
But the wine and fire...his eyes...
his eyes upon her though brief ---
stroked her where they fell,
and smiling she was longing his lips,
but caught her lust...
her heart! she could hear it drumming desperate
" I am almost too warm for your fine shawl..."
" Too warm? " said the lord ---
" no wine could simmer so, and the fireplace
too slight for such heat... your eyes undress me... "
And no nite they had ended...
nor any morning come betwixt them,
(but a kingdom of love in some forest green)
Hoping the flowers bloom
Sifting through my day,
withered masses of an old heart
searching in the wrong corner,
dreaming in muted grays on a white background,
wandering through the garden
of my every lost dream,
hoping the flowers bloom . . .
and I get to see them
Long hours only offer relief
when I look past the walls
formed around my smile so long ago,
they are now only a faded memory
flickering in and out,
losing clarity
Then out of nowhere comes a light,
so brilliant, beautiful, electrifying
I can only stare and wonder,
is this for me to keep,
or dare I say . . . to love?
Love, now that’s a laugh
Love only finds those who deserve it
and those signs have long since
pointed a different direction
But a voice speaks otherwise
a soft tone, a sweet noise I’ve not heard
or imagined . . .
When whispers of affection from her
fall upon my ears . . . my ears?
Like I am something, somebody, and it feels good
even if it is still hard to believe
And I feel tears forming, could this be happiness
I ask, when there before my misted eyes
The flowers are blooming . . .
and I can see them
another somber rise of day through autumn's reign
where clouded thoughts backslide through eyes
while the anguish of my pain lies misted in the lash of october's skies
i watch as the breeze strips color from these trees
crimson drops aloft on the awry path, downward in spirals
like a child's mind trying to find assuage from life's affliction
through atrocious little lines carved upon shrouded flesh
in an auspicious attempt to find relief, momentarily unrestricted
sometimes i long to be like the leaves of autumn, spun golden
twirling in the allure of whispered breezes, adrift in the winds
carefree on the jaunt of life of these memories that taunt
other times, the appetency to be the tree is greater in depth,
to be bare, weightless and absolve the heaviness of life's burdens
as you cast them downward in wayward winds to their death
while your roots remain grounded, although twisted, still stand firm
sometimes i'd like to see the beauty in october through other's eyes
to glow in the dawn of my day, not shiver in its winded breath
beneath the grays of skies, where all i can see is impending death
in the season's foreshadow as the leaves slip like blood through hands
October 9, 2019
Crazy A's Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
On misted streets of fog and pain
With lamp post lighted thoughts of rain
The city, bleak in heart’s demise
Is cold, as tears now taunt my eyes
To walk in disappointment’s dawn
The streets grow weary as I yawn
Though every life must sometimes shade
I contemplate decisions made
And though we all know things must end
And good things break and others bend
It’s hard to fathom graying skies
When promises are often lies
Yet, something always fills the crack
A light that somewhere has my back
To lift the fog of morning chill
And somehow reinstate my will
~
Soft melodies of misted spray
adrift ‘pon glistened air
Cascading waters on display
their touch of moisture’d share
As fern leaf sonnets fill the trees
illumined emerald green
Symphonic spun tranquilities
embrace this peaceful scene
Sweet solitude in whispered song
on crystal stream it flows
O’er polished stone it rolls along
as time so gently slows
This moment, pure serenity
of shimmered heaven’s grace
A world of nature’s harmony
is felt this wondrous place
~
9/10/19
Written for the: Picturesque Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
"These woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.”
~ Robert Frost
I'm an echo of the salient sea,
weeping in cascading embers
that cautiously creep through
vintage and vine shadows of
a velveteen spirit.
Swept by the corrupt assonance
of graphite seafoam, I float in
obsidian lullabies hummed by the
translucent tides, along darkling
dawns of crepuscular daydreams.
Beautifully blackened in
gold-ochre beams of the
paper sun, wishfully I wither
amidst pale thistles of
decaying dusks as mellow rays
melt in ice-blue vapours of
camphor oceans.
My heart is a severed garden,
strolling as an illusive memory
in perpetual plains of misted ache
and rotten apple-skinned reminiscences.
Laced as a serene embroidery
of turquoise chrysanthemum
weeds in chocolate veins of
marshmallow coffin, I rise akin
cinnabar smog upon cactus-valleys,
For, I'm as elegant as those shiny
fuchsia stars studded along
coral-peacock lawns,
yearning to kiss the ebony silhouette
of crystal-coal midnight.
Will His sapphire fortune
envelop this graceful ghost's
etheree-like shadows
in an emerald-maroon sheath
of pastel herbs and heal every
cell, tangled in cobwebs of confusion,
within shrieking seconds of flaked hours?
R a i n ~ a misted mirror
coated in petrichor pain ~
fused with memories
pirouetting through the
veiled salt of the earth,
caressing the Pina Colada dreams
adrift in the icy-blue air,
amidst clouds soaked
in prismatic hues ~
arching like opalescent canopies,
to hide the despair I’ve draped
in dragonfly hues that no one knows
but the moon and his
merciful silver, forever stroking
the silken surface of s i l e n c e ~
homed within my
heart that aches…
And along with the thunder ~
came confetti of scars,
a piercing flash of metallic truth
revealing midnight rays
of how I’ve long been the storm ~
a murky sky of cracked constellations,
a rush of roaring torrents,
driving my thoughts to the honed
borderline of tremors and torture ~
teetering on forsaken fragility.
O dahlia dawn ~
I am the splitting tempest,
the spectral outline of
electrified lightning.
I taste the bittersweet flavors
of opaline stars ~
trembling in angst,
as fleeting sparks of the buried past,
too, feel the hurt beneath
the pansies of paradise,
where angels unfurl their
wings, sprinkling tears of hope
upon the battlefield of
shattered dreams,
lamenting the endless war
that burns in the olive-green
orchard of the grief-struck mind,
where fairy-lights
flicker neon hints of
prejudice through broken twigs ~
a pitiful perception,
amplifying the echoing embers
floating above puddles
of weathered lilies,
stained with dust and powder,
weaving a requiem for the
f a l l e n jewels,
walking through the trails
of bruises and tilted tulips,
bleeding poetry ~
beautified with
polychromatic phrases
and falcon ink that cuts
through paper promises,
leaving nothing but a restless reverie,
breathing in the quivering
warmth of quietude…
our wedding day portrait
two made one
misted by years
masked by smoke-filled skies
bobby, gina—two of our three
days seared with sun and a child’s scuffed knee
through spelling tests piano recitals saturday games
kneeling together strokes of unquestioned belief
caps and gowns, crystal and dented brass
degrees in business and medicine
marriages grandchildren colors filling the sassafras
then job losses metastasis scares hospital gowns
loneliness
values smudged
quibbles spatter pigment
no one budged
boredom drowned in tanqueray the glass smelled of pine
blue smoke, screens, two strangers behind painted glass
lost in a bell jar of belladonna
two martini glasses, an untouched olive
the letter’s paper like granite, vows sun-washed away
body mind and spirit—desaturated
a torn canvas split along jagged lines
no reconciliation
reimagining life with unfamiliar faces
a torn canvas becomes two paintings
no masking tape or super glue
can ever repair a canvas torn in two
=======
Warm raindrops fall like pearls
Yes, like pearls from heaven they fall
warm drops from love`s breath
which adds misted windows
Your lips pressed lightly against mine
I glide into a beautiful dream
Floating on warm white clouds
and sweet summer winds
You are what my heart has always longed for
You touch my heart so gently
Your presence gives me warmth
Your confidence gives me peace
Love me ... as I love you
Show me your paradise
Two hearts melting together
in a world of love
together we go on a journey
In a storm of illusions
25.08.2014
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Once upon an ancient time,
in long gone languid days,
when distant misted myths bechanced
in lovely rhym'ed ways,
when time was so much freer,
less allotted to the minute,
‘twas then the mighty Big Mac got the gherkin in it.
The night was one made fit for gods,
and stars made white the sky,
and drunk, dylsexic old McDonald
sang Oh Eee, Oh Eee, I.
His greatest yet creation
sat on his barbie plate,
it was the mighty Big Mac with no inkling of its fate.
McDonald thought the pattie lacked
a certain...
Il ne savait pas.
He decided what he'd give it was this green thing from a jar.
But Big Mac cried out, ‘Hang about!
I like the way I am!
And I think that what I need the least is a prostate gland exam.'
McDonald growled, ‘Don't be a sook!
It's not gonna hurt a bit.
Just close your eyes and grit your teeth and keep loose where you sit.'
Big Mac firmly grasped his bun
and held it really tight,
he had Phallicvegiephobia and would resist with all his might.
But McDonald was too smart by far,
Big Mac was not his match,
the old bloke snuck up from behind to by surprise him catch.
Beneath an unsuspecting arm
he gave a little tickle,
the burger gave a little laugh and got a little pickle...
So the Big Mac we all know today
was born of subterfuge.
And although the gherkin in it aint really all that huge,
remember that it's only there
by the skullest of skullduggery,
and that bit we discard's the fruit
of midnight burger buggery.