Best Netting Poems
A teal twilight inks cobalt silhouettes
as distant stars unveil their twinkling lights.
And shadows slink forth, melding with the night,
while a setting Sun feigns a scarlet death.
Pink clouds cluster at the horizon's edge,
garnering shades of cerise and purple.
And daylight shrinks to a amber aura,
reflected in rusty crystals of ice.
Dusk weeps dewdrops, yet grieves to no avail,
while darkness dims the last lingering light.
And brisk breezes whisk heat away in gusts:
eerily chilling both body and soul.
Long skeletal fingers anchor the sky
to a lone tree rooted in ebony.
And a marshmallow moon appears snagged,
in the netting of its velcro branches.
Creatures of the dark stir from sleep's slumber:
in the wake of a slowly sinking Sun.
And silence rules: as sound bends to its will,
all, but a cricket's, haunting, piercing, shrill.
Peace slips lightly
Over my shoulders
Downy in its softness
Its netting of gossamer
Floats downward
As a willow's branches
Might brush fate
And touch the unknown
I stand with beauty
I hug airiness
Fire in distant trees
Burnished red and gold
Drop their leaves
One by one by one
Spaces fill knowingly
Like a precise jigsaw
Designed by eternity
Its pieces culled from heaven
To create nature's quilt
Trembling, I embrace the birthing
I am one with change
A cacaphony of sounds -
Caw Caw Caw
Raucous, disturbing, quickening
Tear my thoughts like glass shards
Skyrocketing colors
Shake my newfound presence
I am reminded that
Equanimity's gift is fleeting
As a cardinal's trill
Or the flash of a jay's blueness
I yield to what is
Sworn to secrecy, she told me it had been a long time..
as we sat swinging in a hammock in the late day sun.
'What., are you sayin' you never did it?'
I thought what my mom would do if she caught me, and replied
'brought up different I guess'.
She leaned back into the netting, perhaps chewing on what I said..
half her face streaked in sunlight.
Suddenly aware of her leg touching mine. So warm...
My cotton red racing striped trunks from Sears, with a secret webbed key pocket..her faded OshKosh B'Gosh bibs she wore all summer except on Sundays.
(Sundays were saved for wearing that white & pink pleated Victorian get up she so detested; a gift from her Grandma bought from Macy's mail order catalog)
She ribbed me with her right elbow, as she jumped clear of our swing..
when her mom yelled 'time for supper Kat!' from the front porch.
But she turned back with that dangerous look I'd learned, leaned in close, and licked across all her teeth.
'Milk's colder and better ya know..
drunk straight from the carton.'
She ran inside letting the screen door go with a full slam..!
I thought about all the times we watched Jonny Quest at her house,
eatin' our Quisp or Kaboom with that milk..., and smiled.
I kept Kat's secret safe..,'til just now anyway.
dialogue
His granite form against blue skies
Rippling on the bulging eye, wild waves
Of muscles the netting cloud defies
Reason in concrete, his pride raves
In self glory of athleticism, what a gem
Hard and shadowed without a diadem.
I know that man, I lived inside him
Long ago, slurping applause like a child
Incomplete in potrait, morally dim
About the treasures I often defiled.
That man is just a screen of muscled skin
A pampered fear that won't give in.
He will not cry, because he was taught
It's wrong for boys to show emotions
His destiny by a web of lies once caught
Leaves him lonely, old aspirations
Become wrinkled raisins in the callous sun
Manhood and wood subterfuge the pun.
Tired of being told he cannot become
From school to dull signs of no vacancy
I hears the sirens penning his freedom
He looked for himself, found no legacy
In history or family achievement that will
Stand up to the praise of gatekeepers ill.
He feeds his hungry urges into children
Fatherless because his woman must think
She cannot balance her budget with heaven
And for welfare cheque he's o'er the brink
Thrown, used, demonized, discarded, weak
Now, no virile glory left in love to seek.
He turns to her helpless in his helplessness
Angry with the impotence of history
Mute before her need to have forgiveness
The saddled statue slouches into misery.
You know him too, the black man, proned
Against pale paperbag of evening, stoned.
In Africa he was redeemed by mother, queen
When things fall apart, in America his old
Structures uprooted, he cannot be weaned
Of the nurture that never existed. The mold
Upon his life is history, and only the lover
Carrying the cross can be another redeemer.
Look at him like a child asleep after his spawn
Of delapidated family and garrots of dream
Only ego keeps muscle bulging under the brawn
The heart is mute, and pride wil not scream
For pain though like a white cataract it drowns
Him. How still the victim 'fore the victor frowns!
Our views and sorrows are mirrored in life.
Each jagged shard epitomizes some strife.
Our wounds, sufferings, and personality,
It will include one's beliefs and morality.
Are we netting insight or primarily existing?
Veins would shiver with shattered feelings.
The sharp edges puncture into the intact body.
A wrecked heart squall for plenty and vitality.
Inside the proper limits of a selfish quiddity.
Contemplations from one's own perspective.
Moving good faith grips to a broke history.
Surprising yet rather fiery and lively festive.
In fear of what I can view, I won't stare in the mirror.
My fierce peek and jagged shards scold a sinner.
Written: May 04, 2022
1st place contest winner
In the Mirror of Life Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
A silver sliver of crescent moon
slips over the rim of the Earth.
Sol waits, in inky darkness, as Dawn's light
pierces the night at its heart,
announcing His rebirth.
A pink carnation of a sun
blooms on the horizon's east edge.
And a spider's web, freshly spun,
hangs like netting draped on the hedge.
gold butterfly wings
wrapped in a white silken shroud...
life's eaten alive
A row of jazzy underwear
Wafts gently in the breeze
Pegged to the clothes line
Strung between two trees.
A garden brolly provides
Shade from the evening sun,
Chickens scratch the earth
In their wire netting run.
The cockerel struts his stuff through
The chicks of this years hatch,
Beans and peas and potatoes
Grow profusely in their patch.
Veggies for the table
All home grown
In what I've always wanted
A garden of my own.
Discarded children's toys
Are scattered on the green
But the kids are in bed
Quietly sleeping so not seen.
Blue Geraniums are covered
By wasps and bees and flys
Flitting to and fro for pollen
All sights restful to the eyes.
A summer Friday evening,
A whole weekend ahead
Stretched lazily in my lounger
In my hand a glass of red
Contemplating life, counting
All my blessings one by one
Hoping the rest is as good
As as that already gone.
In my little country garden
Resting in the shade
My loved one by my side
I've really got it made.
Next week is round the corner
For now just living for the day,
This gentle summer breeze
Blowing all my cares away.
Twas the night before my cousin's
wedding
He reluctantly gave in to the
bachelor party vetting
A burlesque, tawdry strip club was
the setting
Unbeknownst to him, the bridesmaid
was his appetite whetting
With gratuitous lap dance, began
the ribald feting
In drunken stupor, the enamored
groom his fealty forgetting
Released his inhibitions all of his
clingy garments shedding
Strode platform, in sync with
bridesmaids erotic moves duetting
In tantric rhapsody, she released
pheromones his testosterone
subletting
Enraptured with his riposte jaunts,
her matrimonial bond shredding
The enamored bridesmaid with lust
his bare essentials began petting
His betrothed parts to her
dominatrix will indebting
As the groom climaxed, his phallus
got entangled in her fish netting
Two truant souls now writhing;
spent body parts bloodletting
Dislodging their carnal chains, into
frothy night jetting
To hotel that lodged devoted bride;
their remaining passions bedding
Lurid, tawdry tryst not regretting;
but o'er bawdy exhibition sweating
Wedding contest
September 14, 2012
Have you ever written anything without sub combing to tears ?
My Family portrait in my mind , 2 older sisters , 2 brothers
My Mother caring about all five in different ways
Just with Mom & Dad there having the best of Holidays
My sisters laying out on the deck of river bank for 4th of July ~
Listening to " Honkey Chateau " and all by Elton John.
music a great memory ~Disco , Donna summer , Grease ~ Jaws !
Dad's records to Tony Bennett , Hank W Sr. , Count Basie & Louis Armstrong.
The music takes me home in a wagon filled with children and a dog "Lucky "
My Older brother , athletic , always fishing & hunting.
My younger , my Rock , Swimming and netting for fish,
feeding our Fat cat Perch off the rocks patiently awaits her food
the yelling , slamming of doors , tempers Flare , passion
Our Parents , passionate love yet passionate Hate .
After being a Family of Seven , Divorcing their fate ..
Why did that show " Dallas " bring out the Divorce in all ?
Scottish ~ Irish ~ French Iroquois ~ Cherokee
No matter what the mix ..Our curse Alcohol ~
the Screaming , Drinking , this memory I wish to shut the door on .
Going to A & W or making Cheerleading ,The Bears of course~
Excited in Chicago ! seeing Elton John in the Summer of 1976 ~
Cubs , museum of Wax , Museum of science & History , Pizza !
Expeditions of discovery ,little brother & I finding arrowheads on the Shore.
Our Grandparents Faithful Celebrations ! Chiffon cake , Apple strudel `
Our Cousins on Holidays , going for ice cream cones ,
scent of wet rain on oak leaves ~Before Halloween was bought in stores.
~ That is the Family I Love ,
that is the Family I choose to miss ~
A cry came out of Charleville ... "Please help our bilby mate!
Extinction is now on the cards, let's save him from this fate."
This little Aussie battler, folks, is disappearing fast.
Five other species have now gone; this bandicoot's the last.
Since European settlement it's lost its former range,
Man's pastoral activities have brought about the change.
Along with altered habitat, which one might think enough,
The fox and cat and rabbit too have made life pretty tough.
Its innocent-like face is cute and bandicoot pink nose,
But how those ears seem oversize and, yes, there're two of those.
Its coat is soft, light grey and tan, with a tail that's black and white.
This critter's somewhat rabbit size, who mostly hunts at night.
Nocturnal is the word I think and satisfies its needs
By dieting on insects, fruit, some spiders, bulbs and seeds.
It shelters through the daylight hours in burrows underground,
But if you'd hoped to see one folk they're not so eas'ly found.
They have a few in W.A., the Territ'ry's some too;
Endangered now in Queensland though, they're rather far and few.
So Frank and Pete both raised their hands to help the bilby out
And figured with the nation's help they'd turn their plight about.
In Currawinya National Park they'll build a netting fence,
Around some scrub where they can breed and come to their defence.
The word has got around it seems, folk gather to the fray;
From product sales and gen'rous gifts that fence is on the way.
So take a bow both Frank and Pete and all you Aussies who,
Dug deep to lend a helping hand; the world has need of you.
There's still a few things left to do, so spread the word about;
Perchance we'll save our bilby mate, of that I have no doubt.
They came amidst the silhouettes
Of out stretched brush
Darting lights pressed against the night
Flickering reflections
Recalling memories
Of a child’s summers
Spent netting Fireflies
Along the riverside
Claiming places loosely hinged
To a minds active footing
Against a backdrop of fears
That modern had washed away
What past grounds had grown
Beguiled them to Obsolescence
Under a current of timely things
A smiles immortal child
Never more near then forgotten
Save there along the riverside
Of dancing Lights
Inviting -
Easter morning
Nineteen fifties
Black and white
Edged in gray
Pyramid like
Stepping stones
Determined by age and height
Reminiscent of the glories of Cleopatra
Stand silhouetted within
Easter’s sunny orbit
The Ideal family with fixed smiles
Returns the viewers’ gaze
Light enters
The shutter clicks
Kidnapping the treasured moment
Mom and dad
Bookend eldest daughter
Twin-like reflections of
Younger brothers stand at mid-point
Youngest daughter becomes
The monument’s foundation
Picture perfect in Easter finery
Chapeaus are draped in crushed netting
Brimming with bright flowers and multi-colored berries
Suit coats hold crisp white shirts and striped ties
Tiny purses dangle from wrists
Fixed Colgate-like smiles
Return the viewer’s gaze
Commemorating, witnessing, rejoicing
What is for who will come
Shoulder to shoulder they stand
Planets spiraling bumping, clashing
Yet staying in orbit
Generations may wonder
At the story being told
Does the little girl rue standing alone?
Or is it her statement?
Why not the oldest?
Leaving the parents together?
Must the brothers move glued as one through eternity?
Will each find a place in the firmament?
Will eternity claim the parents first?
Will a younger moon precede?
Frear not
As Gods’s heavens circumscribe
The position of the moon and stars.
Creation’s order begets love and benevolence
Tradition is reward and
Source material
For nature’s anomalies
Every Easter it was our family tradition to take a picture of the six of us before church. It was often taken on the steps of our family home.
THE ISLANDS OF SAN JUAN - TIMESHARE
[FOLKTALE]
IN A PORTION, A SPELL IS CASTE.
THE PEOPLE ARE CALLED NUGLUMMI.
IN A TRANCE STATE, THEY EAT HONEY AND BEES ARE FORM FROM THEIR EYES.
INSIGHTFULLY THEY BEGIN TO TRANSFORM THE TERRAIN AND ISLANDS FORMED FOR THE FREEDOM OF WOMAN AND MAN.
THE PEOPLE OF THE SEA ARE FREE IN THE PUGET SOUNDS.
DOUGLAS FIR GROWS TALL.
THE LANDSCAPE IS EVERGREEN AND THE LUMMIS ARE SALISAN.
DIALECTIC VERSIONS OF THIS LANGUAGE ARE POSSESSED.
THEIR LOGIC IS HOW THEY TAKE CARE OF THEMSELVES.
*
THE PENINSULA THAT RESIDES IN THEIR TOPOGRAPHY IS VAST IN SHAPE AND FASHIONED BY THE UNINHABITED PORTAGE ISLAND WHERE THEIR RESERVED LAND NOW LAYS. LIKE MANY NORTHWEST COAST TRIBES, THEY GASTRONOMY CONSISTS OF THE COLLECTING OF SHELLFISH, GATHERING OF PLANTS SUCH AS CAMAS AND DIFFERENT SPECIES OF BERRIES, AND MOST IMPORTANT, AS SALMON FISHERMEN, THEY DEVELOPED “REEF NETTING.”
THEY ENJOY POTLATCH ON THE ORCAS ISLAND, SAN JUAN ISLAND, LUMMI ISLAND, FIDALGO ISLAND, PORTAGE ISLAND, AND NEAR POINT ROBERTS AND SANDY POINT.
IN ALL NUGLUMMI, WERE COMMERCIAL TO THEIR TRADE.
THEY GREATER HARVEST IS TODAY.
THE PADDLE TO LUMMI IS 68 CANOEING FAMILIES PADDLING HAND-MADE CANOES TO THE LUMMI RESERVATION FROM PARTS OF WASHINGTON STATE AND BRITISH COLUMBIA.
**
[TODAY]
THESE ISLANDS OF THE PUGET SOUNDS IS TOO FAR AWAY TO HEAR.
WITH A GRAIN OF SALT, THE SEA SWEEPS THE BEACH.
REMEMBRANCE IS IN WALKING SILENTLY AND HEARING THE TRIBAL SINGING IN SALISH.
THESE ISLANDS ARE A CASTAWAYS HAVEN – A HARBOR OF CONTENTMENT, WHICH LAY IN BRITISH COLUMBIA AND THE NORTHWESTERN UNITED STATES.
ROMANTIC ENDEAVORS ARE BASED ON YOUR IMAGINATION.
THESE ARE THE SAN JUAN ISLANDS OF WASHINGTON STATE.
MAY YOUR VISIT BE SAFE!
***
In the airs sweet whispering can you not hear their humming,
These cyber kindred joining together, strumming, across
Oceans, beyond continental divides, it’s a shared song of
Harmony!
In lyrics of verse, rheum and time, expressionism of
Grandeur, shared idealism and emotional tides,
Swaying in the winds of the poetic imagination.
Harken, and listen to the brilliance in melody,
On this international internet family known
As poetry soup!
In the lyrics of these artist bards, are the binding
Ties of paper and ink, yet we share so much more!
The instrumental blending of cultures, beliefs,
And emotional diversity’s, merging within the
Written words of the creative artists inner soul,
And being!
Gleaming stars of friendships, shinning in a
Timeless connection of love, understanding,
And a mutual tolerance for all our differences,
Can be shared and expressed without
Repulsion or offence!
In this unique forum true beauty of honesty
Is shared, between the hearts of mankind,
To encourage and inspirer the next generation
To come.
We are the open hands that offer
Guidance, the words of praise to inspiration,
A shoulder to cry upon, if the tides of emotions
Seem to overwhelm!
After all we are all family, friends, and the
Kindred to humanity, here in this society
Called poetry soup!
Let those whom have fallen at the words of criticism,
Find a calm river of peace here, a helping hand
Of understanding extended unto them, and
Allow them to stand again with a prides honor!
Inspirations lit torch of the future burns brightly,
Uniting us together in this cyber family!
An international netting, not made of wirers,
But of friendships, experiences, and emotions,
Here in this global sphere called earth,
We are one!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
several formica red tables
glass shakers of pepper and salt
big plastic tomatoes I wanted to squeeze
and shaped bottles of sarson’s own malt.
netting on all of the windows
scratch marks from chairs on the floor
ashtrays with notches to rest cigarettes
and 'open' and 'closed' on the door.
menus upright in a v-shape
the 'royals' adorning the wall
food through the fog of benson & hedges
with no one complaining at all.
my past was another country
before chains, regulations and brunch
places I knew from those misty-eyed times
are no more and have all 'gone to lunch'.