Best Noisily Poems
#3~"Lost not forgotten"
"A solitary star had gone astray, yawning before the dark,
hiding; straight ward, waver the wink of light, slowly fading.
By my window I shed a tear; I farm the fields of my soul."
#2~"Down-under"
"Above the winter masses, buried, I wait for the sun.
Sweet smelling kitchen, the hunger rise, within, my tongue swings...
Rise away from the table... noisily I yell for my bike."
#3~"Dreaming with the God's"
"Downhill of Mount Olympus, everything felt real.
In the orchard of my dreams, I am structured as a statue.
Mr. Sandman made a fool, of my midnight summer dream."
~SKAT~
SIJO contest.
Take it easy on me, i'm a SIJO -Virgin-
Sometimes late at night as we succumb to sleep
We greet creative thoughts beyond those of counting sheep
It’s said Thomas Edison held coins in his hands
That clanged into a bucket noisily as planned
Stirring, he was intrigued by notions for invention
That seemed to emerge from a different dimension
It worked for him and if you enter an alpha state
You, too, may find this source of inspiration great
For it is this exercise of the mind unwinding
That serves to recount the day, subtle reminding
Of the joy you found when beholding a flower
And the thrill of discovering nature’s power
Or the touch of a hand from one who reaches out
When a vulnerable heart is mired in doubt
And the scent of loved ones’ perfume on a pillow
That permits our longing memories to billow
The sounds and tastes of each long day also emerge
As slumber takes charge and begins its nightly purge
So keep a pen and pad at bedside as you retire
Knowing that inspiration is likely to spire
November comes down gliding on filmy wings,
Bringing cool and dank days on her way
Sweet it is to watch the spectacular changes she brings
In a medley of colors, plants and trees proudly stay
Earth puts on a finery no other season can beat
In glinting flashes, the land and sky look so bright
The delectable pumpkin pie is the season’s favorite treat
As the day advances sunbeams fall in sparks of light
.
Early mornings come covered in snowy mist
Soon leaves nose dive and mournfully weep
The fallen leaves tremulously cry under our feet
As their last goodbye before they finally fall asleep
Evenings turn colorful with sinking sunlight, bleeding red
Squirrels chatter noisily as they gather nuts in the wild
As autumn tightens its grip, men retire early to bed
Wind blows all through the month with a temper mild
Soon the air turns chilly with blizzards coming in a row
And winter waits impatient for its icy-cold embrace.
The land will then be covered in a maze of snow.
Even the last flower shall fall and fade from earth’s face
The fallen dead leaves lying in piles and rotting away
And the sound of wind whistling the dirge of November
Bring to me the thought that we must all take leave one day
Down on earth, fall and rot, thus be fodder for new life ever!
Nov.13.2022
~ Placed First~
November or December Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Caren Krutsinger
Upon Awakening
I see you morning,
curling down into
my front yard
like a big golden cat
come to play.
your paws ruffle the trees
but they are only bones
clacking noisily like
.geese squabbling
making your ears twitch.
you snuffle the dried beds
wanting to rub against the lilacs
but they are sleeping within
the grey hard branches
and will not answer you.
ah but there is a rose,
sheltered from rude November
by the cottage in a quiet spot,
one last hurrah as red as berries
you curl around it and purr.
Written: January 2nd, 2023, For Ink Empress Contest
Rumi verse" Sing to me in the silence of your heart and I will rise up to hear your triumphant song"
________________________________________
Life is a symphonic cynosure
a charming composition
sung in tune noisily in tandem
merriment liberates us
spread the tunes of life
a ready-made ubiquitous syntax
moon voices Jukebox heart
Iron harps croon the days
I used to walk Elvis line in his heyday.
Twilight dream orchestrator
soars on silver wings
across the eerie sea
past raven-singing islets
race the clock
swap hourglass sand
reset to our first trip,
let's foster solid walls.
Life is a bittersweet symphony.
Love, laughter,
and silent dreams
In verses, rhythm begins
Steering us via life's curveballs
a calm ballad may be feasible
dreamlike memory
dusty paths to neon-lit roadways
catching dreams, sailing
weeping as a lone harp
I'm queueing until death
to travel as a country song
via onomatopoeia syntax
a metonymy, twangy melody.
paint hope on breeze
as moonlight amid trees
or pearly umbrella stars
dancing in cosmic black sea
dark orchestra conductor
revive ancient music
until ivory beams last.
Life is a melody to be sung
play it gently as a drumbeat
life serenade in riptide
years notes strum
cosmic tapestry links us to poetry
spirits dance in unison,
life is akin to writing a song,
with our key and tone
each life has a meaning,
we pick the theme and chorus
a song bearing our name
an inclusive rhythm
life's a tune.
Since the elders often proclaim, my how time flies,
You then naturally look up into the skies.
To study the heavens for at least one small sign,
From the horizon up to the tallest tree line.
Then suddenly, a flock of birds flitters about,
So you believe that you might have time figured out.
But when the old people mentioned, my how time flies,
They didn’t bring up birds; so is time in disguise?
As a carnival balloon, yes that’s it, you say,
Like the vanishing kind on a bright summer day.
But losing your own, is one of life’s biggest fears,
Since you don’t want to waste any time crying tears.
It’s possible that time is commuting by plane,
Which is surely the fastest speed time could attain.
But what good can that be when the planes out of sight,
Unless it quickly returns from its roundtrip flight?
Then is waiting around to see time such a waste,
When each day there are many affairs to be faced?
Then out of the blue a helicopter is seen,
And you reflect, maybe time is on that machine.
But as soon as a copter is here it’s gone by,
After noisily chopping the beautiful sky.
Although it’s very unlikely time takes that ride,
Unless it cannot hear, or ear plugs are supplied.
Wait a minute, I got it, time surfs over clouds;
If I could do the same all my friends would be proud.
And occasionally time would appear as rain,
But then an excess amount would go down the drain.
Then could time be a portion of air all the time,
To be breathed in, or to give life to a wind chime?
Though, is that really flying like old people claim?
It seems all my guesses are exactly the same.
Well, after a long life of thinking and trying,
To figure out the ways that time could be flying,
In heaven, by feather, or motor, as vapor,
Yet, not one of those ways can be proved on paper.
Until recently, when I looked in the past,
The answers were there for those time questions asked.
That time really flies, though it takes time to see,
That a lifetime of living, is the real key.
And now I tell the young, that time truly flies,
But don’t bother looking up into the skies.
Time earns its wings every day, inside the mind,
And can only be seen, when looking behind!
David Fisher for Impress Me-Iambic Meter Contest
Philosophical motif
Year after year, young people inspire me.
The freshness of youth brings forth curiosity.
Diversity and personality scream, it seems –
Noisily, boisterously, playfully, hope knocks.
Each child has amazing talents to unlock.
Shy ones work in silence while some classmates tease.
Others squirm around on a whim and a breeze.
Did you guess? I am a substitute teacher.
I learn something new every day that I work.
I guess you might say it is a hidden perk.
I love my work and I love to learn from many.
There was one high school boy
A class leader who loved to rap –
Talking, laughing, rapping; class behavior zapped.
I saw impending disruption; So, I struck a deal.
My clever solution was a bit surreal.
When everyone finished their work, he could rap.
Work first, then fun was my motto; he took charge.
His group of "homies” got to work right away.
The classroom was silent that wonderful day.
So, just as I promised, ten minutes at the end,
He started a beat others joined from their seat.
Line upon line he rapped words with rhyme.
Then, point to a classmate who would rap in time.
It was so much fun to see faces aglow.
When he pointed to me, I used poetry.
From that day forward, when he was in my class,
He would ask me to write a class poem, alas.
They would give me a topic and a few key words.
The students worked first; then, my poem was heard.
They would listen to my poems line after line.
I can still see his face after all of these years.
The sparkle in his eyes untangled my fears.
Years later, I was bored out of my mind.
My hip disintegrated; I was confined.
What would I do? The answer, I could not find.
I remembered that boy and that he liked my work.
It was his and his classmates’ reactions –
They influenced me to take writing action.
I joined Poetry Soup; poetry became a love affair.
I met friends, studied forms and wrote anywhere.
Paper towels or notebook paper, it mattered not.
When away from my computer, I would jot.
That boy brought the beginning; self-confidence.
His cheery influence blessed me with lifetime joy.
They liked my poems; so, I wrote thousands more.
All of this because of one young boy who will never know,
It was his good-word raps that set my soul aglow.
March 8, 2017
Written for the Poetry Contest - Younger People Who Have Inspired You
I sit here in the park amidst a carpet of green speckled with buttercups and daisies
A pale blue sky above ceilings my room as I close my eyes
as I open my ears to the Summer sounds surrounding me
Buzzing encircles me as bumble bees in picnic mode
collect the rich nectar from the sporadic yellows and whites
To my left in the distance I hear the distinct sound of children playing in the parks
swimming pool
Shriek's that would cut glass are consumed by the vast expanse
Water splashing resonates through the air as if carried on the Summer breeze
Chimes appear from the distance as a frenzy of screams shout
Mam, dad it's the ice cream van
Suddenly a quietness descends as I picture children and adults
licking their ice cream nectar like thirsty hungry bees
To my right I hear the distinctive grunts of my daughter and her friend
emulating Flushing Meadow on the local tennis courts
The odd yell of congratulations from watching spectators breaks the scene
As I turn my head again in radar like fashion I zoom in on the aviary where gorgeous
budgies are kept
I can picture their greens, yellows and blues through my closed eyelids
This little community chirp endlessly as they flutter in organised commotion
Delights of aw echo across the flower beds as they are absorbed in my
consciousness
Modern man interrupts this tranquil scene as metal birds noisily
roar overhead whilst bodied engines reverberate reminding us of the mechanical
world we live in
My own little world this Summers afternoon comes to an end as my daughter and her
friend return with vociferous tones
I open my eyes as normality returns
We gather our belongings as we head of home listening to the cacophony of modernism
By evening five we started ,
Our christmas shopping activities.
My wife on the lead, her purse full.
Me appreciating her choices elegantly;
Kevin, Andrea supporting my task ,
Our activities ended by nine.
tired we, wanted to sit and relax,
“How about a cool drink? “, my wife.
“Yes, Yes, we should “, I replied.
We walked in to a hotel, lights dim.
Seated we happily, bearer so quick ,
“Four royal falooda “, my wife.
“Da a jungle story”, my children
At last, I got a lead role to play, I thought .
“You know nothing to make these kids laugh”, my wife,
She started narrating a jungle story with expressions!
my children started listening, I too!
Royal falooda came.
I asked bearer not to disturb.
We got in to our world,
My wife,” Once upon a time a fox and a stork lived in a jungle”.
I said, “might be near a lake”
“Yes, yes”, my wife.
“They were good friends. But the fox was very selfish”, my wife.
“Could be like me”, I said.
“Yes,yes”, my wife.
My wife, “One day he thought of a plan to tease the stork”.
“Could be like you”, I said.
“Shut up Da”, my daughter.
“The fox invited the stork for lunch”, my wife.
“I know this story”, screamed my son!
“Go ahead, go ahead”, my daughter.
“The stork accepted his invitation happily-
and reached on time for lunch”, my wife.
“Poor stork”, I said.
“Now the fox played a trick and presented -
food in a very shallow plate”, my wife.
“Poor stork”, I said.
My wife, “The fox finished his food in no time but-
the stork was not able to have his food at all”.
“Poor stork”, I said.
my son started laughing noisily!
My daughter too joined him.
I struggled badly to appease them.
My son said, “Da, I too couldn’t have my falooda at all”.
we were offered a small plastic spoon!
falooda was in a narrow tall cup!
We know not, but we were struggling
I laughed at my wife. She was awe struck!
I said coolly, “I never follow etiquettes",
I threw the spoon and drank the whole falooda!
My children followed me.
My wife threw the spoon; screamed, “Idiot”
She was firing the bearer.
I was laughing silently.
Nowadays people have lost sense!
written on 15-12-2013 for the contest "Any poem #5" by Poet Destroyer A.
As the dusk of darkness settles in the
sky above
The setting of the sun masters
colors we all love
Stars begin to twinkle, covering the
heavens at night
As the moon appears in its beautiful
array so bright
Magically in different forms until it
comes to be full
The starry dippers chasing one another
as in a duel
Disappearing as the clouds come into
sight with haste
The rain falls supplying the earth with a thirst full taste
As the dawning aligns itself with the rising of the sun
Creation blossoms as a result of what the
rain has done
Blue skies allowing its rays to bear its warmth upon us
White clouds puff across the sky, as large
as an Octopus
Figures are created with each cloud
whether big or small
The wind moves the tops of trees,
whether short or tall
Watching the sun half circle, shading each part of our land
Birds singing in harmony like heaven’s marching band
The magic of beauty is seen in the
heavens day and night
Planes flying from east to west until
they are out of sight
Hot air balloons of all colors rise above
following the cloud
People watching noisily with clapping hands so loud
Paratroopers falling from heaven framed
in pictured glory
Flowing with grace as this majestic
view tells their story
Children releasing balloons while watching their flight above
Their face reminds us why this magic
in the sky is so loved
I am incredibility inner today,
like a folded rose, metaphorically speaking
I am totally dwelling within . . .
the world moving outside of me
lost within my own reverie
I have come to the art gallery
where I can lose myself
on the patio I am reading and writing
the warm sun is caressing me
the breeze stroking me
silence embraces my body
I am safe within my loneliness
the world is far away
until . . .
some people arrive, noisily
I leave this place and am
now, lost within the world of old masters
and I roam the corridors of the gallery
a girl alone . . .
and I dwell within like a folded rose
________________________
September 8, 2012
Poetry/Free Verse/Like A Folded Rose
Copyright Protected, ID 09- 419-275-08
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France
Written for the Standard Metaphorically Speaking Contest
sponsor, Catie Lindsay, HM, Judged 09/24/2012
Submitted to the Standard contest, Late October
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged
Third Place
________________________
Submitted to Standard Free Verse Contest
sponsor, Skat, Judged
First Place
REPLACEMENT
I champion a different philosophy of life
On a scale line of dramatic and emotional
Thought
Ranging from hate to love –
Weight dishes filled balanced evenly –
Replacement overpowers the right extreme
The love dish clatters noisily on the table
Hate is left hanging high and dry
Replaced by love
Whose presence is monumentally ponderous
The ideology remarkably simple –
Any thought residing in the suspended hate dish
Is blessedly replaced by love.
Dave Austin
Visitors I saw in my garden today were:
9 starlings noisily squabbling
1 duck casually waddling.
1 robin - a handsome little chap
1 bumble bee, that landed on my lap.
2 neighbouring cats, stalking the same prey
1 little mouse, who wears a coat of grey.
3 worms wiggle above the earth I dug
1 fat, juicy, giant, orange, slimy, greedy slug.
5 spiders spinning their intricate webs
1 fly cocooned, in delicate white threads.
3 frogs sitting by the garden pond
2 doves flirting, cooing as they bond.
8 skater bugs, danced the waters top
1 blue dragonfly, hovering near a flower pot.
2 brown butterflies resting on my fence
3 foaming snails, their second line defence.
1 pushy wasp, that wanted my half eaten bun
3 baby rabbits playing in the evening sun.
1 majestic blue peacock, from the neighbours farm
1 owl swooped in from the farmers barn.
2 swallows aerobatics, as they build their family nest
4 tiny bats skilled navigation, at it's very best.
Tomorrow will bring more visitors, some different and the same
The honour was all mine, for it was my garden to which they came.
15.06.22
NOT WRITTEN FOR A CONTEST
I often write about the ocean's secrets,
of its crashing waves that roar in apogee
and the treasures it washes upon the shore.
I've verses founded on tales of sailor's lore.
Stanzas about fragile seashells and abalone
and of gulls noisily squawking in cacophony.
I've penned Sonnet filled with romantic notions
in which mermaids live in depths of oceans.
I wrote I'd found Atlantis beneath the waves,
and chests of gold and silver in a maze of caves.
I am always watching out for predatory sharks,
for in ocean waters, they are considered hierarchs.
I've claimed the sun cries when twilight is nigh.
When his day his done, he yawns his 'goodbye.'
I narrated epics of its tide, controlled by the moon,
and of sirens who lure men with a beguiling tune.
Poems tell of typhoons, caused by Neptune's hand,
and of shipwrecks, men and cargo strewn on sand.
The ocean beckons to me as I stand on the cliffs.
It speaks in the breakers. My thought often drifts
to how beautiful are the waters that God has made.
It covers most of Earth's surface with salty brine.
The magnitude of its power, I would dare not define.
Much is unknown about what lies beneath the deep
but all its secrets, it seems, the ocean intends to keep.
Gradually the crystalizing dawn -- more hardened
Than folded steel --- more sharper than
The blade that cuts!
Wisps of thin vapour, once loitering insidiously
At the steps of each staunch door,
Swirling away -- seemingly almost alive!
Coiling and uncoiling. Has all the litheness of a
Dancing girls weightless silken ribbon.
Until, retreating back, high, into some lofty,
Inaccessible mountain...
Dissipates as if just abandoned dragons breath.
The trees and streams are no longer so solemn.
Circling over the temple, above the brittle lands
Frosted chill, red-beaked choughs noisily engaged
In agitated clattering...
But now the temple bells are commanding those
Monks to prayer.
The blind and withered monk, who sits alone
In his unassuming corner, reminds us:-
"An emperor who abuses his power unsettles the
Equilibrium of the whole nation, the workings of
Nature,
And the livelihood of all people;
His responsibility is to maintain harmony in
Himself and the empire...
By acting in accordance with Confucian principles".
It is for them to contemplate what we cannot
Comprehend:-
We are peasants and it is not expected of us
To understand such wise things; nor should we.
We understand the fish and their ways, and the
Ways of the Blue River...
Just as monks understand our gracious lord Buddha.
Rouses the sun. Slowly lifts an enormous sky.
Glistening hoarfrost spun from bramble to
Bush -- strung from bough to branch like
Giant spider web;
Stiffened grasses that so pleasingly crunch
Underfoot;
And from these grasses, droplets of moisture
Ready to be released like slow weeping tears;
They will join with and sweeten the vibrant
Spring waters -- clearer than quartz --
That stream in tripping rivulets over yellow rocks
To splash from shallow cup to pouring pool...
Once you have tasted these waters you would
Have little more need of wine.
Wine is for idle men, or for our warring masters
To drink when celebrating great victory;
What use have we of intoxicating wine?
It is better kept as an offering...
Lest the river Gods grow angry and
Spoil our catch.