Best On Writing And Wordsautumn Poems
There is a small group of poets I come across sometimes
who write in a very lucid and vividly concrete style which totally enchants
me because, unlike myself, they seem to do it effortlessly. They also
use images that are so unique, I can barely manage to think up
such unusual figurative language. For that reason, I made up the word "Imaginist."
One such poet who wrote in this style was Sondra Ball (recently deceased)
who published the successful ezine, Autumn Leaves. Although this poem of mine
could refer to other poets I admire here at Soup as well, I dedicate it to her.
It's not an easy thing for me-
that which you do with mind and
matter ( paper; ink).
How the world so differently you see.
You startle senses with your
imagery.
Oh, were it so I too could seize
a moment;
throw it back to you
new (and incredibly concrete).
I think that would be indeed sweet.
God gifted you this thing–
this creativity,
and yes, you use it well,
in fact, beautifully.
Though what you do
day in and day out
may only come to me
infrequently,
I will plod along,
my words
to tout (or to flout)
what life is all about.
For you . . .
who fails to hesitate,
Time hasn't long to wait.
Pen in hand, do continue
to, most fruitful one,
proliferate.
For Amy Green's Contest: Wow Me With Inspiration
And now for PD's the free verse (old/new)Poetry Contest
Born on March 26th 1874 in San Francisco
Where the streets are filled with dining alfresco
At age eleven his father passed
Then relocated to Lawrence Mass.
From the hills and the pastures blowing free
His words ran so deep and scrupulously dreamy
In the 1900’s he began forward to Derry New Hampshire
Where the broken apple limbs made fair bushfire
Sweet fields swayed and the autumn sighed
Robert was devoted to nature and the great outside
Blooming vivid colors in the musty breeze
Burnt amber firewood rests in columns and is seized
Frozen grounds and lanterns aglow
Heaps of clad earth dancing around the spruce in a row
Where impulsive minds were left to wander
A glorious view of the silvery birch around yonder
There a hunger grew like no other, and emerged
In the myths of his seclusion inspiration ran with an urge
So there he traveled the courses
On posed dapple-grey horses
Spent time in his teaching
Always in hopes of reaching
Though suffered many a personal tragedy in succession
He later settled in Ripton Vermont and continued his profession
Frost received the Pulitzer Prize for poetry four times in his life
Having succeeding many children and a wife
Robert Frost died on January 29, 1963, having had four children
And six grandchildren, and eleven great-grandchildren
He is and will always be regarded a master-poet and writer
Leaving piles of verse for all to read thus making life brighter
On the page - of this lore
painted verdant by - the rod of God
a word traveler - unveils
A song, - its charm
perhaps, sounding - on the mystic
blue - sea
Amidst the echoes - of peripheral visions
his thoughts are - dancing wildly with the
orphic - wind
Like - the twists
of leaves - in early Autumn
that innocently - falling in passion,
seeking a home, - to entertain the souls
He sighs through… - the remnants-of dreams
and finds himself - a proverbial comfort
In the breath of - this blossoming page is
a verdant lore, - the scents of my life
---
The cleave is three poems in one and was created
by Dr. Phuoc Tan Diep, poet and artist. To learn
more about this poetic form, visit the link below
http://cleavepoetry.wordpress.com/
my horse my horse how art thee why abate my kingdom to beseech thy fruits of your
labor , he collied autumn beteems their childing eyes proclaim for art thou i must apace
neeze ere i jump through he loop onto the margent
Blurry reveries consistent to the end
in life’s limbo, the forest of deep secrets and sacred illusions
the surging existence that ignites words into creation
come
follow me
take my hands
as we journey through this hollow way
at a certain pace
at a certain rate
embarking on a certain race
a different road
an unexplored journey into another source
in a different base
and together
we shall build a different fate
as our scenarios are designed with nothing else but autumn leaves
as we fade into ash-grey-like whispers of the blur ...............
Silhouette designed train tracks of sprinkled crimson-wine autumn leaves
gradually infect painting surrounding trees .............
Echoing passage of filters
flash fictioning autumn glitters
a reflection of moments in memories
passed onto lives
a label onto times, still in the present
fading in its autumn glory of imaginations
lost moments suddenly inevitably rekindle
thoughts indelible refresh
trapped in petaled dreams alive present forever
gradually inscribing in fashionable designs onto dreams
shielded under deserted trees of silence
lingering helpless on unexplored floors……..
come
rise
follow me
let us journey into these autumn like passage of inscriptions that unfold before thee……