Best Onlookers Poems
Its delicate wings no longer wet, it stretched well,
And flew up high holding onlookers in its spell.
Round and around it danced over the eerie pond
All covered with water lilies but not beyond.
Elation, euphoria, joy and disbelief,
Emotions fell as it landed on fragrant leaf.
Up again, its gossamer wings attaining strength,
As once again it fluttered across the pond's length.
Hungry it spied a tasty bug, gorged on its feed,
Then instinct urged it to find its first mate to breed.
The feat accomplished, it resumed its fullest flight
Knowing full well it needed rest before twilight.
Survival of the fittest it had never learned.
Bird ate it up, that natural death it had earned.
Only wise when awake
Outgoing like the wind
Opposed to nothing small
Ousts mice very quickly
Ornery predators
Outstanding birds indeed
Onlookers are enthralled
Monet's Impression, Sunrise
First impressions leave memories
that can linger for a very long time
and give a sense of peace and understanding
that rewards the solitude of the mind
with satisfaction in contemplative reflection.
This may be deceiving and can mislead one to believe
that which is right may, in fact, be wrong.
Graciously accept the artist’s shared perception
that there is no ambiguity, only a warning
of the impending storm threatening prevalent reasoning.
The ascending sun, with its reflection on the water,
highlights a sense of direction as the rowers row
across the harbour at the break of morn.
Past cranes and derricks and ships at anchor
beneath a smoke-blurred fiery sky, accented
by pastel shades of blue to create the sombre mood
that expresses Monet’s "Impression, Sunrise" painting
and shares with the onlookers his representation
of nature from an Impressionist’s point of view
in the Industrial Age, heralding in the revolution.
That begs the question, “Where are they going,
and why blood orange?” (Oh, but I’ve seen that colour before.)
Day-to-day inquiries are asked of one another and strangers.
Monet incorporates an art form using oils on canvas,
forcing the audience to observe with curiosity,
thus presenting a sliver of time of life’s tranquillity at sea.
This provocation of thought chinks the consciousness
of seasoned connoisseurs who see change as frightening
and challenges their manipulation of artistic output
(to act like mechanical agents thwarting creativity).
“Will they reach their destination? Will it be as they hoped for?”
Hurry! Though calm, the waters will soon froth in labour.
***
Note:
“Monet’s Impression, Sunrise” is an ekphrastic poem referencing the painting “Impression, Sunrise” (1872) by Claude Monet (1840–1926).
She is the talk of the town, every season that passes
You'll see her around,.... Miss Sassy Pistashe
Who flaunts her good looks, preening over the sage
When she makes her grand entrance, she’s the rage of the stage!
Changing clothes after summer, wearing feathers, so brash
she is queen of the, autumn, with a flaming red sash
She's never discreet, is quite daring and chic’
and will steal all the limelight, upon every hill
She upstages poor Willow, who seems rather ill
will outshine Miss Maple, …out-dresses Miss Ash
With colors of fire, and a 'come hither' tease
Her wiles shock onlookers, with each crimson leaf
She flashes her limbs and wiggles her twigs
She loves to show off, with her bright scarlet wig
Never humble, she’s bold, loves to put on a show
Even Miss Sunset, has felt rather low
She tends to be rash….Miss Sassy Pistashe’
At the first sign of chill, she will toss feathered leaves
She will even bare limbs…and dance in the breeze
Late in the season, she changes her tune
Bends all her branches, and makes valleys swoon
But she doesn't catch cold, ...she thrives by the moon
She has thrown off her clothes, each leaf she has grown
To be 'gone with the wind', like that Scarlet, we've known
Stealing the limelight, with no modesty,…then…
Comes back in the autumn......begging attention again!!
______________________________________________
Personifcation of Pistashe' Tree
For Contest sponsored by Lewis Raynes
BUTTERFLIES OF BEAUTY
Silent songful wanderer, soaring free on the sky
conquering, unafraid to the golden rays of the sun,
fluttering either slow or fast, their colors show
like stemless flying flowers: red, orange, browns
unto gardens, rainforest, fields and prairie lands
off they are! From early morning until the night,
their quiet optimism: a lighthouse to any hopeful
delicate in beauty emerging from chrysalis womb.
Standing in each tooth-tip spot, they're like ballerinas
dancing and pausing as they do in lows and highs:
kissing blossoms curves for goods - a peaceful move
freezing and feeding effortless some onlookers eyes.
Seduced fingers reached to touch, glad most are missed.
Free. The majestic monarch is flying again, high. HIGH!
Such a natural canvass painted to every stop and flight,
beguiling more dreamers today, tomorrow and beyond...
______________________________________________________
Poetry Contest: BUTTERFLIES OF BEAUTY
***1st Place***
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose
Written January 10, 2016 @ 11:27 am
Then, he knew why he must hew
old memories from marble-
emotions quarried from heart's slew-
Oblique fight with his faith's garble
Cut block unfolds Christ, enthroned
on mother's lap- death sleep supine...
Sculptor's concepts cast in stone,
art wrestles with thoughts divine.
And sorrow, stilled in her young face,
speaks truth of words kept in her heart-
mother, son, distilled in saving grace,
sacred words saved in graven art.
A pity, the piety
so few true onlookers saw...
Revealed in society-
few look on In devoted awe.
II
Now she knows why she must express
emotions whittled away, and smoothed
from quarried heart's deep distress-
The process leaves her soothed...
Such feelings are not cast in stone-
Warmly carved in reflective marble, maybe,
as he wrestled with tempestuous thoughts
burning, guiding hands that draped
unmoving drapes over motionless shapes,
shaping faith that cannot be bought.
And the tenderness on her gentle face
belies the hurt of curse's sword driven
straight through her mother heart...all trace
of ancient prophecy hidden.
Till truth, preserved, be told.
Had he not told them many times
he would return, come back to life?
And that word was kept, unfailing.
And the stone was moved, revealing...
Posted: 22nd April 2019.
Note: I am totally in awe of the stupendous sculptures produced over the centuries.
Miraculous as they are, I believe in greater miracles, the resurrection of Christ being just that.
I am also a mother of two grown up sons.
My little miracles...<3 <3
Luke 2:25-35. Luke 24:1-8
I Ran Two Miles Today
By Elton Camp
Being too fat I really do despise
One solution is plenty of exercise
I’m proud to be able to say
I did rather well with it today
A sudden inspiration I got
Started running on the spot
Nothing would make me slow down
I zipped across sidewalk and ground
I had a goal that I wanted to meet
And wasn’t going to take defeat
As the goal I drew near
Onlookers began to cheer
“Go chubby,” one called out
“Onward! another did shout
I kept running until I was ready to drop
That ice cream truck was hard to stop
As I was walking in the snow
I was accosted by a crow
It did not like my face
I ran and it gave chase
Amused onlookers watched the show.
----------------------------------------
For a contest hosted by Kevin Shaw
21st February, 2018
Almost like wearing an eternal hat of shame
Black veils hide the blame
Shadowy onlookers dying to see under the opaque
Their eyes deepened in curiosity expecting some day the veil would break
Dawn never looked so dark before
Horizons under veiled eyes once more
Continuously blocking out your connectors to the world
Denying your difference a chance to be accepted
Ashamed boy, Ashamed girl
However, credit to living freely, your body you’ll show
While in tack stays the veil; behind it, no people will know
Black tints faded into black shades, made
Partially reflective, partially transparent; one-sided mirror blades
Unveil and remove one trains of thoughts
To grab a hold of a world that lets you teach as you will be taught
Almost like wearing an honored hat of truth
No veil, just the bare nature of you
YOU have brought the sunshine back into my life
A golden glow shines out from my radiant face
Looking in your blue eyes I know the grey days of the past are behind me
I blush scarlet, when you take my hand and whisper I love you
Onlookers may be green with envy seeing the love we share
You are the missing jigsaw piece I was desperately hoping to find
We fit together so snugly and now my life is complete
Never dreamed I would find my soulmate whilst out walking in the park
06~08~16
The cherry blossom over the Osaka River in Osaka city,
Keeps the castle overhead mesmerized in its beauty,
The pink and white blossom sparkle and shine on nice Spring Day,
Like the stars glowing from supernova in an explosive way.
The spring has heralded its arrival in a magnificent way,
The blossoms bend over to greet the sightseers in Japanese way,
Reflecting its beauty and majesty in the river,
The snow-covered mountains turning green in its wonder.
Cherry blossoms are so reflective and full of charms,
Romance and pleasure have been invoked forever in hearts,
The painting of woman in red and white kimonos picnicking in the park,
Blends the vision of the painter with nature’s most beautiful art.
In the nighttime, the castle is illuminated in nice colors in dark sky,
The cherry blossoms radiate their own heavenly charm in dark sky,
Songs of nightingale make her divine in moonlit night,
The onlookers hope that they would not lose such a beautiful sight.
Throngs of people view the beauty of blossoms, in sheer admiration,
So intricate, they can only be designed by God in heaven,
Butterflies drink its nectar,
Bees and hummingbirds spread its pollen to needy in nature.
On a spring rain, or a windy day, the blossoms depart,
They fall, leave the tree, signifying transience of good life,
The blossoms will be celebrated in dance and art,
I will wait till next spring, to see the cycle of rebirth in life.
ominous clouds
abduct full moon's warmth~
earth's lavender
of onlookers
3/19/2021
17 syllables
Poetry Contest: Lets Get Creative With Haiku.
Sponsored by: Constance La France
1. One NEW Non-Traditonal Haiku in seventeen syllables or LESS
with a turn in direction on the final line or word, *very important*
2. Nature only, no humanity so, NO . . . I, me, or we
3. Written "in the moment" so, NO past tense, such as was.
4. No capitalization(INCLUDING TITLE), or unnecessary punctuation.
In an effort to immortalize you,
I gilded ocean size frames in gold leaf
and painted your portrait with peacock feathers dipped in oils.
I spelled out your name in bumble bee wings
still quite attached to tame bumble bees
hovering in obedience and formation in the sky
I built a piano from felled red wood trees
and carved your likeness on each key
which I then filled up with ebony and abalone polish
I traveled to Old Russia to the Crimean forest
and pulled every wildflower up by it's roots
and replanted them just for you, on the cliffs, overlooking the Black Sea.
I tamed a black leopard and rode on her back
'round the world, with a banner, a list of your accomplishments
flowing in silk for miles behind me, past onlookers reading your life.
I sang gypsy music, as a siren on the wind
while I wept and flooded each street with the depth
of one tenth of the emotion you harnessed and kept at bay in your infinite quiet.
I started with one person, your granddaughter, with your blue eyes
her sitting on my lap, looking at me with a maturity past 3 years of age,
and imprinted every memory of you in the air, for her to grab.
You are not immortalized in portraits, or wings, or notes.
You are not immortalized in flowers, or banners or sirens.
You are immortalized, forever remaining, in the humble prayers of this innocent child.
A cart selling hot dogs and such
Was suddenly sharp to the touch
Because thousands of bees,
Eschewing Chinese,
Thought a frank they would like very much.
They swarmed to the top of the stand
So a cop, likely one in command,
Ordered all off the street
So the bees could retreat
But that’s not what the stingers had planned.
Thus an officer, bee-suit attired,
Soon appeared with the tool he required
And his vacuum did suck
All the bees it could pluck
With finesse that onlookers admired.
New Yorkers find stuff like this funny
And likely would bet even money
That soon that same cart,
If its owner is smart,
Would be selling you hot dogs with honey!
There's a Good Man just up that hilltop there.
A Good Man,
He loves all children, both the troublemaker and the perfect ones.
He loves the poor and gives them alms and shelter.
He loves the hungry and thirsty, he feeds them and gives them wine.
He loves all who mourn, and comforts them.
He loves the ill and heals them of their ailments.
He loves the peacemakers, and befriends them.
Among these things, this Good Man loves sinners, and he dines with them.
Despite these things, that Good Man is up there on that hilltop, among the thieves and the criminals.
Despite his love for all, he's treated like a murderer, flogged and beaten.
Tortured;
All for his blasphemy.
He was forced up that hilltop against his will,
But never did I see him strike any who condemned him,
Nor did I see him curse all who struck him.
As the beating sun scorned upon the crowd and the Good Man,
No longer carrying his piece of wood upon his back;
His face turns upward, to the sky.
And he calls for Elijah.
Soon, the Good Man dies.
The King of the Jews dies by Roman hands.
As the Good Man dies,
The earth trembles
The sky turns cloudy and blackens out the sun
The winds nearly blows us all on our backside.
Soon, it becomes apparent to all onlookers,
That this man was no Blaspheimer.
The Good Man was the Son of God.
And instead of bowing down to him,
We crucify him.
And so,
I tell you,
On the top of that hilltop,
Dead,
Among the sinners,
Is a Good Man.
A Man who loved all.
A man sent by Elijah and killed by us.
Jesus of Nazareth.
King of the Jews.