Best Overlay Poems
Inspired by "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud," by William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a leaf that falls,
unmourned, to the distant ground
I paused when I heard a far bird's calls
Magic I'd missed looking down--
royal Autumn leaves danced in gold and red.
This must be where my lonely heart has led.
Opened my eyes to this spellbound place,
and breathed air perfumed by pine.
Then sat near blossom with smiling face,
feeling thoughts and heart align.
I watched grass spinning beneath a tall oak;
heard whispered promises breeze softly spoke.
Head full of dreams, I wandered along
paths worn by many steps before.
Mountain larks welcomed me with a song,
I spied lilacs, bluebells, and more.
Around each corner, surprises await.
I feel my loneliness start to abate.
I happen upon a wayward creek,
sit and watch her bouncing spray,
Bubbling with laughter, just what I seek--
hidden by an oak overlay.
Untethered nature met unquiet heart.
Now I burst with song; can't tell us apart!
September 18,2022
for "I Wandered Lonely As A..." contest
by Natasha L. Scragg
Third Place
Poem of the Week
Scarlet and golden etched,
autumn leaves reflect summer's apprehended glory
incised in deep veined images.
Released, they sigh earthward like final breaths.
Sharp pungence ripens , musty tang,
a piquant vaporous mustard milked
from forest loam's black breasts
beneath life's heavy kneading tread.
Sudden, determined winds attack
raping writhed skeletal remains;
stripped spring's green clad darlings.
Feigning innocence,
the gray storm fiend curtains guilt
beneath pure, snow white overlay.
Copyright, August 2, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
We dared meet
in clandestine disguise
behind an overlay of water
Secreted
from watchful eyes peering
amid crystalline dancing droplets
Our first kiss
concealed from lurking eyes
extracting jewels of youthful joy
Rainbow arks,
captured floating crowning’s,
appearing and captivating gems
©Debra Squyres
10/31/14
For Member Contest: “Some Form of Crystalline”
Sponsored by: Nette OnCloude
Form: Parallelogram de Crystalline created by Karan Naidu
I thought the more focussed, the much better
Thoughts can flow easily like a delicate feather
A feather decorated with arrangements of patterns
Bursting from the dull dreary colors of the ground to the beautiful pale yellow of
Saturn
Exploration from Saturn to the deep blues of the mysterious sea
Water creatures curious, lively with the current not knowing where they be
Wandering with no knowledge about the outside of their world, these species are
careless
Following the sounds that the fresh waters possess
Sweet melodic sound of the rushed waves clashing on shore
Bringing the days end in a swift little roar
The quiet wait for the tics to toc
Everything seems vacant as I slip back to thought
Comfortably overlay-ed by the thought of relaxation
Time to wind down from that brisk vacation
I thought the more focussed, the much better
Thoughts can be disrupted easily like a delicate feather
- Rebecca C*
Age is not all decay; it is the ripening, the swelling, of the fresh life within, that withers and bursts the husk. George MacDonald
_____________________________________________________________
In a world where decay is dominant,
Arctic tundra is melting, and envy is prominent.
Friendship withered away with the lapse of time,
Moon gapes at all facts and truths, concomitant.
We jive in death-cool air and chime,
Where dreams and hopes start to climb.
As though molehills faded into the grass,
Rapture rain has turned into melting rime.
In a place where the sky spills tears of brass,
And the howling winds bestow a deafening bass.
We lingered in the natural ephemeral support,
Behind the murky cloud of the ebbing mass
Our bond, however, was not flexible to contort,
Cyclic in the way that orchestral drums distort.
We carried out a solemn pledge on the floor,
In divine draughts, brambles flood the report.
The Meadow Brook gave us richness galore,
Black valleys where floods shred and roar?
We could not deny such a reservoir of devotion,
As with the wilting branches and dwindling door.
Our bonds faded, plagued by wide demotion,
Secrets below the land, a flurry of blades of notion.
In a world where deterioration prevails supreme,
Time and distance cast a curtain on our emotions.
But even amid such decay, there is a dream,
Darkening and drooping, we creep and esteem.
With the truth that humanity may split and slope,
Crows chirp as they drop twigs and scream.
While passing across acrid rings of mope,
Our ties are fraying. Teach me how to hope.
It shines brightly behind the gloomy overlay,
A dazzling beacon in the depths to grope.
In this universe of inexorable decay,
We acquire courage with each raw day.
With percussive pulses of love and delight,
Our ties will last for a span we cannot deny.
In a world where decay holds its might,
We defy its grasp, shining with an inner light.
Through the drills and tribulations we face,
Whatever embers burn our ego and sight.
I swap my eyes
for that of the bird
trying to see
things I should have heard
daybreak is cluttered
when I've lost all my sleep
important things pile
all up in a heap
but I'll trace a line
with the tip of my finger
find the place where your song
has the good grace to linger
I find it in tails
or in tales of mirth
exploring these notes
seems to help my self worth
the edges are sheared
sound becomes mute
these are the gaps
where I start to dispute
did I just listen
to beautiful sound
as all seems empty
when I look around
lines are traced
yet they all end
just a fingertip mapping
the missing voice of a friend
I listen, I look
I reach out with my hand
saddened your tune
can't return on demand
realisation occurs
with a bump and a start
I didn't call out
I just asked with my heart
no-one can hear me
as I silently pray
that I'll still hear your song
at the start of each day
I'll let all notes mingle
let rain fuse with sound
step outside to get drenched
and just lay on the ground
stare up to the sky
as stars stare back at me
it's my own voice at fault
I need not be lonely
if lines overlay
it's stars we're creating
I'm not all alone
the scrawls just needed translating
Most people are afraid to die
A fatal blow it seems , death does
If a corpse came back to life they'd cry
Please tell us how it was
A pillow as soft as downy silks
A night as long as souls can stand
A blacken overlay of quilts
An escape rout from the fate of man
Thus is the consequence of death
A restful sleep; a silent hush
Until we kick the covers away
And the shadow of death forsakes us.
RETA PRUITT
August 19, 2016
Joyce K
There is this Lady I know, I thought I knew.
Could I have been so wrong, from my point of view ?
She perceives herself, a cardboard silhouette of a soul,
a papier mache doll, an image we all should know.
A shallow pond residing in the middle of this human ocean
is how she sees herself to be – a very strange notion
for me to comprehend as I look into the depths of her mind
and reflect upon all I know, that has shown her to be so kind,
deep, thoughtful, caring - giving her all throughout
her living a life of advocacy, concern and no doubt,
much, much more than I know or of my word
- in this attempt at poetry – that she might have heard.
This Lady with such a fine mind – a model for man kind –
who looks back in time, within, and cannot seem to find
one moment in a long ( seventy eight years ) life time
to recall, remember, feel her humanness in a flake of love,
a speck of joy, a line of happiness, a pool of blissfulness from above,
a stream of contentment, satisfaction for and from all the good
she has done for this world of troubled mankind, where he stood
the self. the self-satisfied, the self-destructive, and the lost.
I want to believe she has known a flake, a speck. a line tossed,
a pool, a stream and that these have been a part of her experience.
Are known, if not in the conscious, in the subconscious existence.
Is she to be, not but – as we look upon and within – veneer ?
A mosaic overlay on cardboard papier mache, she wants us to hear.
Not a mighty Oak, Maple, Mahogany, Teak, Burl just a paper doll.
Is this the carefully contrived image she believes ?, is this her fall
from grace ?, she thinks herself to be ?, - not the beauty of soul, of acts,
of the face I know, - but a mask to hide what?/, what are the facts ?
Is she this hollow, empty cardboard papier-mache doll ?, devoid
of feelings, of love, just walking through life, living it, must avoid.
I think not, nor can I – not even in my wildest of dreams believe
or perceive of such possibilities - but then, who am I to conceive,
to question the perception of the one who should truly know
herself, intimately better than anyone else on this planet could show.
So all these assumptions I have put out there, I should retrieve.
B. J. “A” 2
May 14th 2005
Colors blended in such a way that it almost looks gray
With blinding efforts that will not call for dismay
My wings that are up on my back in array
Is strength and belief that does not obey
Flight takes me up in the air and that to me is O.K.
Because of who I am I believe in life that does not stray
From path that is made to feel like clay
Energy from my own soul keeps my heart from decay
Life I have is almost built like Paper Mache
Layers of history, sadness that overlay
Calling out to all my colors that can convey
My words for life is not my own each and everyday
It is words that are taught to me and my way
So I fly to fly my own two wings, which are my feet I say
Throughout the sky I battle the dragons every day
The brightness of scale brighter than my color that may
I hold my hand out to grasp the blade of Fey
This weapon I choose lay beyond the color bay
The dragon is my enemy within that lay
My spirit can see the dragon within I can slay
Spring
S. Starting of the new season, all new life begins to grow
P. Preparing for mother nature’s new growth, her embryo
R. Reaping and sowing of a new essence from colder ends
I. In flies a robin and his mate, accompanied by a few wrens
N. Now is nature’s time and place to strengthen to renew
G. Granting a new start, fulfilling life in its newest debut
Summer
S. Solstice comes with the dawning of this new season
U. Ultimate strength of the sun at this time has reason
M. Midday sun and heat brings hotter and longer days
M. Many a longer days within the warmer summer rays
E. Enveloped with a wonderful feeling, wishing it would never end
R. Remembering past summers, all those feelings that transcend
Autumn
A. Autumn, the dawning of the change, reading for dormant time
U. Unrelenting cold rains, wind’s fury, tree boughs heave in chime
T. Trees burst, many vibrant colours that Mother Nature achieves
U. Undermining gusts of winds, giving dance to the fallen leaves
M. Many changes, many endings in this dormant time of the year
N. Nature readies for winter’s long, cold embrace to appear
Winter
W. Winds bringing in colder temperatures this time of year
I. Ice and snow blankets the land, frigid wind so severe
N. Nothing growing, creatures hibernate, some fall prey
T. Temperatures plummet, wind chills, deep snow overlay
E. Everyone in layers of clothing in subzero wind chills
R. Robustly enjoying winter activities and all the thrills
I saw the phosphorescence of those yellow lights
Take a journey in a world of pale
Crawling through the shadow of night
Struggled within the dew
The essence create its own sketch
When the breezes of night try to ensnare
Night as the shadow of moon
Depict mysteries in a life's long labyrinth
Tonight I trapped within the dark
And the only breath of sanity that could bring the clue
The clue upon the lost
The clue to find the true
Escape
Flee from all of the adversity
Hide from the falsity
And take a side to the maze of life's clarity
On the night that always whispers
On the night that never bothered
To the nights which always washed their existence under the moon
To the nights were washed elegance in overlay
Welcome to my night
Calls for resignation in cities
When press powers overlay budget of objective
Journalism
Speaking for others illustrates division wrong
Pilot project cost the city $287 per ride given
City Councilman Bill Miranda speaks to the driver of the city's trolley before boarding Monday. Perry Smith/The Signal
The employment obstruction of causeway
Is debilitating to finance language
In America
These root answers create pause in print
To retract office and improve democracy growth
Term limits aren't viable excerpts
No age allows frequency in representation
Open market Economics allows applications
Trickle Down Tips
Mathematically stated,
Budget given from total gdp
Allotted and zeroed burden
Shortfall stated mathematically,
Citizen and journalism benefit of?
Concert opinion
In no boycott
All are conveniegned
The arrogant treasure is slushed
In life styling the outgoing fund phrases
Those whom capitalize
remove civil liberties
This is lobby, page, reception, speculation
Book of retraction for new
Journalist objective argument
In dissection of
Insolvent democracy per acre or
Hectare
The statement of cost
Is evidence over budget allowance
This is corruption
Term slush
Fund not empty
Being spent in spiral
Loss of life as replaced in numerical
Press campaign powers
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
Olive Cadwell • [email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
SAG-AFTRA Info • [email protected]
This Concludes Lesson 1
Plagiarism and Capitalism
Verse As Boycott
The day I heard my guardian cherub play,
my heart raced with sincere anticipation-
For each note was a heavenly display,
as her lyre was born from an angel’s creation.
An ivory overlay with a swan head engraved,
her lyre has seven strings all different in length-
For the sound of beauty has definitely saved
my soul and has given me much strength.
Before the Greeks discovered this instrument,
and before time invented melodies so harmonious,
the lyre was born as a Godly living testament,
with a tune so mellow and sweetly euphonious.
Her lyre holds a gift of beauty with each eighth octet-
This magnificent contrivance is a friend of the harp,
and within the resounding pitch of each fret,
the hues of her tunes are perfect and sharp.
My cherub releases comfort with such ease,
she reveals her spiritual beliefs from within-
As I listen in awe I am completely pleased,
and wait with excitement for a new song to begin.
When she strums mellifluous music with her fingers,
when she resounds with dulcet tunes on her lyre,
my imagination flies to Heaven as each melody lingers,
and sets my passionate soul on fervent fire.
Angels and Lyres
Mystic Rose
April 13, 2017
So we were in need of sudden blaze
to seizure the darkens with naked eye
reason your distant shape
and trace origin astray
With bear fields of coal still untouched
bunglers of dirt beneath the frosty hem
as heavens kneels struck by ahead
with brightness - a harrier gaining strength
pouring along the earth droplets of dread
O! how I tend in to your embrace
protectress of orchards – look
the pearls of pain overlay my temples
burning same stigma hooks
emerging like lavenders
with moonlit night
So we were in need of sudden blight
around of half of hundred years
and yet it's not enough
to keep the courage in curious touch
to foment the heat out
of fingertips – as one
learn again all about the life
Portlaoise 05/03/2016
The Choctaw
never taught me what the
Choctaw would’ve taught me.
The Australopithecine never taught me what
the Australopithecine would’ve taught me of.
The Memories, these Memories,
our Memories are fading songs in
an echoeless cave.
The listeners have tired,
moved on.
The choir sang, regardless...
...for a time.
And, in time, the silence overcame
the joys of recalling and the calling out
was no longer met with the
Response.
The ochre greened-over,
the iron dust fell from frost and
puddled dryly on the floor.
Summer winds, hot and desiccating,
soon scoured the walls and ushered out
the swirling cinnamon sand.
The drums beat to mineral-rich cave-dew,
on occasion. A sometime rain that formed cones.
They stretched with weatherings; sometimes taut,
sometimes loose. Their stories lost, nothing taught.
In time, their skins followed their long-lost bones into
the buried burned and carved, now-broken empty bones
Home. The silent tumulting earth. The cold overlay of the
Singeing Beneath. The singing stalled. The echoes bounced for a time from
voice to ear to wall to child to child to wall to stone to dust.
The stars never taught me what
the stars might then have taught me.
The dreams and dancings, the tremulous and then-credulous
tremolos, the inspirations of ululations, the song-stories of
peoples, of healings, of wilds, of ways...now silent.
This silence, in this echoless cave,
is the most wanting, most missing,
Sound.
Sound I’ve ever heard.
The cave never taught me.
The music never taught me.
The drum never taught me.
The dance never taught me.
The cave never taught me.
The fire is out, the embers lost.
The handprint remains on a wet wall in a dim corner in an out-of-the-way
scree-field crevasse just past the Cree field impasse.
The teachers are gone.
The ancestors quiet.
The cave never taught me.
The silence may
yet.