Best Pages Poems
Like delicate white swans were they,
the white swans of a grand ballet -
ballerinas waiting in a row
underneath the candlelight’s soft glow.
But what are ballerinas with no parts
to make them dance? The poet gives them hearts!
Inking pirouettes and sautés onto white,
she gave them words to spin them into night.
Arabesques that her pen on each one pressed
made a woeful tale beautifully expressed.
The dance was finishing by early dawn
with one last white swan to be written on.
The poetess, now drained, could do no more.
Her eyelids closed; the swans fell to the floor.
Fluttering, they fell, all in disarray.
Pure white no more, ink-stained they would stay.
Tears the poet cried are now living in each swan.
Might they be displayed even when she passes on?
The poetess who let her feelings spill
created swans now black, yet lovely still.
Written May 25, 2017 for a Contest inspired by Dear Heart
I write
you into
my upturned world,
gift you wings and transformation,
strewing pixie dust through silenced skies,
aching to see you sparkle and soar,
like an eagle-winged fairy
metamorphosed
into the highest ether,
where peace is more
than a poetic phrase,
and love ~
baptized by the blues of butterfly ink,
no longer a prisoner of pain ~
caged by chaos,
as the world never knew
the burden buried beneath
your blissful smile, and lyrical laughter…..
Tonight
I miss you,
when the haze above untouched seas
bleeds nothingness,
I remember us,
when the music of grieving night
fills my life
in captivating cadence,
and I will forever
write to the swirling stars
to sigh our serene song
when the telepathic moon wanes in weariness,
for even the sky knows
we are more than
just a memoir
pressed between
purple pages of
perfumed
truth…
In the recollections of my journey thus far, the tattered pages of my life flutter
in my mind. Like snapshots of times and places in black and white and color.
Haunting faces and glimpses of places. Sad narratives come to mind along with
stories and the history of family. Happiness entwined with sadness is all mine.
I often open the rusty old gate and travel a winding path to a place of weeping.
And I stand trembling with the wind in my hair . . .
the wind takes my hair
tangled branches creak and groan
whispering my name
And the tattered pages flutter. I find myself in a church, ornately beautiful.
I am a little girl praying on my knees. The hum of a thousand candles flicker.
Then I am holding my fathers hand as we stroll a lush green park. We laugh
as we walk along, just me and my father. We are going to feed the swans,
oh the beautiful floating white swans of my memory . . .
crystal clear water
the swans silently drifting
they come to greet us
Like wings whirling the pages move. I am me just a few weeks ago. I
hold a single red rose and place it at his headstone. I trace the words with
my finger. Baby, son of . . . he never got to see the sky. I never got to hold
him in my arms. I must turn this page for it is ripping out my heart and soul.
He the family secret not adopted but dead . . .
and gentle rain falls
on a bright red rose bleeding
clouds darken the sky
___________________________
July 11, 2015
Poetry/Haibun/Tattered Pages
Copyright Protected, ID 07-688-244-11
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
For the Premier contest, Haibun,
sponsor, scott thiryseven, Judged 2015
Third Place
Submitted to the Standard contest, Completely Your Choice (43)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged, 01/17/2021
Tenth Place
I take for granted all that I can do
Thinking that what I have has all been earned
Instead I should be so thankful to You
A spirit of pride is one that is learned
I start to believe the things that are said
Thinking that what I have has all been earned
Within my heart I begin to be led
Rising within the pages of Your Word
I start to believe the things that are said
I learn to fly on the wings of a bird
Here is where I learn the ways of Freedom
Rising within the pages of Your Word
I no longer doubt your Kingdom will come
Without your Love I will never know Peace
Here is where I learn the ways of Freedom
Within the Heavens praises never cease
Without Your Love I will never know Peace
I take for granted all that I can do
Instead I should be so thankful to you
Any poem #4 Contest.
Sponsored by Nathan A.
Written March 7th 2014
. . .
as a child I had an unwritten history in this world
blind, wailing and unaware, totally helpless
crying is all I knew of life at that time
deep in my throbbing heart a love was born
every day I was kissed and hugged by mother
full of wild mirth and infant joy, I laughed and smiled
gone now is that love for she lays in her tomb
hanging my head I write poems, pages and pages
in my soul I keep the memories from gathering dust
just yesterday, I reminisced a happy day of us
keeping the love from being lost, I write and write
look at me with your sad eyes
mother, I will paint poems full of love and grief
now and then, I gaze at the past with quivering tears
oh, and with my throbbing heart memories flow
past the clicking, ticking clock of life, I remove the dust
quietly, I bow my head at your tomb and let tears fall
returning often to clean the cold, weathered stone
sweet memories, memories, memories is all I have
till my last breath, no dust shall gather
until we meet beyond this domain of earth, I keep
visions of a realm where your beautiful soul sleeps
whatever time has destroyed, I must strive to remove the dust
xanadu, a garden lovely is where I dream that you dwell
your memory will never, ever, ever, ever gather dust, for
zillions of years from now my poetry will speak of deep love
_______________________________
February 26, 2015
Poetry/Abecedarian/I write poems, pages and pages
Copyright Protected, ID 02-644-734-25
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La FRance
For the Standard contest, Gathering Dust,
sponsor, John Lawless, Judged 03/2015
Second Place
I picked up my tube of super glue
In hopes of piecing together
Sad lonely broken you
As I sifted through the bits
I wasn't sure what to do
Although there were many pieces
I was missing quite a few
Looking back to yesterday
tomorrow now and then
I Kept searching and searching
over and over again
To find the missing pieces
I looked to your pen
More than twenty-two missing
or perhaps less than ten
Imbedded in the paper
those pieces I sought
The lessons you had learned
and the pain they had brought
All your moments revealed
They came together in thought
I heard paper like screaming
cutting through me like a shot
The glue I was holding
Dissolved slowly like sand
so I gathered up your heart
and held it in my hand
My tears fell amongst the pieces
in a way I didn't understand
Your heart became too hot to handle
So I placed it on the land
Lifting heart up from the ground
You placed it slowly in your chest
All those bits that truly formed you
came together and we were blessed
Hidden answers you chose to scribe
where always meant to be a test
Revealing what we all are missing
those parts of us that go unconfessed
THE NEWS
____________________________________________________________
Life Defined by Moments Blindsided
written by The Broken Hearted
Read the news today. There is blues Obituary
today. Agony in whatever we choose His life was extraordinary.
today. Is there no other way than Proud family, wife named Glory
to escape the day? Why did you have His children Edward and Tory
to end your life this way? Too many Died Monday first of July
have to question there own sanity Police give no reason why
taking your own life, is it vanity? Service will be held at one
Trying to control your own calamity? a potluck diner after it is done.
Why didn't you just converse with ________________________
somebody? Isn't that how it is
suppose to be? No one is suppose JOIN THE ARMY
to feel so alone that they end their
own life. What are we going to do A Bright Future
as society? It is paralyzing to think Awaits YOU!
of what could be, when we take to
the destruction personally. It is not ______________________
suppose to be that way. Pages ripped
away, the book is close and can't be oil change
replayed. A story over and its gone. 14.99
___________________________________________________________
POLICE BEAT
Police arrived on the scene shortly after hearing a gun shot fired on the second block of Hayes Road. A male was found deceased with a self inflicted wound to the head.
Cat in a tree on Main street. Firefighters, paramedics and officers dispatched. Cat is safe without injury.
_____________________________________________________________
WEATHER Lottery Numbers
Partly cloudy with chance of
thunderstorms. 85 degreess 6, 42, 66, 81, 89 01
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Folded away, tossed aside, no longer in view.
Nothing else printed, nothing else said about you.
We'll probably move on, we'll probably heal,
and we'll never have known what you feel.
Moonbeams fade from the depths of night
giving way to dawn's rays of light
Sunrise dries morning's tears of dew
but not mine of sorrow and grief
I search for comfort and relief
Solace in glints of life anew
Each day provides an empty page
where hope is a balm to assuage
and skies a lovely hue of blue
I open the book of time once more and again,
where pages are engraved in my mind;
the worn old pages- all tattered and yellow,
oh, here is the house of my childhood;
and my memories come twirling . . .
The smell of old wood and the stained glass,
the french doors and the long curved staircase;
my little room overlooking the garden,
and the big claw foot bathtub- a lake to a child;
the kitchen old and cozy with wonderful smells,
mom humming as she cooks . . .
A little girl (me) playing quietly on the front porch,
with long hair in tangles and rosy cheeks;
and grandma rocking and rocking and knitting,
and I hear dad busy in his workshop;
my baby brother in his stroller sleeping,
oh, the happiness . . .
A child's table set for tea and dolls sitting pretty,
a real teapot and some china cups (a gift from grandma);
my kitty cat Snowball asleep on one chair . . .
I walk up the shady street of my memory,
up that big hill where I rode my bike;
to the end of our quiet dappled street,
and into a park lush green and full of songs;
oh yes, the water lilies float on the pond,
and white swans and ducks drift . . .
Further down the street and up a hill,
is an old church with big ornate doors;
I enter the gloom in my mind remembering,
pungent the smell of candles flickering;
and the memories flood back . . .
The worn withered pages of my childhood,
all the pages tattered and yellowed with time;
then slowly- I close tight this book of time,
until the next time . . .
_______________________
July 7, 2019
Poetry/Verse/Withered Pages of My Childhood
Copyright Protected, ID 19- 1164-783-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Childhood Memories
sponsor, Chantelle Anne Cooke
First Place
"Fragments and crumbs of life, all the little pieces"
John Ruskin, 1853
A scrap of sleep, a lopsided sky
A slip of verse that wandered by
The universe of a minute, an hour's lag
A poem scribbled on the back of a paper bag
Fragmented lyrics of lost words
Coaxed into song by hummingbirds
Where sapphire moons rise at noon
And ivory dawn reddens too soon
But for lonely love of poetry
Cast aside by conformity
Cloistered, salted tears consumed the sea
Drenched in magnanimous misery
Masking shy scars to look the same
Calling pain by prettier names
Peeled pages from the diary
Of the once and future me.
8/29/20
For 'All the Little Pieces' contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Seasons come
And seasons go
In all of the above
Her colours flow
Just like pages
In a book
What the seasons bring
Are worth a look
Spring brings life
In many ways
The sun radiates
From warm awesome rays
The summer oozes
With blooms and colours
Greenery greens
Canopy covers
The winter decides
Who lives and dies
The reader dissects
In passionate cries
But the season for me
Are the Autumn Pages
It's decision to end
In colourful stages
This poem came to me as i was reading poems by Autumn Page.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/nature4.php
Lost loves remembered from pages turned brown
They read like letters from scattered debris
I tear them from love's book to be thrown down
To build their funeral pyre for me
These yesterdays I have folded in time
To cast in the flames where memories cry
Colored smoke floats upon the air to climb
I can see them rise in an endless sky
They leave worthless emotions of fool's gold
With its dung rich charcoal and flames which weep
These timeless memories will burn until cold
Then fade into ashes so I can sleep
Thrown in the blazing flames of yesterday
I watch each love lost, burn slowly away
5/8/21
As I place the pen
on paper
my soul beings
to bleed
upon the pages
my secret longings
hopes and dreams
of which I hope to be,
how I want to reflect me
transpire into the universe
within my poetic lyricism
the warm sweet smoke
of my vega blunt
swirls about me, flickers
in and out of motion
as the vanilla candle nearby
fights the shadows in my room
the cool summer breeze
from my window
carries dancing sinsemilla
fog around me, allowing
my mind
to adventure elsewhere
into the nights abyss
of minutes, turned to hours
I write
pages, of words
scribbling my life, struggles
and fears
Bob Marley and Lauryn Hills
“turn your lights down low”
beat inspirational peacefulness
on my eardrums
my small hands delicately pluck
my imaginary guitar strings
as I join her in a solo, Miss Hill's
magical voice cracks
with emotion, and my soul
tingles with excitement
For creativity flows
within my veins
I breath real music, such as
she, as soon as daylight opens
thine dark brown eyes to see
The poetic flowetry, carries me
and speaks to me
the notes capture my inner
disturbance and desires
until the soundtrack of my day
takes me into Summers night
thoughts of my dreams
of being a published poet
clearly float
into my sight
Then, I sit
as I place my pen
upon the paper
black and white turn to one
and my soul bleeds
onto pages
into an early sun
This morning, I opened a drawer to my yesterdays
of crumpled poems half written, but thought I'd tossed
Here I am, reading them, through a tearful haze,
and remembering nights I wept for love I had lost
I flattened the pages, one by one with fingers shaking
A sonnet pledging love was abandoned, unfinished
My breathing was shallow; doleful heart was quaking
It's passionate memories were not quite diminished
On this note, the ink was much too blurred to read
where tear stains had fallen when I tried to explain
the despair that caused my fragile emotions to bleed
and pain in verses that I'd written in aching refrain
My wrinkled sheafs were an army of aborted thoughts
Awaiting me to deploy them; their orders still pending
Pens are mighty, but they cannot heal broken hearts
Some poems are not destined to have a happy ending
"Why not finish them?" asked my consoling muse
That's a burdensome endeavor that I simply cannot do
"Forgive me," I voiced, "but I must respectfully refuse"
Love ended, and there's nothing poetic left to pursue
There's no war to fight, and I moved on from my plight
My wrinkled paper soldiers would not go in the trash
I placed them on a funeral pyre. A match, I did light
and watched as burning embers turned them to ash
June 27, 2022
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 5 Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Young and naive from a distance her heart leaped to its highest peak
On his terrace he'd sit lips utter words if the pages could speak
Her eyes showed ruby red as held flooding tears, so very weak
Quiet and steady she kept silent cries to touch his naked cheeks
secrets from afar
immune to the world around
enslaved hopes of love
Under shadow of garden trees among a gallery of crimson azaleas, she strolls
Portrait of beauty at my fingertips, to caress her goodness, oh so slow
She flees when stealing a look upon her; does one follow or just let go?
Burying thoughts in a book and just glance down to see her beautiful glow
silent eyes wander
stroll alongside hand in hand
heartache pages turned
2/16/2017
Poetry Contest : Form H - With A Theme
Sponsored by: Broken Wings | Send Soup Mail