Best Parapet Poems
Dance me to the moon
on a wintry day of snow
and glistening light
Hold me in your arms
and make me swoon
like love does on a winter tide
Beneath a parapet of stars
where baby deer do scamper
without fright,
sway me like a leaf on a branch
when pirouetting winds arrive;
Lacey touch soft as velvet
on my shoulders fair,
draw me closer to your breast
keep me warm inside the winds
of this candy cane December.
Set my heart aglow
dance me to the end of me,
then twirl me round and round
like a fancy carrousel
I will be your wintry moon,
and you can be my savant star.
Today, I count my many blessings
as today is a great new day and
I am filled with the kind of joy
a great nights sleep affords
a tired, worn thin, insomniac.
I finally slept for hours and awoke
feeling all is right and we will survive.
From my sunny balcony I leaned
over the parapet to observe my
flower garden growing peacefully
without a care of the chaos in
this world as fears are closing in.
We must not give in to those fears.
I promise to merge with my flowers
and let the day bring what it will.
My heart is full and is singing with
the Angels that are surrounding us.
Today, I count my many blessings.
Today is a great new faith filled day
and I am filled with His eternal joy
knowing this pandemic will soon be
a sad memory we will remember as
the world fighting it as ONE people.
4-9-20
Lost in a sea of blue velvet
she dances, by the rhythm of aquamarine eyes
Beneath a parapet of stars where no one can foretell,
the sparkle of a smile is waving its goodbyes;
to loneliness
to sorrow
to solitude of morrow
Soft landings on the moon, they hold on to each other
as they twirl inside an ocean of cobalt blue;
Above, the heavens like birds of paradise soar
dipping their hearts inside each others gold
until they are no more.
The world falls away at their feet
as two star crossed lovers become love's paraclete
in a dreamers world
where fantasies curl
the azure blue hurl
of a boy and a girl.
By: Mystic Rose
Strange shadows on these coral walls
stay hidden from the setting sun,
yet creeping through the shafts of amber light
drag behind them to the high parapet
a cloak of utter darkness.
Fierce defended, now are none:
no frightened men to urge the heavy cannon round
no shrill alarm or battle cries;
the end of this, as every other day has sealed
a silence now complete.
Once we held here, on this foreign shore,
the fortress of our childhood dreams
and all the world’s assaults
seemed nothing then;
an ocean breeze would cool the hurt of falling
and bring sweet scents to pick us up again.
Across the bay the dhows set sail upon a rising tide
their canvass spread against the purple sky.
We watched their leaving long ago
but you are gone away now, gone to sleep
and no injured soul so left alone
can wait to watch them home again.
Yet I will stand, a little or a while,
and will not fear cold shadows rising
nor while breathing yield the fort to them;
in every breach I meet your laughing eyes
and feel the warming of remembered suns.
Eye Contact
Some said he had those scary eyes,
unnerving, somehow seeming to look
clear through, capable of seeing the
truth – of you. They didn’t stare at
you, just sort of found you and held
you in an eerie embrace. There was
a glint to the eyes, a sharpness to
the edges, a weary, and wary, wiliness.
And yet, they drew you in, these cold
and smoldering, blue-gray questioners
of all they see. Tight lines rimmed the
edges of the pools, white tipped lashes
fanning and refocusing the laser looks.
And then they smiled, as if something
had just reminded them of a pleasing
sight, a soft sunrise rose across his face,
a gentle fox to kit wink, an unguarded
moment on the parapet of life.
John G. Lawless
9/16/2014
For PD"S A poem you have not entered in a contest #12 poetry contest
I’m a poet who was made not born
Molded by God through people, my inspiration
I became a poet so I can stand on my own
With God’s love and strength
Through my creative expression.
Poetry is my aesthetic way to express
By writing my stories of joy and loneliness
I became a poet to share my failure and success
For a day-to-day’s journey
God’s love is just around to give hope, bless.
Why did I become a poet?
Because of the people I’ve loved and met
To creatively reveal God's nature’s wonders, not a secret
In fear, doubt, stress or exhaustion
I lean on poetry’s comforting wall, my parapet.
Along with my job is my ministry
Done in my special way through poetry
I became a poet with Almighty Lord’s precious gift
To share His words like songs with praising arms like a tree.
..........................................................................................
(The poem below wasn't included in the contest. I'm posting it today, Aug. 10, 2024 5.49pm for keepsake. I've scribbled this just after writing my contest entry above.)
How Nature Made Me A Poet
Seed of poetry has been sown in my heart,
By sowers who played the biggest part;
Poetry seed grew and nurtured from the start,
From reciting rhymes with actions at age five.
Seed of poetry has been watered by mom and school,
When memorizing poem was my forte, so cool!
As I bloomed, I started to admire and fall in love like a fool,
To words where I express creatively gliding like waterfall.
My words came in various poems filling my paper,
When joy and love spark as odds to nature’s wonder;
In pains and sadness, writing poems is my comforter,
‘Til I realized, I’m also poet to share and adore our Almighty Father.
The most beautiful morning stretches before my eyes
beneath a parapet of pink gloaming, one promised breath
All Remains of yesterday swallowed by a burst of fresh air
both window and I are privy to a turtle dove cooing on my ledge
"This is not my habitat" she seems to coo sweetly
I answer her in honesty " it isn't mine either" sweet thing
The coffee smells good and my dippy egg is semi-soft
I sense a new beginning and I am not afraid;
Tomorrow's hopes are perched safely on my shoulder
and somehow, I am not afraid of growing older
Heaven is not a pipe dream mirage from where I stand
God is having a giggle, at the turtle dove and I.
Written by: Mystic Rose
Written: June 22, 2023
______________________________________________________________
The celestial symphony begins.
A harmony of cosmic sound
Each twinkling star is a note.
Creating a melody profound
The moon, a conductor's baton
Guiding the orchestra of the night
Constellations join in, each playing its part,
With their gentle glow and radiant light
Creating a masterpiece of art
Orion Belt, a string quartet
Playing melodies with idyllic fret
A theater edifice with a tall parapet.
The vast dipper, a brass section.
Blaring out a triumphant reflection
And the Milky Way, a choir of voices
Singing harmonies that the soul rejoices.
The planets, as soloists, shine so bright.
Each with its own unique celestial light.
Jupiter, the king of planets, with its mighty roar
Saturn, with its rings, is a sight to adore.
Mars, the fiery warrior, is blazing red.
Venus, the goddess, with love spreads
Mercury, the messenger, darting across the sky
Uranus and Neptune, mysterious and shy
Pluto, the dwarf planet, is still holding its place.
In this celestial symphony, each plays their grace.
As I lay here, lost in awe,
The sort earth will sleep in universal law.
My mind transcends the earthly realm.
I became one with the universe.
As the harmony overwhelms
I am but a speck in this vast expanse.
Yet connected to it all.
The beauty and wonder of the cosmos
Hold me in their thrall.
Hold my words as a deck of cards close.
For in this celestial symphony
I find solace and serenity.
A reminder of our place in time
And the mysteries that lie beyond the sublime.
So as I lie here gazing skyward,
I surrender myself to the celestial chord.
The symphony plays on, filling the night.
And I am content with this cosmic delight.
Keep your head above the parapet,
and don't forget it's a bright morning.
If the day should turn out wet,
don't take it as another warning.
Remember what your mother told you:
"Clear your head and wipe your nose...
Nothing matters in this life
but the simple need to change your clothes."
The noise broils over in the heat
And spread out like wares along the street
The haze of crowd, the jungled feet
Fresh scent of soil and the aroma sweet
I see the bright cloths, and the fashion shows
The haggling voices and their temptations
The big Trelawny yams that twin footed grows
The paltry cents of private hesitations
The market is abloom and abundance tease
The native hunger from its native ease.
There is guinep, the same we cracked
At school, a single seed to feed a twenty pack
The hog plums and the apples red, stacked
Like a lean-to shack, melons dripping and the sack
Of cherry tomatoes besides carrots on the mat
Two orange in bags and the eggs in their flat
Cabbages plump and green callaloo fresh and fat
Mangoes early, and seasonings for the pot
The magic of eyes the sleright of nose, the taste
That tells us how much to know goodness we haste
And among all this passion of colors, this fragrance
Of fruits, I see a richer, sweeter elegance
Our people bright giving this place its romance
Women subtle of eyes, whose bodies dance
Like fireflies around a shaded lamp, and men bold
Though bent beneath their unforgiving loads, hold
Work sovereign and do not crringe from sun and sweat
The building is dingy with crumbling walls and parapet
But like the lustered fruits that in cadence to the call
Rise above the struggle turning back the ancient fall
The plane approaching Rio sights
The God-man on the mountain
in the sunlight-- that cold tremor
just between the shoulders strikes;
we see the arms borne up by love
and reaching to the traveler,
the city, and the earth.
Then from below, the pilgrims mount
the heights to see the features
of the Cristo...first, the railway,
then the stairs climb higher
in the quest--
anticipation, breath and blood
now pounding in their hearts--
there comes the turning at the parapet
to watch the mists brush by his face,
gauze curtains breaking to reveal
that intermittent, scowling
countenance of stone,
once emerging in austerity
beneath the mallet, now
beyond the shadow of Elijah's peak
is seen again, and lost,
else one would need to look away--
before this stern, and re- transfigured God.
The city plays beneath his watch.
just as the drama of
an immanent, transcendent deity
erupts in silent declamation, then to part
in a reprise of his ascension
in the cloud.
~
Once upon a time in a kingdom far away
Lived the good King Eric and his good Queen Maggie May.
King Eric stood at the parapet and waved down to his people,
Gathering up their adoration as bells rang in their steeple.
Just then the Duke and Duchess of Plouck called upon the King,
And he granted them an audience to see what news they bring.
“What tidings do ye share from your far and distant land?
What is it I should I guard against and what is now considered grand?”
The Duke of Plouck looked around then pulled the King aside,
“King I bring you warning lest in this place a fool might soon reside.”
“It is the truth your majesty,” the Duchess of Plouck agreed,
“Pay heed to this warning for soon the fool arrives upon his steed.”
The King surveyed the whole wide land and all that he was born to rule,
When Queen Maggie spied at the castle gates the arrival of the fool.
King Eric called to his errant knight that stalwart named Sir John,
And ordered his knight to toss the fool into a dungeon cell anon.
Sir John told the King that he would but he had a Lady who was in waiting,
And it was the favors of Lady Pam that he was anticipating.
So the King called out an order to bring forth the mystics from the wood,
The seer Mariann and conjurer Keith soon joined him where he stood.
Keith asked, “Good King what is it that you require from the two of us?
What has caused you to summon we seers and to raise such a royal fuss?”
“I need you to cast your spell and sit upon your sooth seer’s stool,
And conjure up the way for me to rid my kingdom of this fool.”
“I see.” said the seer as she sat upon her special stool,
“How is it we, the two of us, can rid you of a fool?”
Continued
Clouds along the moonlight glides
Lighting not the ground
But upon the clouds shines
So the light was muddled
Helping the patrol scuttle
Invading the tyrant's trench mound.
The tricolor in front.
The shadows behind.
Approaches the enemy line.
And if soldiers do as told,
then this tactic proves bold
for the French are outnumbered 3 to 1.
With renewed guile their enemy confront
And the end of the traverse is met.
The officers descend the parapet
Leaving behind snipers ready and set.
Striding into the snowy fortress my tepid heart at double time
paces
Entering a pine colonnade sprouting a wintry mane, saddled with
velvety laces
Cloaked with icy needles forming a brittle, hooded trellis
Golden beams seap through the shielded parapet gilding the frosty
mantle with an iridescence
The distant peaks shrouded with the glow of satin evanescence
Following an unmarked, winding trail spurred on by an eery
prescience
My unbridled senses discharged; my tempered spirit for the
mysterious journey braces
A haunting stillness shadows my movements; stealthily my
boundary encases
Shuttered from the outside world and its vapid spaces
Where time is muted and nature's discordant rhythm races
A pristine environment where tendrils caress, limbs bristle, the cold
wind chases
A cloudy fondue swirls overhead and each spiralling steeple
embraces
Squawking squirrels prance freely on the floor without leaving any
traces
Bald eagles glide above the crenelated spires crowning the summit
with their magestic graces
A maverick-cardinal's chirps funnel through the shrouded mist,
temporarily the dreary damper effaces
A Snowy owl crests over the hollowed thickets scanning the tight
nooks and crawl spaces
White-tailed deer cautiously trek through covered thickets, matted
fields which their camouflage erases
Filtering through the blustery labyrinth, an open field the rough
terrain displaces
The broad meadow teaming with yesterday's cares my
adventurous journey replaces
Looking longingly back on my charted path, my bridled heart the
solitary life praises
purple lady of leather
dancing on the parapet
where's her gallant knight?