Best Patina Poems
PATINA OF PAIN
Beneath the kaleidoscopic chameleon skin
the concept called color doesn’t ever change,
as red stream in the vein blood flows always thin.
The truth dwells beyond the frail deception range.
The ephemeral sheen of the mask on the face
melts in unshed tears behind the pensive eye.
In the shadow of stifled shame it begins to trace
a track in time to reach the reality, it can’t defy.
In the shimmering show of the revolving circus
the flashing clown tramps on stage in fake style,
under spotlight shapes into an animated carcass.
The concealed pain bleeds behind sprained smile.
In the harsh winds of desert at the sunset hour
the weathering life rusted with age can’t retain
the luster of the mind, once a blooming flower.
The crease of wilted petals wraps patina of pain.
Posted : June 30, 2018
June 19, 2020
Contest : Your Best Poem Ever
Sponsor : John Hamilton
A stampede of horses
captured
their thunderous strides
frozen
a magnificent scene
unfolds
within a rich patina of
bronze.
Artisan expression
brazen and bold
molding a stunning
scene of nature
sparking the depths of
imagination
to be appreciated
indefinitely.
Run wild, you beautiful
beasts
over the endless prairies of
time
flaring nostrils, flowing manes
away from that unseen
threat
hooves beating upon the
ground
a statuesque scene created
reflected within that immortal
patina of life.
Written on 6/26/2018
His skin like the patina of worn out leather,
burnt and cracked from many hours in the sun.
Across the wide plains in the hot Texas weather,
he rode tall in the saddle to get the job done.
North to Kansas City on this last cattle drive;
then back down to Fort Worth he hoped to survive.
Weary and tired from his night spent under the stars,
as he pushes the dogies along the Chisolm Trail;
across the dusty open range, pristine with no scars,
unlike the plains today, fenced and crowded and frail.
On his last cattle drive for the Goodnight Ranch,
heading up north across the Red River branch.
This proud crusty cowboy, way back in the day,
rode with Jack Hays at the Battle of Plum Creek,
when Buffalo Hump’s Comanches went down in dismay,
now just an old timer, tired and grey and weak.
This last cattle drive before his spurs are hung,
this cowboy’s patina, the legend of which songs are sung.
June 29, 2018
Painful
painted
paragraph
pages,
paisley
pale,
pulsating
paper
passing
passion,
passive
pastoral
patchwork
patchouli,
patina
pathos
pauses.
__________________________________
October 23, 2019
Poetry/Alliteration/Patina Pauses
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1190-761-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Tautogram
sponsor, Eve Roper
First Place
Behind the counter smiling pleasantly
at all the customers, she was a doll.
Dark velvet hair and brown-green eyes had she -
eyes big and bright inside a face quite small.
I asked her name that day. It was a name
I’d never heard before, and yet it fit
this girl so well. Her name was like the frame
of cheer she wore. I will not forget it!
A name so rare, I’ve yet to ever find
another soul who has it, for she said
“Patina” and for me the name meant kind,
petite, and pretty! It’s been in my head
forever since I made that gal my bride.
It’s now Patina always at my side!
July 30, 2018
At first it’s a pretty pink bud
that soon blooms into a flower.
And amidst an orchard of trees
wafts its scent to a passing breeze.
A summer sun sustains it's growth
beaming all the light it'll need.
And bittersweet, it starts to swell
flaunting a glossy green patina.
Getting plumper, it blushes red
as it ripens even sweeter.
And before Autumn approaches
it gets plucked from its lofty perch.
And placed inside of a bushel
it is sold along the road side.
And I buy this gorgeous apple
to gift to a special teacher.
(Blank Verse)
Apr.10, 2018
Bring to life - Poetry Contest
Shadow Hamilton
Youth may be fresh and divinely stunning
But is there anything quite as poignant
As the charm of weathering gracefully
The reveal of one's lifetime achievements
Through well-earned lines and colored patina
Years of exposure to the elements
To the distressing throes of life itself
Sheen interpreted as peace or wisdom
youth giving way to grace and harmony
not resisting life but mastering it
AP: 2nd place 2020
Submitted on June 27, 2018 for contest PATINA sponsored by ANTHONY SLAUSEN - RANKED 4TH
SECRETS
the patina of time... secrets
table tops
how many tales could they tell
bronzes too
secrets removed with cleaning
planet earth
patina removed... dying
habitats scraped clean... naked
death reaps death
the patina of time... secrets
truth exposed
and still, we have never learned
if ever
patina... the air we breathe
atmosphere
holds secrets of all world life
patina
microscopically thin
protection
Patina Poetry Contest - Sponsored by Anthony Slausen
6/26/18
Sun from the window, shines gold on my grain
With a faded patina, I have come home again
I was broken and shabby, after years all alone
Stored in the rafters, so lost and afraid
You have dusted my cobwebs, and repaired a split rail
There was love in your touch...since the day you unveiled
Discovered me hiding in the damp attic gloom
I felt so abandoned, in my dark dusty tomb
A remnant of childhood, from those days long ago
You have restored me to life, to be worthy and new
Do you remember my rhythm, and my creaky squeak croon?
When she rocked you at midnight, softly humming a tune
You sat in my warm arms, under a soft velvet moon
While you dusted my bones, and shined clean my face
Did your memories fall back to that magical place?
Where the world was your oyster, with such sweet childhood charms
You were held to her breast, in her soft loving arms?
Sweet nights spent together when the whole world was kind?
Now the rhythmic thump of my rails on the floor
Will return all those moments, for reflection once more
You will feel on your face, and I on my grain
Sun's warming shine through old window glass panes
Wherever you are, that old world, or new...
To be home again, is to be here with you....
In the course of time it is only natural;
things react,
with air,
with moisture,
things darken.
(That's just the way things go.)
Time only heals what we leave in the past;
the things we take with us
darken our faces.
I used to be able to see myself in the bowls of the silver spoons,
(my smile widened and greatly exaggerated,)
then in the blades of the knives,
sharp enough to separate meat from bone
to cut things down to size
small enough to manage
small enough to nourish myself with,
but the air and the damp crept into them too,
somehow invaded their royal velvet.
I lay them to rest
six inches deep in a simple solution
of water, aluminum, and baking soda.
Crude.
But, who can afford real solutions?
We make do with salts, and foil, and water from the tap,
watching and waiting for time to turn back.
June 27, 2018
You've lost some hair and maybe put on a few pounds,
and perhaps you're not so spry anymore.
Years add coats to
time's shellacking.
Staring at the mirror, applying cosmetics,
you fear age has wrinkled your appearance.
And there are times you feel like an antique;
but baby, you have earned that lived-life patina.
You should wear your age as a badge,
what's wrong with being a senior?
Life's patina,
looks good on you.
smoothness
imbued with character
his essence
imbedded deeply
in every crevice
sweet oils
of everyday labor
lubricating
its monotony
burnishing
the hard patina
of life
©6/29/2018
for Patina Poetry Contest
THE SALTY SEA DOG
My late uncle spent many years at sea
I can still recall every single line on his aging face
His weather beaten skin
had a patina built up from exposure to the elements,
it reminded me of tanned dark mahogany leather
Those piercing blue eyes, still as bright as the sunshine
would hold my gaze as he told me tales of his adventures
He passed away many years ago
but he instilled in me a love and respect for the sea
which remains to this very day
Fiction write
Patina Contest
Sponsored by Anthony Slausen
July 1st 2018
age crawls
explores on bended knees
stands tall, takes flight to flee
as if pursued by marauding thieves
from a rocking chair on rotting porch
I stare without remorse
across snowy fields valleys and forks
past fallen walls that crumbled
in a compilation of refrain
life passed on parade
silhouettes marched
silent soldiers masked the pain
a funhouse mirror reflected
fractures unrepaired
of me, myself and I
that refused to die
father’s day that last trip
fingertips pages flip
marvels captured moments saved
the road of life mapped and paved
children birthdays Christmas gifts
pandemonium filled with tiffs
baby records wedding books
routes reflect the paths I took
once again in quiet repose
pages are touched the cover closed
a sigh released in quiet reflection
recounts a past without objection
filled with love sealed with prayer
reflections mirror the life I shared
chrome though weathered shined through rust
tarnish developed a patina blush
The warm patina of old age is cherished
revered, conserved, protected as irreplaceable.
Unlike the wrinkles and scars
that deface waned youth expired.
Only time and good care
coats much-loved keepsakes
with protective patina -
the glaze and sheen of esteemed age.