Best Pensive Poems
August-5- 2026
Contest- The Pensive Poet Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
~PLACED FIRST~
"A poet sees things which others seem to ignore and stores up his thoughts and impressions in the casket of verse, treasuring them as valuables that Time can't steal"~ By Poet
Alone, when I sit in my room in pensive mood,
Thoughts flit across my mind in endless succession.
They erupt out slicing time and space,
And flow in disarray, in a jumbled mass.
Then my facile pen starts moving quickly,
Gathering my thoughts in reflective refrain.
Like waves beating madly across the shoreline,
Emotions flow out, my mind no longer can contain.
On flipping through the pages of my life,
Deep nostalgia overwhelms me.
Like falling petals, as years hastily pass,
I long for the past when my days were quite glossy.
My mind wanders to distant memories dear,
And I wish to preserve what time has stolen.
So, I scribble my thoughts on the sheet in hand
To traverse through bygone times over again.
In my silence, I hear footsteps of the past
And see my dear ones as shadows fading out.
My parents who are no more there to care,
Gleam before, leaving my eyes misty.
I am on a sacred mission~
To stitch together broken memories and moments
And build a bridge between past and present.
My poems, l hope will serve as a window
That I can open and close at will.
Only in silence l can behold scenes,
That others miss out in diverse distractions.
The more I grow silent, the more I can see and hear.
I get ensnared by the breathtaking view of a sunset
The serenade of nocturnal birds,
The beauty of blooms and meadows wide and green,
The vastness of the sapphire sky -
Where rainbows arch after a drizzle
Or stars twinkle at a cloudless night.
Rills as they murmur and cataracts as they roar,
Fall on my ears as dulcet music of the cosmic band.
I wish to recall such sights and sounds
That once I looked on with a casual glance,
And fell like grains of sand funneled through the hour glass,
Later forsaken with no effort to keep or brush them up.
I wish to preserve them in poetry’s fragile art~
A craft sharpened and perfected in pensive mood.
So, time wouldn’t steal them away from my memory.
I strive to make my verses a mirror reflecting life.
- The thought behind a poem is the inside of the feeling
- it shows the direction - // by poet
I am a thoughtful poet
who offers you a dream journey
where fantasy becomes almost reality
That's where it starts
via our senses,
in intersubjective moments of sharing
One must be willing to visit one's own inner self
the challenge may feel intense
but deserves to be protected
If my words send shivers
from your right temple,
past your ear and down your neck
Provide me external and internal motivation
Written: August 4, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Constance La France
Quote: "A pensive poet looks around and stays where quiet deepens, accumulating shards of what is felt but never expressed until even sadness finds a tongue." By Poet
************
The dusk leans in, and rests upon the hill,
A quiet weight that sinks into my chest.
I walk the worn-out path, half-lost, half-still,
Letting memories rise at their behest.
The sky grows pale and folds into the trees,
Its silver fading through the cooling air—
I pause, as though the hush were meant to ease,
the restless thoughts I never learned to share.
A distant light begins to warm the stone,
A soft light that moors a wandering mind.
I am in the dusk, no longer alone—
And feeling the calm that time left behind.
My muse may wane, but leaves me all her heart.
Silken oracle flame might forge fair art.
Contest: The Pensive Poet
Sponsor: Constance La France
"While pensive poets painful vigils keep,
Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep"
~ Alexander Pope
They call her a "pensive poet",
She sits there lost in thought,
Her wistful silence does show it,
How with worries she's fraught;
When she sits beside that window
With a forgotten drink,
They know she'll soon be in limbo,
Time to think, time to ink;
She sits there writing and writing,
Pages are shortly filled,
With her Muse and words, she's fighting,
Her notions are soon quilled;
Her mind is constantly running,
At night, sleep eludes her,
Metaphors, rhyming and punning,
These are what makes her stir;
She gives voice to her painful past,
Her poems hold her tears,
The silent wisdom she's amassed,
All penned down o'er the years;
Reclusive, she prefers echoes
from the past she's fighting,
She pens of Edenic meadows,
Or grief unexciting;
Pondering over her gone life,
She writes of her deep faith,
Her memories linger through strife,
Her musings like a wraith;
One with Nature, she's always calm,
Writing her cares away,
Inking poetry is her balm,
Keeps her alive each day;
Inscribing her deep impressions,
She sits there in Zen mode,
Her verses are her expressions,
Where her emotion's sowed;
Ruminating in solitude,
She composes her dreams,
She's in "the Pensive Poet" mood,
The "Maiden of Moonbeams".
The Pensive Poet Contest sponsor Constance LaFrance written 8/4/26
Turquoise thoughts form
like peach perspiration
Sliding down my feverish face
Baked in a steamy shower of brain fog
Ideas fall in incomplete patterns
Like a red runaway train going no where
I get a little inspiration from fellow poet
Whose words flow fuchsia free with melodic ease
I bake and contemplate black cauldron
As my food of thought bank
Whimsical words are my magic wand
Which I use as a spoon to stir
My muse consuming cranberry daiquiri
Is wasted and no longer helping me
The night is cloaked with onyx vail
Saved by polka dots of silver stars
I reach for them in denim desperation
For what is a poet without a poem
If my wish is granted I too will write
Like the greatest poet upon the clouds
My teal torture will melt into a sea of creativity
Amethyst ideas like a new white wind
Washing away the lost thoughts
Starting a new purple poetic journey
There is a new focus on my path
I’m not the best or the worst but
I can love my heart song and tap into
The melody unique to my sandy soul
I can gather my emotions like a potion
Stirring you and me like a maroon melody
Not all who read will be moved
But for the fantastic few who
Visit me on writer’s block we shall persevere
And in due time writing sublimely
Guiding the runaway train to new destinations
Pensive Blues
Unwrapping a mellow chord
Repeated words one affords
Flowers awaiting new bloom
Find Blue’s infusing the gloom
Waiting upon stars falling
Across the sky of wishing
An arched conduit of light
Opaque in harmony’s flight
Catching each note expecting
Lovers’ moon unquestioning
Rhythm extinguishing flame
Silencing slashes of pain
Ember’s etching on the sky
Kindled visions that now fly
A wasteland alight once more
Blazing with lyrical score
Melody of words spoken
Re-acquaint new love’s token
Awash in the bluest “Blues”
Dreaming of wishes come true
By: Debra Squyres 2/26/13
Based on the Blues lyrics of Nora Jones:
“Waiting”, “Turn Me On”
“Come Away With Me” and “The Nearness of You”.
.
pretty precious poison poised patiently personifying passion
When heaven's earth knows it's rebirth.
Horizons fade away.
In passive penance we learn to love.
The place where we must stay.
Aglow with peace that's from within.
The day's freely unfold.
With answers that never begin.
Rewarding, but withhold.
Thoughtful dreams to fill the soul.
Requainting mystic memories.
They will start to take their toll.
When hate is all the heart see's.
To know tomorrow's book of tales.
Preserve the past preread.
Wisdom know's what must prevail.
What word's must not be said.
My pen is having an off day
It refuses to write
It didn't consult the hand
To ask if this was alright
The hand said the pen
"You are such a pain."
Who do you think you are?
You are not the Brain!
pensive
sultry night
stargazing
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
p e t a l s
fall like shooting stars
when windswept willows
w h i r l and wave
weeping no more~
veiled in volatile violets
emanating angst
of a spirit abandoned
within an abyss of seething scars
still bleeding
yet pleading
clinging onto crystal clear crevices
as time forever teases
with twigs ~ torn and tainted
oblivious to the tears
of nurturing nests
consumed in opium rain
I've long been blind
to the swaying of solace
entranced by the eccentric accents
of darkness dusted in
perfumed poise
as songs of the soul
drift through
shifting colors of the seasonal sun
like pensive pollen
painting the sky in teal tints
amidst the pain
they carry from the heart
of blue roses
to the arms of cherry blossoms
perhaps these words
float through your pages
like inked nothings
but would you feel
the fragranced metaphors
masking the melancholy
cloaking the chaos
too reluctant to reveal
the rising heat of fevered February
as if the days seem longer
while the moon forever
remains
eclipsed
leaving the horizon
frozen with fogs of frosted memoirs
s p r i n k l i n g
marooned memories
so let this poem be another
r e a s o n
to erase the greyest emotion
breathing from
the twilight tides
of a feathered ocean ...
An outcast this night,
I mournfully sigh with gloom:
but, I make war, fight!
to defeat my rising doom,
and defend my haunted tomb.
Pensive in Croydon
colors blazing intensely
lazy day complete
afternoon furiously
fighting for extra moments
My eyes
Inseparably focused
On the plain, colorless canvas
And yet
Still ideating
A bright, elucidating palette,
The golden curls
Falling over the strong, pensive face
Shown glancing
At something unseen,
“Oh,” I wonder,
“What might it be that fixates you so?”
Do you heed caution?
Perhaps an undisclosed epiphany?
Or is it fear
Which makes your broad jaw drop?
The great, big arms
Spread wide open
Like a pair of ivory wings
To either assist
In advancing
Or eluding,
Have you shared this secret
With another?
Else, it is your intention
To keep silent
And allow time
To take its turbulent course.
Perpetually praising poet's perforce presence,
particular poets persevere penniless, proudly,
people present peonies, prizes,
poet's perennial prose, poesy,
pacific, provocative, purposeful,
painstakingly perfected, promising,
poet's prolific in populace,
platinum pens poised,
paper primed, persnickety,
pensive pinnacle power of poetic peace,
and posterity.