Best Pensiveness Poems
She left me enlightened
With her “Heart’s Imagination”
Taught me about love
In the ink of “Melting Point”
She gave me a whisper of insight
Within the breath of “O April”
And sang to my soul and spirit
On the wings of “Germination”
She colored my heart in hues
Of lavender with her psalms
Who spoke to me of hope and love
Joy birthed in “My Iridescent Garden”
She illuminated my soul’s faith
With “Soulful Journey of Shooting Stars”
And breathed pain into my nostrils
On the tone of “Heartbreak Hill”
She graced my thoughts with light
When she penned “The Virtue of Motion and Life”
I felt the waves of her pensiveness
In the words of “Mirror of a Son’s Eyes”
She left my heart in bright adoration
With “Rebirth of the Third Angel”
And encouraged me to listen to silence
On the reflections of “Wire Walker”
She delights, enlightens, flavors my thoughts
In amber, scarlet, sapphire and emerald
All the colors of inspiration and sensitivity
Inviting me to listen to the hopes within me
She inscribes a bit of enchantment through me
With her vivid portrayals of imaginations
So loving and graceful, like psalms that grant me
A light to guide – a hope to ignite my faith
She is a writer who has left me with appreciation
For the empty pages that draw her in
And bring me such beauty, light and laughter
Love that points me to a heart that is perceptive
A woman of grace and beauty and wonder
Polishes her poems with flavors of amazement
Inspirations so thrilling, so revealing, they take me
Through the poem into places I’ve only dreamed of
Her poetry holds a trace of stardust, a flame
Of expectation, a promise of illumination
Fulfillment and pleasure, satisfaction with words
That brightens lives and leaves elegance wherever it flows
In her poetry… there is hope for words!
Title Wave Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Richard Lamoureux
May 19, 2021
For a wonderful poetess, Susan Ashley
Titles of Susan’s Poems are in BOLD
The pensiveness of the sky
is broken by the cry of a crow,
by trees distilling intimacy
and moist, vibrant expectancy.
Violets, ferns, and birches
share life-giving vapors.
The chalk-bleak horizon
and pungent, poignant odors
whisper sonorous secrets.
The visitor is enveloped
in this pithy, soulful world,
all cells saturated
with a suggestive sustenance.
Before you sleep take my last breath from my soul
For I weep from the pain
A pain so pensiveness it withers my insides away
I have lost you in a place I felt safe, now I’m surrounded by dust and fog nearly blinding my eyes
I’m scared and frightened by the rift between our hearts
I am a petrified forest with bare limbs that have been stripped and lay abandoned
You have plundered me into twisted hemp of disarray
How could things have gone so wrong?
How could we have lost the love and luster of yesterday?
Was it really a love of reality?
Clouded by desire and hunger and waiting at the gates of deception
Eyes of jewels that spill a river far and wide
Drown me in a red sticky cancer
Shattered glass a portrait preview of two fractured in half
I am floating alone in cold lonely vortex of cruelty while shards of you leave me unchanged
You once needed me and made me feel alive
Now I am dying not that knowing where your feelings really lay
You say one thing then do another
So confusing to say the least
Could you be true and honest could you be clear to yourself
Before you sleep take the ache from my broken insides
today
And breath my last breath
On the sandy knoll he stands, a solitary, forlorn figure gazing at the sky. It’s a clear night, and hundreds of stars shimmer like fireflies pinned to the firmament. His eyes fix on one of them, a twinkling pinpoint near the center that seems to give off a faint amber glow. Looking at it distractedly, he wonders what star it is, which galaxy, how many light years away. He has been mired in a persistent gloom brought on by a bad breakup which life in general has done little to lift, and in his pensiveness, he yearns to be where he is not.
Stars congregating
A salve of reticent lights
Melancholy vaults
He imagines not only life but a much more advanced civilization on the amber star (the distinction between a star and a planet he’s in no mood to dwell on), an unknown utopia in the wilderness of space where unhappiness has been bred out of the entire race, and where there’s no war, no loss, no hate, no love, just a perpetual lightness of being maintained by wisdom and moored to omnipotent technology. He wishes he could leave everything behind, and go far, far away to that beckoning star.
Soul with starry eyes
Thoughts retreat into night sky
Fantasy of flight
The star he’s gazing at is in fact not a star, but a planet in a spiral galaxy 4.5 million light years away, which would not be visible to his naked eye if it weren't for the light from over 5,000 near-simultaneous explosions that have obliterated civilization there in a nuclear apocalypse. Before life was extinguished, the planet’s inhabitants called their galaxy the Milky Way, and the planet itself, Earth.
Man-made suns flashing
Perpetual night descends
Light flees into space
Inspired by the song “So Many Stars” by Sergio Mendes, Marilyn Bergman, Alan Bergman
She smile at me and my good looks appear
Her teeth beautifully arrange in the same bright and white of eyes
She make her curvy walk on the street, and her untainted pensiveness transform the place to the street of gold
Her steps signal an aura of confidence which diffuse as a scent of a moving angel
Her smiles air out a soul connect of delirious desire
The earth and heavens are in awe of her empirical reality
Her aura of beauty illuminate the entire masculine cycle
Who is that man that passes by without exhilarating and distracted by this unusual earthly Aphrodite
Yet she bends only into my ceiling and my little slipped into her yields a melodic moan
Oh I can hear—–the earth so exclaim!
Yes! They can hear me say—–she is my polish queen
The earth stood still and glanced at how I fix my hands to hers,
As we both exhale alluring romance
The flowers sing and dance, oozing their scent, giving her many ovations at a smear of her lion
The wind blows bending tall trees to smile at her
Her beauty covers the earth and love rain plentifully
Her gentle soul soften the sun not to be cruel on earthly creatures
I can hear the birds tweet my name to her
Yes! She is my polish queen…
The birds sing to accord her walk into my arms
Oh! The heavens declare that she is a desire of every man, but her heart beat for one
Yet my thigh wriggles to her and my sweat plant a seed in her
Yes! I can hear her say ……..I’m your polish queen
Alas! The earth prostrate, the heavens triumph,
As I declare ——-she is my polish queen.
for lovers all over the world
The day the songbird came
the sun shone between showers.
The silence was perforated
with melodious euphony,
the day the songbird came.
The day the songbird came
our melancholy was lifted
with his tunefulness,
his brightness lit our darkness -
the day the songbird came.
The day the songbird came
marked a sad anniversary,
but its memory is diluted with
his sweet concordant sound.
Today the songbird came.
Now that the songbird's here
a passing wave of pensiveness
is pervaded with jubilant abandon
and crashes on the shore of oblivion
now that the songbird's here.
Amazing what a song can do
to dark and sombre mood and hue:
discordant silences harmoniously
transformed to sweet-toned humour,
now that the songbird's here .......
Oh stay, sweet songbird, stay......
I've given myself some ideal times to reckon.
My musings meander for no apparent reason
I don't settle what to predict on the challenge.
Where I'm being idling within the lucid adage,
Notwithstanding, it is thus somewhere out there.
With his pensiveness perfectly elsewhere,
It's likely the case that this would be creedal.
Suspicions, then again, may as well tweedle.
It is helpful to inquire over evoking glints pitch.
That could only hit the one to maul his switch.
My surmise is this is a direct result of reality.
You're adding a snide view on my apparency.
From the edges of your lowly litters' haven,
It's vital to grasp I would instead foil this beckon.
Written: January 12, 2022
There's still light down this glistening black road,
a path to travel with the moon shining by my side.
Much like my own way, for some time greatly shadowed -
and yet something shows the way for this quiet ride.
The steadfast celestial guardian ever watches me,
even when its face is hidden by time's flow.
'Twould be the only light by which I could see,
if not for the headlights' soft glow.
Pensiveness seems to be the rule of the drive -
sound is muffled, like it's not allowed entry
on these heavy thoughts through which I strive;
that silver disc, as ever, a silent sentry.
That sound tires make on a road that's just seen rain,
the tiny taps of the drizzle dampening the way.
The red lights in the distance, now moving to a new lane,
the dawn coming far off, yet heralding another day.
The weight of the past in the passenger seat,
showing different faces from my history.
I wonder as I see one in particular on repeat -
when you're alone, do you think of me?
This way comes the inexorable march of that dawn,
and still night's orb watches as I'm vexed by she.
A grey sky overlooks, as one query I yet dwell upon -
when you're alone, do you think of me?
I shake my head as if to dislodge these thoughts,
eager to continue this drive's long quest.
If that's to outrun, or untie, these kind of knots,
I still as of yet cannot truly attest.
The little window that overlooks
Those wild wooded acres beyond it
Has now a flimsy layer of mist
Upon its translucent glass panes
And whiter seem the snow covered woods.
Etching with soft fingers upon the glass
Makes visible a bunch of wild roses
Frosty dew-kissed redness nudging the walls
Near the window sill in silent wonder
Balming the icy-stillness of the morning air.
Like a wreath placed upon the day
Mourning the greenery which lies buried
Under flaky piles of snow and hailstones
Making mortals reminisce in pensiveness
About the unspoilt beauty of nature.
Bare boughs stand askance from a distance
Of the grey skies and the falling snow
Wanting to know if winter would stay long
And when would spring knock upon its bark
With the tweets of seasonal birds
And gay squirrels would once again run its length.
Nature remains quiet save for the sounds
Of whispering winds and downing flakes
Etching mystic symbols upon snowy ground
Which buried fallen leaves try to decipher
If they can nature’s cryptic messages.
Perhaps they would tell the boughs someday
After winter winds its way through the woods
And the snowy acres of wilderness
Embracing all with its frozen touch
Makes way for springtime to thaw the ground.
***********
Naked, soul served out
on the Ax murder’s lawn
pulsating in death’s hesitation.
Cracked at the crevasses
visions of red
engulf the air
waiting, waiting
waiting for a rush of purple
grey madness to terminate
the perplexing edge of time.
I am at my soul’s wits end
hoping to grasp a very
smooth corner of the next ride
that passes hastily by me.
Surrender, surrender
surrender to the pensiveness
of the wait.
Surrender . . . the dirt wind shiver
to me
surrender.
I shake
wait
afraid
wait.
IMAGINATION TAKES HOLD
Like chrysalis asleep,dreaming of
its wings await intellectual recreation
and active benevolence which brings
wisdom & blessedness.Such does
the future promise in the range
of high arts,parcelled out in shades
of pensiveness by the ticking of
the clock as imagination takes
hold and abides in perfection.
Letters of Samuel Palmer 1891
EVERY DAY
Dream the daydream,feel the
poetic in art,a deep glimpse of
landscape,silvering fragments of the
moon through a lattice.Pluck from
memory the rooted sorrow
and embody ideal beauty in a sunburnt
glow.Then rising all besmirched
begin,imitating in detail and
acknowledge momentary phenomena
in continual observation &sketch.
Letters of Samuel Palmer 1891
*A Phrasis is a structured verse where the poet uses selected prose phrases of another writer’s to compile unique poetry therefrom as a tribute thereto,the word phrasis is Greek for phrase.
Listen to me recite these two phrasis of mine on youtube under name of ichthyschiro
Could it be the state of tranquility
Despite the times they are being loquacious
Or this event of serendipity
For meeting this person quite so gracious
Is it his presence is a sweet lagniappe
Or their bond that caused an epiphany
The fact his absence feels like a cold snap
That her feelings are a polyphony
It’s personality in plethora
Which is refreshing just like petrichor
That sets off in her mind an aurora
Depicting sensations of her ardour
It’s that he treats her with delicacy
That sets off these great feelings blossoming
She puts words to them with hesitancy
For her fear of the others gossiping
She hides in a place abyssopelagic
To veil that he is her panacea
As if emotions will leave like magic
Is that not just the dumbest idea
Who’s she kidding they are diaphanous
A statement that she says with some languor
Practicing a great deal of ascesis
When really they should be allowed to soar
But he gives a place of felicity
A place some might say is just limerence
A thing that is quite the duplicity
She knows that she can see the difference
Her affection can appear galactic
But to her it is just a silhouette
Perhaps giving her an ataractic
Will dim her down and she’ll cause less upset
To him she is just incendiary
An explosive she is the quintessence
A fact becoming evidentiary
In it exhibiting its fluorescence
She wished for a soothing elixir
They sent her a voice so mellifluous
However it’s not his job to fix her
Whilst she is in this state of pensiveness
And now she senses a quadrivium
There is an insight into her psyche
She is praying for her elysium
For her own life to end in syzygy
At the time of my decision later in life,
I was not a neophyte nor did I experience
an inhibition in using my paints and brushes.
I had loved to draw since I was a child-
mostly enthralled to express dolorous scenes
like that of the Virgin Mary with baby Jesus,
reflecting in her eyes God's Providence
of the sadness of what was to come.
When I decided to study at a local art gallery
under the guidance of a well-known artist,
with his direction, the smolder of my artistic
talents came to life like a raging fire.
At first, I did flounder with techniques,
and with getting to know other gallery artists-
some noted for their pompous bombast-
others by their bizarre or lecherous art;
but, most were humble and gentle, like me.
I polished my unique style of oil painting,
mostly seizing the beauty and peace of nature-
winter scenes, a dark, lonely tree in the fog-
and too- the joy, sadness, or pensiveness
of the human expression through portraits-
art- and obsession- that reflects my heart.
May 29, 2019
~2nd Place~
Contest: Eight Word Free Verse
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Judged: 06/21/2019
Words required to use: neophyte, inhibition, dolorous,
Providence, smolder, flounder, bombast, lecherous
I take an unhurriedly walk
through the virgin forest
with paths fully covered with brittle leaves,
its trees emit mournful laments
to protest its anguishing fate until spring arrives
and transforms their dullness
into a liveliness loved by a novelist;
and walking farther, I spot a red-tailed hawk
that built his nest amid the branches of a willow...
should he return late, the cry for hunger will grow!
Nothing thrilling is found in a barren forest
when its beauty faded without the song of the larks
when they frequented the fields of a bountiful harvest,
I sit by the small lake without the floating ducks,
they shivered into the cold water and departed at early sunset,
leaving the drama on the poet's perplexed face;
his narrative would have seemed real and deserving of praise...
had he not embellished it with an unconvincing verse!
I take a long stroll
in a forest with a nakedness that frightens,
there are no intriguing discoveries;
those urban noises aren't too distant from the ears,
the minds, and the thoughts of the observers;
isn't tranquility and pensiveness that call
all for solitude and the dreary images they extoll?
Shouldn't they depress even if they are as realistic
as the life of a derelict
clothed with cheap garments, but has a noble spirit?
She handed me a small box old, yet still neat; what a find
The seventies faces staring back reminded me of better times
Time to play, summers visiting grandparents and hope
The future will be amazing; just stay away from dope
Walking around in the woods up and down the hills
Time has a way of being ok then not; conflicting wills
Conflicting emotions cross my face.... should I let the box go
Or see if another day will be remembered inside that paper doll box so
I hide the box on my shelf now I look at the date and 1974 I see
I can't let go of that little girl; you see it would be letting go of me
Emotions run wild pensiveness, regret and saving grace
Happiness to see a friendly face and time travel to another place
Rummage sale keeper you are my friend
Tomorrow's memories you can lend