Best Perimeters Poems
Ghost knight, playing Tolkienesque chords
over common, white noise,
I still hear you, cosmic brother,
strumming the songs of pentagrams
from your optical guitar,
like that scene out of Star Wars,
all were always welcome at your wild bar –
interplanetary troubadours, euphoric warriors
or a ninja geek incognito, a wistful rhymer
who knew truth seldom whispers,
love is the only real free-artistry,
requiring no discipline, no perimeters,
no limits and no definitions
I still hear you, cosmic brother,
so alive, streaming a high volume
of colours, blue still holds a torch for you,
loud and proud,red engulfs night
without one regret,
but its your delicate gold, my friend,
I can never forget
When the sky is a
sequestered sanctuary,
and the clouds croon
for sinking star-beams,
listen to the euphoric hymns of silence,
for seething storms throned
beneath rainbow castles
shall never obscure the
crystalline colors of compassion,
amidst thickened fangs
of dwelling darkness,
constantly trying to
seize peacock pigments
within violet-blue seas
of sequined sentiments…
O’ beloved white rose~
perfumed in vanilla love,
let not the wolf-spider gaze,
mirroring envy within black widow hearts,
confuse your diamond vision.
It’s just another day,
enveloped in a warm sakura sunrise,
there the gales of greed
looming in ghostly flecks,
question the redolence of rivulets
behind your veiled vigor.
There’s no reason to fear
when hope flows and drifts
like comets flying as fluttering butterflies
across the butterscotch horizon.
Remember, when the sage sun
seeps into foggy crevices,
and deserted dunes
speak in ashen accents,
their choice of words do not define
the rhythm of your seraphic symphony.
Your merlot wine spirit is
the whimsical wand turning unspoken
tales into wildflower wishes.
There’s no need for an alchemist
nor a sorcerer to concoct
spells that rearrange constellations,
as your voice swirls in magical mists.
You and I, are every last thing
we need to conquer the bewitching
perimeters we truly deserve.
Tonight, when my lids rest upon the
dreamscape of daffodils and dahlias,
I see that look in your eye.
I ponder, is it me that you long for?
Am I the unfading ink
within your saccharine sonnets?
I yearn to be the one you talk
about in sweet seclusion.
This trembling canvas longs
for no other skin to caress the acrylic
edges of my aching soul,
and I do not need
the wind and water
beneath whistling willows
to write my destiny
in green and gold.
We don’t need shades of shadows
following our intertwined silhouettes,
yet I let these metaphors
merge with the heat of
your passionate presence,
as you and I break through
the landscapes of grief
with mutual attraction
like the mulberry rays
between the moon and earth..
Our garden perimeters
are hung with notes
A thrush sings its morning songs.
No other of its kind dares cross
these musical borders of trilling notes
Would that we - could defend our boundaries with songs
instead of bombs.
Suzanne Delaney
I shine my light upon the green earth
Reaching down from heaven’s domain
To show the world that their fantasies
Are the way that I illuminate the night
I touch the stars with my soft perimeters
Radiate love through clouds and storms
Mystify the writers and poets of nature
Send a shadow of insight across the seas
I melt with a heart of hope bound by faith
Sliding through the core of dancing spirits
Dwelling quietly along the mountain ridges
My destiny suspended within sweet dreams
I rest my graceful beauty against the eyes
Who take time to notice how I’ve survived
Decades of mystical wishes and embraces
From melancholy souls who treasure praises
I am the color of glittering stars that are afire
Imagining inspirations that color me with yearnings
For reaching across the sorrows and anxieties
With comforting joy and assured confidence
I accept the romantic affections that create peace
And welcome the dazzling enlightenment they bring
With their sense of promise and optimistic ways
Filling up the world with creative intimacy and wisdom
I give away the buoyant caress that others so crave
Risking everything to bring the dance of serenity
With echoes of sensitivity I sing a sweet song
Erasing all fear with my gentle and wise experience
I thrill the onlooker who hopes to find a cure for pain
Moving beyond their limited view toward potency
Feelings filled with brilliant reasons for knowing healing
That comes from perceiving the compassion I express
With me, the haunting moon, there is bold acceptance!
STRAND completely new (3) any theme any form Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
June 30, 2020
"The forest is a sanctuary where you can grow to be you," ... by the Poet.
The passing of a torch, when Spring was announced,
was noted in the melting quarter of winter memories, as a sun climbs in
its forgiving rays; hoping its extent will favor the many listless foliage
that shy away the hours and that will soon purify vividly.
A forest is a sanctuary of admirable heights,
indelible spreads in the reach of golden beams.
The nurturing glow is a blessed welcoming, as glimmerings of first light,
and in its duration;
at the lower regions,
are duly usual reliance on root's deep hold of the earth
will stabilize their stature.
The lesser herbage of lowly pinnacles beneath shades of tree boughs
whereby the sun's light skips and winks a trace of them, is nevertheless
enriched with nutrients that will foster its growth.
These passionate plantings in harsh spotty sites amid forested trees are all
functions of the grand scheme of nature at its finest. Two, of the three
sanctuaries, the Flora, is known as the greater of the living greeneries.
The Funga is the lesser of the verdancy of the woods' life.
Then there are the incidentals of nature, and their animated interactions known as the third sanctuary; the Fauna. They soar, stride, slide, and swim.
Most move free of incidents, and others, not quite so. It's the
beast of the jungle that rules. They set them, and when broken,
there will be consequences. It is the pattern set by nature for the cycle of life.
One life dies as a gift for another to live. These are the rigid realities of the
woodlands, though not limited here,
but relevant beyond this sanctuary's realm.
The entrance of Spring seasons well the vibrancy of greens evolving greener.
Anticipative varieties of colorful flowers can survive the thick overhangs
of a forest.
Fauna, or animal life forms, infest these regions generously.
Spring here in the forested jungles is no different from the expressed lands
beyond its perimeters.
The Wicket of Spring has opened its forest sanctuary.
At first school was cool
Had to abide by one simple rule
Read and write
And never fight
Recite the alphabet
How easy can it get?
One plus one is two
A E I O U
Two times two is four
D O O R spells door
Maths was about addition and subtraction
Multiplication and division
Studied animals and apes
And all them shapes
Circles and triangles
Squares and rectangles
Pentagons, hexagons
Septagons, octagons
Nonagons and decagons
Then I grew a little and things got tough
The stuff got a bit rough
School became boring
Talk of junior-high bullying
I got scared and
The maths got weird
Areas and volumes
Cones and pyramids
Cords and sectors
Quantities and vectors
Pi r squared?
Half times base times height?
No way I’m getting these right
Positives and negatives
Radius and diameter
Areas, perimeters
Voltmeters and ammeters
More and more shapes
Rhombus, star and trapezium
Physics and chemistry
Lithium and helium
Biology and history
Mussolini, Hitler and Stalin,
And the famous wall of Berlin
I thought I was done
But things got less fun
I started to debit and credit
Economics and statistics
Differentiation and intergration
Poisson and normal distribution
Assignments, projects and dissertations
Now I’ve got the diplomas and degrees
But guess what
I’m just a poet
Now, tell me
Did I waste my time?
Curvature the plane to the point of distribution
Focus either latitude, asymptomotes are drawn;
Equalling hypotenuese with spiralling revolution
Discretely perpendicular to the course it set upon.
All prinicipals of axis are running through the centre
To rotate intersections where the vertices define;
A conic section tilted either left or right would enter,
Angled high perimeters where either halves entwine.
Visual the perspective where the foci separates
Each segment that establishes the gradual aim of low;
To benefit the lateral then where it penetrates
Is seen as the illusion and positions from below.
Illusion us to pivot sense, redeem the scheme as wise,
By having this as constant, to do with each, obeys-
The simple rule, coordinates whose will of gradual rise
Is probably a measured wrong, a hyperbolic maze.
He is a soldier through and through
Serving our country abroad unselfishly
He is brave but not without caution of view
He must be strong yet very leary
Serving our country abroad unselfishly
Aware of enemies unforeseen by him
He must be strong yet very leary
They hide among his surroundings of dim
Aware of enemies unforeseen by him
He moves with stealth to help protect you
They hide among his surroundings of dim
He walks perimeters with focused fear of few
He moves with stealth to help protect you
They watch with harmful, cruel intentions
He walks perimeters with focused fear of few
They'll pounce with chance of intervention
They watch with harmful, cruel intentions
He is brave but not without caution of view
They'll pounce with chance of intervention
He is a soldier through and through
Maggie Mae McAfee
Cozy comfort he finds residing in his narrow world
Never veering from neighborhood he well knows,
Keeping to his familiar corners of adamant beliefs
Roaming within limits of truth he chooses to see.
His paths have been paved for his own two feet,
Restless he feels when strangers trespass his street
For long ago he decided who fits his myopic sight
Guarded by perimeters of his sacred boundaries.
He won't attempt to understand differing insights,
Never having been part of a scholarly discussion;
For he can't comprehend things new and unknown,
Afraid that new knowledge may pollute his mind.
When a tourist pays a beggar on a main city-street
He rushes to take a picture of beggar's empty mug,
Directing him to smile broadly on hungry stomach
So he can exhibit to his world, proof of lazy people.
Saddened he feels seeing a child cling to mother’s gut
As she lays dead amid ruins of a hapless war-zone.
He looks away mourning, seeing such dreadful scenes
But that would be the extent of his generous streak.
March 11, 2018
Placed first in contest 540 by Brian Strand
He moves quickly through the underbrush
I follow close behind, pushing
Briars cautiously with a hand prepared
To let go hastily and a throat
Holding onto a shudder in response
To the graze of the briar against
Soft, naked skin
He pulls bare branches back,
Threading his way through the pines,
Oaks, birch and different trees
Who sit waiting the first sunlight beam
Of a morning breaking through the night
Delighting in the flickers of life
Birds chirping, honeybees buzzing,
Deer and rabbit scurrying back toward
Their havens, dens awaiting
Leaves crunch softly beneath our feet
In the heart of the forest where
Silence is never as silent as it seems
He keeps moving and I keep following
Listening to the soft whisper
Of a mountain wood coming alive
I break free from his heavy step
Begin to follow the trail of a doe who must
Be going back to her fawn
And look closely for the signs of life
That cling to the dew covered vines and wild flowers
As they grace the edge of the woods
With lavender breath and a crimson caress
Creating beauty amid the jungle of emerald sighing
Softly, like a trace of joy embracing
The colorful nirvana of a realm that relieves
Hearts of their suffering and minds
Of their anxieties, creates a sphere of bliss
Where only God has the ability to grace its perimeters
With gentle hope that warms the heart
And soothes the spirit
He is with me, but up ahead of me
Where I have yet to see
And I hear it – the lifting of the gun
The cocking is quick and it remains to be seen
If it was my step or the raising of the barrel
That caused the stag to lunge forward
Free from the freezer
Free from death
Free for now
Hunting brings me the assurance
That there are still treasures untold
Within the heart of these mountain trails
Where God’s creatures remind us all
God blesses each one
With a purpose
A function
A aim
BY STREET CRIES
MY PEN SPEAKS POETRY WITH A PASSION
RELEASING MENTAL PRISONS POSING AS PROBLEMS
PEOPLE POINTING FINGERS IGNORING PARAGRAPHS OF LIFE SCRIPTURES
PROMOTING THE PENALTY OF MINDLESS POTENTIAL
IN A PARADOX PASSING BY PEDESTRIANS
PLEASING PARASITES PUMPING POISON IN THE POPULATION
PROPAGANDA FOLLOWING PROTOCOL
POLITICS PLAYING GODS POSITION
POSSIBLY PROVOKING PESTILENCE AS A PRESENT
BECAUSE OF OUR PAST TENSE
PROVIDING A PATH PRACTICING PAGANISM AS PARADISE
PERPENDICULAR TO NO LIFE
PERSUADING PARTICIPATION IN THE FORM OF PROFITS
PURCHASING A GENERATION POLLUTED WITH IGNORANCE
PURPOSELY POSITIONING PUPPETS AS PRESIDENT
PROBING PODS PENETRATE THE SKY LOOKING FOR PLANETS
PROVING POINTS THROUGH PROPHETIC PROPHECY
PROJECTING PAINFUL PREMONITIONS
PARANOID PERKIEST PILL POPPERS PARADE IN PUBLIC
WHILE POLICE PUSH PASS PERIMETERS OF PEACE
CAUSING PICKET SIGNS OF PROTEST
FOOD FED TO THE POOR PROCESSED WITH PESTICIDES
PROTECT WALL STREET POCKETING PAYCHECKS FORM POVERTY
THAT'S WAY I POST POEMS WITH POWERFUL POTENCY
REPRESENTING THE UNHEARD CRIES IN THE STREETS
TWO OLD GODS
Two old men.
That’s all; not much to look at.
Their frail, broken shadows shrunk against the sunny morning
Brightness slowly searching its way through gnarled branches
Overhead, and crisscrossing the red and black pieces
Upon their welcoming checkerboard.
I placed a solitary peanut into the waiting hands of a small, grey squirrel.
Withdrawing my offer of other gifts, I moved away;
Drawing closer to hear their wrinkled voices still
Clamoring over the last move of their deadly waiting game;
Spattering salty remarks with knowing chuckles of old combatants
Echoed former rattlings of their rusty swords.
Beneath their stubby beards sat the once strong,
Straight line of a stubborn jaw, thrust at life;
Hot for the chase that breached the perimeters of grand arenas
As Time swept aside the long-suffering hours
And slowly chiseled away massive, symmetrical bone.
They had been young, sensuous men with lapping fire at their cores,
Melting away the wet walls of passion and the searing, sticky
Sting of a promising, promiscious tongue.
Yes, their passion was still lingering there,
Below the masks of debilitating age and cracking stone.
Their passion for life and pleasure still written across their
Wrinkled, wincing brows clearly there for anyone to read.
I wondered how many summers those faded eyes had squinted
Against a broiling sky and felt the power of that which they are---
Two old gods, sitting in the ruins of their shadowy kingdom passed,
Oblivious to the ticking of unearthly clocks.
Two faded, gnarled and twisted husks sat in peaceful friendship
Beneath the cool and darkening, park lined sky.
Below the surface of their shabby shrouds, pinpoints of eternal, celestral light
Sought the vaporous freedom of untethered ether.
Beneath the surface, the gods still flexed their mighty,
Quiescent muscles, forever young: aged mantles flung
Against Time’s eroding shores and fog misted dangerous rocks.
The definition of self:
Is in the acknowledgement of self-wealth
Understanding the value of one's worth
Between the divinity of death and birth
Not as scrounging creatures in this dirty earth
But as lords, ladies; master; mistresses;
Kings; queens; gods and goddesses
Of a boundless and limitless universe
Putting an inverse to the suggested perimeters of one's mind
Having to mind the fickle fragile emotions that lag behind
Refine by "father time" under God's design
Where morals reside and combined
With breathing: the intake of what's good and exhaling the bad
It's so sad we aren't glad that we survived
Our hardest moments when our hearts get broken;
Lives are taken with tears soaked an'
We kill ourselves with our so called
"Distant, Destined Dreams and Schemes"
Which we want at that moment, which comes with
"Fame and Fortune Forgetting Fatigue and Fatality"
That's when the gravity of reality draws us back to sanity;
Constantly pulling us down when we want to succeed;
Giving us doubt when we want to achieve;
Losing our faith when we want to believe
That in life there are a lot of treasures to retrieve
That's why I'll believe this is a summary of the life we lead
And proceed to sow these evil seeds
In other people's gardens but when done to us we don't give pardons
And I have to end where I started that...
"The definition of self:
Is in the acknowledgement of self-wealth,
Understanding the value of one's worth
Between the divinity of death and birth
Not as scrounging creatures in this dirty earth"
a cellar full of corpses
thirsty bottles and a skinful of salt
too busy while not thinking
and last night is too distant to recall
wi' no purpose there's no need
the sound perimeters are all brand new
I don't know, but that's what they all say
taking pride in the rising street value
just doing your job, solemn statue of clay
just doing your job, now that our love has had its day
digital currency online
but you can only touch it on this page
wake up, love, kill the dreamer
with the house not paid, our bed has been made
just doing your job, with a mouthful of cake
just doing your job, now that our love has had its day
now that our love has had its day
And then…
there were none.
Within the perimeters of the releasing of
angels, there was a glimpse of hope.
Outside the border of the letting-go of
demons, there was the sight of doubt.
Nothing could be found as no eye
could see the freedom both negotiated
and failed to agree upon.
There were clouds of ebony with
sunshine of medallion.
Each side carried a shimmer of remorse
yet a twinkle of forgiveness.
Before the beginning, came the end,
and after the end came creation of
good and evil.
Fortitude and cowardice became
a way of life.
Frailness and determination resolved
all conflict.
Inside the temple was where each side
fought for a chance to survive.
For there was never a chance beyond
leniency that the angels and demons
would coincide with harmony.
Each cancelled out each other and
then…
...there were none.
April 12, 2017