Best Perusing Poems
Weeping Willow
The way your toes curl when you first wake up, yes I have been there to see this.
The way your nose wrinkles as you start to laugh, to this also I have been witness.
You twirl your hair and click your teeth when deep thoughts keep you guessing
And the way your eyes alight with flame when no longer the answers are vexing
Your lips pucker without thought of a kiss when something to you is amusing
About the crazy ideas that I might be having or a book you might be perusing.
I have seen you in the embers of a raging fire, and on the waves that crash upon the shore
I have heard you in the whisper of a windswept leaf as it dances upon the forest floor
I have felt you within a single drop of rain that nature brings to cleanse the earth
I have tasted no greater flavor than this, the nectar garnered from a true loves birth
I have smelled your beauty within the aroma of jasmine, honey, mint and Cinnamon
I have known you from the dawn of time, the cadence of two hearts abridged as one
And when you go to bed at night for some reason my shirts are more comfortable
Than the many things in the past I bought you that your lips told me were unaffordable.
And I have dried the tears that flowed from your eyes when agony came to break your heart
Your brows would furrow as sleep would take you, tomorrow would bring a brand new start
But regardless of this and nonetheless you snuggle in close and at night you shift your pillow
To the cooler side the place that brings solace on the opposite poll of the weeping willow
Vision, a window divine, open wide to aspirations of heart,
A lens paramount, for perusing aesthetics of beauty and art;
A sight beaming imagination, on ambitions of curious soul,
A focus coherent, shaping impulses, passions studious cajole.
A medium of communication, an engaging lure of romance,
An infatuated response, a jubilant hint of enamored glance,
Blossoming in language of love, without utterance of word,
Extolling meaning amorous, that desires romantic spurred.
Perceptive of worldview, on mission to observe and learn,
A journey into the unknown, yearning curiously to discern,
Vision quests for knowledge, aiming to be literate, well read,
Vision peers into future, navigating life’s road maps ahead.
It thrills watching a baby smile, elates in celebration of life,
Saddens when mind summons anguish of grief and strife;
Dejecting violent places, thoughts kindred deeply deplore,
Preferring banks of avid shores, dreams endearing implore.
Vision captures images of life, ruminating in joys and sighs,
Rejoicing in blissful memories, or tearing-up its forlorn eyes;
Reveling in exuberant prairies, vying for flowering springs,
Or shuddering amid barren trees, bearing angst winter brings.
Sailing on an ocean breeze
In the vast depths of my mind
Like a sailor on the open seas
With a world of wonders to find
Perusing points to ponder
Through the night unto the morn
On a global scale I'll wander
Till an epiphany is born
Color is an integral part of my life, essential in
physical descriptions, a blessing to language.
Colors are perfect subjects for character sketches.
For one perusing the color wheel, it's easy to
choose green, a color of such versatility and
profound meaning.
Symbol of nature and youth, signifying hope for
eternal life and respect for the environment,
green nestles happily in the spectrum between
bright companions blue and yellow.
The verdure of spring adorns the plants that sustain
our bodies, delight our eyes, and lift our spirits.
Lovely evergreens grace our forests, yards, and even
our homes, decorated and surrounded by long-awaited
gifts and jubilant families celebrating the season.
These wholesome traits and so many more surely outweigh
the greenness of occasional jealousy or inexperience.
entered in Eve Roper's New or Old 5 Poetry Contest on August 2, 2016
placed 2nd
The more mature ladies sit aside
Engrossed in conversing
Contented in perusing dance
Some their feet rehearsing
Such a seat up high with a view
Alone upon the hill
Longing once again to dance
And tap out those fancy rills
In a plain Calico day dress,
A coat once rich now worn
Dreaming of spring, as peach dress swings
A spring day newly born
Different shades of springs clear blue sky
White apple blossom gown
Spring green decorations line hall
Peach blossom dress the crown
Off in the distance, the sound of the train
The whistle announces
It has stopped here in this young town
From train master bounces
There's a package over his shoulder
Sealed in a fancy bag
He mounts his horse that is waiting
Behind he did not lag
The lady that sits high on hill
In a gazebo hoping
Unaware that riders from town
Approach as she's coping
He tells her of observations
Of her strong courage
In the bag he brought a gown
One that matched her virtue
The belle of the cotillon ball
Dressed in emeral green
A velvet dress made just for her
One fit for a great queen
Inspired by
Isaiah Zerbst's
Contest: Ballroom Delights
From the painting by: Victor Gabriel Gilbert
Written: Over several days in November 2014
Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat!
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?
Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...
After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "
Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!
My theme is: Happiness In Childhood
'
where, in the shadow of a winter moon
beyond eternal skylines collecting stars,
does affection unfold in the sheets
of a nighttime whispering on the breeze
desperate wishes cast as stones on a pond,
smooth surfaces now laced with ripples,
spherical patterns meandering towards
a slumbering shoreline, drifting inward
a silhouette of love, an angelic form peers,
soft mahogany eyes reflecting yesterdays worries,
offering visions of a tomorrow woven between
today's dreams and desires, waits silently
thoughts echo through the dense forest,
evergreens listen as footsteps forage for a path,
a lone figure in the dark, beneath a braided canopy,
a mosaic of memories luring instincts and needs
winding a way through bramble and thistle,
scars fend off thorns, flesh withers in fear lost
within the mist of past encounters, pained
reminders though welcomed just the same
when in a clearing he pauses amidst swaying reeds,
perusing a distant horizon, witnessing the final ripple
slowly making it's way to the place she stood, now
vacant as a faint sliver of morning appears
falling to his knees
he pleads for the return of the winter moon,
the return of its shadow,
the return of...
Twas the site before Christmas
and all through the place
All the poets were writing
happy thoughts to embrace
They sprinkled each stanza
with seasonal things
Like Santa Claus, candy canes,
five golden rings
All phrases were penned
with a holiday gleam
As sugarplums danced
in the midst of their dream
With Frosty the Snowman,
live wreaths on the door
Evergreens, Jingle bells,
presents galore
Tree trimming poems,
sleigh bells and joys
Fairly land winters
and elves making toys
A star in the sky
that three wise men did see
A babe in a manger,
the nativity
Hot cups of cocoa,
the garland is strung
Tinsel and ornaments,
stockings are hung
I read and I laughed
and I grinned ear to ear
Perusing their poems
of Christmastime cheer
When I thought of writing
out one of my own
Not a creature was stirring,
I sat all alone
I stared at the screen
wondering what I could say
To bring many smiles
on this wonderful day
But try as I might
my mind just couldn’t think
Of something for Christmas
to put down in ink
So I sprang from my chair
and I caused such a clatter
My neighbors called out
“Hey Chris, what’s the matter”
“It’s Christmas,” they shouted
as snow starts to fall
“A time to spread kindness
to one and to all”
When then, like a sled
moving quickly downhill
I got an idea
Of a way to fulfill
I ran to the keyboard
and started to tap
Before settling down
for a long winter’s nap
My fingers were nimble,
like reindeer they flew
To type out this message
so long overdue
For all of the poets
I’ve been lucky to meet
Who write so amazing,
leave comments so sweet
So here are the words
I decided to say
Merry Christmas dear Soupers
have a great holiday
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays Soupers
I hope the holidays bring you much happiness and joy
and you are surrounded by love
I will be away for the holiday, so I will see you again next Monday
For the Ho, ho, ho, poetry contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
The suicidal King and the one eyed Jack
Were perusing the bar for a late evening snack
"How's her?" asked the Jack.
"Too thin," said the King.
"I like the women...
with bottoms that swing."
"How's she?" asked the King.
"Too plump," said the Jack.
"I like the women...
with a nice tight rack."
The Queen of Hearts pulled her panties up with a snap
And shoved The Beast's craw off her god forsaken lap
Shut her eyes, held her breath and rolled out of bed
And tiptoed out the door
Without a word said,
The Beast was OK
An Ace he was not
Confused, she strolled to the bar
for a late evening shot
"You pig," cried the Queen
"Who me?" pleaded the King.
"I can't believe you have the decency
To still wear your ring."
The king looked her up and down,
sole to soul and foot to crown
He knew something was wrong,
almost RIGHT AWAY
For one, there was a smile on her face
That seemed to last ALL DAY
"You ****," cried the King
"Who me?" questioned the Red Ace
"Not you!" said both King and Queen
"How could you stand there and lie to my face
with your button half undone
and your stockings out of place?"
"How could you?" cried the King.
"You don't deserve to wear that crown
With your bra strap twisted up
And your dress falling down."
"I'm leaving," protested the Queen
And she would've I know
Except sometimes
Love waits until the last minute to show
"Wait," cried the King, but he stopped
He had decided to call her bluff
And he turned his back
Even though it was tough
Because also sometimes
Loving someone just isn't Enough.
By: Joseph DeMarco
I have to admit, I was perusing Broken Wings page and saw what she had written for a contest about Michelangelo vs De Vinci. I was taken by the photos she posted, and inspired to write this ditty. Thank you for reading
David looking insecure
He stands there, cast in stone
At that Chantress Mona Lisa,
On the canvass all alone
He wishes he was like her
Formed by brush in ash and oil
Labored on with timeless sweat
And nights of endless toil
He sees the color of her hair
And dreams, it were his own
The richness of each brush stroke
Blended hues with softer tones
She sees him standing there
Silky white, white as bone
His muscles shapely tight
With a stare, as still as stone
His coldness, lack of color
Does not make Her turn in fear
But kindles a desire,
To have cool white marble near
She likes the man she sees
Young and strong, there's no denial
With one muscle under cut
It's no wonder that she smiles
perusing skyward
on crisp, lucent nights
a symphony plays,
strumming ancient light
on vernal heart strings
who can perceive
these melodies,
seeming to muse
the tantric soul…
pondering
astral notes
through tired eyes
i feel
twelve Years
young
Date: 15 May 2020
Contest : Diminished Hexaverse Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Emile Pinet
In the garden of poems percieved,
my dreams are plucked from ideals.
Placed on the pages of creative seeds,
where friends meet to read and spiel.
Watered images grown very tall,
patterned to my bidden ages.
The dreams for sages large and small,
paid down and read from silvered pages.
Growing in rows this, my trite recall,
I've shared my innermost feelings of heart.
An articled discourse written for all,
portrayed my own passionate song of art.
Breathing the aroma of those vented pearls,
more tender than a romantic rendition.
When transplanted these dreamed of deeds,
found perusing among poetical fountains.
Deep in the woods, so dimly lit
Where trees rise high to meet the light
In silken dress of white she sits
As her thoughts take wing on distant flight
She seeks nature's muse in quietude
While perusing the book on her lap
And during a thoughtful interlude
A higher understanding she then taps
Then a memory of her childhood days
Drifts into her mind
Where she'd chase orange butterflies
And pick wildflowers that she'd find
And through the trees, where sighs the breeze
And leaves flutter as they fall
The raven haired lass beneath the trees
By nature's splendor is enthralled
The wall would not hinder my fall,
the tumble i take for memory’s sake.
Childhood sees fairylands, vast —
but as small as a neighborhood lake.
The woods with its creek and crawfish,
an older kid pinching friend’s shirt, kicking
breathtakingly loud over the ground.
The girl ought not get her feet wet,
too sensitive and shy, not a tomboy.
We’d run back to the consoling wall,
with bunny paws, spring to our mamas’ ground,
never speak of tattletales…
after all, it was my friend’s fault
for perusing the big boys fort.
Just a poetic (souper) side note courtesy chief
wordsmith brother unaware ye experienced grief
diagnosed as walking pneumonia please bull lief
yours me, he doth care and breathes sigh of relief.
Gratis the miracle of modern medicine wife
of Richard McGeehan, he offered succor
during serious bout when ye suffered strife
lovingly tendering lifelong counterpart
spelling finis regarding any galavanting nightlife
nurturing mother of their grown son (Brendan),
who immersed her whole self as housewife.
How aware ill luck of the draw
found thee inexplicably stricken
with serious malady against the law
nearly necessitating travois
(maneuvered by Kit Carson)
to transport thee to medical center.
The above stanza unbeknownst to you
analogous to current reading material
myopic eyes of mine view
historical fiction titled
"A Most Desperate Situation"
authored by Walter Cooper,
I just might maintain as keepsake
among various and sundry other books
lined up like soldiers upon shelved queue.
Courtesy perusing selective material
not so much to become boastful
self pedagogical ace,
but merely to expand knowledge base,
whereby latest erudition
preoccupies mindscape with displace
called realm of imagination
allowing, enabling, and providing me
to travel into hyperspace
only welcoming family members
like thee dear sister into myspace
a beloved sibling
thirteen plus months older
glad ye got begat December 1st, 1959
whereby ye got fifty two plus weeks headstart
to join (chance throw of genetic dice)
entrance into human race.
Though Amelie Beth Harris-McGeehan born
more than three score and three years ago
if series of unfortunate events would befall thee,
this sole brother would certainly mourn
and with futility emasculate and scorn
himself until... his own plaque
designating his buried cremains
in lieu of tombstone worn.