Best Pilfered Poems
When the Flowers of Youth Fell
Winter stayed late that year
courting Spring with a fury.
Beautiful gifts of snow
and dazzling ice, he gave her.
It was during such courtship
I found myself lost -- adrift
in a place that once was ....
decades from this century.
Where mud and blood held hands
beneath duty and honour
and kindred flowers fell
to sounds of bugle and drum.
Smoke arose through Spring's tears.
Images of Blue and Grey
pilfered my breath as cannons
rained thunder upon the brave.
How was this happening?
This was not where I belonged!
My time was not this place
and I wanted to go home.
Where Winter courted Spring
and snowmen fell -- not flowers --
upon the muddy ground
as snow reigned upon the brave.
The smell of gun powder
danced about my head and nose
like spirits for the faint --
arousing life ... far from home.
"Get down! Get down! Get down!"
The half-crazed voice plunged me
into the mud and blood
and I lay frozen in fear
beneath his weight ... and the cold.
So cold, no hearts were beating,
no breaths were being drawn,
just the smell of sweat and blood.
The smell of rain and death.
Clutched tightly in his pale fist
a tattered blood-stained note
bore the words, "Please ... for
mama ...."
I tried but could not scream.
And, I felt daylight passing ....
As shadows took the brave,
Winter's folly tamed sweet Spring
with final coats of snow ....
and snowmen fell -- not flowers.
©deborah burch
3.08.2013
Be the halo of moon in a starless sky
Be the angel of smiles for tearful eyes
A beacon of hope in despair of grief
A lighthouse for the souls lost at sea
A gift of rose to lovelorn heartbeats
Be a rainbow that gleams opaque arc
An echo of peace from the hills of war
A blush of new dawn on a foggy morn
Be a birdsong, on a night gone wrong
Be all you can be, every day and night
Be the aura of light for every sight
Take your evermore to clasp eternity
Be uncountable, endless, like infinity
But when your ship is about to sail
Catch the last tender, don’t hesitate
For, those you let board ahead of you
Have uncanny inclination to forget--
It was their trespass into your heart
That pilfered till there is nothing left
A taunting laugh of your own silence
Is the only sound you will hear then
Naming you the impeccant, foolish soul
Trapped and desolate, gripping isolation
Having surrendered your last token
April 3, 2021
Placed 4th: The last token premium contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Every flower has its own color
With annual observation,
this we springtime discover
Give a womb kernel cede
of acknowledgment
To the spectrum birthright
of each other
We are all one,
tho’ from a different umbilical mother
Notice the bloom of time,
come rain ... come sunshine
First eclipse dawn —
tyranny tares grew with the
the golden amber grain —
The face of nightshade oppression
had a dark tone
Steel magnolias was the fetter fragrance
of the pyramid rule chain
Pharaohs, (of no melanin discretion)
who wore the ornamental godhead,
sat atop the pinnacle
While the slaves were downtrodden fed
at the bottom below
Their crowning achievement
was to erect great tombs
But papyrus thieves in the temple
stole the toil of the ruins
Skin for skin,
this is a-fertile sowing season true
Each summer solstice empire
passes into autumnal decline view
Every bird has its own color
And the length of each wingspan
differs from one another
Take an umbilical hover,
acceptance flight
To the spectrum birthright
of each diverse other
We are all one,
tho’ tear delivered
joyously from a different womb mother
Notice the migration of time
come swaddle skybound ... come burial ground
Last obscure sunset
was the Legion silo bane talon —
The thorny wrinkles of oppression
had a pale monotone
Caesars, (of no pigment distinction)
who wore the prickly spiked laurel bled,
sat atop the carrier chariot
While the plebs were commercial shackle led
to the amphitheater above
Their crowning achievement
was to deify great destructive bombs
As scrip crooks in the palace
pilfered the taxable gift of the palms
Skin for skin ~ Epidermal blend,
this is birds of prey a-nesting season true
Autumn equinox tech empires
passed into cold war, nuclear winter view
The nature of wisdom
teaches cross-pollination pure acceptance love:
Tho’ each fruit has its own color
Why then, doth this root of affinity divides us?
This is crystal clear!
Yet, what is the color of water,
of which thee Mist of Life doth bring?
It is snowflake known —
Tears of repentance
is from whence salvation doth spring
I'd bloomed from the warm glow in his eyes.
He had been my sunlight when darkness loomed.
His arms protected me, for he was my safe haven,
but too soon, the light faded from his hazel eyes,
and his voice, a gasp when drawing a breath.
His life was pilfered by Death, the morbid thief.
Stolen from us were Utopian days of splendor.
The painful loss is a burden I must endure,
uncertain of how I will face tomorrow alone.
I wept in silence until the bronzed edge of twilight
chased prisms of light from pastel skies.
A shroud of gloom veiled the wound in my heart
as I felt the gatekeeper gently touch my arm.
Layers of cold black earth now separated us.
I still held the red rose I'd brought for his coffin.
Streaks of tears washed blush from my cheeks,
while I shivered in fear without his hand to hold.
I was years older since morning had dawned,
wilting like the spray of lilies, heads drooping.
They were withered and dying, their beauty lost.
Once vibrant and sweet, their fragrance fading,
they lie on a grave for which they were grown.
On alabaster marble, my finger traced his name,
wishing love's affliction could somehow be rescinded.
I was at the impasse where life and death collide.
I stood, but left my crushed red rose on the chair,
for unable was I to whisper 'goodbye.'
February 5, 2021
Break My Heart, Why Don't Cha Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
In deep forest with rotten leaves and wood
Where the sun’s light finds it hard to reflect.
Where wind won't blow even if it could
below dense undergrowth, it’s deadwood wrecked.
There is much silence there; all sound in check.
Here’s where the webs of spiders hang and cling
few flowers bloom, but weeds and mosses grow.
Broken branches and twigs which the trees fling
shrivel mushrooms that smell like sour bread dough.
In there hides the things the wood fairy knows.
A secret of life the wood fairy knows.
His burrow dug deep in the undergrowth
as he hibernates under winter's snow
to sneak out come spring to run to and fro
to play tricks on man and animals both.
As he plays in the light between the trees
while hiding in shadows of moss clothed stones.
So very often heard but seldom seen
is his deadwood follies with fancy tones
like the shadows themselves the forest owns.
Here in the deepest woods man seldom finds
the burrows of fairies or nest of crows
for we only go where the bare trail winds
and we walk as if our eyes were closed.
We seldom find what the wood fairy knows.
I have pilfered in deep, dark woods in vain
probing for what the wood fairy owns.
I have concluded we are all the same.
It is in oneself where happiness grows.
This is the secret the wood fairy knows.
Most nights I come and go in silence
offering temptation to a lover’s glance
Tonight I am the eerie guardian
of children in a mindless sugar-trance.
My narrow grin a rocking chair
for goblin, ghost or witch
My gentle breeze the harbinger
of creaky branches shadow-twitch.
I duck behind dark clouds to laugh
as darkness quells the crowd
then slowly drape their darting eyes
in a moonlit mystery cloud.
I spread my arms in arced embrace
for inclusion is my game
to cast the pilfered glow of sun
upon creeping creatures without name.
The urchin bands will thin and flee
the streets will clear, the voices fade
And I will smile in sated grin
upon this night the moon has made.
©9/27/2019
for Halloween Moon Poetry Contest
Once again the silvery moon has pilfered the golden sun
Total eclipse is upon me, time has elapsed suspending orange
Twilight’s begun on the orb’s descending softer glow
Veiled in twilight…
Placid and limitless, I’ve glimpsed into the frontier in tranquil rapture
Moon aligns sans sun’s bright face
Jolted by twilight…
I coast along a sea of stars juddered wildly
Waves spanning the sky avec abandon
Embraced by star-strewn externals
I leave behind a familiar harbor
Anchored are my temporal remnants down in the terrestrial realm
My spirit soaring, a mirthful lodger I be,
swimming in twilight’s radiance
Its celestial smile shall be the death of me...
embracing star-strewn
crowned external forevers~
we soar the tides dance
Cows roamed sunlit green pastures hugging the river banks
Where villagers of meager means cultivated their tiny farms
Living happily amid bare necessities trusting destiny's hand.
That place, I left behind, taking the only dirt-road out of town
Long before brazen street-lights replaced kerosene lamps
And invading industrial hands pilfered farmers' pristine land.
As modernity ravaged lives, trampling elder's innocent footprints,
Bewildered serenity escaped the pain of dismantled memories.
Saddened river knows, having carried ashes of the anguished,
Heartache farmers felt when strangers re-wrote ancestral story.
September 28, 2018
Lines of ten that remind you what it was like back then
Sponsor: Silent One
Thoughts of nothingness embrace the moonlight
caress the emptiness of pilfered light
drape it across the meadows in dull gray
to light a path for lover’s gone astray --
as crafty shadows hide their sin from sight.
A distant riffle mourns the tree strung kites
that never lived the dreams they thought they might
for something on the wind made them betray --
Thoughts of nothingness…
Cold stars will mock the stillness of their plight
as on a crooked moon their tears alight
to haunt a saddened mist upon the bay
adrift upon a tide that could not stay
but edges ever closer with moon’s height.
Thoughts of nothingness…
©4/19/2022
Your Favorite Theme Poetry Contest
*Image of Best Collapse by Giphy.
Pilfered Soulless House
Pilfered dawn occasions a soulless house, bruised
appeals innocence whilst porch screen once tended,
concedes whispers of dust calm quest of quarters,
~~views endured through time.
Some non-existent floorboards chanced ferns sprouting
rights, roots by an unnerved staircase, challenging
few, yon a blurred window, --rooms without a view
~~volumed sights, ventures.
Wilt garden fruitless seasons, its gardener
enshrined nigh, atop sits scentless plastics, stiffs
amidst squeezed breaths constants against a rosette,
~~hugging touched headstone.
Tempest strived roof musing o'er wealth perceived themes
of swayed hyperboles, midst shared rooms, aroused town's
tattlers year-long spread, wanes, delays one closed door,
~~course perused ruins
***porch, ferns, roof, rosette, staircase, window, garden, house, door, whispers
2020 July 13
*1st Place*
A BRIAN STRAND your pick
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2021 August 08
*1st Place*
Decaying House
~~Constance La France: Judged 2020 July 19
Faithful companion, Caradog, without necessity
Habitat fed his needs, our bond rapidly developed
Fierce competent hunter amazingly adopted me
Heritage unable to continue, thylacine near relic
Decision to keep him secret was tumult traumatic
Exploited Tiger captured disallowed me to have it
Slender sniff nuzzled friend was a multitude more
Central to my craft's formation, carved wood replica
Tangible muse renews value in sculpting his form
Task of inspiration shed sparks of reaching fire
From my lantern lit table, I intently watched him rise
Stilt like legs stretched, striped yellow rump lifted
Nudged me with gentle nose, wild must be a guise!
Trusting eyes knew domesticity, my heart pilfered
So we walked, accepted man beside marsupial beast
Sharp snout pointed urgently when he detected a meal
Several rats equalled daily quota, Caradog's appease
Showed me hidden nooks, I couldn't figure the appeal
Of providing his secrets, perhaps to dispel theories
Population still existed, a duty he felt was obligatory
Already running in my long local veins, knowledge
Caradog was the final egsample, the last battler
Of a fine Australian species, sadly now abolished
Persistent development trampling their chattels
Option to turn him in to rangers, on my doorstep
Final thylacine female despondent and beyond it
Zoo tourist captivity would instill Caradog torture
Days spent free, ferocious mate bore my fondness
( Last live Thylacine held in Tasmania, 1933 )
* Convincing Thylosene on poems below this,
the prequel to this story
9th August 2020
As the ink dries swiftly,
peer into the invisible thoughts
these poet eyes see
Blink blink
The world is on the brink,
following dire voices
that speak darkly
Many underground secret plans
are silo hatching
No peyote ingest is required
to see the sign
of a mushroom cloud looming
And soon mutation burst opening
Nuclear rain is not a small-talk,
weather topic
most people care to discuss
at cocktail gatherings
Blink blink
There’s plenty of mouths excess wanting,
and even more famine bellies needing
But they both pale numerically
in comparison
to the torrential violence bleeding
And the talking rear-ends say,
“Have a Balaam mule work day”
As the share-the-wealth resources
get pilfered off-shore —
Somewhere clandestine secure
That kind of information is classified!
I’m pretty poetry sure
many have heard that line before
Blink blink
As the white paper turns yellow,
the time of Man
is turning fiery red sunset
Apocalyptic visions
of city heaps glowing in the uranium night
Cold pocket calculations
of nuclear winter burnings, so solar bright
Goggle minds having
no sense of mass extinction urgency
Blink blink
This be what these poet eyes see
Blank pages strewed high on my desk in pain,
For now, I heard the squelch of death again,
It had echoed from my emptied inkwells,
As dying words crept from a mind that quells,
Pilfered hands scrawl at piles for hopeful hints,
A gleam, as much as a sign to convince,
A broked stopped clock reminds that time does not,
And a muted bird still has what its got,
Rambled eyes of a place in disguises,
Shadows grow as my heart vaporizes,
My rhythmless moves just proved my resolve,
I heard the squelch of death again, evolve.
2019 September 14
My muse blew a fuse
Without excuse fealty did recuse
In jilting fashion without compassion
Tendered passion did stingily ration
Lofty discourse from pen did divorce
With no remorse absconded every resource
My inspiration turned to perspiration
Hopeless itinerant somewhat penitent
The bartered lexicon I did recon
A vagrant shill seeking to rill
The run-off spill pages to fill
A pilfered title would move engine from idle
An embezzled theme would ideas stream
A trite rhyme would be sublime
A pawned metaphor to open the door
A brokered simile; a borrowed metonymy
Would re-collect the literary dialect
Now shorn from mind so forlorn
From crude wooden ships
Made of twigs and leaves
That sail in the wind
Now moored in the trees
Down from the crows' nest
And over the sides
They descend like raiders
In camouflaged disguise
Furry gray pirates
Plunder and sift
Nuggets pilfered in fall
Ensconced in the drift
No X's or paces
On hand drawn maps
Buccaneers dig kickshaws
For cold winter fat
Assiduous and nervous
And always on alert
For hungry bounty hunters
Aware of their worth
Threatened they scatter
It's "All hands on deck"
Retreating from danger
Their lives are in check
Back to the safety
Of the moored ships that sway
Make ready to sail
And loot the next day
An original poem by thr "poemdog" Daniel Turner