Best Pinion Poems
In the Throes of Dying Love
In the throes of dying love, you’re a
fallen angel, with no celestial saving grace.
Rose-tinted glasses shattered, you’re no longer
my hero, just a stark-naked zero.
You besmirch every passing season
that we shared…hacking them down,
one by one, like ugly unwanted weeds
in your garden. And my hope for a new you
faded with the waning silver of the moon.
You’ve lost your lissome, school-boy charms;
and the power to pinion me with your cold,
mesmerizing eyes, those squinting black holes
that once sucked me in…trying to suffocate me.
Your love is just as phony as your
painted-on smile, and that old forged,
water-color painting of a loving couple,
that I found buried under dust
and cobwebs in the attic.
But as that ancient, worn-out sun sinks to repose,
in the dense, oblivion of dark firmament,
so has our sojourn ended…and I’ve forgotten
why I loved you in the first place.
Sadly, like that cheap wedding ring you bought me,
you’re irrelevant…in the throes of dying love.
05-22-2018
Contest: Eight Word Challenge – 4 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Placement: 3rd
8 Words: throes, celestial, besmirch, pinion, lissome, repose, firmament, sojourn
He writes to me in curly cues painting
fractals on pressed paper made of rice.
Shreds of simple stalks are beaten to
bare the smoothness of his script.
We have not known each other long
but we have known each other since
man first made fire, the poet and his
muse. His presentation fascinates
with swirls of brush or indian ink
he strokes, both deep and long,
with pleasant pressure most often.
His words though highbrow smack
of pent passions, watering palates
and earthy scents. The wanting so sweet
no reality could fill the expanse, the
oceans of prose, the mountains which
jut provocatively, daring, inviting, the cleats
of man, use pinion and hammer triumphantly
upon the bounty of breast, the thigh of night
the whimper of dawn. Poet preen for your muse
Caress the unsullied parchment whiteness
in the hollow of my neck.
First Published in Pyrokinection May 2013
Lost in universal wonders...
pondering celestial bodies,
souls I have known...
Lost in firmament vastness...
pondering heavenly ideals,
blessings I have been given...
Lost in the pinion of liberosis...
pondering the concept of freedom,
opportunities I never took...
Lost in the throes of onism...
pondering my humanism,
choices I have made...
Lost in expressions of love...
pondering lissome words,
poems I have written and read...
Lost in continual noisiness...
pondering a sojourn of sorts
taking the time for repose...
Lost in voices of reason...
pondering wisdom and truth
praying to never besmirch them...
May 23, 2018
Eight-Word Challenge-6 by John Hamilton
Third Place Trophy Win
Best Free Verse Poem in May 2018 by Laura Loo
First Place
Best Free Verse April 1, 2018 to July 15, 2018 by John Hamilton
Second Place
"Bliss like thine is brought by years;
Dark with torment and with tears."
Emily Bronte - Sleep Not (1846) st.1
_______________________________
often, I am in the throes and agony of my mind
I am tortured and each day I grapple with sad thoughts
that pinion and shackle me to the past
with anchors unyielding, yet beautiful
with memories vibrant and ever and immortal . . .
and in meditation, I look beyond the firmament
to a heavenly utopia where there is only stillness
a celestial unearthly place divine
a paradise, tranquil and lovely
where I sojourn in serenity . . .
and there, lissome and graceful I glide- a butterfly
I float and drift among ethereal emerald trees
yet, the foul besmirch of my past follows
all those shadows that restrain me
but the beauty beckons me . . .
I wish for silken repose and to rest my mind of thoughts
to dream- to sleep and slumber in total stillness
but, in dreams I struggle with the past
so in blissful contemplation
I find my peace in my quietude . . . .
______________________
May 21, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/Vibrant, Blissful, Quietude
Copyright Protected, ID 05-1024-942-21
All Rights Reserved, 2018, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Eight Word Challenge
sponsor, John Hamilton, Judged 2018
Second Place
Submitted to the Premier contest, Vibrant, Blissful, Stillness
sponsor, Unseeking Seeker, Judged 02/25/2022
Fifth Place
Looking down at her in the casket,
I recall the days her lissome body
swayed like a willow upon the stage.
How she loved ballet,
especially the ballet called Swan Lake.
Also, how she loved the Lord!
Then the cancer came.
She was so young. Even in the throes of it,
like Job of old, she would simply not
besmirch the name of God.
How graceful she was even in death,
for she was in agony until the very end.
I respectully observe her in celestial repose.
She is still a dancing swan whose soul no one can pinion.
To the firmament she has taken flight.
Her sojourn on this earth was brief,
yet her faith and courage live on
in the hearts of those of us who loved her and always will
forevermore
May 29, 2018 for John Hamilton's Eight Word Challenge-4 Poetry Contest
How must I break free and fly away
when your cold hands clamp me down?
Your critical, callous words besmirch
and pinion me to the ground.
For I am a sensitive butterfly
flailing in fear, struggling within
the throes of your darkness.
You shatter my repose
my delicate wings close
and my bright colors
bleed and fade away.
Once I was lissome and free
now I stiffen in sad sorrow.
In my dreams, I sojourn and soar
I soar to a safe, celestial place
caught up into a firmament of grace
saved by a kind Hand of mercy
where I can fly free again, forever.
Written on 5/21/2018
I listen to the wind as it dries my tears
because its flowing current is wiser than all my years.
~ Quote by poet
Wind is never silent, echoing its cries
It sings in the night to stars in celestial skies
Stories are told upon the rushing wind
but in the telling, never does it feel chagrined.
Quicker than a heartbeat, it errantly flies.
Across mountain peaks its music is heard.
In its harmony, I hear every word.
I feel the cold of its temperate sting
and with its beckoning lyrics, I sing.
When its message touches me, I'm stirred.
In a gentle voice through meadows, it talks
I feel like chasing it on morning walks
I'd rise with wildflowers to take flight,
soaring to the moon at its zenith height,
if I had pinion wings like eagles and hawks.
I listen to the wind as it howls without grace,
When it blows waves of saltwater in my face.
It speaks of love in such a solemn breath
In its stillness, I hear it mourning death.
Never, for very long does it stay in one place.
TOMMY
Blessed are the souls that sing;
A smile their song, laughter their words,
Whose hearts, though burdened, still take wing
Like radiant sunbirds.
Though Life could sink them with its weight,
Or pinion them with care,
And rein them Earthbound, chained by Fate,
They much prefer the air.
In their bright, empyrean flight,
They carry us along,
And we, like tag tails, hang on tight –
Enchanted by their song.
This is my testimony.
I really loved this man completely.
Nonetheless, he betrayed me.
I am not going to shackle my life.
A godsend for me to set the world afire.
I know to capitalize when the windfall is from negative vibes;
the path that I was on found me alone.
He cheated easily while I believed in him.
Faithfully, I found trouble embracing me.
I held my emotions in check because I believed in him.
Life is just a game to play with a man.
He dummies himself to a real relationship.
He was caught up in the moment.
He did not expect me to catch him the way I did.
I know to capitalize on my man lies.
The dividend that I received puts me abreast with my poetry.
He tells me he loves me and asks me to forgive him for being a cheat.
My respond is I don’t feel his worthiness of me.
The yoke of restraint has removed.
I am just like Stella getting her groove on because before I let my man cheat,
I rather move on.
_______________________________________|
Penned on September 23, 2014 @ 12:31 AM EST!
I had a dream that I was a butterfly
winged iridescent; my life would flutter by
as I was dreaming a dream of a dream of
my own lepidopteron being above.
Hither and thither I flightily flitted,
or so it seemed, as illusion befitted,
with troubles, eidolons, and nebulous fears.
And thus it continued for one hundred years.
In the Nymphalidae family was I,
akin to the nebula high in the sky
with beauty Cithaerial shimmering bright
in colors that cover the spectrum of light.
Knots and shells detailed in this Hubble capture
glow in light show that can bring about rapture,
cause soulful poets to sing about gladly
(seeing a butterfly wing about madly)
or brood over sadly with soft doleful sighs
the ultimate stages before its demise.
Stargazers perceive it with scientists’ eyes
and give facts and figures astronomer-wise.
The lobes of Twin Jet PN M Two Dash Nine
expand ever outward in pinion design
from central star system, in gaseous streams
of splendorous rainbows pellucid in gleams.
The binary stars at the nebula’s heart
go round one another in luminous art,
spending a century in this rotation,
and form the wings through their stellar gyration.
But let us return to the classical theme
of the Chinese philosopher’s famous dream
(which these rhyming stanzas have sought to extol),
where I found myself playing a starring role.
Diaphanous butterfly wings had I then
in the long-lived dream that I dreamed ten by ten
decades lastingly onward in cosmic time,
as did Sleeping Beauty in legend sublime.
Yet when I awakened, no alae had I.
No longer was I slender winged butterfly,
but veritably was a human once more,
with life to engage in, encounter, explore,
or just suffer through in a sentient state.
How would I create my tellurian fate?
Still I wondered if this was ‘reality’.
Could I be a butterfly dreaming of me?
To die, perchance dream; ay, indeed that’s the rub
that makes us endure the heartache and hubbub.
For death claims all beings as part of its sum.
And in sleep of death, who knows what dreams may come?
~ Harley White
______________________________________________
Inspiration for the poem was from the article, “The wings of the butterfly ~ New Hubble image of the Twin Jet Nebula”, of August 25, 2015, on the Hubble Space Telescope Org website.
Angel looks at angelic reflection
Much to her surprise heavenly being
Exact copy of Angel with pinion
Timely moment spiritually freeing
Beauty opens door for supernatural
Soft glow of light as the spirit reveals
This cherub's role in life is natural
Angel has to be a jewel who feels
Her wings will lift her up to ideal
Just as Water Lilies have own beauty
Her allure reflects love that will appeal
Unlike Hydrangea her pure heart of duty
Her purest heart will give her wings in time
Angel will transport to realms so divine
Contest:Reflection
Contest's sponsor:Constance La France
Written by: Sara Kendrick
Love is non-mechanical
it doesn’t crank, pinion
or always work dependably.
In cavalier moments, I thought I knew
something of how it all works—
it’s apertures and shafts—
its grinds and reciprocations.
I’d judge it’s motions
work its levers, judge its spins,
and address its slippery angles.
You could call me obsessive
but obsessive people don’t
obsess this much.
You could call me compulsive
but the compulsive aren't
this compulsive.
All I can do is poise, balance
or swipe a little black credit card.
It’s the only magic I have.
I can’t turn bread into wine
or fish into water.
I can’t make the blind walk
the deaf to see or the lame to
taste again.
God reserves some miracles,
keeps them as close to the vest
as cards.
Jugglers work the circus,
mimes thrash to communicate,
and tightrope walkers fall.
.
.
Songs for this:
Viva la vida by Cold Play
When There Is Love by Karen Sokolof Javitch
The Rainbow Connection by Sarah McLachlan
.
.
How about a Christmas playlist! Because Christmas is in 10 days!
www.daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_29.mp3
The heavenly firmament where the ocean meets
remains steadfast and tolerant
never changing and yet can count the stars.
Alone in splendor, repose a brief sojourn,
under a blue-green pinion balmy air
has slightly fluttered moving ethereal tides.
Star-crossed lovers move step by step in movements
of the celestial bodies, but constantly
besmirch by outside forces.
In the darkest and most vulnerable,
lissome steps tread the path where silent throes
are heard in waves jealous of blithesome wind.
Star-crossed lovers move step by step in movements
of the celestial bodies, threaded fingers,
no need of exchange of words.
5/25/2018
Sloth-toed ivy flutters
in lissome breeze,
each pentagram the pinion
of a jade butterfly
clustered on a brick wall.
In the throes of spring
they sojourn
from dark loam
toward shingled firmament,
past celestial windows
pewter with light
as they besmirch
diaphanous peril,
imagining
when they reach heaven
they will repose like angels
in the shimmering damask
of God's aura.
5/23/18
I listen to the wind as it dries my tears
because its flowing current is wiser than all my years.
~ Quote by poet
Wind is never silent, echoing its cries
Sings in the night to stars in celestial skies
Stories are told upon the rushing wind
but in the telling, never does it feel chagrined.
Quicker than a heartbeat, it errantly flies.
Across mountain peaks its music is heard.
In harmony, I listen to every word.
I feel the cold of its temperate sting
and along with its beckoning lyrics, I sing.
When its message touches me, I am stirred.
In a gentle voice through meadows, it talks
Capturing my attention on morning walks
Inviting me along with flowers to take flight
to soar to the moon. I'd accept the invite
if I had pinion wings like eagles and hawks.
I listen to the wind as it howls without grace,
blows briny waves of saltwater in my face.
It speaks of love in such a solemn breath
In its stillness, sometimes I hear it mourning death.