Best Pluming Poems
Softly uttered, beneath cold biting mist,
footfalls muffled through stifling drifts, empty sidwalks embrace noone,
Frost heavily pluming, clinging on each sigh
In night's brazen stillness, beneath eerie lamp glow waning,
When dawn's long in coming, and all sleep like the dead,
Ah, then lets take a walk shall we , you and i?
Strolling as one, hand in hand, through icy winds
Past the churchyard gates, snow laden and chained,
Beyond empty glances of headstone cherubs,
Far off in darkness, solemn bells toll with straining conviction,
as winds moan wistfully, the tolling pierces the heart,
And I wonder in passing, how many more walks have we,
Beneath the silent moon overhead, white as bones in a shroud,
Shall the secnt of cinnamon haunt me into my dreams, yes i am certain,
For your eyes resemble heavens gates, amd my soul longs for redemption,
An angel draped in my tattered, time-worn jacket, littered with marks of life's ventures,
And yet you bear no wings to fly, but still you comfort me as morning draws nigh,
Crosstown bungalow, windows shuttered, still as my breath
As you I guide you once more up treacherous steps,
Our hands we let fall, a yearning stare betrays me,
"Tomorrow night again? Or when shall it be??",
Only a nod and a smile left imprinted to my heart,
"Hang on to the jacket. I'll pick it up in the morning."
Your smile never falters, unweathered by the wind,
And I turn to leave this night and you,
Leave this world behind for the rising sun,
An arm reached out, gripped with sorrow and infinity,
Pulled back into your everlasting embrace,
A kiss so deep, I feel I'm drowning,
God, let me drown...let me...drown....
You're gone.
Empty streets the morning finds,
save for me and my memories, trapped between time,
Stray dog struts past, hunting eagerly some alleyway breakfast,
But my business waits at the churchyard, still silent, still chained,
I climb over and drop, the gates clank in protest,
Between the rows of headstones, I walk in solemn sprit,
Thirteen rows now, then fifiteen, I know the way well,
And upon the eighteenth row, I find without mistake,
And draped across the frozen ground.....
My tattered, time-worn jacket.
Categories:
pluming, bereavement, good night, relationship,
Form:
It consumes
A flash burning
Scarlet white
Ardent Heat
Radiant within starless obscurity
Incinerating
Entirely all within its grasp
Flowing away on heat waves
Carrying off
Embers aglow
Pluming skyward
Ever higher
Where the convergence is complete
And then upon
The approach of daybreak
Where flames burn low and blue
Cooling
The ashes left behind
Are
Two embering and cindered lovers
Categories:
pluming, love, mystery, passion,
Form:
Free verse
Even the Great pyramids,
magnificent structures of wonder
are overshadowed by
the majesty of mountains;
crowned in golden sun.
Halos glisten white.
Spoiled tower of babble.
The long and winding road;
travelers delight to follow;
a pitiful mimic of
the mighty river,
cutting, free, it's own path
with unbridled sinew;
recycled and recharged in the sea.
Enormous jets of sonic speed,
performing stunning sky art.
It's technology dwarfed by
simplicity of aerial agility.
The hovering hummingbird
darts away as the
spiraling bumble bee lands.
Destruction of nuclear bombs;
pluming mushroom clouds,
snuffed out by
gigantic hurling asteroid.
Earth knocked off it's axis
with a single blow.
Lights out.
Robots in the image of man
performs tasks, uses logic.
Only a cold reflection of humanity.
No joy, love or sorrow.
No tears or laughter.
Our most futile attempt at playing God....
No soul.
Categories:
pluming, creation, mountains, river,
Form:
Verse
4/1/17
Flowers blooming
Spaced out or in a tight-knit grouping
All around things looming
In space objects still or moving and zooming
Birds pluming
And other animals grooming
Downloads queueing
Electronics in need of a rebooting
Or powering off, to enable cooling
Below, on and above the roofing
Toxins spewing
And other particulates polluting
Some of which are made for fueling
All weeds were removed by uprooting
Trees and bushes getting a pruning
Especially any areas that are drooping
There's just no excusing
You'd better stop snooping
And assuming
As well as tooting your horn
Or ridiculing the poor
What the hell are you fooling for
When deep down, you know you could be doing more
Ocean life caught by fishing poles, harpooning
Or cage using
Die hard fans rooting
Or booing
Times of booming
And continual losing
Certain insects and people cocooning
Humans continually feuding
Suing
And fuming
As if there is something they want to be proving
Major scale jobs, including
A lot of or very specific tooling
Drugs and alcohol others may be using
And possibly abusing
In the right conditions, water pooling
Near and far from any rocks protruding
Live a life of your choosing
Continue pursuing
Knowledge, and ways of improving
With or without musing
By: Dalton Ogletree
Categories:
pluming, poetry, rap, word play,
Form:
Rhyme
Snippets of a discarded song breach my unguarded ears,
Dive through a drowning of blue-soaked years,
depth-charge submerged memories,
Send lost love pluming through the surface of my pacific mind.
Categories:
pluming, blue, deep, lost love,
Form:
Sijo
When conformists' adherence to
irksome, empty, shallow, hollow
obsolete rules
overrides unadulterated substance...
imported intuitive works
of essence, potence...spirit
When lettered law
obscures, obliterates
disintegrates
vital verve
When egotistical opinion
ascends higher, reigns over...
tramples on authentic art
This is when I dispose and disclose
I hold scant esteem for form...
mundane reins
colorless, humdrum
lackluster genre
or those whose swollen ego
is entirely, absolutely
engrossed and entombed
in them
Genuine unfeigned expression
shatters traditionalists'
trivial thrashing trash
Veritable voices resound
thunder, reverberate
resonate
in spite of outdated
highly esteemed
decadent modalities
education... influence
bound, chained
shackled, inhumed
by absurd vanities
veritably pluming pride
ignorance and arrogance
boorishly dispatching
meaningless, lifeless
senseless, worthless
drivel
Categories:
pluming, angst, culture, freedom, voice,
Form:
Free verse
In the beginning where buds lifts man’s hearts beyond those of the dismal dark, there is a light in the life of each being and plant that grows while the season extends beyond the grave of winter. Life evolves through time, crafting its own existence within the delight of the sun, the rays that lift us living things over the darkness, brings joy to the existence of our pluming start. The placement of such hearts fires up the eyes of tranquility and burns the futility of lovely bright enriching beauty. Life, such a novelty within the evolution, a great vastness of desire to produce a height of clearly immaculate formation of life beyond the cold hard grasps of winter. Now life has been warmed and graced with harmony and peace, with a love that tenderness brings worshipful charisma of living things.
the cold winter
leaves with the last snow…
spring buds glisten
Russell Sivey
Entrant into Debbie Guzzi's "Spring haibun" contest
2/9/2013
Categories:
pluming, life, nature, spring, life,
Form:
Verse
Things pass, as pluming as a summer breast
Netting calmly on a virgin body,
And I am aware
It's not the man who takes control of this
But the poet rather the bliss of the planet!
Categories:
pluming, freedom,
Form:
Haiku
What is brewing in kitchen? Flavour of Cooking? ....mmm.. it smittens.
Meals are memories......stories to be listened...
Those sound of aroma...were noisy....but they glistened...
Kneading of dough....bangles tinkling....banging of plates...cups clanking...
Perhaps it's the tap.....somewhere water is bouncing...
The brownies are baking....off goes the timer.....the oven is beeping.
Pop goes the toaster......mixer is grinding.
cooker is whistling....something smelling?....it's the milk spilling.....
smoke is pluming...steamer is boiling....
the hot pan sizzling.....it's oil and water wrangling....
the pancakes flipping....beaten batter thumping....
cream is whipping....veggies are chopping.... onion garlic sauting...
The 'orchestra' of kitchen......taste buds are singing..
The gallery of dining.... or a table of painting? ....
So audible....So visible...."Homemade Love" is cooking...
The recipe? my words are writing!!
Categories:
pluming, creation, family, food, home,
Form:
Rhyme
There is beauty in the pluming vials;
The scales
To measure the World discreet;
Charges that pulse even the inert,
Or eternal vibrations of the smallest strings--
All things playing to assert
A universal symphony.
Science, like the Poet's mind,
Cannot be shunned
For calculation--the numbers dance
And flutter down like the softest rhyme.
Does not the Wordsmith, in pensive state,
Cry Eureka! when he strives
And fashions in such harmony?
Astronomers of our starry night,
By man's scope,
Of the celestial waltz mystique,
Of titan orbs and lowly vapors run
Like a palette overflowed with colorings,
Though the canvas darkly dun--
There is beauty in its artistry.
Categories:
pluming, beauty, beauty, beauty,
Form:
Light Verse
A broken snow --
Ravens pluming feathers
Steal the hunter’s bounty
Categories:
pluming, imagination, inspirational, introspection,
Form:
Haiku
I awoke before the magnificent light glazed the earth,
I stood out side on my balcony,
And gazed as the moon faded into morn,
I felt the cold air petting my face,
With eyes closed and I absorbed the fresh air.
From the profoundness of heaven above,
The ray of light glanced through the clouds,
It does not wait on no man to "come"
And sweep it's light.
The birds are waking up
I could hear them sing in the distance.
The sleeping buds arise ,
Spreading their petals to receive the pluming rays.
I snuggled with my blanket on my chair,
Sipping my Bavarian Wildberry Tea,
Awaiting my day to begin.
In a gentle motion the light gleams,
Over the hills,the seas,the trees everything in its midst,
The morning rays spread throughout the land ,
As the stars go dim and fade away.
I see my day look bright like the sunflowers in my garden,
I got up looked at the beautiful morning sun,
Smiled and walked inside with contentment.
Categories:
pluming, naturelight, day, light, morning,
Form:
The hour boldly strikes midnight inside my head.
I have already endured the long and thoughtful day.
I'm courting precious ambitions of sleep and bed
But there remain, still, things for me to do....
So many untitled pages are left unread, unsaid.
It's night-time within and so very dark,
I wonder if I am truly still able to see.
But inside my head I detect a forlorn spark;
Distant, sure, but just bright enough ~
It's an uncertain voyage on which my ideations embark.
I see before me a further adventurous day looming,
Awaiting the daylight which is no longer here.
I think of my existence, my thoughts consuming
And devouring these ideas until it has nourished its fill.
Clouds of conceptions, or misconceptions, are forever pluming.
As I live and breathe in order to stagger along
I stumble blindly through this darkness of mine.
I have grown weak now but my mind stays strong.
I am conscious of all the tasks I must perform
And place things in the order in which they belong.
I longingly look forward to the morning's golden thread.
Birds will sweetly sing and the sun will illuminate me.
All my words are now coloured over with blue and red
But tomorrow a new day is born and I will remember them
Though, for now ~ maybe forever ~ it's still midnight inside my head.
An abaca quintain by Alan S Jeeves
Categories:
pluming, night, psychological, solitude,
Form:
Rhyme
Stashed with programs recorded, which, condensed on universal files
Will tell them very little of what they don’t know and may never know
In this lifetime or the next heaven, in this orbit or the next
Treasure from this Earth loaded up on classical chips, some kind of text
Even the quantum loads with memory mimetic, made to mimic the brane
Will lead you no where’s at all, empty, with your mind well past insane
For what else or beyond could be so crazy as to part from this precious earth
Without ever having known it’s cost, price, work, measure or stint of worth
And clearly, those who leave, when they leave, will not have known one grain
Of sand or soil, mud or toil: all dusty plows pluming billow-clouds into rain
Run on gasoline or stocks of mules, donkey, horse, or ram, shepperd’s hand
Fields from lost fields, turning wheat from grass, rice from blue water land
The mystery of death and birth still a mystery; life a mere reminiscence
Without any real light here or plant photometry, only luminescence
Imagine leaving this planet without every having known it’s rhythm
Going to some other world set in it’s own path, with it’s Keplerian hum
Beating out some different drum, set in a blinding sphere of light and sound
Like blended whiskey with the Irish; or Navajo, without the calendar round
Sans irony, the starmen will consult their astrologer or star-chart for this logic
Countin’ the days before they land again when the stars are [csmo]allo-genic
Since this cosmos has revealed no light to them, the starmen going forth
Eager to jump off of Earth’s orbital path, bend and trajectory
Their spacesuits, ships, tanks, sabres, and thrusters made from the factory
Everything printed like plastic in hazy glow and in false dimension
In light and low gravity, with false smiles and fat charms hanging in suspension
How could the new age begin completely unaware, one might ask ?
With no real knowledge of how the past one ended, without a task
This high level of dimness, this naivete, and ignorance unknowing
Much like blind men on the river styx, or perhaps, along with Homer rowing
Going from one ruse to harbour next shenanigan—look into the Cyclop’s Eye!
No land in Egypt and with Dido elope, with the Siren’s despair, intoxicants in Libya
Categories:
pluming, 10th grade, allusion, betrayal,
Form:
Blitz
.
Spinning
as if out of control
yet
not
Around
and around and around
and around
the flower spun
pluming
like the peacock
yet still
that innocent flower
spun
and with all beauty
slid
and on the spheroid of ice
with a touching soft pause
the flower
bow'd
Categories:
pluming, art, dedication,
Form:
Lyric