Best Powdery Poems
The powdery snow gloves the fingers
of maple forest, protecting barren bark
with the expectation of rose tipped bloom.
A meeting point between pristine
innocence and the veiled promise of spring
ripening. Each trunk and limb mirrors
the action of man. Reaching, arching,
swaying, creating aisles of church-like splendor,
a sacrament where the virginal may walk
toward communion with their God. Inward
toward the birth of faith and outward toward
the wedgwood sky in celestial sight.
A violent scene lay before me
Huddled in death, there’s Ella, Mary-belle, everywhere I could see
Swollen tongues, sunken eyes, frail bodies strewn in the hot powdery dirt,
I sniff the sharp stench of death, I catch my breath, swallow, stomach clenched, alert
Stark rocky outcrops, blister amongst the sharp needles of spinifex grass
Stones, sand and mica glints, ants scurry about their tasks
Red dirt, blue sky, sun bears down relentless upon the tin roof of the Station
Majestic hills, once coral reefs, the Chinamen pushed wheelbarrows up them, Dinosaurs, Indigenous people walked here long ago in my imagination
Soft bursts of purple feathery flowers of Mulla Mulla joyfully sway in the crisp air this morning, locked in the silent perennial embrace of that blue blue sky
Frivolous, dollies those desert girls, with their sweet smell and blush as I walk by
I think I’ll put a bullet in my head in that very spot
To die in such fine company, you make those tough choices on the land, easy as, why not
5,000 cattle dead, I’d cry, but there’s no more water in my eyes, in a blink, all gone so terribly wrong
I’ll sleep with my cows tonight, Ella, Mary-belle in the Mulla Mulla desert dreaming, on the land is where I was born and where I belong
Breathe
I call to you my beloved
Your unleashed whispers arrive
Riding the tendrils of an approaching fog
A dance of mist unfurling its fingertips of desire
Coming ever closer to my pulsating heart
I long for you, for all you have ever been
To taste your breath, your desire, your heartache and your sorrow
Would be my everlasting gift
You come to me in many forms... hovering close by
Beckoning me upward to that place between Heaven and Earth
White hawk.....Your feathered wings outstretched
I lay upon your back merging with you
Entering your being
Becoming you
I feel our wings beating as we enter the sky together
Gliding across powdery clouds
A stillness... the air brushing our cheeks
Our bodies rising and falling
Dipping, curving, and diving
Before climbing again
Joy
A quiet ascendance soaring into the realm
Of Spirit and Soul
Entering magical moments cloaked in ancient memories
Our guardians are hummingbirds and owls
Adorned in snowy white guiding us towards the velvet envelope
Between space and time
Undying light reaching out to the end of the horizon
A merging of ALL..... Promise and Desire
An everlasting illumination of hope
Swimming in the naked air
Being kissed by bursts of sunlight
Peering through the gauzy sky
My body basking in radiant warmth
A quiet solitude
A tapestry of pale rose, magenta, and mauve
Reflecting my inner soul
A call to BREATHE....Deeply...Fully
Feeling the eternal connection
Becoming one with the pulse of life
Surrounding us all
A deep reverence towards all that is
Pink pearled strands of rain pierce the sea of mist and clouds
A kaleidoscope.... columns of light and shadow
Swimming through glorious turquoise universes
I close my eyes and feel your embrace
As we become one
The color palette of the world has changed.
Wispy painters brush clouds line a clear calm sky.
The day is dry and cold, powdery snow starts to fall.
Flowers have ceased budding and spilling over in the garden;
yet the passion, fragrant, rosebud cherry and amber
honeysuckle vine, twines round the wooden arbor,
inviting the few scarce bees to come to its nectar.
Forbearance wooden starlings and mourning doves
move on with their singing and coo-OO-oo throughout the day.
Warm breath onto the cold window, a traced note of love.
10/1/2023
*SNOW WHITE*
ANOTHER
BURRRR! BLIZZARD
COMING
DECEMBER
ESKIMO
FREEZING FORECAST
GHOST-GROUNDS'
HEAVY
ICICLES
JITTERS
KIMONO
LOW-HEAT
MAKING-COCA
NAPPING
OASIS
POWDERY
QUILTS
RESTING
SHIVERING
TURNING TO LOVER
UNDER-COVER
VIXEN-HEAT
WINTER-WINDOWS
XOXOXO's
YAWNING
ZZzzzzz!
*COLD AS ICE*
Zambonice-ing Your X-winter Whiting-rinks, Visible & Unusual Tough Snow-flurry, Racing Quietly Precipitation, Overflows, Nightfall, Mocking Like-little Keys Jiggling, Inside Hailstorm, Getting Frigid, Every-second, Drifting Clouds, Building ANGER!
by;PD
for: ABC contest
French Bread
Your index finger
draws figure-eights
in the dusting of flour
on the counter top
where you lean
quite casually,
watching as I make
a loaf of French bread.
Then, laughing a bit,
you insert your powdery finger
into my right ear.
I’m startled...
I was so very focused
on assembling ingredients
that I wasn’t aware
of my surroundings,
at least not enough to see
your finger inching its way
toward me. I laugh too,
realizing the intimacy
of your floured finger.
Somehow,
I don’t believe
your interest is in my baking,
but I proceed on to
proofing the yeast
in warm water,
watching carefully
for the always-shocking
bloom’s suggestion
of the possible,
our palates fine-tuned
to the perfume
of earth and damp places.
Thus begins the slow tango
of dryness becoming wet,
a touch of salt-taste,
elements bound together
by the slippery
until there is inseparable oneness,
deep warmth in the joining,
the inevitable rising,
swelling seeking relief.
But not yet, oh no...
First there must be a pause,
a relaxation of the engorged,
consummation delayed,
then the pressure of my hands,
pressing-on,
pressing and shaping and pressing.
We sip our wine,
talk quietly, anticipating
the inevitable increase,
saying between us,
“We’re ready for the final phase:
the heat that binds,
coalesces the disparate ingredients,
yielding at last to the
inevitable delectable finish.”
Later, cooling as it always must,
we can’t resist
nibbling still-warm bits
dipped in melted butter,
feeding them to each other,
transcending words,
finding new ways of seeing
one another.
Written November 23, 2013
for Charlotte’s Scorchers.
Winter Sonata 11-29-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Winter Sonata
In grave allegro solo grey gathers,
Strings of winter fantasias
Brewing staccatos of frozen fall remnants,
Downbeats for the first movement
As shivering sleet wipes away bucolic barcarolles
Rocking on sapphire barges,
Harbingers of hoarfrost and hibernation,
When leafless boughs conduct the opening motif
To summon deepening darkness
From restrained shadows of turbulence
To beat warnings on frosted windows
Of snug dens – sheltered hallows.
Sweet solstice flutes sing adagio
Then scatter crystalline mists across snow packed paths
In the movement pathetique when sunglow
Glides between aspen,
Ankle deep in fleecy billows,
Sugar flakes flutter in Heaven’s perfect pitch
Rhythmic silent rests hypnotize crisp midnights
When fluttering flakes of dreamy andantes
Ride on melodic cantabile whispers
In flurries of fleecy decrescendos
Spells of codas, enthralled by idle snowfall,
Glitter in lyric tinsel of sparkling crystal beads on twigs.
Movement presto crescendos in frenzied storms
Snowfall pizzicatos fall in descending measures
When rondos of wind song ensembles
Ascend in frigid notes of icy scales
That pirouette in pulsing beats with resonate strings
Plucked by boreas in thundersnows percussions,
Vivace mistrals whirl in powdery ghosts
That spin in tremolo trills of icicles,
And in whiteout scherzos of blizzard sonatas,
Dizzy with solstice frosty fevers
As winter’s thundering cadence modulates
Into vernal sighs of resolution.
Surrounded by tranquil turquoise waters,
Guarded on sides by oceans three,
In the east by the Pacific,
On the south by the Celebes Sea,
And on the west by the south China Sea,
There is an archipelago on the blue water crescent,
A group of islands, called Philippines,
Encircled by a girdle of gleaming silver,
With its shores of stretching sandy swell
That lulls the restless waves to sleep;
A land of green vegetation and terraced terrain!
It houses picturesque and breath-taking views.
Vast beaches of ivory sand sprawl before our eyes
Dolphins leap over seafoam, palm fronds wink
Soft breezes waft and cotton clouds float above.
Anyone will fall in love with these tiny strips of land,
Of rugged hills and meandering rivers
Of placid backwaters and blue skies
Of gibbering monkeys and celestial monarch birds,
Of strutting peacocks, pigeons, pheasants, and parrots.
The powdery white sand of Boracay
The Chocolate Hills of Bohol
The Caraballo Mountain ranges,
And the Cordillera Mountain chain of Luzon,
The Rice Terraces of Philippine Cordilleras
All these give the country a solemn investiture.
Volcanic peaks, standing mighty and tall,
Proudly line the landscape, dotted with dense forests
Where birds sing melodies and Tarsiers with bug eyes
The tiny primates, endemic to the Philippines roam and jump
Amid the slumbering hills, there is fecund soil,
Turned into orchards and plantations,
Its population with perseverance and patience
Work in the soil relentlessly and in unison.
Well known for their hospitality, they receive tourists,
And outsiders with warmth and camaraderie.
In this paradise of mixed fortunes, tragedy comes unforeseen,
In the form of natural calamities like typhoons and cyclones,
But nothing can tear the people apart and they prosper,
With resilience, bent on sustaining their tradition,
Adding value to it each day and proud of an identity of their own
This beautiful land of velvet waves and crystal sands
Lying as a pendant in a crescent of emerald cluster
Rightly deserves the title- the 'Pearl of the Orient'
A
teardrop
slips down
from my eyes
and breaks into
powdery
shards
o
o
o
it falls
quite unseen
a mute language
too deep for words
that my heart is
reluctant
to say
o
o
o
a
tiny
drop saline,
a single bead
falling down
without
sound
o
o
Trying to recapture the joy of those winter days is difficult. School cancelled: sun shining through the sheer, white, curtains into an all too girlie room, the sound of a tea kettle's whistle, the ice cold feeling of oak boards on bare feet, between scatter rugs; I ran to the kitchen. The transistor radio sounded, still calling out school closings. The snow sifted down.
bright sun
sparkles on snowflakes –
the plow roars
Quick phone calls, punctuated with giggles, roused a gaggle of neighborhood girls. White skates in hand, I burst out the door. I rushed toward the swampy area behind the neighbor’s house. My rubber boots crunching crust above the powdery fluff. At the edge of the watery wood, I stood staring. Boys, I see the boys in there. They have their skates on already. Tommy Maloney, my crush, skated toward me.
his black waves
dusted with snow –
whoops of delight
A hummock of snow-topped grass served as a seat. I removed my boots from beneath the zip sides of snow pants and try to tie laces new white skates. Once done I stood wobbling, weak-ankled. Tommy laughs, as knock-kneed I attempt a glide toward him falling on my butt. Oh how his eyes sparkled, an Irish rogue at twelve. Kneeling, Tommy began to re-lace my skates. I remember wishing, so much, he would kiss me.
First Contemporary haibun online Fall 2013
Published in Winter Legends 2014
Cold blue sky and water are frozen hard as iron
Our noses get stuffy it needs a little need lube
Lovers curled up on a bench, lined with the finest fur
Drifting emotions with romantic snow crystal kisses
With frosty mornings, crisp days and powdery snow
Ice spikes in the shape of an inverted pyramid
Nature's dazzling beauty in winter landscape
The snow cracks and crunches under your feet
Eyes of awe and wonder in recognition of how we are blessed
Reborn in childhood memories flood the nostalgic senses
Between fall and spring cling to each moment you get
Let your heart guide you, through a fun path through life
Universe that bends above us hides something much bigger
Every season feels like beautiful Shakespeare's sonnets
Set an intention, listen and enjoy the blues of the cold winter
27/09/2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Pick-A-Title, Vol 23 - Seasonal Acrostic
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
1st place in the contest
" The change of seasons lessens the pain of a loss, but like stars it touches those we love leaving memories no one can steal."Quote by Poet
October Fall submits to December Winter
With its grounds elegant powdery dazzling snow.
Kissing out tears of November rain to enter
Its final arctic breath and pinch of mystic glow.
No two snowflakes are alike upon window sill,
Or wind rhymes that tumbles love unforgotten times.
I search past recollections on curtains lace frill
Bring back bright times as grandfather clock silent chimes.
Memories of things like falling leaves or snowflakes
Evoke a pleasing loving embrace then crumbles
On the anniversary of a loss, does wakes
Utter helplessness as the numb heart beat stumbles.
Winter leaves with no smiles as it makes it its own
Taking the world in its embrace leaving its mark.
Please to see Spring beauty and birds melodic tone
And watch the clouds unfurl across the pressing dark.
October Fall submits to December Winter.
No two snowflakes are alike upon window sill,
Memories of things like falling leaves or snowflakes
Winter leaves with no smiles as it makes it its own.
12/11/2020
Rhyme Pattern -
4 stanzas, 4 lines of abab cdcd efef ghgh,
last verse repeat a, c, e, g lines,
12 syllables per line
"POMPEII"
Her name was Pompeii
and I her mother,
loving her beyond measure,
took great angst, my heart bursting
from the betrayal -
she, taking several lovers
basking in the underworld
where men are fickle
leaving unfinished poems
on walls shaking like loins
buried deep and dry
in denial of her
sacrificial innocence,
welcoming rape, walking fire
tight, lost and moaning, there the
seductions are granted
in a last ceremony where
they lay entombed joined
burning at the hips
silent as ash glistening
powdery on parched lips
I left my feelings, volcanic
and unforgettable;
a romantic gesture,
I graffitied my message,
intimately on every door
and wall of their crumbling
hallways, passages filling up
with the feelings I felt,
they are all caressed by me,
faces upturned, beseeching
idealised, amorous, extreme
they are frozen touching
each others canvas, their
windows open now
to those that are closed;
the words missing
sentences to be completed
somewhere in the
minds of others
with sockets black coals
now glowing in another future,
they still hear me
shake with rage, my bones
like hell fire still crack to this day,
on another field, on another plane,
I am the soul of a lost world calling,
they will remember me
of me they will be afraid,
Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum
their tongues will touch
and speak of what I have done
rediscovering my pure love for her
unravelling, they will seek the
missing words like a puzzle
found in a dream
the story is delivered
on a wall, somewhere
I have etched
in Vulgar Latin
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
gvlm
A beige sun cap was found
floating in the lake where
he was last seen swimming.
A cradle cap lies with the sweet
powdery baby scent still
lingering in her empty crib.
A blue baseball ball cap on
wet pavement amidst broken
glass fragments and bent bicycle.
A green girl scout cap clinging
to brush over the side of a cliff
where sun dried grasses grow.
A white graduation cap amidst
the mangled magenta Mazda,
broken beer bottle below the boughs.
A veteran camouflage cap half
burried in the desert sands, sun
bleached, made in the U.S. of A.
7-28-17
I watch the harbor through the falling snow
the sky and sea form one vast, gray tableau
the sun is nothing but a weak, background glow
the scene draws me, as if hypnotically.
Five mile’s lighthouse warnings go unvoiced
its strobes not lashing out, so what’s its point
it stands majestically but disappoints
replaced electronically
A tiny lobster boat makes its landward way
towards the inlet from the wider channel bay
a powdery blizzard is underway
which melts into the mirror sea.
Ospreys still hunt round the lobsterman's pride
snowflakes stain them as they soar and glide
other seabirds huddle side by side
shivering and crowing lividly.
Through the narrows the lonely boat steams
past icy Luddington Rock and East Breakwater's breech
its berths and moorings, within minutes reach
and sadly, it’s time for me to leave.
.
.
Songs for this:
Far Far Away (Charles Tone Mix) [feat. Brenda Boykin] by Tape Five
Hypnosis Theme (feat. Marina Quaisse) by Wax Tailor