Best Promenading Poems
A pond quivers in demure gusts,
cygnets of morning light undulate
with lithe ripples. Winter thaws,
the sun arcs over feathered rainbows
as ice sculptures bevy like water lilies
on April's frigid cobalt.
In abrupt squall webbed feet prance
on a mirror, capturing saffron exhalations
of rapt poppies, a wild umbrella splayed
like tumultuous cumulus, ending a reflection
of snow angels promenading
in boundless cerulean.
Long arrays of cherry blossoms
promenading in the daylight,
glistening in fuchsia and white
like glimpse of celestial bosoms.
And to where I stand they march on
showering petals on my palms;
Like drizzling raindrops giving alms
towards the thirsty arid morn.
I wish I could sustain the time
For when I pass this path again
Won't ever find them until then,
Until another spring sublime.
verdant colors in the horizon call to my heart
my step is livelier now
for my she-shed is ahead,
waiting for presence and truth, mine
there is no writing like outdoor writing
active anticipation resonates in my brain
I can leave the bumble bramble of the city
and the evil naysayers in their concrete crypts
trees sprinkling acorns and walnuts give a whistle
day is breezy, sky an over-washed denim blue
ideas are promenading in the outskirts of my dendrites
Thoreau-like passion toward nature brings me home
She lay there, silent and still, in a falsified sleep,
As her hands danced that tangible love with her blanket.
The blink on her lips told me all of her secrets,
For my eyes she was a submissive ripe banquet.
Then her inviting arms opened to pull me in closer,
Closer to her little dark red elfin lips.
And she kissed like a robin promenading her lover,
Clutching my everything with hushed fingertips.
We created deep truthful love, all into the night,
The moans and the groans and the roar.
All over the room, all over the house,
All over the cold kitchen floor.
My lover lay there silent, in her falsified sleep,
Always waiting for her master to awake her.
With a kiss from her knight, on her lips to ignite,
She is my dame and I’m her monsieur.
Written a year ago but never entered into a contest, thought it might suit Mystic Roses Red contest.
Lying in an augur's aviary..
Reneging on my virtues,so credulous..
The feying fay being taken to
bury,
I see things called ambigous.
Slowly fading odour of scantity..
In Attica, end of augustan age.
Wings of Azreal, the martinet
deity,
I see these, with espied rage.
Hydaes casting spell every
night..
The abysmal wizard of dark
kinglet.
Between scylla and cherybdis is
my sight..
Seeing through the torment
outlet.
Through that window, with
arriere pensee..
I see me, the ambling ember
Once alive, now frozen modus
vivendi..
Promenading with flowing ichor.
Still with each sunshine..
I see hope blazing through..
A jocund scene,hard to miss.
The changing magniloquent
hue..
Palladium of gamut bliss.....
Every spring, I remember the Exodus story.
How the twelve tribes became free from slavery,
Escaping across the wind parted Red Sea, is a mystery.
Easter in Italy, "Pasqua" is an echo of Passover history.
In England, Easter is the modern Exodus.
Good Friday through to Easter Monday.
It's a good long weekend holiday for us,
To be spent driving on a jammed motorway.
Hurrah! At last we see the sea at the seaside.
Saturday starts with "Full English Breakfast".
Then, promenading on Brighton Pier with pride.
Easter Monday evening, time to go home at last!
Romans demolished Jerusalem's Temple for all to see.
The twelve tribes became slaves in the diaspora.
In Rome these captured slaves eventually became free
To sing the "Song of the (Red) Sea" at Pasqua.
vile venomous vermin
intriguing intertwined insurgent
petulantly promenading patrol
excruciatingly evil exile
ruthlessly relentless reptile
Promenading along Ashley Street,
wearing Jumbo Rollers covered with
pretty floral sheer scarfs,
chattering, giggling, being thirteen,
trying to pass for sixteen,
hoping the boys in their bat-winged cars
would wave and holler and make a big deal,
as soon as they caught our eyes,
we'd pretend to ignore them while our
shoulders pulled back, heads held high,
and our mohair sweatered chests protruding
for all the world to see.
If a car stopped our hearts skipped a beat,
we'd lose our composure and act very young,
running to the neighborhood soda shop
where we'd find "protection," someone's
older brother who was sipping Coke and eating
French fries with his date while the Jukebox
tunes were blasting, feet were tapping
and where Pinball Machines were ringing,
these were our soda shop memories of long ago.
I am promenading in the woods
Whistling at the birds
The rays of the sun
Now and again interrupting my vision
Then something moves
Something- like a woman
Her glamour- what say?
I halt- the power attending
How very smashing
She moves, actually peacocks
Towards me; closer, closer
Now I am all smiles
All smiles and tears
Her arms outstretched
Mine, too, outstretched
We are now drawing closer
we are moving
Like we were on the moon
With a spring, bouncing
Slowly towards an embrace
Eyes, ears, arms and smiles
The whole machine feeling for company
Full of nothing but joy
As the distance between us narrows
I hear small bells tolling
I hear small babies pattering
I hear the laughter of maidens
And as we lock our arms together
In a violent embrace
There in the woods
I see beautiful nymphs
All around our embrace
Holding their parasols high
Dancing to the reggae
In the tropical sun
All this I see, and more…
I notice that while locked we stood
With my bountiful beloved
A thousand maidens emerge
All in white and with roses
And yellow scarves
In each hand a bouquet
Of the best assortment of flowers
On their lips stands a song
Which I know to one
Composed by a great poet
To all that trade in marriage
I smile at my beloved
The queen of my soul
And as we walk in state
I see gold in her finger
And more on mine
I kiss her brow and lo!
The perfume!
The diamonds surrounding!
Then the doors of the cathedral
Open in front of us
At the pulpit- the bishop
His eyes raised above us
The Holy Book in place
And on either side
The attendants:
All practitioners of the faith!
We step inside the edifice
The congregation stands
And sings a welcome;
The train behind us
The bishops and attendants
The tolling of the bells
The bride and maids
And I the Prince.
All these I see, and more…
As we seal the pact
And vow to God
To be, now and always
Till death do us part
And set our hands
To ‘these presents’
I see twins at the brook
By our country home
Playing hide and seek
And mother and father
Standing hand in hand
Watching them, bemused
And I see a house
Happy and prosperous
Where dwell two pretty maidens
And three handsome lads
And the greatest promise
Sealed in the woods
Is kept.
And I wake up
To the ticking of the clock
After the hour of eight
And all the sorrows of bachelorhood
Come knocking at my door!
Last Cheaters Ball
Who will dance the past with me
in penguin suit all snowy white
Music is live with old time and jive
i’m afraid we shall all look a fright
With dashing white sergeants
ladies promenading the gowns
dripping diamonds silver and gold
Champagne flooding the tables
making gentry younger and bold
Deaf waiters smile nicely
whispered vows are exchanged
hearts stolen while lovers are lost
This is history repeating itself
part of the dance perchance
part of the cost
waterlilies promenading
in a lonesome pond
are glimmering jewels
of green onyx and emerald
exuding empyrean elegance
of your perennial aura
oh, the purplish water
that holds her tiny roots
gently interchanging
like a melody transposing
from monophony to polyphony
whilst lilac and sandstone petals
dance with its rhythmic flow
my young heart melts
as leaves in varied hues
of emerald and jade
reflect the kiss of sunlight
like the sparkle in your eyes
when I whisper, "I love you"
17 March 2021
Notes:Water Lilies (or Nymphéas, French: [n?~.fe.a]) is a series of approximately 250 oil paintings by French Impressionist Claude Monet (1840–1926). The paintings depict his flower garden at his home in Giverny, and were the main focus of his artistic production during the last thirty years of his life. Many of the works were painted while Monet suffered from cataracts. (Photo and info credits to Wikipedia )
All Yours ( March 17) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
1st place
At popular Pennsylvania State Fair,
ponies were preparing for prissy pony pageant,
promenading ponies' pretty polished hooves,
parading promoter, Percival Poppycock,
promised prize-
pauses, perplexed,
as Penelope Percheron,
a primping draft horse,
prances into pavilion,
petite ponies patter,
prima donna Penelope presents
perfumed self,
pricey pink ribbons, pearly teeth,
panache!
Prestigious panel of judges
promptly present Penelope as
"Princess Pony",
she pirouettes, pulverizes display
of plentiful pumpkins,
pummeling stands,
pure pandemonium,
people, popcorn, peanuts everywhere,
Penelope picks herself up,
proceeds with precious Princess Pony prize,
proudly preening,
positively pompous!
We lay fallen as velvet roses divinity-promenading in our wake. Innocence sublime
weeping still-puddles... blessing-our-first-kiss. Beauty eminent one heart securing all we
share-tongues-entwined hopes defined joined together-soaring-free-as-one... a kin to love,
swept-away-by-it-we-were... .
I believe the heart of grace adamant, generous-tender and-aware honest and faithful-
awaiting-patiently... moves freely, because it knows, the-pureness of love always inspires
the-opportunity, and so enchantment-gazed upon innocence and desire knew-itself, when-first
God showed Adam Eve... !
Now-here today as time has-kept-us in-its ardent-march-I-say I believe-it was-the same
with-him back then... .
Because simple-smiles day-dreams and quiet eye-beams alone... for me-too-with-you
just wouldn't have been-enough, and-when-I-think-of-you, I thank-God for the blessing of
our-time, because my heart enchanted, elated, complete... from-here on-out will I forever-
know-and be-grateful to-have-loved the-beautiful-angel, that is you.
As-so-enticed by the light in your-eyes, the hopeful-manner the-playfulness of your-lips, I
tell-you-intrigued, to entwine-them-together, (with mine)... !
I figured I'd have a day to share, and a lifetime, from-then-on,
(to touch)... .
(if only just),
I-could-chance to-embrace them...
((once)).
Author notes
The hyphens are all used in conjunction-with one-another for recording-purposes for the-
disabled... . My Mac computer I can here and as it interprets the differing punctuations it gives the work in there differing usages a clearer and more realistic soft higher and lower Ebb and Flo when it is heard... !
The work can as well be reformatted into proper engine form for those whom may not be disabled... ! Entered into this contest as such and mainly for these reasoning's... !
Thank you for allowing and for considering my entry. I am entirely honored to be a small part... !
Written for my Jenny... .
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqTLlHkfSC4
He’s together now, they say,
turned out, free to walk the street;
adult child turned out to play
amid grey walls of concrete
streets strewn with disposed joys,
the stench of human fluids.
Bozos wave their lethal toys;
aging goths, pseudo druids,
faces lit by flashing screens.
promenading, zombie-dead
watch desperate dancing teens,
nature’s lemmings, AI lead.
He’s together now, He’s told,
so discharged, they need the bunk;
adult child thrown in the cold
amid barely walking drunk
searching, seeking that which numbs
the pain, soul-crushing shame.
Left to beg for others’ crumbs
he just has himself to blame
they say, go scare up some work.
he does, then try as he might
he’ll catcall some guy a jerk,
end up in another fight.
All I behold are the shades of darkness, the moon shines, the stars twinkle.
But my ecstasy for your glimpse, your abundance is leaving me fidgety.
My mind promenading in the blissful warmth of your heat and sparkle.
On my hands, my lips, my eyes and all of me, for the touch of your gleam I crave.
Though my Chassis slumbers, my heart will stay up forever.
For I always feel you crawling nearer to me with each passing moment!