Best Promontory Poems
Alone atop a hill,
an ornamental willow
dances in the breeze.
Long limbs form a lovely gown
that gracefully sweeps the ground.
Adored by the sun,
the willow is not weeping.
She blooms rosily!
April’s first shower has passed;
for the sun alone, she shines.
The Solo Dancing Ornamental Tree (new title for the sonnet version)
An ornamental tree with willow leaves
upon a promontory stands alone.
In April’s breeze, each limb, cascading, weaves
with fragrance. She is dancing on her own.
I wonder how she came to be at all.
Her roots lie in a solitary place
where few traverse to spy her - lithe and small -
there moving in rain’s aftermath with glee.
In small degrees, the sun has climbed the sky.
No longer pallid, he is smiling down
upon the swaying willow. By and by,
Her graceful limbs shine like a lacquer gown.
Her lovely blooms have opened to expose
The splendid blush of buds with hue light rose.
The Haunted House
An aging Victorian graphite three story house sat on a
promontory, lonely, deserted, weathered and forlorn.
Broken windows showed signs of cruel abuse from
passersby amused by throwing rocks we surmised.
This skeletal shell of a one-time elegant beauty
became a welcome refuge for my sister and I, wet
and chilled to the bone on that stormy autumn night.
Our car had broken down about two miles away.
There were no other homes or buildings nearby.
To our amazement the door was open and after
knocking loudly with no answer, we let ourselves in.
Cobwebs clung to our faces and hair as we entered
and brushed them away squeeling disdainfully.
I had a small torch on my keychain and with it we looked
around to try to find something to dry ourselves off.
We moved in unison across the creaking floor, shivering.
It was then that I felt cold fingers grasp my shoulder.
Wide eyed I slowly turned my head but no one was there.
We both heard errie laughter as chills ran down our spines.
We ran to the door but now it was locked and we were
trapped inside as panic set in with our hearts pounding.
Then all of a sudden two creatures appeared before us
standing there with matted hair and we both screamed
so loudly we scared each other, but with my little light I
could see we were looking at ourselves in a full length
dusty antique mirror. We laughed hysterically in pure relief.
I tried my cell phone again and miraculously got a signal.
I managed to contact the auto club who estimated 2 hours.
We waited impatiently until the auto club came to rescue
us and our car. The driver sat outside and honked his horn.
We screamed to him that we were trapped inside. He came
up to the front door and to our shock the door flew open.
We hurridly left that haunted house and never looked back
as the driver quickly drove away in the pouring rain.
8-27-18
Sponsor- Dear Heart
Contest- The Haunted House
Staying on a promontory, I watch,
The wobbling mass of water below.
Before my eyes,
The sea stretches far;
An infinite scroll of chiffon,
Rolling and unrolling
In shades of green and sapphire.
In its sedate hours of brooding silence,
A calm expanse with feeble waves,
As if seized by an uncanny lassitude,
Lying in majesty,
Swirling in ecstasy.
Within this mammoth silver submarine,
How many mysterious live forms thrive!
What curious shaped corals, what all sea urchins!
What wealth of fish, what gigantic mammals!
Between the blue sky above
And the blue sea below
I see seagulls fly,
The long beaked pelicans prey,
Grampuses heaving their huge form,
Above the calm surface,
And the milky spray tossing shiny pearls,
Upon the stretching naked strands.
I can see a distant sail,
And the hull of a ship,
Gliding over undulating waves,
Leaving a frothy trail of foam behind,
With water churning and spiraling around,
Where sharks and seals and dolphins swim.
Piles of silver clouds move above
And the golden sands stretch below,
With periwinkles, crabs and shells,
Scattered by the receding waves.
Splashing tides, dancing weeds
Rising crescendo, falling rhythm
Oh! What a splendid scene,
In the rosy gleam of this evening!
What delectable mélange
Of tinkling sensory delights!
CITADEL AND CONSTELLATIONS
The green leaves in rugged moans;
The tall bushes in rumbling groans;
The roofs train creaks-- their fugue
blow cobwebs hugging branches below,
such are precursors inviting darkness lair
for stormy clouds before crowd the days.
Yellow horizon seem unreachable honey
as in my life's ocean, balloon billows I bear.
I-- surged in every swell to skirt yet still
lashing waves dashed pushing me sometimes to despair.
Again, cataclysm walk unheralded casting loose
my arms lift upon the glimmer of silver lining from afar
somber shadows enshrouded me in a mist of struggles.
Ounce of strength I have, I try to juggle and juggle
yet, curses fell from hearts and lips parched of love.
All these came, one and all --
the flowing light has flickered flash and gone
but beyond all these you stood -- my sentinel...
You hushed the bad constellations hanging 'round my world
like a lighthouse guiding a lost ship to his home.
Yes! You are my beacon, a promontory amidst
cyclic onslaught brambles and chameleons,
a rock to cling in the wind's creeping fury,
Staunch and firm, my ñhero fighting the torrential
cascade of tirades and reproaches: MY CITADEL. . .
_____________________________________________________________________
***Sponsor Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name Your Favourite Old Poem #2
++Placed 2nd++
***Sponsor Justin Bordner
Contest Name How You Make The Stars Hush
++Placed2nd++
©O.E. Guillermo
06:37 pm, February 24, 2015
"the willows dip
Their pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink." William Cowper
To a Weeping Willow
The graceful, sweeping green
I remember seeing it,
my first weeping willow
graceful trails of leaves
bending to touch its own reflection
Growing on a creek bank thick with grasses
I lay there in the soft tufts,
dreaming, staring up at clouds
watching the zig-zag flitters
of a butterfly.
Now days never seem so long
Wherever its pure tapestry reigns
in fragrant gardens, wherever
they take root; on creek-beds
sometimes by a charming bridge.
Weeping Willows have become for me
symbols of long peaceful days
I stop to gaze at them in gardens,
in paintings, in books that picture them
my hand lingers on the page
Beside a lacquered pond they still
touch their own reflections
with long, whispering trails
Once, in a dream, I saw one
with pallid catkins,
on a lonely promontory
beside a forgotten grave-
an echo of grieving.
Suzanne Delaney
("Noh" is an ancient Japanese style of
drama, broadly similar to Elizabethan
tragedy. "The Wind in the Pines" is
my version of a well-known Noh play.)
1. The Buddhist Priest
This was the day of the White Crane.
I was walking from Kyoto to fair Kobe,
and not omitting a single shrine,
now nearing the end of my three-day journey.
The morning had taken on a hue
of pastel. I reached a promontory, above the sea
with curious roadside ancestor tombs,
slabs of coarse stone. The wind
and waves, so restless, had done their work,
scarring and scarifying the soft chalk,
leaving strange columns, each capped
by its crude ashlar memorial tablet.
As I prayed to the dead, my bare head
was lifted. My gaze (no longer mine)
was drawn towards a tall pine,
standing alone, its trunk bifurcated.
That tree, I felt somehow, had waited
for me to come. Looking about me,
I saw a peasant, short and stoutly
built. "Tell me about the tree,"
I said. "And what's that poetry?
That hanging plaque?" He said I'd found
something special. "This is hallowed ground,"
he muttered. "Matsukaze and her sister
Murasame mourned here, Mister.
Then Heaven took pity on the two brine
girls, and turned them into this pine."
By mortal things, we should set no store:
but hearing this, I wanted to know more.
Dinner with old friends:
salmon with red cabbage, asparagus, Caesar's salad, penne with
broccoli, two white wines.
Jane Jacobs could analyze how it all got to our table
or even how their daughter came to us from Cambodia.
The economy or market bringing a thing of beauty, the farms, the trucks,
such comfort. The ancients knew this too
yet we are anxious about famine, genocide and nuclear war.
How can we organize (govern) ourselves to end self-imposed suffering?
That Quebec and Puerto Rico may secede peacefully at any time a
majority chooses is a source of pride. Why not Kurds, Chechyns,
Tibetans and Armenians?
Difficult to write a poem about it. At table, candlelight, we debate
or whine about the other side winning and making a mess
of our lives. The election could be stolen, tampering with voting
machines,
what policy question does that possibility raise? War in Iraq,
school testing, prison population. Religion, the abyss surrounding the
little promontory life.
It'll all work out in the end. Go to your daily practice, be a good citizen.
Another failed effort to write what I mean. Such confusion, yet
two white wines.
I can feel the frigid air bite my lungs
as my shallow breaths try in vain to
soothe and stop the burning pain.
Each struggling footfall could be my last,
yet the mountain taunts me to keep onward.
The snow has consumed my crampon booted feet
with numbness as trembling loins beg my brain for rest.
Heartbeats match the pounding in my head.
I just can’t stop now when so near the summit.
Blinding snow begins to fall as I leave my two
closest friends behind on the promontory.
They plead with me to turn back with them.
All sensibilities have vanished into the whiteness.
“As I feel the snow fly, I will conquer or die”.
Let these words be my epitaph I call to them,
should the mountain claim my sorry soul.
August 10, 2014
For Charlotte Puddifoot's
Dark Poetry Contest
Begin your Diamond Head hike in the early hours of morning as it
Requires two full hours to climb to the top at an
Elevation of seven hundred sixty two feet from sea level.
After reaching the top of Diamond Head Crater,
That was formed by a volcanic explosion 200,000 years ago,
Honolulu and Waikiki are the breathtaking views from
The top of the crater, spreading out from the Ko'olaus to the sea.
Allow yourself enough time to capture panoramic pictures as
Keepsakes of your climb and bask in the beauty surrounding
Impressive famous landmarks from the Manoa Valley to the
Natural harbour featuring the Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor.
Gorgeous amazing views greet the eyes in every direction.
*Ko'olau Mountain Range
Diamond Head Hike:
Diamond Head is the name of a volcanic tuff cone on the Hawaiian island of O'ahu and known to Hawaiians as Le'ahi, most likely from lae 'browridge, promontory' plus ahi 'tuna' because the shape of the ridgeline resembles the shape of a tuna's dorsal fin. Its English name was given by British sailors in the 19th century, who mistook calcite crystals on the adjacent beach for diamonds.
Two young friends sit on a promontory
overlooking the windswept
sea as a lonely lighthouse studies their
actions unnoticed.
They converse excitedly about the gift
of a crimson parasol
from a handsome new lad at school.
Their hearts soar as they
dream wild romantic thoughts as the
sound of the waves enchant.
There's something wild about
being near the waves…
Hearing their last hurrah as they
hit the sandy shore.
Bursting bubbles of white
foam on wet sand,
The only evidence of their
brief existence, save the
Sea salt scent wafting in
the wild wayward wind.
Then there is the chameleon
colors mesmerizing eyes
As the sun and clouds play
with light 'til day is done,
And the orange orb slowly sinks
below the sea's horizon
Sharing a romantic kiss goodbye
with the twilight sky.
June 11, 2016
THE FAR VIEW
Of this quaint mountain village sparks a longing strain lay dormant these many years. Was it some childhood visit, one too early to recall, or existence in another life? The two, to my searching soul, ever close together.
A white steeple pokes through, rising from a wealth of green. The instant sensation, deja vu. I’m standing at the edge of Castle Lookout – so said a sign – a mountain promontory surrounded by jack pine, and the cozy little town – if you could call it a town – lay half buried in verdant summer wealth, purple mountains distant. All one may see of dwellings are white sidings and reddish roofs, save for one large two-story quite near. I could swear I see a lad and his dog on a patch of meadow But no. He’s disappeared.
A flash! An instant panoramic spectacle, an all encompassing vision covers, blots-out the town, the distant purple mountains, every waking sight. I am playing with the lad and his dog, throwing a stick for some fetch it game. His name is, Tommy, and I know him well, both he and his family. And for just that instant – superimposed – I walk those village streets, hear a park band in the square and wave at familiar folk. It has been given when a person falls from some high place his whole life strings into consciousness. Yes, but this too-real-apparition has other-worldly quality. No childish imagination pervades the montage. It is that of my mature self, save playing with the boy and his dog, which reaches back even more mysteriously. I sense all at very depth of soul. The traveler is not my present self. He has appeared from some other port of call too distant in time to name.
Now I’m back, visitor on a whim, and deigned experience what few have gone the crystal ball route. How polar different I feel walking back to my car. I am almost reluctant to leave, the two-entity identity still with me, but I get in, start her up, and drive onto the highway with a wide-eyed shrug for that glimpse of transcendental history.
Dave Austin
Window ledge song
Stray sparrows sing;
A choral duo
~~~~~~~~~
Rain drops slide
Blurry window view;
Furious stormy night
~~~~~~~~~
Not much to say
Old couple sit;
Passing people punctuate
~~~~~~~~~
Coffee maker sounds
Morning makeovers;
Caffeine fix retort
~~~~~~~~~
From this penthouse
Brief promontory;
Puzzling landscapes
~~~~~~~~~
Lovely couple
Youth presides;
Time will tell
~~~~~~~~~
Haiku moment
Zero metaphor;
Captured picture
~~~~~~~~~
Plain words
Tell not describe;
Look and see
~~~~~~~~~
Curious pantomime
Merge into a dream;
Fall into another
~~~~~~~~~
Joy waits
Sorrow appears;
Opposites reconcile
~~~~~~~~~
Eastern view
Western education;
Two worlds endow
~~~~~~~~~
Awakening
Awareness
Abundance
~~~~~~~~~
Bus stop queue
Gadgets in hand;
Electronic toys
~~~~~~~~~
Social media
Conspiracy theories;
Insidious intents
~~~~~~~~~
Girl and boy
Two whirls collide;
Fancy intervenes
~~~~~~~~~
Years have etched
Facial sculptures;
Deep wrinkles attest
~~~~~~~~~
Cite and recite
Write and re-write;
Nothing much
~~~~~~~~~
Opposites attract
To balance out;
Not much more
~~~~~~~~~
Curious wonder
Time runs away;
Not much left
~~~~~~~~~
Like attracts like
To boost buzz;
Ample estates
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
10 May 2015
Singapore
A Polite Warning. The Following poem is somewhat steamy. Not explicit, but explicit in
inference. If this sort of thing offends you, then please be considerate and don’t read
it. Thank you.
Naked Flamenco
( A sultry summer night spent together
With ardour between us growing
She whispered, “Let me dance for you”
I agreed, little knowing………………. )
Binding spells of mysterious wanting
Soft dark her eyes looked
Into the shades of my mind
An enchantress of fantasy
She etched her velvet pattern
On veiled secrets
Parted
Dangerous lashes flutter desirous
In emerald peacock pupils
Midnight burnished hair let fall
In captivating tangles
To full ephemeral corners
Of soft bitten lip
Coy damp line drawn on her cheek
Captivated
Her expression acknowledges
With known provoking smiles
Eye lights shine saying “already mine”
With twisting flamenco poised
Sensual arm insinuates to finger tip
And eventide's rose is pale skinned
And naked
Curved line from ankle
Writes portents to the nape of her neck
Through black tousled sexual spinal blades
Shoulder dipping
Quivers her femininity to rising breasts
While arched longing
Mouths the indescribable tactile seconds
Of her promontory dancing
Patient in toe tip exquisite she places
Penchant elegance
Of her naked ballet
The ribbon swirl of vanished gossamer dress
Depicted wing-ed arms
She rises a surrealistic
Flight of angels created
In soft light air brushed forms
Of muscle, rib cage, bones and tendons
Body writhed centres eclipse
On pubic between
The epitome of gestalts navel breathing
I shudder Goosebumps of enthralling
Built by such grace of a heavenly
Consecrated female
Led beyond mere heated needing
To a place resplendent
With sheer un-tameable and un-nameable beauty
Guitar stringing twangs the milliseconds
Of her overture
Spanish castanets tap click fervent
Pronouncing the rhythm of my heart
Naked pale formed Goddess
Gently rips from me
Every appreciations confession of
Perfections contours
Fine satin sheen hairs risen
Beading sweats slight trickle
Aroused by my infatuation
Nipples stiffen
And I am drawn from and by
Heavy breath to music’s ending
To land in her presence
Panting
She has seen through me
Every century of a woman’s glory
And with a slow beckoning finger
Her eager eyes
Tell me
It is so
Emery
Emery had a nose of stone,
An outgrowth of his weighted mind.
Of alabaster was it honed
Into a feature aquiline.
Its heft was such that Emery
Would counterbalance with his jaw
By upward thrust of chin; thus he
Intended to reduce this flaw.
But, oh, his lips contorted and
His limited perception showed
Only a level, skyward span
And never anything below.
Many men were victimized
And many things they valued, too,
Because poor Emery was blind
To that which was not in his view.
The morning of one winter’s day
He walked a promontory ridge.
Poor Emery saw not the way
But fell. It was the last of him.
[Stanza 1]
I DID NOT know your name when we met on the train
destinations like ghosts who have lost their bodies
Onward we road the rail with thunder and destiny
[Stanza 2]
each way station a detour from malaise - save you
your performance of attitude and cashmere shawl
escalate an effect upon me - fluid movement
[Stanza 3]
Here comes the revolutionary woman - neoclassic
hair worn natural, loose and flowing fashion
the wealthy Parisian takes the Grand Tour
[Stanza 4]
diaphanous soul keeps my bitterness at bay
you count the clackety-clack of our path
red lipstick and smoke swirls - the eyes say
[Stanza 5]
In the evening red fire across the horizon
trees and promontory - raise the glass of red
in my dreams I dream of a tender path - you
[Stanza 61]
The conductor shouts - all aboard left may stay
we two - the only ones, a glance and sensuous grin
fall back upon leather bench and teach a lesson
[Stanza 7]
Roles of feminine persuasion turned upside-down
at odds with social reality - you squeeze the fruit
the devil may care tonight - we ride the rail of destiny
-- // --