Best Puffins Poems
Pinning chests like puffins to project
fuzzy assertion,
huddled, brave foragers
chase the crumbs along the
stained ground,
flapping feathers of civility during
auspicious climbs and
daft plummets, swooping in
massive waves of perplexed flesh
until frenzied,
shifting and undulating in rage like a
storm of hungry nerves
all darting with beaks coiled
in panicked alarm: no longer just a
severe warning.
SPRING OF SUBSTANCE
Adorable word drawing a rainbow of substance-- SPRING
Benumb snow-white cloak that drapes the earth,
charmed by strips of golden spotlight above blue skies
delicate cloak now being peeled to show
emeralds of nature: daring to model life
Footsteps ready to walk on warm green grassy ground
guided by cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we to chiff chaffs
hummed in chorus by swifts, mistrels and humble bees
Idyllic scents of daffodils and scilla swirls on mid-air...
Joyful Squirrels springing on loops of woods and rocks
kindles energy burst after their winter sleep.
Lodging everywhere the rising beauty of butterflies
Miles and miles you will see valleys and hills smile.
Nightingales: diva among birds share their lullabies.
Ox huge and strong that home flies now in the stall lies;
Painting bright is the seabird colony of puffins, shags and gulls
quieting your despair and muse for a stare.
Running cluster in the woodlands are bluebells,
seen enough, be a phenologist if you like!
taking notes when and where your first sight:
unfolding flowers, frogs, spawns and others.
Viral is the fun that leaps high during season of spring.
Wildlife a phenomenal broadway to the eyes!
Xanthic warm light will keep all acts alive
yielding an amazing breathing ride to anyone.
Zoom spring and delight in its zaftig view!
_____________________________________________________________
TERMS:
--xanthic--yellow or yellowish
--zaftig--having full view or rounded figure
©O. E. Guillermo
10:12pm, February 25, 2015
Sponsor Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name Abecedarian
Placed 3rd
Rum bottle nods with sanction
on gentle sway
The old dog spat snuff juice
that took wind
Puffins drift below the haze
Cape Flattery
is no tale
Chocolate on a white man,
the solitary wile
brackish breeze
wanders along impressions,
dints in a sea chiseled face
Heads pressed vigorously
to confine what coat resembles
beneath salted rags
Today he lives as Makah
Fair-haired;
Stained by sun and sea
Brows fall low
to hush the truth
conveyed by green eyes
Sun at high noon
jump back from the fluid sapphire
The sea, it whispers
never a lie
Sea lions yap
Snuff juice took wind
Towards Tatoosh Island
rigid draft pushes stares
Aged salt grinned at old thoughts
A child hugs heavy thighs
and bawls
It is hard for him to witness
What these elements can do to a man
Rum
Sea,
and sun
A huge manta ray flies up high
Just over the horizon
Sharing the sky with black baby
Puffins, what's beyond?
The sun sitting in the east waiting
To chase away the night
And remove the cool of the morn
Give manta ray its flight
Imagination can run frenzied
When cobalt clouds design
But soon their image dissipates
Lavender ice aligns
Fog down in the hollow coats trees
A misty way to start a day
Oh! The beauty now cast from light
Released by the sun's rays
A magenta appears upon the cloak
White light warms icy clouds
Then a red fire ball emerges
And pine limbs no longer shroud
The Beach Hut
In states of all ends of the spectrum
desperation of some time in times of
glorious exhilaration fire works elation
in times of simply being a being just
the same in kitchen bed in thoughts
in garden with gloom and darkness on
strands of fortunate rainbows and
prism-ed moons of reality we kindle
light and sound and touch and all I longed
for then and there and wish right now
is that little shack by the ocean by the
roaring soaring sea gulls scent of kelp
and driftwood puffins octopussy's ink
that crafted shaggy roof abode and
beach hut to knit our dreams together
furthermore to stars and way beyond
in soothing crested echoes of the wild
blue waters violet weavers of dreams
Sunny skies and summer breezes
gently sweeping yellow sand and
mud and sea shells talking dolphins
soft caresses on my lips my shoulder
my mind and soul and whatever else
comes becomes and goes to matter most
Inside out we know each other
left and right and top and bottom
and centre focus steam and where
misty motion resides with ease
stillness esteems thunder comforts
from the joy of love compassion's souls
kindness our souls are meeting mating
fast and slow and faster slower then and when
the moon sets settles sings and whistles
in darkness and the brightest light
All I wish in fiery longing in delight
and in despair against my reason’ skill
is to be filled and fill you ever more
with such true love wild and still in
mental passion and the magnum
metaphysics' opus rhapsody 'oceani'
of reality a beach hut wished for
just a simple beach hut and love
one thousand kisses deep and more
your love in me and I with you
Mingling multiplying minnows marvel masterfully and jaded hooded jalapenos race to the scene. For a pretty fortress is unveiled to a mass highway injection. In a timed spring curve heap hats. In a basting tree wear a nice vest with some heels. As a storm passes remember that a nine inch dome bowl is often a domesticated chatter box and holds vast amounts of information and instructional words to many a passing mouse. So always put leaves in a soup. Wear a spade and trowel. Mix a temple with a house to form associations of a flowery day. Snowing is great fun for those pickled and pins can win in toboggan competitions in world wide juxtaposition. Is merely a global push. A capitalist catapulting cavey. An orchestra of a self shrouded mission bomb. Swooping swerving swimming in acres of grasslands. Timelords. Tinkering. Tinkling. Tin. Tan. Ton. Tone. Dare to cross a washing line of over 800 metres. Balance on a scone. Sit on a sandwich. Or swim in a broth. Cavity carnal caves creating clapping dance. 3% of an oceanographic octopus at a grand ball. Oh how quite exquisite. Punky puffing puffins. Opulence. Orifices of domestic fishes. Cinema of calibration. *** moonbeams
The title has been taken by kind permission of Valsa George’s “Sweet Memories” for which I thank and dedicate my poem to Valsa George for her friendship.
We were lying on the sand,
Listening to the soft murmur
Of short and light cool waves.
Above us, a red octagonal sun umbrella
Gave us the much-desired rest.
Far away a bunch of guillemots
Cross swiftly across the tranquil bay
To rest near a sturdy lighthouse.
Whilst puffins nest in burrows in the cliffs.
My wife noted the activity of birds
As some flew around the lighthouse.
She wanted to go and investigate
But it was too hot to trek up the cliff.
We’ll go at sunset, darling, I coaxed her.
The sea will be purplish red
Whilst boats began their trip home,
Their sails so crimson as the sun begins to set.
So, we packed all into our SUV,
And slowly wound our way
Amongst the thriving fields.
In our small cottage we had some tasty fare
And after a shower returned to bed.
Then that nightfall we returned to the lighthouse.
Oh, what a sight we enjoyed.
Till late at night, we admired the vista.
How happy and elated we were as we headed home.
calm days oceans fit
dress coastlines in white lace
treacherous... the storm
on the wind it glides
oceans of the south surveyed
albatrosses feed
penguins flighty birds
cross ice bellies down... feet push
water... flight masters
aquatic parrots
puffins come to land to breed
Icelanders eat them
oceans deep smokers
new life evolves... dies when stubbed
potential islands
iguanas
some vegetarians
dive oceans to feed
sea mammals... furry
all once murdered for their coats
babies clubbed to death
great auks... now extinct
flightless... netted then eaten
man still hasn't learnt
The wind faces us down, a bitter housemaster
seeing our tricks, he raises his willowy cane,
jealous of our freedom and wings
Then pitiless comes the mighty blow,rips the
boys hand from the sea/a thousand lines
I must drive my cutter to the wind
I must drive my cutter to the wind
And planets hidden by the clouds, jostle
for place so that a man might see, and
take to their contrary taste, while
The briny rope on brass lugs and
staysail winch and flapping watery
forehatch, scream for solace in the
Brassy ferment; and in the heavens, a
widow’s veil contains the sludge-black
clouds above, where seagulls and pitiless
puffins, with filled-bills, carry their fishy
death to nest.
And on the shore perfidious, dread-filled
processions of daughters and wiry sons,
keep the vigil by the hearth; where wild
wive's wombs, upset by thunder’s booms,
wade their watery tombs.
The other Church
Kai - Pembrokeshire
Way back beyond the crested waves that spill the ocean
‘Church Rock’ towers with puffins and seagulls singing
the tune of nature how many times have I prayed to God
Tai - Southbroom
When times are rough she takes the image and sits on
the rocks in silent meditation where the tussle of spray
paints her sorrows with birdsong and healing embrace
When the surf had taken me below rocks and foundations
I asked to help out at the soup kitchen to lighten my load
emerge from darkness but ‘sorry we do not need you here'
When she had her first child out of wedlock the pastor
said ‘you are evil this must be Satan’s child’ and again
there was no meagre space at the inn for illegitimate joy
The Buddha rocked me gently into a cumbersome slumber
and Tai was embraced by the Jewish community and showered
with food and clothes for the miracle child starred with David
Tai and Kai – the Universe
There is love beyond borders and the sky is the limit the waters
flow freely from source to the sea and when hypocrisy beckons
there is elsewhere a church called kindness compassion and love
15th February 2017
My child has a love of poetry
It is rare, for she is only nine.
In her bare mind, words are potpourri
floating, rhyming by stanza, by line.
Holding a book ever so tightly
(it relieves the raw ache in her chest),
my sweet Emma floats almost nightly
carried by puffins in a bird nest.
She paints her pictures lying in bed
dreaming up puffin activities.
Writing what's in the front of her head,
one of her common proclivities.
Her situation stems from asthma
of pet hair and seasonal rebirth.
She fancies ease from the miasma,
high above noxious coughing on earth.
Starting with nursery rhymes at three
we have read Silverstein and Dahl
both of us memorize easily.
Her choice today is Lewis Carroll.
My Emma lives in her Wonderland
especially with a nebulizer.
Her teachers all seem to understand
it's “down to earth” math that defies her.
August 23, 2021
Sponsor Regina McIntosh
Contest Name The One Who Touches My Heart
Through your eyes
take me to the land of fire and ice
Where deep blue heavens
blanket the black sand beach
Moss on rocks grows velvet- nice
The pearly ocean touches the shore,
waves the volcano not to rise
Where trolls stroll in lush green woods
Misty cascades flow to entice
There travelers wonder at reindeers
Puffins wing and swing in the sky
Through your eyes, baby
take me to the land of fire and ice.
blindfolded he came close to the edge of the cliff
that he was sure of because vertigo taunted him
decision time sprung open like a grandfather watch
on his knees he felt the spray of a thunderous sea
swirling foam covered his soaked quest for direction
but all side of escape seemed to be covered in spindrift
the journey so far had been kind yet now he was helpless
a flock of puffins shouted ‘move at your perilous fancy’
they mocked the traveller now for past transgressions
‘if only I had taken a different route’ he roared in despair
‘should have stayed closer to the confines of my home’
he regretted that he exposed himself for adventure
he nestled the silver chain that suspended the time piece
prayer beads on his lost mind and clouds with no lining
puppet strings attached to every conceivable move
one wrong step and he would free fall and instantly crash
shatter into reckoning under the impact of judgement
join the underworld without reprieve and atonement
a beacon of meaning in waiting he felt thorns of wild gorse
it smelled like coconut sun lotion on a beach of no return
maybe he could hold on to the scratched withering soil
in the thicket of memories and tribulations he was not aware
that his corrosion had positioned him on a stacked rock
surrounded by the ocean beyond measure of safety
he listened to the ticking time bomb in his scorched hand
resolved to accept the verdict with no leave to appeal
surrender and throw caution to an all knowing wind
just then a tornado lifted him up into a sky full of pressure
defied gravity as an appropriate response to lost choices
wondered whether he joined seagulls or the call of a dolphin
eternity transcendence and levitation ensued in split seconds
of fragmented solutions of high waters and heavenly respite
maybe he had lived his whole life for this moment of bliss
turbulence and commotion tore away the camouflaged mask
revealed his true persona as feet touched the very same spot
sleepwalking had taught him another lesson of letting go
19th May 2020
It was the only fine day during a week
near Ullapool; a chance to launch for a sail.
Out off the Summer Isles a breeze we did seek,
being relieved there was no longer a gale.
Then half a mile to the north a splash we saw.
Was it? Might it be? Could one be found right here?
Then up came a spout and we were filled with awe.
Another one confirmed that it might come near.
We looked at each other – should we be afraid?
Around us there were guillemots, razor bills
and puffins, yet not one of them seemed dismayed,
so we relaxed and anticipated thrills.
So towards us it swam, breaking the surface,
spouting again, till it was just over there,
some sixty feet distant. No longer nervous
we reckoned its length to our boat did compare.
And so it passed south as we were held in wonder.
Ashore we determined the species of whale
was a minke, sure it could not be under
sixteen feet. I recount this memorable tale.
million birds fly in
to high cliffs of yorkshire dale
puffins fish mouthfuls
placed 5th in the contest