Best Purling Poems
Written: November 24, 2023
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Seraphic sand is sapped on the seashore
As swirling waters swallowed the load roar.
The roiling river rapidly ground to an oar
Shore seaweed—pure praise to restore.
A skylark beat the cords, its wings galore
Brilliant sky; rapt gasp wails fading before.
Moon sashayed stars as it whiffed implore
Tides will come and flee—still nevermore.
Upon heavens, a moon casts a silvery hoar
On the whiffed coo, as the seas' soft afore.
Whispered tunefully while purling in abhor
I walked around tiptoes, humming a chord.
Until the sun rose with a blazing core
used their citrin cord to snag the spore.
Categories:
purling, analogy, appreciation, river, sea,
Form:
Monorhyme
Antares' red glow bears firmly down
upon plush, chartreuse carpet
lying prone against the obsidian expanse,
blanketing sections of a remote
blue sphere, purling,
spinning helplessly
through distant time and space;
slave to routine and rotation,
never daring to break free;
to reach out.
Scorpius sprawls low
across the Autumn void;
a celestial corpse
twinkling, twitching;
inexplicably still breathing,
expelling the last
of her precious plexine light
in a final, desperate act
to awake inspiration, stir passion,
proffer wholeness and healing
to an infirmed, ungrateful planet,
for her end-of-reign recession.
Projecting dreams; visions
like swirling Akashic holograms
leaping forth from ancient pages
of ethereal records,
all but lost to time and apathy.
Twisting snakelike through the cosmos,
her broody gaze steeling
in every direction;
fierce energy bombarding;
burning across the universe.
Intense joules bursting forth;
reaching out to nurture
willing universal souls;
scorching those who reject her,
turning them to table fodder
at a divine banquet
for dark gods.
Sagittarius flickers jovially behind
as if breathless with laughter;
taunting, frustrating,
staying just out of reach
of her vengeful tail.
The rule of Scorpio wanes
upon Orion's horizontal breach
extinguishing the sting-ed cluster;
quelling her tumultuous surge
until late-spring pains
rebirth her fires,
igniting them, emerging again
from the icy chasm
of black oblivion.
Categories:
purling, space, stars,
Form:
Free verse
The brook follows the path of least resistance
It does not confront obstacles
It embraces them
Nature knows not war
The landscape is tranquil, peaceful
Nature likes it that way
Rolling shades of green sprinkle the velvet hills with
A myriad display of colorful flowers
Flaunting the multi-hues of the rainbow
The eye follows the brook’s unimpeded meandering path
A Monarch jig-jaggedly flies in glee
Its life will shortly come to an end but
That’s Nature’s way too
A dark brown and brittle dry leaf
Detached by a tender wind
Floats and softly lands on a fallen twig
It remembers where it came from
Clear water caresses the rocks underneath,
Whispering sweet, gurgling, purling sounds
Its watery arms embraces the smooth stones
As it fills the cracks between them
This is Nature making love with passion
Subtleties which go unnoticed to the human eye
Are nevertheless relevant in their spirit
As life unfolds its evolution.
When we make love. who sees us?
Sometimes we don’t even see each other
We often forget that love is tender, giving,
Nurturing, healing and compassionate
Nature knows this –
We should too.
Categories:
purling, love, nature,
Form:
Prose
BELLS
I.
Bells has a tingling ring to it,
a jingledy-jangle silver tone.
The tympanic waltz, close knit —
angelic chorus of Christ’s throne.
And Winter parades its magic —
the pure white snow purling gold.
Morgans’ shiver and shake chromatic.
Enchantment’s carol — behold!
O Christmas day — the pearly gates
stretched wide open in senssuround,
handbells harmonious, worldwide translate
singing, sweeping, melody crowned.
~
II.
*Poesome bells! They’re morose.
Tentacles dingle-dangle forth.
Curious onlooker of its strokes,
midnight binds its ears, looks North.
The lonesome brass calls for lad
and lass with clean cuts and braids.
The aww-no sound is clad
in a nonsenseless grade.
*Edgar Allen dawdles with death clang,
its clanger brain, hellish.
The beauty, from tower hangs —
the dauber of knells doth relish.
12/20/2020
*Some thoughts from Poe’s poem “The Bells”
Categories:
purling, beautiful, christmas, dark, sound,
Form:
Rhyme
My serenity, I will share,
a special place I visit.
It lies deep within a canyon where,
the desert imparts no limits.
For ancient years, it has lived,
beyond mans fatal footprint.
I've had to keep it secretive,
so its beauty won't be spent.
A place of purling clear waters,
scampering over time worn stones.
Where cast off leaves play teeter totter,
upon ripples, from winds blown.
There, mossy banks, recline in shadows
and hug the deep, still pools.
The sun glints crystal, off the shallows,
so as to look bejeweled.
Trees weave their limbs 'cross the stream,
to form a Cathedral arch.
As within the waters, life does teem
and desert dwellers slake throats, parched.
I hold this canyon to me as sacred,
as did the Apache Nation.
I come here when feeling fear or dread,
to be healed by God's creation.
Paula Swanson 9/25/2011
For the contest; Flowing Water
Sponsored by Francine Roberts
Placement: 5th
Categories:
purling, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
Toconao, Oase im Sand
Wunder in der Atacama
Wo das klare Wasser fließt
Dort am Rande der Düne
Verschlingt schon die Quebrada
Allmählich der heiße Sand
Noch wandere ich langsam
Dort im einsamen Traume
Wo ruhig in den Gärten
Noch leise Wasser plätschert
Im kleinen steinernen Kanal
Mein einziger Begleiter ein Hund
Toconao, oasis in the sand
Miracle in the Atacama
Where the clear water flows
There at the edge of the dune
Swallows already the Quebrada
Gradually the hot sand
Yet I walk slowly
There in a lonesome dream
Where quietly in the gardens
Still purling gently water
In the small stone canal
My single companion a dog
Toconao, oasis en la arena
Milagro en el Atacama
Donde el agua claro fluye
Allí al borde de la duna
Cubre ya la Quebrada
Gradualmente la arena caliente
Aún ando despacio
Allá en un señero sueño
Donde tranquilo en los jardines
Aún chapotea silencioso agua
En el pequeño canal de piedra
Mi único compañero un perro
Note: Tocona is a small Indio village in the Chilean Atacama Desert. This oasis village
is located 24 mi south of the town of San Pedro de Atacama at an altitude of 8,153 ft
above sea level. The most notable building is the church. The bell tower is separated from
the main church structure and dates from 1750. The main source of its 546 inhabitants is
based on agriculture and artisan activities. The word "Toconao" comes from the cunzo
"toco" that means "stone". Toconao is also known for its alleys of the orchards in the
"Quebrada" (= gorge).
Categories:
purling, nature
Form:
Tanka
Winter's winking wearily in the sun
gracefully giving ground
knowing Spring will never run
Muted, molted, monochromatic colors turn
vibrant, vivacious, victoriously
welcoming the return
Soft, subtle scents in the air
lilacs lovingly linger
in the tresses of my hair
Pink petals purling to the ground
blossoms blindly blowing
whirling all around
Daisies dancing daintily in the breeze
flowers frolicking freely
after thawing from the freeze
Daylight dilly dallies, delaying days end
encircling, enticing, enchanting
like the embrace of a friend.
*end* TDR 4-14-15
Categories:
purling, friend, seasons, spring,
Form:
Alliteration
.
Purling
As the lotus 'mongst the waft top
wet
Arciforming
With the pretty colorful rainbow
bent
Infiltrating
Deeply the sinews whence mine I found
mirth
Noticing
Every breathe flaunting the passion of mine
colleen
Sweating
Whilst in hern depth
roaring
*Libertine: 14th century < Latin libertinus< libertus "somebody freed from
slavery" < liber "free" ;)
Categories:
purling, riddle,
Form:
Free verse
Ever these gifts from Eos of dawn,
Her mornings gently purling with ray’s early luster
To herald new sunrise, a jasper flare--
Robed in ornate chiffon waltzing quietly
On marbled hills, on awakened floral glide:
How fragrance explodes into creamy nectar
Luscious as her avian flock and bahiagrass,
With dainty hands strewing mist upon trees
Through chants of daybreak's invocation,
Granting all with tokens from maiden prayers…
And we offer beads of gratitude and homage
For newborn dreams yet to be fulfilled,
Till she renders vestal light to the wild of noon.
For Anthony Biaanco's Gifts Contest :
6/18/2020
Categories:
purling, beautiful, image, morning,
Form:
Personification
A bright morning sun reflected off the everlasting hills and over blushing flowers,
Then onto whispering trees heavy with fruit, over purling steams and dimpled lakes,
A poet, dipping his pen into the ink that writes of pure images in the urn of truth,
Writing besotted letters, of imperishable brightness, weighing immortality of nature.
Having the wisdom of nature suited to the right regulation and adjustment to changes,
That exists in man to understand the beauties of nature not just on a summer morning,
Nights are spent in the midnight oil chasing words to express the beauty we all see,
Words to highlight understanding to enhance desires and refinements to see as the poet.
Revelations not beyond reach to bring beautiful scenes into homes the true philosophy,
When philosophy acknowledges the unlimited range of its sphere bringing light to all,
Whose posy has charmed the fancy and whose works have enriched the world of letters,
Many poets whose eloquence has astonished even only a few, the researches are reward.
Categories:
purling, philosophy, nature, nature,
Form:
Prose Poetry
A bright morning sun reflected off the everlasting hills and over blushing flowers,
Then onto whispering trees heavy with fruit, over purling steams and dimpled lakes,
A poet, dipping his pen into the ink that writes of pure images in the urn of truth,
Writing besotted letters, of imperishable brightness, weighing immortality of nature.
Having the wisdom of nature suited to the right regulation and adjustment to changes,
That exists in man to understand the beauties of nature not just on a summer morning,
Nights are spent in the midnight oil chasing words to express the beauty we all see,
Words to highlight understanding to enhance desires and refinements to see as the poet.
Revelations not beyond reach to bring beautiful scenes into homes, the true philosophy,
When philosophy acknowledges the unlimited range of its sphere bringing light to all,
Whose posy has charmed the fancy and whose works have enriched the world of letters,
Many poets whose eloquence has astonished even only a few, the researches are rewarded.
Categories:
purling, philosophy, nature, nature,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Aahhh sumptuous beloved nineseventeen
calling for hot frothing, purling, bubbling steam
laving eager flesh with honey scented cream
strategic jets pummelling tight spots unseen
hand languidly reaches champagne flute between
naughty nibbles on silver dishes that gleam
reflecting radiance of goddess light beam
eyes devour tales of sensual jewelled queen
glistening satisfied muscles stretch and preen
breath slows, pleasure coaxes perky nerves to dream.
Written 9th July 2018
for contest 9.17
Also Brian Strand's Late August Contest
Categories:
purling, paradise,
Form:
Free verse
A crow told us not to go away
Whilst a knitting and a purling she did say
You can’t go to China for I am scared
The meet thought of it is such a dread
I’ll stay in Adelaide in the parklands
And ruin Mother Nature in our grand plan.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Categories:
purling, football,
Form:
Ballad
We poor amateurs
Scour the gutter where words
Make overtures
At our hearts.
Not me
I hold each tresspasser
For ransom
And set each to earn
A new wage in meaning,
For they will tell
The story that I say
Subtle as if to play
But authentic
The veil of life to tear away
And then t melt as clay.
I enter the fortress of mountains
I sing from the abyss of seas
And thought a purling fountain
Bring me bended to my knees.
Tell Daedelus, his son lives
I Icarus
Have wings better than wax
Except for feathers lost
In the Atlantic voyage
Coming, I fly
By the bouyancy of self lost
In the ancient quanta
Of ancestral words.
Revoke
My status in your brain.
Categories:
purling, on writing and words,
Form:
Free verse
On its surface a crimp and cockle
of a purling tide have rucked an impression
on a stone.
We are here to find Eagles
but the sky is too low and the wind too high.
You show the image on the stone
as if this were the very thing
we had been looking for.
I look at it squint eyed:
could be a crow
You throw the stone into Lake Huron,
won’t hold my hand
won’t speak again
until I admit to the endless possibilities
of crinkles, tides and wind
to produce
magical eagles.
Categories:
purling, poetry,
Form:
Free verse