Best Quarter Poems
Desirous dust devils dance for a glowing gold god,
withering winds wandering whither they wish.
Silenced as shadows stretch, silhouetting strange shapes,
elongated ellipses etching the expansive emptiness.
Quickly cooling, the sunset slathers the sky in carnelian colors.
Deep desert darkness descends, a moonless diaphanous dome.
Looming above us, the luminous universe lifts our eyes aloft.
A celestial shining so supreme it spawns starry shadows,
succoring our unsatisfied souls in its empyrean embrace...
The watcher waits...
Bright last quarter, soft, cool moon
Blue-gray sky, sun rising soon.
Pearl-like gem in heaven's row
Lead us to sun's brilliant show.
Morning light on soft feet creeps
Showing us such verdant keeps.
Birds awake and sing their tune
Chirp, chirp at the passing moon.
Great owl sweeps a field for prey
Folks arise, another day.
Daylight grows, hot coffee brews
Soon we'll read the morning news.
Outside air is clean and warm.
On each corner, day shapes form.
Sounds of joy and life, all strong
signalling the waking throng.
Fade fast now last quarter moon.
Soon the sun will see you swoon.
But, at dusk, another eve
There the cloak of night to weave.
Bright Last Quarter
7-9-15
Trochaic
You said I wasn't worth a plug nickel
But you offered a penny for my thoughts,
So I gave you my two cents
And turned on a dime
Some would call me homeless. I call myself a traveler. In this city I traverse the wonder of human art and nature's beauty as if the two have melded together as one. The ornate iron railings seem to grow into the sweet smelling vines and flowers that live upon them. Hanging baskets with pink and purple impatiens and verdant ferns chuckle gently in the moist morning breeze as they adorn each balustrade. Hidden gardens beckon me as I walk past their gates painted with worn layers of lover's hands as they steal away behind secluded walls. They say I'm confused, yet I search to understand. Here, the past calls to me and I listen. Walking the streets and alley ways there is a sense of history, of lives that have loved and lost, of souls that linger in the heart of the buildings. Always searching, the walls can not contain their bewildered wandering. Inflicting confusion and sometimes pain on those they touch, they bath in the fountains and babble longing desires into each mind that seeks the peace of their soothing, gently bubbling water.
petals blush gently
the patient garden awaits
sweet stolen kisses
"For Sale," reads the sign on the window of the house before me. Delicate filigree rails frame the porch as I approach the old glass pane and peer through it. Inside I see a small room with peeling paint. Worn wooden floors trace the lives that have lived here. The ghost of Christmases past linger in the broken toys strewn across the floor. Brightly colored beaded memories of ages of Mardi Gras dangle from hooks on the wall. Upon the small corner desk I can see papers written in a fine pen like that of a poet's notes waiting an eternity for the completion of a long forgotten refrain. I feel the joy that once lived here and the pain of loss that remains.
stains of memories
the children's laughter lingers
a tear on my cheek
01/15/16
A BRIDGE OVER THE RIVER QUIET
‘Tis the infancy of yet another day
And I hear it crying for its bottle now
But I know the sun is no child anyway
It can be a sadistic son and it will teach you how
I live under a tunnel on the highway’s right
Yet wrong I may ever be
I found an old mattress the other night
so discomfort doesn’t bother me
Today yesterday is but an artifact
An ancient find to hunters of the past
But it seems the sun and Satan have some sort of pact
Alas, whatever it is will probably hold fast
I’m lucky enough to live with my lover
She’s agreed to live free along with me
And often when it rains we needn’t run for cover
The umbrella is our love to be
The term “shelter” means different things to different people I know
Shelter to some might mean a mansion in France
To people like me and my lover “shelter” means just somewhere else to go
Moved by an emphatic embrace and the lives we each enhance
To us rain, cold or snow doesn’t mean we get up and go
It’s the tortuous sun we know will eventually come
So we weather the weather knowing all we need to know
For my lover and I may be homeless but neither of us is dumb
Now let’s get back to the infant son and the fear of it’s adolescence
Because as we know children can often be rambunctious and rude
In the heat of mid-day we suffer an adult son’s insolence
And being fully grown it only treats us kindly when its in the mood
© 2011.….free cee!
She likes to snowboard
I'm a beast on skis
She is about the cold
Summer works best for me
Her cranberry spiked absolute
My scotch is on the rocks
She's thick, artistic, astute
I'm a chip off the old block
She likes women
Hey look, so do I
she's smart, ambitious, driven
I've got this poetic mind
She's a mountain girl
I'm partial to the beach
---------------------------------------------
I use my right of free speech
she likes to observe
Overbearing, my thoughts exposed
Her freaky nature held at bay
I'm nasty and mean to impose
She came over in lingerie!
I was born and graduated upstate
She was raised in N.Y. City
I spark a blunt, no shame!
She's a little hippie
I have a unique, witty swagger
Shorties a quarter among dimes
In this moment none of that matters
All that ass is mine!!
Jared Pickett
3/6/2014
Asavvy1
Dere once was a goil in da Quawta
Who never did do what she oughtta.
She stripped down one night
--Dat was really a sight--
Till NOPD come and caughtta!
quarter past midnight
dad’s wild footstep, as he goes
to change diaper
Somewhere in the silence
Of what might have been
A memory walks to the Jukebox
'Drops a quarter in......
That old song was just waiting
For her sweet embrace....
But the edge of forever
Cuts deep down my face
Where hurt meets the dance floor
That waltz, we loved... flows
As hell has an encore
And heaven is closed
Reliving the dying
Of all we once had
I'll be dancing forever
To three quarter sad
Never forever
And three quarter sad.......
Somewhere in the silence
Of what might have been
A memory walks to the jukebox
'Drops a quarter in.........
Protected by copyright
And Three Quarter Sad
If unused, tho filled with many memories,
This favorite pen hesitates
Applesauce, blush-rose colored, lovingly Handmade from apples invented by grandfather's
Fellow professor friend at Ann Arbor
(Dr. Charles Haralson) zipped into a few
Freezer bags, accompanied our last
Roast pork dinner
Chili peppers, dazzling in sunlight! dried and
Overflowing my gallon glass jar, spice
Dishes no more
Love, tho bright one summer many years ago,
Does see a crack of light peak thru the door,
Opened only slightly
Wild ramps, chefs eagerly awaiting my
Announcement, lay buried under 5' of snow
Promises entombed in hope
Daylight is getting longer! but 30 seconds
In sub-zero temps, one can suffer frostbite
Still, seed catalogs have not stopped arriving!
Some companies sending their 3rd plea
I rely on genetics instincts tell me I have
Survived this before, and staring at the sun
With eyes closed awaits!
If I can survive the final quarter
If
I
Can
Survive
The
Final
Quarter
March '19
Not yet long into the night, a translucent mist hovers,
cold as it settles upon the fine hairs.
Runty knobs form along the exposed skin,
an insufferable chill has come to the Quarter.
Secured dwellings sheltering those from who prey in the dark,
prowling the vulnerable, pilfering life from the innocent.
Gas streetlights lay witness to this harrowing theater,
stretching shadows, slithering the alleys for a pristine morsel.
Moist from a recent offering, hunger demands fruition,
devouring the still beating heart prolongs one's existence.
Gnawing at the bone, consuming of the flesh,
ensuring nourishment 'til the next illuminating full Luna.
Before the dawn reveals this carnage of the night,
a solitary horse drawn cart wanders the curbs,
collecting the discarded remains of those ravaged,
harboring the rumors only locals know to be true.
Awaiting the ensuring engorged orb,
I endure, I thirst, I hunger.
Uruguay 0 - France 2
Uruguay bad day
Les Bleus take total control-
France-Belgium showdown
Brazil 1 - Belgium 2
Brazil's own-goal gaffe
brilliant Belgium bests Brazil...
Belgium comes of age
Sweden 0 - England 2
Swedes hit Pickford wall
England's clean sheet victory
"...coming home" -maybe
Russia 2 (3) - Croatia 2 (4)
Russia's journey ends
Croatia show nerves of steel...
showdown with England
your breakin my heart
amelia needs a gum store
downtown,on the set
Silently my mind drifts,
what happen?
only god knows,
I thought I heard a knocking,
then a whisper,
but was too sleepy to answer.
I wander through the busy towns,
viewing man’s midnight secret.
magnificent, gliding with the night,
when your eyes are closed.
Suddenly a knock on the door,
pulling me breathlessly from my cotton quilt,
my neighbor I supposed lost her keys,
hammering loudly, the echoing sounds woke everyone.
The confusion of the night hunts my soul,
I traveled back and forth over this land,
finding dark troubles struggling in my hands.
Exhausted by its power I tried to sleep,
but the night crept slowly away from me.
I slipped into a shallow slumber.
Again my eyes open slowly with the door,
a ghost must have entered,
I am sure,
No, it was my roommate returning from her nightly chores.
She slammed the door inflicting more pain to my sleepless soul.
Sleep is such a gentle thing,
but it is so hard for me.
I could hear every laughter and chatter of the construction men
working in the gutter.
I twist and turn in the bed,
but could not find a comfortable place for my head
as I pulled the cover over my face,
the alarm clock rings.
©2013 Christine Phillips
A staunch Hillary
Supporter so had to give
Campaign a quarter.
Jim Ho Ho Horn
to Andrea.
So would you say this:
Haiku has been in
Completely correct format
The way I see things.
If not, how should I
change it?