Best Quintilla Poems
Butterflies on our lemon tree,
Flirting with its leaves, flitting free,
Brushing it here, kissing it there,
What a cute romantic affair!
A "kaleidoscope" I foresee!
{A group of butterflies is also known as a "kaleidoscope"}
Season of death kisses in hues,
of gold, auburn and blood red views.
Cold air wraps around like a quilt.
Morbid clouds veil my sun with guilt.
As tears hide within misty dews.
Puffs of ash float in moods of mourning.
Heart sighs as thunder echoes in screams.
Lightning strikes as birds chirp a warning.
Puffs of ash float in moods of mourning,
as last rose wilts with no more forming.
Tears of rain reflect through broken dreams.
Puffs of ash float in moods of mourning.
Heart sighs as thunder echoes in screams.
Haunted eyes hide pain
when all's lost in vain.
My soul yearns for spring,
for joys blue skies bring.
Quintilla - Triolet - Jueju
Little droplet
your time is near,
never fear,
be part of it.
Fall into the great ocean
your conscious way,
unconscious stay,
Nature's final notion.
Lean back
let it go,
it happens so,
embrace the black.
Droplet make a tiny splash.
Whisper in your Bardo ear,
till you're no longer here,
and flesh turns to simple ash.
So sleep little droplet,
how sweet the dew.
To love it and live it
and to start anew.
My drunkard muse can be a curse.
Pouring shots full of poetry,
craving a sober history.
Tipsy rhymes reverb in reverse,
so ink's teetotal in free verse.
Without a Doubt
I’ve seen your yellow underbelly now
and there’s no denying or going back
a solid moral compass is what you lack
this country torn, breaking bodies bough
with deaths and sorrows piled upon your brow
lying and cheating is what you are about
it’s putting our people into the ground
a civil war is brewing to bring you down
we must fight back with you to end this bout
it’s time to vote for sanity without a doubt
It’s not so hard to do your smallest part
just wear the mask so you and I can pass
would certainly make you less of an ass
and show you have some care kept in your heart
to give your country a bit of a kick start
in sadness and anger I feel ashamed
to watch your racism - hatreds disdain
as white men’s greed carries its ugly stain
I’m glad we’re rising up to stand inflamed
no longer can we heal the wrongs restrained
rain washes away all sorrow
so there's rosier tomorrow
when pearl dreams unfurl empty lies
sparks of fireflies design my skies
as cosmic crystals I’ll follow
A stealthy tiger stalks his prey
His eyes alight with cunning gleam;
And tho' the world may peaceful seem
The lissome springboks graze and play --
The danger lurks, not far away
He crouches low, his muscles taught
While calculations fill his mind
The perfect arc of force to find;
His quarry, still without a thought
Of what design the tiger sought
The tiger springs, the creatures flee
His mighty limbs with awesome force
Perform their planned and deadly course;
Now lies the springbok piteously
Forever torn from things that be
And o'er his corpse presides the prince
His solid jowls bespecked with blood
His razor claws in crimson flood;
He glories in these trickling glints
That show his skill in ruby tints
And when the prince has et his fill
The birds descend to eat the rest
To feed the young ones in the nest;
But on the tiger roams at will
He's free to wander, hunt, and kill
Written on the twenty-eighth of July, 2013
Where dawn is born and clouds are spun
To clothe the sky in golden lace,
The sea ignites as currents chase
Soft morning light that's just begun
To wake our love, caught in the sun.
It’s nice to get away
for a few hours or a day
As soft breezes stir night air
And salty mist clings to your hair
Stirring memories of Adolescence at play.
It’s nice to have the chance
to hear the song, to do the dance
And though we far exceed our prime
We light our path with love, stopping time
stopping space, and fuel the flame of our romance.
It’s nice in morning rain
to find that spot on memory lane
To look at who, what, where we are from.
While waves and breeze and the noonday sun
Sooth and calm, tan, bleach and burn away our pain.
It’s nice to turn away
From the things old and gray;
And we miss those times at the shore.
But truth is, we like our life now lots more
And we won’t trade tomorrow for all of yesterday
Feb 21 2010 Charles Henderson
The blood and lapis daylight sets
in ether. How the mind resets
brutality of winter chill
with February's codicil;
what gossamer a dream begets.
I hear the crickets in the dark,
their clicking takes up where the lark
has been. The flagrant marigolds
have huddled into twilight's folds,
on sanguine nightfall to embark.
The eastern zephyrs fall and rise
with rapid movement of my eyes
and echo whispers midnight makes
of blood white trails on moonlit lakes.
In silhouette I recognize
a dogwood, though can only sense
its glowing coral consequence.
The blossoms tell me they comprise
sweet spawn of sun rays in disguise
and capture all my heartbeats hence.
Now honeysuckle is entwined
on crisscrossed pathways of my mind
with jasmine in a potpourri
to conjure shamrock reverie
that leaves the pewter scape behind.
Around the lambent dogwood tree
alone upon that verdant lea
buds can prosper, bees will hum.
As though seduced by opium
I greet a vista I can't see,
at least not quite. I know it's there
and feel the dogwood everywhere,
behind me, flanking left and right,
an omnipresence in the night,
like answers to unconscious prayer.
Now high upon a clovered scarp
the tree is standing clear and sharp.
In silence I see restless blooms
play music that my ear assumes
is chiming dulcet as a harp.
Such Efflorescent star bursts splay
like windmills on a gusty day
that in ebullience do portend
a vibrance that will never end
and all my reticence allay.
In waking to a winter storm
that's February's gelid norm
I long still for my fulgid tree,
resplendence that surrounded me,
but only meet a turbid swarm.
I rise and pull back hermit drapes
to see the torrid flurries traipse,
yet through the chaos can discern
the leafless frame for which I yearn
beyond the window storming scrapes.
The dogwood stands just as before
unclad upon the icy moor
with nascent berries undeterred
as though through humble verse and word
like daylight through an unclosed door.
2/23/18
Strength Thru Adversity
Gregory R. Barden
Encased in earthen form, I rise,
held chest-tight with fear my eyes belie.
Tumbled stone and ancient steps so steep,
lead to a mound and valley deep
where I let loose my song to sky.
The song resounds from crag to peak
a lonely echo blue on green.
The soulful song from quartz careens
and shames the hillside cold cheek
returning brazen, seldom meek.
For once sent forth, it must return,
its formless flight, a brief sojourn,
A repetition not unique,
a hollow copy which respeaks
of lovers lost and trust unearned.
Boomerrang Contest
Trumpeting sounds of elephants
Pleasant rides, tricks, and children’s chants
In a place called Thailandia
The tourists come from Sandia
They visit their uncles and aunts
Ride the bulls, play, touch, watch them paint
Unaware of treatment, restraint
A few people saw the dark side
The brutal industry must hide
You are led into tours quite quaint
Taken away from her mother,
Trained to toil for another
Enslaved as a beast of burden
Sweet baby calf called Lily Len
White as milk, she’s like no other
Len’s father a combat hero
And although she would never know
He, equipped with iron armor
Knee pads, and sounds of drums of war
Strongest was he, true warrior
In colorful costume adorned
For royals to ride she was born
Her spine aches, he is too much weight
Len resigned to this awful fate
Between two worlds she is now torn
Crying for a hopeful sign
Recalls Airvata the divine
He, the legend water child
Len prays to him so beguiled
And in her sleep their souls align
Airvata reaches down with his trunk
To the underworld she’d been sunk
Sucked up and sprays her in a cloud
Awakened she feels safe and proud
Happily sprayed with muddy gunk
Separated at birth, now three
Len is saved, taken to Nuwee
A lovely rainforest in Lanark
Near a river, Phant’s Nature Park
Where she washes, where she roams free
I sauntered in an evening mist
A midnight's heaven, magic-kissed
Lamp-lit raindrops pattered, awesome
Shining city turned violet blossom
Enchantments I could ne'er resist.
Adrift upon the Paris, proper
Wandered I, a Yankee pauper
Until a Latin damsel's ride
Paused, as she pulled me inside
(Not that I had mind to stop her).
Away, into another world
She and I were thusly hurled
A night of excess, spinning fast
Absinthe sweetened our repast
As did lips, and tresses, curled.
Club-to-club we smartly hopped
More green nectar if we flopped
Pushing tenders to their rations
Just to fuel our backseat passions
On-and-onward, 'til we dropped.
All seems dream now, in my mind
Still, I'd swear that when we dined
Famous folks from ages hence
Were with us for our merriments
And all the mischief we could find.
The best of writers in their day
Zelda, F. Scott and Hemingway
Gertrude Stein and Porter, Cole
Pined, polemic, from their soul
Life and love, the friendly fray.
No discourse was too far-fetched
Others, too, who talked and sketched
Pablo Picasso and Gauguin, Paul
Dali and Man Ray, surrealists all
On, the wilding hours stretched.
Ever poured the emerald potion
Crazy cogs in constant motion
Clouding, thick, the mental fog
Far beyond the hair-of-dog
Glasses raised for every notion.
Thus it passed 'til all went black
Awaking days hence in my sack
Believing now that all these things
Were just a night's meanderings
Or the ramblings of a maniac.
I set my mind to purge it all
Grabbed my phone to make a call
Then spotted on my bed, a note
Within the pocket of my coat
So I crumpled it into a ball.
You see, I recognized the write
I'd seen it on that misty night
When, with absinthe, we'd our fill
And Hemingway had signed the bill.
So I sauntered off into the night ...
Too scared to find out ... if I was right.
* FOURTH PLACE in the "Dreams" Poetry Contest, Nayda Ivette Negron, Sponsor. *
Wondrous reigns the gift of your trait
To build future on strengths innate;
Knowing ticks of time rule your day
Don't just dawdle on aimless way
Strive now to mold shape of your fate.
September 13, 2021
Form: Quintilla
Eight syllables per line
Cork of my life, sheer pain in vain,
Rode with me upon a fast train;
Not far could I go, though I tried
For it blocked my path, hurt my pride;
Yet, tricking my brain, smile I feign.
November 29, 2019
Five word challenge poetry contest
Sponsor: Beth Evans
8 syllables per line (howmanysyllables.com)