Best Raked Poems
just like their love of fifty years
that they held very dear
the lilies and the irises
looked radiant that year.
they had no need to prove their love
just a knowing glance instead
and a gentle squeeze when holding hands
beside their flower bed.
when both felt tired from bending down
and working in the heat
they spoke of seeds and bulbs and things
drinking tea upon the seat.
having rid the soil of all the weeds
he hoed and raked the earth.
the yellow line of daffodils
spoke more than words were worth.
and when their lawn was cloaked in leaves
from the sycamore above
they cursed and sighed just being themselves
in the autumn of their love.
and as he sat there mourning
the passing of his wife
he looked upon the garden as
A CELEBRATION
of her life.
One can hardly take a breath at all
For brilliance splashed against the wall
has reasoned with a summer's soul
and paints the season with vibrant gold
The brittle breeze as evening falls
is mixed with smoke from burning piles
of leaves we raked one afternoon
stacked high with colors bold and wild
Smoke whirls up high above the house
Each silent garden laid to rest,
As the close of day leaves nothing left
but crimson skies, and colors red
We can hear the music of the trees,
with rustling sounds, stained red and tan
While wind seeks out the apple tree,
And scents the air with celestial zest
The mighty oak drops acorns, freed,
Brown squirrels have scurried to their nest
They've stored a harvest from the earth,
We'll watch as geese form silhouettes
And when the trees are barren branched,
A world takes rest, to start anew
While autumn prances through the hills,
With stain ablaze in amber hues
The heart is filled with peace of mind,
As embers warm our home tonight
While weary gather near the flame,
This year at end, we bid adieu
One can hardly take a breath at all
For brilliance splashed against the wall
Has reasoned with a summer's soul
To paint the season edged in gold ......
__________________________________
10/27/16
Contest: Autumn Fire
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
I feel like I am fading away to nothing,
blending into an ordinary crowd,
where no one even notices me anymore.
Like an April snowflake, freely falling, landing on warm cement.
And, fading away with a short existence.
Or, an August raindrop in a passing storm,
dripping onto dry, weathered porch steps,
soaking into the wood grain, absorbing the very life of me.
Eventually leaving nothing behind.
Or like autumn leaves,
that once shined like gold in an October sunset,
now slowly withering and drifting to the ground
only to be raked aside,
or blown away to who knows where.
I feel like I am fading away to nothing.
A reflection in a mirror, that I can no longer recognize.
I don't want to be forgotten, especially to myself.
Like a lost spirit that no one can see, or even knows exists.
I'm dying out like the last spark of a flickering candle.
And evaporating into thin air like melting wax.
Like a piece of colored paper left in the sun's rays,
losing it's original brilliance, day by day,
the longer it is left there,
like no one cares about it anymore.
Or more like a bright helium balloon that escaped
from a crying child's hand
drifting away and out of my reach, gone with the wind
And, disappearing into the clouds forever.
Fading away to nothing.
Far, far out at sea one day
A Hummingbird so found its way
To roost upon my pulpit rail
And thus decided it would stay
Never through my years at sail
Had I seen a hummer male
So many miles off the coast
Now bound with me into a gale
All day long he kept his post
Thus, to be a decent host
I prepared some nectar, warm
(Tho' he liked my tea the most)
I worried he might come to harm
As we had sailed into a storm
But soon he found his way below
And hid until the winds were calm
When the squall had ceased to blow
And sun had set with afterglow
Up he came to perch and see
The phosphorescent undertow
All those weeks far out at sea
No better friends had we, than we
A steady thrum of wings, I heard
As always, he stayed close to me
Then, nearing harbor it occurred
I hadn't seen my Hummingbird ...
So odd, the ache that raked my soul
Eyes stinging as my vision blurred
'Twas many years, that, now I'm old
How often I've that story, told ...
Yet more, the times I've looked to sky
For hummer wings, so bright and bold
And should I spot that bird a-high
I pray he'll linger, bye-and-bye
For I've not known a better friend
Nor greater need to blot my eye ...
Our souls were kin ... wee bird and I.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Devotion To Ocean" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
(This is a form of Rubaiyat I've been playing with that I call "Echoing Rubaiyat", and it carries the rhyme of line three to the next stanza - AABA, BBCB, CCDC, DDED, etc.).
autumn fills sparse spaces we occupy,
seasonal change that closes in like shutters
briskly paced days of chilling charm
leaves dropping like wooing words of fidelity
leaves that flatten the ground in patterns
displacement
in re-configuring trees
purposeful moves to rake stained prints of color into piles
rhythmic strokes that quicken in musty air
tedious chore to some
to me, contemplation
buoyant day dreams
my raked pile of impressions
leaves tumbling over the ground like memories
of lost days
some marked by brown edges with black blotches
some colored vibrant, in reds and yellows
like victory
I drop backwards into a stacked pile
autumn's luminous shred
ragged cohorts
withering in traces of unease
that touches me like absence
I rise up
gaze at the approaching clutch
when clouds weigh the shambling sky in gray
when cyclic tales take green to red-flamed lineage
capricious leaves
fall
in the irrefutable tow of change
Poem composed: September 13/2022
With no cover ups, let me be frank
At times my mind goes utterly blank.
When I sit down to write a poem
From topic to topic, my mind does roam
But nothing comes to spark off a rhyme
Often I feel the words do not chime
Today as I sat down to write something,
I ended up conjuring nothing.
No thoughts came to stir up my brain
And no topic I found- save my strain.
But I wasn’t ready to willfully give up
And waited impatient for my mind to clear up
I thought I shall settle with ‘Compassion’
But alas, it was charged with no passion.
The urge to write had grown into a fad
And I felt I was growing altogether mad
Feeling feverish with a compelling obsession
I was moving to a state of aggression
Driven by a fiery fancy to express
And a tormenting desire unable to suppress
With a mental state somewhat fierce
I climbed up and down the stairs.
I stood upside down and raked my head
So that a little poem, into it would be fed
Feeling dizzy, I stood suddenly upright
But on my head hung a heavy weight
I poured some water over my head
But knew my fever hadn’t fled
Madly pacing across the room
I tripped and fell down on a broom
Rising, I screamed with all my might
Making the household ring in fright.
‘What the hell is it?’ I did shout
And wriggled in pain as from gout
In mad frenzy, I ran round the house
No one knew the reason for my fuss
Soon it dawned on me that I needed some rest
For I was far more than stressed
So I sat down and closed my eyes
Thinking, attempting to squeeze out a poem is unwise.
I don’t know how long I sat in meditation
On waking up I got a fresh direction
From the grip of an entangling rigor
I restored my sanity and vigor
The sun had gone out of sight
And the moon was beautiful and bright
It was already growing late
And I put off my futile fight.
Sand in sheets
scuffing skin and reminding
last nights attire reaks like bonfire
a hundred days like this
a sea of endless laughs rolling
like filmreels infinitely looped fantastic
Their cars rolled in, shiney and pretentious
personalized plates waxed clever wit
crowding this small town to gloat in sand-side castles
Yacht club yucks shelling bucks like bayou crayfish
condescending, fun loving, brash Chicago touristas
Bless their daughters who filed in sassy
chin up, chest out trustafarians
scents of coconut lotion and clinique perfume
wafting through our warm lake breeze reality
Giddy and loving our rough edged style
intending to slum with townies, like we minded...
smiles glowing in those bonfire nights
mischievious and promising...
Every action thereafter defied catholic school education
...benificiaries of repression rebellion...like we minded!
Lake Michigan was paces from my bedroom window
These sparrow serenaded mornings..
...morphing into something amphibious
when the alewives were raked, we lay lazy
Bodies melted into sand~~ sated with sun
splashing back to cool off in sandbars
coolers anchored in those cool waters
taking long pulls off a perspiring Heineken
Beach days concluded with seagulls off to hunt
Squaking as they ascended into pink and orangecicle skies
The water shimmered like a million illuminated snakes
...side winding-mirrored the suns final say
Couples pulled up to Harbor landing to see the show
heads melted into one mass in windshields all around
lovers seeing nature's beauty more vibrant as lovers do...
The sunset brings a new purple backdrop
squaks are replaced with crickets chirps
Bright-then-fading green...BRIGHT-then fading green
Children gathered fireflies in jars laughing
Ice cream stained faces aglow with captive glee
Then to black and star filled, became the sky
we returned to cooler sand pushing between our toes
scurrying through dunegrass seeking driftwood and brush
creating a structure to take to flame...a science for proud boyscouts
There we gathered with newfound gals from cross lake 'burbs
sunrise would end our night tonight...awaking to lifeguards scolding.
Inspired by John Heck's Summer Contest!!
Oh baneful yellow Moon in fullest rounded sphere,
Bright as Summers Buttercups in abundant yield,
Coldly riveted upon Winters beaten, thin silvered panels;
Thereof: By ye mighty hammer doth great thoth wield!
For what fearful trowel gouged out thine far flung valleys
Whilst piling high upon yon monstrous heights?
Wherest, scattering the bare pebbles, a ghostly sower
Coursing across vast cratered plains under Selenian moonlights.
Here once didst thou swelling tides ever invade long vanished shores
Dragged upon by some dwindling, exploded, far distant star;
An atmosphere girdling, warming and nurturing -
Torn from this barren rock and cast way out afar!
Eternally ostracized and deviled, adorned in black swirling robes;
Drifting angular grains heaped - raked by hot solar winds;
Your desolate kingdoms lit in all seasons under heavenly lanterns;
Worshiped and foully cursed upon: for any amount - and all manner of sins.
And ere did erstwhile lovers that ever come forth on bended knee,
To traverse the pale beams that twist about the crooked stiles,
Pledge well intended oaths beneath high, impossible windows:
Their grandly draped balconies and balustrades bathed in luminosities wiles.
When across the recorded centuries of histories misted-veiled years,
from the quill of the old sage, from the high lilt of the bard,
Your pensive countenance disaffected and of a cheerless tilt -
Hanging upon sharply crested vestiges of reckless disregard!
My feet are cold; my tiredness lingers;
My back aches from stooping so low.
Dampened by the frigid water below,
I breathed warmth into my numbing fingers.
Again, I dipped my shovel into the coarse gravel
Of the stream dredging up with a gurgle
A mixture of pebbles and sand;
Into a bucket I poured it, firsthand.
In this wilderness I'm not alone, there's bear.
Mindful I am of the sounds around me;
A churning stream, rustling leaves, an elk groan,
Snapping twigs, anything that would put a scare
Or raise my hair. I looked around for a tree,
Somewhere to flee before darkness set in.
Not far from here, I spied a log cabin.
Into this stronghold I placed my supplies;
Nature's calm was just a disguise.
I latched its massive door; and bolted each shutter.
In its stone hearth, I started a fire;
Basking in its warmth worries melted like butter.
Outside, darkness enveloped the cabin;
Strong claws raked its walls peeling away its skin;
Relentless growling resonated through the dusty din.
Suddenly, I awoke huddled next to a glowing flashlight.
Shivering against the muddy walls of a beaver's lodge,
I could hear the bear feverishly ripping
Through the muddy grass, and the disjointed timbers
Above me. Deep beneath the surface darkness arrived
Just, as my flashlight flickered, then died.
No one really knows what will be at the end
of a rainbows colorful blend.
Many may say there's gold in a pot,
But others, like me, would think not.
It could be anything, anything at all!
Maybe jewels, stacked 10 feet tall!
Or your favorite food, freshly baked,
or a garden full of flowers, newly watered and raked.
But maybe, it wouldn't be so grand.
It may just be the chance to stand
in the rainbow itself; to feel its glow,
as you stare in wonder, so now you know
take nothing for granted, even in the slightest!
But enjoy every experience at its brightest.
Though there may not be riches and gold
you now have many memories to be told!
So just remember,
That a rainbow's treasure
is nothing more than beauty at our fingertips.
That was the day we played all day outside
And ride imaginary stick horses around
Shooting and shouting as if our lungs was rawhide
It was in imagination that the fun abound
That was the day the house seemed in disrepair
Furniture and boxes all out of place
Chaos reigned while mama cleaned everywhere
Leaving germ and dirt without a trace.
I thought of mama today as I watched you clean
Remembered how we would wipe our foot
On the little mat, but mostly could not dare go in
As if we were the grime or the cause of soot
Food would only come when mama took a break
But not before dark and howling belly turned
Play into night, and after the yard was swept and raked
Something about you in mama I'd discerned.
What was all that cleaning just to be clean, I ask
Or was it a search for something missing here
What deeper motive had the highly honored task
What coin, or sheep, or son hid behind the tear
What golden fleece or grail to you both have been lost
I know mama cleaning searched for meaning here
As if sin was something we could see like life's dross
As if to seek was the magic bullet for man's despair.
O something about you remind me of mama, my dear
And childhood comes rushing back in floods
Two sparse rooms and five pieces of furniture there
While we chased butterflies from dying buds
You are different though, for you have allowed us in
Watching our eyes to tell you of missing spots
But we just laugh and tell long tales while you clean
Life is too short to search or go connecting dots.
The first weakening of night
picks out telephone lines,
black against sky.
The eyelid of a garage door
lurches laboriously up.
A car coughs blue breath.
With aerosols and plastic scrapers
clandestine delights of frostwebs
are raked to chemical sludge.
Starter motors whine.
Windscreens cloud with pain.
Gears grind teeth.
An electric train
gingerly
utters inarticulate from the sheds,
groaning over cold joints.
Thinking grimly
of tunnels ahead,
it flares with ill-humor
crossing the points.
On unworked land beside the track,
a fox is heading home.
Gliding through
beneath the "keep out" sign,
he grins at the engine,
which just judders along,
headlights trained
on parallel lines
which glint ahead,
reflecting lurid signal red,
extending out, but never meeting,
towards the vanishing point.
You start out green and new, as a brand new shoot, nurtured by a ‘Loving Mother Tree,’ and surrounded by lush, growing sibling leaves all
In relative, naive Harmony.
You mature and grow into The Most Beautiful Version of Yourself, peaking a little too early, given the length of your life cycle.
After you’ve served Your Purpose (you were never told what it was), your kindly mother turns on you;
Once she nurtured you, watered you, and warmed you by sunlight.
You were whole and thriving and complete.
Now, She cuts off these vital nutrients.
All of a sudden, you’re given no light, no food, no water.
And no answers about WHY.
Your sibling leaves are going through a similar situation,
So they are of very little use to you.
Frankly, they’re every bit as confused as you.
You slowly starve and dry up until you’re officially “desiccated.”
Then, the Mother Tree drops you.
The winds of change blow you onto a completely random path, forcing you to intermingle with leaves you don’t even know,
Making one last splash as “fall foliage,”
Which you don’t even enjoy because you look so differently than you did in your prime , you barely recognize yourself anymore.
The next thing you know, you’re 5 miles down the road, in a Stranger’s yard (not even a nice one),
Being raked into giant piles and stuffed into suffocating black garbage bags,
Kicked to the curb to ferment a little while, and then
Carted off by some rather grubby-looking men to be burned and cremated.
By that point, you welcome it.
Damp evening wanes over the hills
To trail away, so far from sight
My burnt eyes watch a hollowed dusk
Evanescing into the night :
Our deep affection takes a leave
For it’s wartime… and off you go,
While petals drop their silhouettes
Against ache of hours’ afterglow.
My raking breath withdraws from me,
Like raked twilight’s painful behest
When nothing but our love endures;
As seasons drown this empty nest…
TILL your lively voice peals to call,
Igniting wait of ardor's sway--
How immeasurable rapture
Greets evensong and fate, halfway!
~*~
10/1/2017
Love for Movie Screens :A Silent One Contest
Looking through the bookshelves, a homemade book, he chose
Found trapped within the pages he came upon a faded red rose
Flatten down with care now faded in colour, more so in its scent
Memories such of a time, so long ago that to himself only it lent
It came from a happy home; a home, cherished made with love
Every crevice packed with loving items, as fitting all like a glove
With a garden full of noises with songbirds they did forever sing
On these evenings roll calls scents from the flowers so often ling
All crafted; by a man to perfection, all made to the one he loved
Not once another person, nor idol to his wife, did ever set above
There was nothing he wouldn’t do; to him it was a toll well spent
To share with his fair maiden; who was to him, truly heaven sent
Their home a range of seductive aromas as a good woman baked
As scents of fresh green grass cut that he meaningful then raked
A garden, and a home once filled with laughter as children galore
With a hollow sadness, wasn't that some sixty-five years or more
Silence befalls this home, now except for, the creaking of the gate
No more idle down songbirds as the evening now draws to its fate
The old man; now restful in his chair, the book between his hands
Memories as forgotten now remembered he now fully understands
His weary sunken eyes slowly closing; are about to open no more
Over the rooftops, and, beyond the chestnut trees his spirit soars
No more idle down songbirds as the evening now draws to its fate
Silence befalls this home, now except for, the creaking of the gate
Indiana Shaw . . . -_-