Best Rakes Poems
Where is the love you promised us always? Eternal love is
cast out of heaven for the angelic it seems—Quote by poet
It burns deeply knowing our ways of love aren’t angelic
Love’s awe emerges then torn apart as old as a Christian relic
It seems true that blessed love can only abide in its
eternal among the angels above and only in the purest spirits
We mortals find the gift of love can be difficult at best
Echoing passions of no forevers with no peace or rest
Awaiting parting and its end with such sweet sorrows
Pink coral sunsets no longer signs of golden tomorrows
To paraphrase Shakespeare’s sonnet, love which burns
brightest tends to dim the quickest—coal rakes and it churns
inside informing me that our ways of love are not angelic
Just to discover true love is as rare as a lost and sacred relic
Your pace of life is just sublime
When blessed with seasons, wet and warm
With foliage and fungi, you mark your time
A gastropod; a handsome form
As your journey is marked with a trail of slime
I wish you well, as you perform
O slink away from the hearty hedgehog
Spread word of your foes with silent talks
Avoid beer traps, salt piles, the brazen frog
And gardeners with their rakes and forks
I know every journey's a slow footslog
So, use well those tentacles and fine eye stalks
Poisonous air streams down
As plastic-laden waters choke
Fishes and Universal Motion's glow ...
So much has changed through time,
I wail against slow death of UV skin,
while plundered Mother Earth rakes
in her once fertile womb...
yet indifferent hearts care not,
incensed by greed and unrecyled junk.
O children listen; build a new earth,
Let your palms turn soil into a fertile bed;
And allow the forest to stand tall, uncut
By gifting them with a cleaner environ;
That each gracious deed will find blessings
Copious from heavenly skies.
Until each hour breathes through
A fragrance of one taintless expanse, blue.
This wide universe is our home,
Our manna of fields for every mouth,
And pure rain cooling quiet nightfall
With daylight's pattern soothing din;
To hail nature, may it never come to an end
As Spirit's Love refills our dreams!
Thomas Martin's STUFF
6/19/2015
In the summer Hot Weather, is the season of expressing the ultimate calamity of days of
unbearable treasure. The measure of pleasure is fullfill as the season soon turns bitter
cold. And now we prepare ourselfs for a new-season, a new direction as we get use to the
change in the atmosphere we give respect to the fact that, "Everything is Everything".
That an awsume creator in his infanite wisdom rain comes in all seasons and snow comes
in one season of Winter. I can remember the fun throwing snowball fights I share with my
brother and sisters and my friends growing up. The tree's change nothing seem to be the
same. Yes the cold-winter was cold, but they drifted apart, going in their different direc-
tion their shelter of protection is their own choosing, and we soon started our own fam-
ilie's, "still the season, brought on a much appreachable change". In the fall, we pull out
the rakes and we were given responsibilitie's to keep the yard neat and tiny. "Everything is
Everything", do you remember a season that you-not remember when you began to change.
Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall all you have to do is call, and I'll be there yes I will cause
you got a friend. "Why do those moment seem forgotten", WHY... well those moments may-
be found through your kid's and your kid's are the moments you taught them to get up when
they fall. The season not to walla about everyday crisis is the moments that appears dim
and a season of Uplifting decorum is in all due season. At every believer's front door and
non believers too, is a season that the creator manifested you to be awear and that you
be the one to take everything to GOD in prayer: "Just because the weather turns cold
from the season that it was hot", "it rains on the just and the unjust, in all in all don't for-
get that friendship is the bond that glues the reasons to grap the loose change...
In all due season, "Everything is Everything".
Love too all that keeps the main
thing the main thing!!!.. `Cheryl
doll33` "Everything is Everything"
By 3 a.m. he often would awake
I’d feel the bed shake. . .
shake. . . shake. . .
He’d say my name and ask:
Are you awake?
I knew inside he quaked. . .
quaked. . . quaked. . .
He could not sleep, so nor could I.
The essence of his being ached. . .
ached. . . . ached. . .
I only could console; I could not kill
that awful pain that rakes. . .
rakes. . . rakes. . .
The snake invades one’s brain to
poison sleep. Maliciously it waits. . .
waits. . . waits. . .
until the darkened morning
when it creeps.
He’d weep, and for his sake
I’d pray. . . for day.
Written about my husband when his depression/anxiety were very bad at one time.
Married for eternity to the cool earth.
So difficult to think about my beautiful flower.
Surrounded by jagged rocks and cold rainwater.
Your sweet petal skin forged from angelic mint.
Devoured by an eternity of unforgiving darkness.
You were my rosy mist, a thorny blitz.
That briefly brushed and teased relentlessly.
A heart that always listed toward your hurt.
Your impulses drifted toward the others.
Leaving those sharks with just a taste of "it".
But wine, wings and blood are never to be gulped.
Only very gently kissed and sipped...
That's why I know the color of the dark you wear.
The clack of rocks that crown your forever lair.
Now I put my hands together, oh no not in prayer.
But to warm the devilish earth,
that rakes the stain of time into your angelic hair.
Christmas eaves’ drop - red and green leaves of pre-December.
The snow-white clouds, the beard of Santa Claus’ pre-remember.
The elves are surely hammering
whilst Mrs. Claus is yammering.
The yawning of maples and oaks ‘fore their pre-sugar-plum dream.
Boughs with wrappings held high in the pre-burr of holiday theme.
The silver bells are jingling
whilst Mrs. Claus is mingling.
The squirrels gathering chestnuts - heading for the pre-open fire.
This is the time of cheer when old white men are on pre-hire.
Elves in the North Pole, serious
whilst Mrs. Claus is merrily delirious.
Milk, cookies, hot chocolate - cupped, shaped, pre-bakes.
The crisp, grim, lake of late Autumn leaves, Daddy rakes.
From bed, whoops an early “ho-ho-ho!”
whilst Mrs. Claus helps Santa glow.
11/4/2022
Time and tide again waits for no man
tempest-tossed upon life’s billow
The hull or the dinghy
Serves as a fortress
Though steady on its keel
Knocked his wits and sense
As he vacillates between levity and despair
Caused by his unbridled folly
He rakes the moon from out of the sea
A gust of air blew
It tethered him to flee
All you see is overcast
Knots, tiller, hatch, or helm
Love’s killer patch, overwhelm
Derelict in a sense
A castaway float astray
Break the resolve
Of a man who once vowed
to never sail again
But the songs of the nymphs
Was beckoning him
Is there something alluring
or is he just lonely?
Can't find comfort in the stillness
With every beating on the mast
Fate on the tide
Because not once, not twice
But several times
he almost drowned
He was lost at sea
His curse muffled
No stir in the air
He was peeled
And like the tales of sailormen,
She suddenly appeared
Like white foam
She ribboned the blue sky
The clouds drifts idly
As if they haven’t heard
Not a stirring breeze
But her ravenous rage
Devoured him
With rapacious eagerness
Lapping at his ballast
A violent wind is no match
To a careless sail man
in the middle of a stormy sea
He tasted the saltiness
And remembered the breath of his past
As he found himself washed ashore
He was saved at last
But he was looking for more
Despite the warning from the weather lore
And like the wind,
She whips a howling dance
As sea and sky make love
She could not calm her frenetic ire
It stirred something in him
It hit him like a squall
Once again he takes the plunge
Stupid as he is
To find himself once again
Sailing in the storm
Amidst the tempestuous sea
Evening gray and morning red
He could only wish he was dead.
All hands on deck
And as he chants
Red sky in the morning
Serves as warning
Red sky at night sailors delight
Her crimson lips parted
As she said,
"Evening red and morning gray,
help the traveler on his way.
Evening gray and morning red
bring down my wrath upon his head".
I hover back and forth under a dim lamp
Waiting for his grip to open the door;
My breath pulses at a beloved’s sight
As one circle of tear envelops these eyes--
That my body melts away... down to its core
When nights faraway plead for his return.
Though a soldier’s toil rakes a heart in silence
Never can love be more intensely pure...
For he is an eternal fire, a song, a universe
Ordained by destiny to cradle life’s hours;
Commanding time its unfolding of our dreams—
I am his soul-woman, the moonglow amidst tempest
While he, he protects me with his blood
The rush of zeal on ember and quietude,
Cherishing my essence with reverence...
In devout fervor, he saves me from the darkness
Of waiting through long evening’s haul---
And into the gloam of morning, I breathe him in as mine.
---------------
07/04/2019
Slave To Love Contest sponsored by John Hamilton
Soft flurries, at dawn,
spurred on by wind;
the blow and drift
of twilight’s whiteout blizzard.
Achoo, here we go;
how ravenous the roses.
Red petals tickle schnozes.
Earth in royal bloom.
Flopping into the pool,
tummy trouncing off water,
red, white and blue -
colors of American hero.
Loving cup of leaves,
dancing and romancing fools.
Oaks baring their souls.
Rakes vowing, “I do.”
That is Some Hydraulic Brakes
One day at a food shop,
I met a man selling cakes,
For money he wanted to swap,
But I really wanted some hydraulic brakes.
"Got any hydraulic brakes?" asked I.
"For that's how I'll spend my money."
"No hydraulic brakes here!" said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.
"We've got some lovely marbles,
I'll give you a very fine price."
"I'd rather have some barbels."
The man blinked rapidly thrice.
The man seemed exceptionally cunning,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn't what I would call stunning,
The great disdain he noticeably oozed.
Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I'm a bit slim.
Still he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty skim.
So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the food shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearted,
"I can help you I believe."
"Cakes, hydraulic brakes, you shall find.
Marbles, barbels, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to Barker's Market.
So to Barker's Market I decided to go,
In search of the hydraulic brakes I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But I felt that the day could be saved.
There were stalls selling cakes,
Apples in many shades.
There were even stalls selling rakes
People were scattered from many trades
I was greeted by a peculiar lady,
She seemed to be rather slim
I couldn't help thinking she might be quite shady.
I wondered if she was at all skim.
Before I could open my mouth,
She shouted, "For you, I have some hydraulic brakes!"
I headed towards her, to the south,
Past some marbles and cakes.
"But how did you know?" I asked,
"Do you want them or not?" she did say.
Silently, the hydraulic brakes she passed.
Then vanished before I could pay.
As I walked away I hard a crackle
Or was it, perhaps, a hushed cackle?
Solid gray skies
Over daylilies trying to bloom
Several different species so colorful
Open only a day, live life to the fullest
What have I done with my nearly 29,151 days
Birds fly in
Mostly to feed from birdseeds
The feeders need a refill so they can eat
Those birds usually fly in, overfill before a rain
Another day of possible showers so they have to eat
Fresh seed put out
Mockingbirds zoom across flowerbeds
Land, catch a bug, zoom out
Another mockingbird lands on the cement
Bobbles along like a roadrunner
Redbirds flock in
Hit the red feeder that matches his color, perfect camouflage
Boy, he is eating gourmet food
From the buffet
Rakes out what he doesn't like
Sparrows fly in
Feast upon the discarded seed
That landed upon the cement
They gobble up those small seeds
Fill up in just a small amount of time
Female red cardinal
Flies in and lands on a wood feeder, aged, grayed with time
It seems to match her color perfectly
She is harder to see since she blends in
She fills up and flies away
Amazing
No susurrus in the pines
No crows cawing all the time
Just the symphony of songbirds tickling my ears
And the cymbals clanging out woodpecker's notes
A few minutes out on the porch
How it makes my day
Now a zephyr begins to move
Stirring the asparagus and spirea
Wow! A break in the clouds.
The sunlight beams
Casting its morning light
Across my wildest dreams
A flower garden with more plants
To feed the birds, bees and butterflies
Thank you
God for your creation
For your gift of flowers
A mixture of clouds, rain and sunshine
All of life upon this earth
She is quite the Mistress of the air, synchronize swimming where Eagles dare-stare, no need for landing batons or clearance, she has her own flare.
She wraiths the hapless night and the brilliance of day, rakes the sky, knowing her beauty laid, showcased on big screenery-
rewards God with a show bow and cloud kiss of why His All Knowingness plays, ~The Mistress (proud)
Have you ever had a day that you wanted to relive over and over again? A day when the craziness of the world was far behind you? I had a day like that one day. It was the best of memories too. My son and I each got our rakes out. I had my mom-sized rake and my son had his Little Tikes rake. We headed off to the front yard and began to make the most enormous pile of leaves. It was like the most beautiful treasure! Golden, burnt orange, red, and bright yellow leaves from our next door neighbor’s tree. It was the most majestic Maple tree. It showered us with leaves and we poured out of love for each other beneath it. After all our hard work we took about twenty steps away from our newly erected mountain of color. We looked at each other with the most exciting grins. We giggled and yelled “Cowabunga!” We dashed right towards the middle of our treasure chest of leaves and began to laugh so intently as they were caught up in our hair. I just sat there in the leaf pile observing my son. He was the most precious thing in my life. It brings me tears of joy to remember this day. He eventually dashed off towards the house to make himself a cup of hot cocoa. I remained in the middle of the leaf pile just giving thanks to my God for the most incredible day ever!
Gwendolen Rix
10-11-14
WINTER
old folks
warmly dressed
out with rakes and hoes
try to inveigle
a new spring
Dave Austin