Best Recapturing Poems
Tangerine the scene, spilling through this green glass....
Crossing her thighs as she bathes amid love's afterglow
Dare I let Ginger go; knowing insatiable is her hunger ??
Staring outside the window and a sudden knock upon
The red door; deja vu it seems, I have been here before
Familiar this scent while she peers; moors moon brushed
Aside midnight blue with carmine hues, filling her eyes....
Ahhh, but time to loose these binds when the girls enter
Smiling in tune, as slowly sliding across, her fiery flesh
Glowing amid natures splendours; she bending forward
Inquiring unto that my heart; all I could think of although
Were Shakespeare; they reaching for her arching screams
Renaissance recapturing a stained-glass reflection; quoting
Macbeth as I pierced the depths of her sixteenth century....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
...."Mars ~ 'Cat People'" *
Categories:
recapturing, passion,
Form:
My heart skipps a beat,
My mind, on the gorgeous hazel sunfilled eyes of my love,
recapturing the moments in my mind,
where we made love, without making love.
skin pressed to skin,
lips pressed to lips,
eyes never wavering, staring endless;
our voices quiet and weak,
whispering words of compassion true,
through the softly lit moans, crying i love you.
Categories:
recapturing,
Form:
UNFINISHED BUSINESS
©Alfreda Williamson
July 2, 2004
Outside town boundaries,
bustling, noisy din,
Deeply in the serenity of peace, calm,
the country County,
Around a curve, sharp, blind.
There it leaped out at me.
Suddenly, unexpectedly
Catching me off guard,
Not foresightedly, not scary
Just by way of wonderment
. . . why this unfinished business?
The house without its finishings.
. . . It rose up in the trees,
reaching the tops, for two stories,
Sweat/precision/deliberation imputed,
Reaching towards the sun.
Or was it toward a full autumn moon,
Or could it be the direction,
from the ancient star compass.
Harnessing a cloud drifting by, for clearing?
It stood among the ivory,
Entangled, entwined but
Not overgrown, not overtaken.
The roof covered in tin,
The setting for magnificent, earthly,
heavenly sounding of
drenching,/torrential/steady
rain drops.
The windowed eyes of this
Unfinished dwelling,
Finished, painted, shadowed, framed
. . . in pink.
Its back bone wood no longer
yellow /white/beige with youth.
The grey/brown color of rotting age and elements;
. . . time, neglect, exposure
. . . nature scraping and shearing away,
year after year,
after month, after day,
after time.
The frame finished, nearly so,
Peaking spaces left, or now,
There, some frame filling
Having been ripped/rotted
Away for outsiders to look in.
This business unfinished,
And not overtaken,
In the gulf of time.
Nature working reclamation,
Of the space, crawling,
Groundward, upward,
Yet unfinished in recapturing.
This unfinished house, standing
Alone in the word,
Sharing a space with no one
In its place.
The windowed souls,
. . . looking, peeking at
passersby,
driving,
cycling,
running pass,
in a flurry.
This unfinished business,
Begs questioned consideration,
Sufficient structural invitation
? who went there
? what past passed
? why this unfinished business
? when
Where . . .
am I begged to inquire,
invited to draw close?
But I can’t get there.
Though attention drawn,
And pondering invoked.
I can’t finish it,
This business.
By Alfreda Williamson
© July 2, 2004
Categories:
recapturing, introspection, mystery, autumn,
Form:
Narrative
What I Want For Christmas
By Curtis Johnson
I suppose I could use a new pair of pants, a suit of cloths, a coat, or a light jacket. But that is not what I want. I don’t need new front teeth, but I suppose that I’d be happy with a nice new Volvo. But that’s not what I want. So please don’t ask me about needs and wants, because the media keeps me occupied with such things.
When I consider the plight of the lonely, the wounded, and the poor, I suppose that I would be happy if I received nothing at all. I would not complaint if I were simply blessed to be alive, fed, dry, and warm.
It’s Christmas, and there are always many things that people seek. Christmas is a season to draw near, to be dear, and to show love outside of the box. It’s even more meaningful if we keep it simple, avoid all the fuss, the rush, the stress, and maybe spend a little bit less.
There really is something that I would like for Christmas, but it’s more to do with giving to others and nothing to do with personal getting. It doesn’t cost a lot of money or a lot of time; and I don’t have to camp out in front of a store or form a long line. It’s like this: I want to see my family get together on Christmas eve, enjoy one another, have a nice meal, and share a gift or two. I want the satisfaction of knowing that two families in Uganda, Africa will eat on Christmas Day, because my wife and I sent money to them on December 3rd.
Christmas doesn’t have to cost much, if we would stop the rush, and cease buying so much of such and such. This blessed Christmas season, I would like to recapture three captivating moments that I experienced as a little boy at Christmas time.
I would like to recapture the aroma of my mama’s fresh baked cakes and pies at Christmas time. I would like to recapture the magnificent fragrance of apples and oranges throughout our house at Christmas time. And I would like to recapture the pleasant look on my daddy’s face after he had done his best to make all 12 of his children happy at Christmas time.
The blessedness of family life, and being able to give a little love outside the box.
Recapturing the aroma of mama’s baking, the fragrance of fruit, and daddy’s face at Christmas time. Some things in life are costly, but what I want most for Christmas is priceless.
Cj121107
Categories:
recapturing, blessing, childhood, christian, christmas,
Form:
Narrative
Erstwhile his skin was beautiful as an obsidian, with great markings alongside his face, as was the likeness of the Benin people; an imagery so poignant and meaningful.
His shoulders were wide, his back strong and his mind resourceful.
In his quondam years, the mystery of the Niger River had captured his inquisitive soul and inspired his longings to ride the smooth waves in a Pirogue.
A tale far from the likes of any mythical apologue.
The spirit of his graceful and modest mother, who lovingly called him Baako, once hunted his dreams.
On his hard days and nights, his body cried out from pain and his cheeks were forced upon by relentless water streams.
His memory of his proud father of great strength and wisdom once pounded against his brain.
In an everlasting refrain.
Once, with recapturing flashbacks his mind was flooded with the taunting sounds of the water drums and sticcado.
Fast and sweeping rhythmic legato.
And his mind automatically reclaimed images of his village, with its thatched roof huts and rows of lifted cultured soils with beans and yams bedded deep, and grass of deeper green.
And the days long, and the sun harsh and the nights with brilliant white stars that convene.
There, he now lay face down on foreign land with its first winters snow.
With his life source seeping deep and wide into soft crystals giving it a crimson glow.
Tattered clothes revealed his back; etched with brutal markings liking that of an old twisted and leafless tree.
His calloused feet a grayish-blue as the Adriatic sea.
His last breath was a moan for his native land.
The Mother Land.
The harmony of his innate love for his country, his people, and his latent genius and powerful will has been dispersed, wasted and erased.
Categories:
recapturing, death,
Form:
Prose
Proem
After Sir Thomas recovered the Spear of Destiny and returned it to the Pope at the Vatican in Rome, he remained there for several months serving His Excellency, attending meetings, and recovering from several minor injuries sustained while recapturing the Spear that pierced the side of Jesus the Messiah. Sir Thomas could have stayed as a guest of the pope in one of their lush suites, but he chose the bare walls of a guest bedroom at the local Knights Templar castle. The pope then called upon him for his next assignment: Leave Rome immediately, by boat, again, back to Constantinople. “Head off a Scot by the name of Sir Robert Bruce, whom our intel indicates has a map and is currently on his way in search for the Holy Grail. Sir Robert is a stubborn ally. You will help Sir Robert, but convince him that the chalice of Jesus belongs here in Rome.”
Prior to shoving off the west coast of Italy, a few miles from Rome, Sir Thomas wrote the following message, and placed it in a bottle.
______________________________________________________________
A.D. 1301
My dear sweet wife and babe within her womb
The five long years since I had lost you both
I prayed for inner peace despite my joy
You're both in heaven; worship Thee Most High
Because your love exceeds all life itself
My lips will glorify you ever more
I praise you for the rest; my living days
Your name I lift on high with my bare hands
Was on my bed that I remember you
I think of you the watches of the night
The shadow of your wings I cling my soul
The depths of which my sword shall honor thee
I yearn affections taste where two come one
The seed by faith that yields abundant life
Endures celestial kingdom's perfect place
It brings this missive to its endless oath:
To bless, release my restless heart that bleeds
Commit my swords allegiance to the Lord
To you Dagung the earth is smaller still
For every inch be searched to see your face
You disappeared, not dead but still alive
I feel the transom temper my resolve
For in this ship another search begins
The Holy Grail; Dagung I'll find you both
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Postscript
I toss the bottle through the wind to stormy sea
Inside the missive of a knight in love with thee
__________________________________________
Categories:
recapturing, baby, bible, christian, courage,
Form:
Blank verse
Funny face - Funny face
Oh my love..
Oh my baby..
I miss you..
You miss me..
Tickling me from back..
You makes me laugh..
Wind blowing so fast..
And our love last..
Tightly Holding me,
You makes me more crazy..
Not even a single day goes without thinking about you..
24x7 mesmerizing in my mind..
Baby you took my soul away..
Ohh my love..
I need your love babe..
And You know its true..
I miss you..
I miss you..
Ohh my quipster,
Tilting a little, making your eyes come out of soccet..
You winned my heart..
Omg, my happiness is out of bound..
Recapturing those splendid moments..You made me laugh..
Oh my love
I miss you..
I miss you..
Seven days in a week..
Twelve months in a year..
Oh my love
You made me more crazy..
You winned my heart..
Just now can't stay apart..
Bcz I love You..
And I know, You too love me..
Bright light
Bright light..
You hug me tight..
Oh my lady in white..you hug me tight..
Oh my baby, You cast a warm light..
Oh sherin,I need your love babe..
You are the greatest reward of my life..
Blinking eyes of your's when I am flaming in aggression..
Yes you are the one who made me laugh
You won my heart..my mind..
Oh baby I need your love babe..
Ain't got anything blissful, than your love babe!!
Categories:
recapturing, books, for him, friend,
Form:
Acrostic
Sublime hearts entwined two halves of a whole
needing each other staring in wonder.
Never saw beauty till this night's control,
a love swirling round roaring like thunder.
Reddish gold hues peek over the skyline
reflecting my soul cupid's endeavor.
Now the dawns ambush with loves amber wine,
heart lit with ecstasy lost forever.
The pounding of drums as your name lingers
on my lips displacing rainbow sweet hues.
Amazing touches swirl round my fingers
yearning the music I choose not to lose.
In the back seat while idle clouds were low
recapturing past drenched in twilight glow.
1-27-2018
Categories:
recapturing, love,
Form:
Sonnet
Memories of the old dance hall
are sealed in the mind of a middle-aged
bopper who remembers the magic
of Saturday night many years ago when her
date appeared before the door whistling the
latest tune while combing his slick hair looking
handsome in his plaid jacket and freshly
polished white bucks.
The rag-top Chevy had a Saturday
night shine with its loud music playing
from its AM radio while both sat close together
with his arm around her pony-tailed shoulders,
they laughed in love as he peeled rubber at
the traffic light rushing to meet the gang at
Wally's Drive-in for burgers and shakes,
and then on their way to a night of be-bop-a-loopa.
Boarded windows, faded paint, a fallen sign and
unmowed grass are yesterday's memories of a time
when going steady, wearing letter sweaters and
exchanging rings were favorite things to do,
she stops and stares at the old dance hall recapturing
the pulse of Saturday night which gives blueberry
feelings to her well-seasoned heart.
(Topic: Traveling back in time)
Categories:
recapturing, blue, nostalgia,
Form:
Prose
I’ll dance to your tune
Letting your rhythm flow through me
I’ll let your hand guide me
Your heart setting the beat
I will dance to your tune
Sometimes a slow dance
To fit your flirtatious mood
Sometimes a quickened pace
When your heart is racing
To capture the days
You were the King of the dance floor
And were adored
Recapturing the splendor
You show me off
As I twirl
Your girl
On this dance floor
Sometimes I'm held tightly
Sometimes at arm’s length
I’ll dance your dance
To the tune of your needs
Knowing you set the scene
According to your schemes
To fit your desires and dreams
I’ll dance to your tune
I will let you take the lead
Though my heart is encaged
And longing to break free
To dance to it’s own tune
To its own passionate beat
A wild musical score
That sets fire to feet
On a dance floor of desire and heat
A rhythm thunderous with longing
Booming in loudness that defies
Every other thought except...
this dance...this moment...this chance
A dance demanding fusion of bodies
Faces a mere breath away
Hearts taking turns at will
In one liquid movement of burning heat
A rapturous oneness
Rythmic frenzy
That makes everything else
In this dance hall fall away
They all stop and stare
As our dancing souls we bare
I accepted YOUR invitation to dance
YOU lead me to this dance floor
YOU held onto my hand
I will not stop dancing till you do
I will confine myself
My arms and legs obeying
My heart slowing its pace
To fit the steady beat of your own
Against my chest
My whole body in surrender
To your rhythm and pace
But oh…oh how I wish
My rhythm could light up your face
How I wish.....
I could teach you to dance...
To my tune!!!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Categories:
recapturing, dance,
Form:
Free verse
Tangerine the scene spilling through this green...
Glass crossing her thighs as she bathes within love's
Afterglow, dare I let Ginger go; knowing insatiable be
Her hunger ?? Staring outside the window and a sudden
Knock upon the scarlet door deja vu it seems, I have been
Here before familiar this scent while she peers; moors moon
Brushed aside midnight blue with carmine hues, filling her eyes
Ah but time to loose these binds when the ladies enter; smiling
In tune as slowly sliding across, her fiery flesh glowing amid
Natures splendours burgundy she, bending forward inquiring
That my heart; all I could think of although were Shakespeare
While they reaching for her arching screams in dreams lavender
Renaissance recapturing a stained-glass reflection their quoting
..Macbeth, as I pierced the depths of her sixteenth century, Mars.
Categories:
recapturing, beautiful, girl, love,
Form:
Free verse
No Goodbyes
Morning rays lightly kiss my face,
Revealing tears; my happiness replaced.
I hold you for the last time in my embrace.
Memories take refuge in my mind;
Projecting days of happier times,
Back to forgotten places, so sublime.
Family and friends gather to see you,
The fragrant rose, a beautiful view,
Summoning joy for all that you knew.
But angels cannot reside forever on earth,
For they are meant for the heavens since birth,
Leaving nothing but joy with all of it's worth.
No goodbyes will be given by me,
For together once more we will be,
Recapturing the wonder and awe of she.
For time nor death our bond could never rend,
As grief fills my soul as your body descends.
I know, I will see you again my most dearest friend.
Categories:
recapturing, angel, death, death of
Form:
Rhyme
Come to Africa
Do you see wonderful cars?
No. Only traffic jam
Ask about Africa
Do you hear smart answers?
No. Only questions
Think about Africa
Do you hear about big dreams?
No. Only survival hymns
Take a tour around Africa
Do you see dignified human beings?
No. Only precious goods
Africa my homeland hear all these
Arise
This is dedicated to African intellectuals faced with the task of recapturing true image of Cradle of humanity
Categories:
recapturing, africa, analogy,
Form:
Ballad
Alas, we live in an imperfect world.
We long for somewhere free from strife and pain--
Some Shangri-La or Eden whence, like Cain
When driven forth in anger, we were hurled.
And now our search is endless for some land,
Some perfect place where problems never loom
(Prosperity and bliss from womb to tomb)--
To leave this world from which perfection’s banned,
And seek Utopia (which means No Place):
Some land of joy, untouched by sorrow’s stain,
Recapturing our innocence… In vain,
For Eden hasn’t left the slightest trace.
Perhaps at last we’ll come to comprehend:
No matter where we seek it, near or far,
Right here on Earth or on the furthest star,
Our search for Shangri-La will never end.
October 2, 2019
Title #4: "A Search for Shangri-La"
Enclosed Rhyme Contest
Edward Ibeh, Sponsor
Categories:
recapturing, nostalgia, paradise,
Form:
Enclosed Rhyme
CULLERCOATS* DREAM REVISITED
Lifeboat bright on its modern track
Like shining star in the early dawn
Confronts the eroded view of the wreck -
Once was whole, now all gone
Pristine cliffs and innocent cottage face,
The welcoming harbour arms of yesterday :
Thru an unrecognizable shell of a place
Roads have raped their ruinous way.
There’s no recapturing past with dignity.
Real or unreal, to half-forget, half-recall -
Leave the ducks unspoiled in memory
In a dream lifeboat ‘gainst the squall.
Note : * Cullercoats is a small fishing village on the seacoast of England, much spoiled
from modern redevelopment.
Categories:
recapturing, dream, dream,
Form:
Quatrain