Best Rectangles Poems
In a black and white world,
feathered fingertips caress
ebony and ivory keys -
melodically forming a myriad
of vibrant and vivid hues,
diversifying dulcet emotive reflections.
In a world of spoken falsehood,
expressions that cannot be spoken,
aid each truthful touch to narrate
speechless secret serenades.
For soulmates who choose to listen,
minds allure to the grace of
mellifluous sentimental symphonies,
harmonising hollow hearts through
tantric vibrations, gently echoing to
soothe sorrowful soundless souls.
Rhapsodic pianist strokes satin white skin,
tunefully kissing black lustrous lips.
Hearts play music secretly
establishing spiritual connections.
Ivory and ebony rectangles dance
in eternal kindred devotion,
igniting spirits to whirl to the
rhythm of sensual sensations.
Last note leads to another healed composition
as departing flames of passion illuminate lovers paths.
A blank page appears at the end of the song sheet.
Tired pianist fingers rest as the mind is absent of lyrics,
paralysed to play a melody for its own suppressed heart.
Lost, pondering mute tears which fail to cleanse its soul.,
The Silent One
9 January 2018
Categories:
rectangles, analogy, love, music, romantic
Form:
Free verse
tears
on her pillow
refuse to dry
only her piano
knows her pain
sitting
in her gown
her fatigued fingers
break her silence
as they weep
until crimson drops
stains her keys
yet
no one
hears her sorrowful
serenade of
shame
a fool for love
lamenting his
lack of loyalty
her eyes flood
dripping onto ivory
rectangles of regret
but
they wash away
crimson blemishes
for her to play
vividly and vigorously
harmony of her hands
play away the pangs
of heartbreak
her heart knows
this symphony
could end in tears
but
she smiles
believing there is
always hope for a
better tomorrow
Categories:
rectangles, deep, lost love, love
Form:
Free verse
I see three doors before me.
The one to the left is blue, a beautiful lupis blue
with ornate lacework in its center.
Parisian-esque, it looks likes an entrance to adventure
and inspires me with its sophistication.
I imagine inside the rooms beyond that door
exotic curios on shelves along the walls
or tables heaped with charming little treasures.
My muse’s curiosity is sparked!
The middle door I see is that of a welcoming house.
Beneath two large rectangles of decorative glass
hangs a straw wreath adorned with festive flowers.
A friendly-looking white lab sits in front of this door
and on each side of it on the old-fashioned porch
are two pots of pretty geraniums.
I imagine beyond this door friends and family
gathered around the kitchen table
finishing Mom’s delicious apple pie
and preparing to break open a pack of cards
or sit beside their fireplace, playing charades
or perhaps singing along to a guitar.
The part of me that longs for warmth of family
lingers at this door.
The last door I spy
much farther away and surrounded by trees
is a light green door blending in with nature,
unadorned and not as high as the first two doors.
Were it a bit smaller and round, it could almost be
the door to a hobbit’s cottage.
A bower of vines spreads around it
covering the brown bricks of the house,
and a short cobblestone pathway leads upward
to this simple but interesting door.
I know that if I open it and wander in,
solitude will surely greet me, a solitude so sweet
that when I shut the door behind me,
I’ll leave behind the stresses of my life.
I will have entered another world
where I can rest and meditate. . .
perchance to write.
I look back at the first door, imagining the thrill
of discovery. Its charming blue entices me.
Then I return my gaze to the second door
from which warmth and empathy exude.
I redirect my gaze to the third door. . .
Which do I want more?
New experiences? Intimacy? Peacefulness?
Creative inspiration could reside behind all three.
Which one do I choose?
Which one would YOU choose?
March 28, 2017
for the Doors Contest of Anthony Biaanco
Categories:
rectangles, metaphor,
Form:
Prose
Cityscape
The artist’s hand reshapes yesterday
In straight lines
Of hard edges -
Peaks of
Right angles perfected
Missing oblique or obtuse –
Claiming the horizon
In full frontal
Silhouette
Cut from ebony shades,
When daylight sinks into the shadows
And twilight goes down meeting midnight
One dimension pyramids,
Floors layered by steel reinforced
Triangulated honeycombs,
Octagonal rounds
Gather cotton clouds
Topping off their naked crowns,
Lofty spires
Scrape the midnight
To gather far flung stars
Flat rectangles with jute box tops
Soar with arches -
Lines leaping up and sliding down -
Squares low and squat,
Took up their space,
Yanked from the line,
Openings left
Like toothless
Grinning;
Concealed within the cityscape unblinking
The murmurings of urban sighs,
No rise and fall of breathing,
Foundation’s feet bound in stone
Swaying only when magnum cores
Tremble moving plates east to west, north to south;
Unseen
The doorway cradle songs
Of shivering dreams,
Desperation
Pacing
On the nineteenth floor
Fauna’s night perfume
Floating up behind dark floral gates
Of swirling iron
Grids of neighbors – blocks of neighborhoods -
Graphs of boulevards winding round,
Absent from the cityscape.
Inspirational verse – “When the lights go down in the city and the sun shines on the bay; do I want to be there in my city….I want to be there in my city.” Journey
Categories:
rectangles, art, city, night, perspective,
Form:
Free verse
The cottonwood fluff blankets the ground
In a thick snowy white layer,
As the gentle breeze whispers
Through the emerald green foliage.
The fragrance of mowed sun dried hay up ahead,
As the farmer’s toys mulch it and create neat long rows,
Then numerous identical clones of perfect rectangles
Lying one after the other, same distance apart.
In the coral, the chocolate horses’ coats
Glisten in the dazzling late afternoon sun
The same reflecting off the high dancing leaves
As they turn many shades of green.
Up above I hear the drone of acrobatic airplanes
Giving the small community a show.
Screams of delight in the distance,
From the stomach churning fairground rides.
And laughter from speed boats
Roaring up the mighty Fraser River
Beyond the corridor of trees behind me.
I begin to feel tired after my long walk.
I rest my weary legs, seating myself on a nearby bench
Placed here in memory of a longtime community resident.
And I gaze upon the open landscape before me.
Farmer’s fields just ahead, distant snow covered mountain peaks.
Billowing tufts of clouds floating slowly, peacefully above
And I remind myself why I love this amazing corner of the world,
Its beauty surrounds me, north, south, east, and west
My calm, my serenity, my religion, my escape from life stresses.
Categories:
rectangles, community, farm, horse, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
Awaking I find with a click of the eyes,
Little rectangles all colors floating,
Floating and waiting suspended in my brain, so I
“Choose morning duties” – there’s an app for that,
A rectangle lights up, “Feed the cat.”
“Put on your shoes,” a link I click,
“Go walking,” my eyes blink “, and I get my coat;
“Arrow down to ‘music,” blink (an app for that)
Scroll to “Vivaldi, Hum and be happy,” click.
Internal am I as I jog by and by,
I see you--the eyes click “Greetings,” “How are you,”
How did I arrive in this awful tech state?
Trying to know all and be bright as you?
If I’m really smart, I’ll return to my heart,
Blink “delete all” and be free, and be true.
Categories:
rectangles, humorous, satire,
Form:
Free verse
When my knitting queen aunt
Feels that needlework pull,
She starts knitting some squares
Using leftover wool.
They’re rectangles, really,
With colorful stripes,
Their patterns and stitches
Of similar types.
Then when there are enough,
Using needle and thread,
She will sew them together
To cover a bed.
If no blanket’s requested
By someone she knows,
To a charity’s stockpile
That handiwork goes.
Though some unattached pieces
My aunt did produce
Found their way to my granddaughter
For a new use.
Now her dolls all have blankets,
Two interests in sync,
Crossing ages and miles
In such a sweet link.
Categories:
rectangles, appreciation, granddaughter,
Form:
Rhyme
At first school was cool
Had to abide by one simple rule
Read and write
And never fight
Recite the alphabet
How easy can it get?
One plus one is two
A E I O U
Two times two is four
D O O R spells door
Maths was about addition and subtraction
Multiplication and division
Studied animals and apes
And all them shapes
Circles and triangles
Squares and rectangles
Pentagons, hexagons
Septagons, octagons
Nonagons and decagons
Then I grew a little and things got tough
The stuff got a bit rough
School became boring
Talk of junior-high bullying
I got scared and
The maths got weird
Areas and volumes
Cones and pyramids
Cords and sectors
Quantities and vectors
Pi r squared?
Half times base times height?
No way I’m getting these right
Positives and negatives
Radius and diameter
Areas, perimeters
Voltmeters and ammeters
More and more shapes
Rhombus, star and trapezium
Physics and chemistry
Lithium and helium
Biology and history
Mussolini, Hitler and Stalin,
And the famous wall of Berlin
I thought I was done
But things got less fun
I started to debit and credit
Economics and statistics
Differentiation and intergration
Poisson and normal distribution
Assignments, projects and dissertations
Now I’ve got the diplomas and degrees
But guess what
I’m just a poet
Now, tell me
Did I waste my time?
Categories:
rectangles, books, education, funny, growing
Form:
Rhyme
Wheels are ROUND circles
Circles are ROUND perfection not
Triangles squares rectangles
Corners there
Wheels are round with purpose
Triangles Sharp and edgy
Squares nearly the same
Rectangles who cares
Wheels are round driving
Down SKY is near horizon clear
DAY IS fair
SUMMER ease COUNTING distance
Wheels are round driving down
Driving approaching plush green
There GREEN of Georgia
Plush and purer than urban
Sprawl I know
Categories:
rectangles, color, environment,
Form:
Villanelle
Geoffrey gave me an exquisite book
For Christmas.
It is a showcase of the work of
Hundert Wasser - the great Viennese artist,
Architect and visionary.
The jewel colours, the gracious curves -
No straight lines here to sicken
Humankind.
The environmentalist obeying
Natural Law to create spaces
That nurture - not the 'bleeding houses'
Made of rectangles
The insult of the straight line -
Alien to organic forms -
Transmitting alarm signals to the brain.
The blues, reds and oranges combined with yellow greens
Soothe the soul and stimulate the senses.
They jump out at me
Invigorate and excite me -
Inspire a rebelliousness against angles
Harsh lines and grey.
Categories:
rectangles, artme,
Form:
Narrative
Baby Thoughts
Hugs are babies’ first official language
Followed by triangles, circles, with assorted symbols
Infants pay special attention to white pillows and quilts
Sleep is always on their minds
Flowing over yellow ribbons of light and energy
Babies contemplate squares and rectangles lifted from the fog
They think about animals as fury toys and perceive them thusly
Images come slowly and they focus on shiny things
They feel their tiny fingers and toes to stay in touch
Letters and numbers are foreign to them now
Yet they understand some things about them in their world
Pink and white dreams of billowy clouds bounce by
They think to take this ride a lot
Streams of life with limited visibility color in the blurs
Shapes of things to come take form in these meanderings
They know two mountains warm with riches wait for them
Breasts filled with vitamins and milk
They cling to these mounds for nourishment
They rest their heads and think goo goo gaa gaa
It is the foundation of a doctoral dissertation later in life
While mothers voice flows over them like thick warm honey
Babies think of deeper sleep
Categories:
rectangles, adventure, baby, beautiful, dream,
Form:
Free verse
In nature's ebb and tide
One thing for certain resides
Chaos at the foundation and flow
A continuous creation abides
Numerical desire lies
Where expression is clipped
A dark grid imposed
Protecting the future from doubt
Seen from a mountain eye
Cities divvied up
Millions of rectangles
and squares
Positive linear lust
Managed with might
Policed with rage
This IBM machine a blight
Chaos is the fountain
Chaos is the truth
Freedom will always break loose
Categories:
rectangles, natural disasters, political
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Where is our fight
Doomed to be controlled,
Like robots in the night,
Our hearts growing cold..
Keeping us bound
To open plan offices,
Unnatural sounds
And beige surfaces.
When power is lost,
Creativity strangled.
Eyes staring glossed,
At black rectangles.
Just outside,
A natural utopia.
Yet everyday we hide
and exist in sepia..
A life in monotony,
Is not life at all.
Its almost a felony,
For time we can't recall..
This thinking we need to shed,
These days slowly blurring.
Like Benvolio said
These hot days, is the mad blood stirring..
Categories:
rectangles, angst, confusion, depression, introspection,
Form:
gift from father beyond cemetery,
bound red book named Euclid's geometry,
father was head teacher of known repute,
but the son's reading skills were less astute.
wrapped in fine velvet it was in dad's room,
they thought "a clear sign from him from the tomb".
church minister has spoken of the red book,
how it shone a light to life's path he took.
They opened with reverence tried to read,
with words and figures they couldn't succeed,
with great effort they read a page a day,
interpreted the 'holy book' their own way.
Sunday they read about the right angle,
about squares, rhomboids and the rectangles,
it was clear god had a pattern to life,
book be secret between him and his wife.
Each evening they gathered by the fireplace,
read the book with devotion, faith and grace,
they walked in a straight line on their walks,
and they were fair and square in all their talks.
They learned to live among good circles,
prospered reading their little miracle,
they slept in peace with their new found wisdom,
that book was sure a gift from God's kingdom.
Written 31/05/2021
1st placement
He gave her a book contest.... (on the lighter side of life)
Mystic Rose sponsored
10 syllables each line
Inspired by Stephen Leacock- American humorist
Categories:
rectangles, blessing, christian, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
I saw from the balcony
small puddles on the street
expanding concentric circles
each disappearing, as another takes its place
one after another in an ending chain
as the raindrops keep falling.
The patterns were of set design
identical in shape and size
the ripples round and growing
rolling and dissipating.
Existing in every watery formations
as long as the raindrops fell
the wind moves the clouds away
and they give way.
The little pools of water remain, quivering
reflecting the sky above and images of
square, rectangles or triangles of buildings alongside
drying up as the sun peeps out and shines.
Categories:
rectangles, beautiful, blessing, city, image,
Form:
Blank verse