Best Reposing Poems
He grabbed me up from where I lay, peaceful in the sun,
with my brothers and my sisters round about me.
I felt four digits seeming to be one of a whole,
which clasped around my form.
A fifth one, slightly broader, pressed onto me from my other side.
And then with a jolt, I found myself next lifted high into air,
the dry hot bed beneath me but a whisper of my past.
Accustomed, at the most, to being trodden upon,
I barely had the time to assimilate this rare experience
(I seemed to remember a sweeter touch long ago
from a smaller being who had picked me up,
examined me and then placed me back on the ground).
Suddenly, I was moving, this time unsupported, through the air.
I spied in a single spinning moment
a world I’d not envisioned from the spot on earth
I'd shared with pebble siblings.
In that place, we were surrounded
by greenery that blocked our view
and by giant old gray boulders, my ancestors perhaps.
Reposing heavily as if attached to land,
one such silent sentry supported him,
the creature who had flung me far from my home.
I found myself then bump, bump, bumping along,
making little rings across a shiny stretch of blue.
And when I lost momentum,
I disappeared beneath the final circle I’d created.
It felt much like the times I had been buried in cold whiteness,
but this instead was liquid cool!
I dropped down and down,
onto a different kind of ground, unusually soft and sticky,
the way earth used to feel for me after a sudden downpour.
Settled there, I noticed brown and silver shapes
that flitted past above me, much smaller
than many of the creatures of the land above me, but swifter.
Also there were tall green blades that swayed in place.
They resembled those that stood on solid ground.
Best of all, I saw around me others of my kind;
a multitude of us, small, beautiful and round,
with whom to share my soft new cozy bed!
Poems can be jubilant spring
Melodies caught, lyrics to sing
Hope's revival, heartbreak's surcease
The joy of ink-stained paper's crease
Reposing grace on summer swings
Cathartic burn - sweet biting sting
Feet-blistered walk through fiery rings
The obsessed flame and cold release
Poems can be
To capture flight on falcon wings
To waltz upon the width of string
For horizontal light increase
For fervent war, for supple peace
Questing words expose everything
Poems can be.
07/25/19
Every single plant and flower is my friend.
Many the forest path do I journey,
Breathing in the rich earth and clean air,
Reposing in a meadow green just listening,
Amongst the dancing daisies just resting.
Could anything else be more peaceful and healing?
I think within the soil there must be magic.
Nothing is more precious than this place called Earth.
Gathering my recycling each week I do my measure!
Every tree lost is agonizing and hurtful to watch.
At my building a company is cutting down the maple trees,
Roaring they fall and I am left weeping.
The ravage of nature is so devastating to endure.
How can we, the visitors, stop the ruination of Earth?
_________________________________
July 4, 2014
Poetry/Acrostic/Embracing Earth
Copyright Protected, ID 07-580-702-04
All Rights Reserved, 2014, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, 1 in 4,
sponsor Andrea Dietrich, Judged 07/2014
Third Place
The orchid moon and I look in kind
at the dimpled ocean's
aubergine plain, meandering thought's
violet caves. I've lost my way
in the lavender vortex
of a tuberous begonia.
A July storm has passed.
Brackish petrichor lilts with the purr
of surf, now jade in lilac light,
unfolding on mulberry sand,
effervescing at my ankles,
gentle as cat fur.
This full moon buoys
out past merlot bluffs,
reposing on a mauve ribbon
between sea and plum sky;
periwinkle stars beg to spark
beside the aura of a steadfast satellite
that casts the grape of night
in fixed solitude.
You come into my world
a child of mine
of heart and mind creation
sweetly under my flair
following my soul
tracing my steps
growing to a tremendous wealth
encoding my particles.
Soulless, dry lands
under your sway
strike gold.
In tune with my aches
you turn wild hearing my chuckles
reposing your whole on my chest
waiting for my muse to awake.
Of my grip, now at liberty
you outgrow my rooms
claiming your fame
a world of your own
you set your very rules and truths
pearls of wisdom
you conceive collections
you portray cruelties
Love glorified
Hate on the loose
you shake minds, weaken hearts
souls drift
lose sight and shore
Pain and joy you cause
fear you strike
spells you do break
a sleeping beauty you enchant awake.
Powerful and persuasive as you are
you stir emotions to life and death
your decipherer you bewitch and hypnotise
Renowned for your feats of relief and healing
I am into your world
paradoxically under your flair
you create my world!
August 24th, 2018
Crisp clean air gently expanding my lungs
Infinite pigments of vivid dazzling lights
Painted illumination masterfully hung
Washing over my body and brain
Gradually tampering down
My intermittent slices of insane
Tenderly reposing my weary mind
I Lie my head where the universes
Polished stars divinely shine
Nature surrounds my earthly bed
Glimpses of cascading brilliant color
Dancing through the evening sky
Soulfully digested, nourished and fed
A blanket that radiates glistening hues
For only my molten laden eyes to see
My breathe suddenly is eased, cleansed
For it has yoked the omnipotent to me
Silently retraining my brain
Gradually tampering down
My intermittent slices of insane
word count 109
Particles of minds
Souls
Hearts
Lives
Descend like soft rain upon my windowsill and ignite in the rays of the sun
Layer after layer stack the flakes of dead skin
Dead air
Dead worlds
Death’s shavings
Dust
Dancing through the atmosphere and crawling in my breath.
Reposing at the pit of my lungs
Ruins of history within me
Within you
Earth’s fallen flesh will forever remain amassed upon the windowsill
At the pane of glass looking out onto the future
And our generation will live on in the dust
The old man and his faithful dog relish their daily stroll.
'Tis the autumn of their lives, alas, time doth take its toll!
He's not as spry nor is his dog as rowdy as he used to be.
He rests upon a bench, the dog's head reposing upon his knee.
The old man muses and scratches his old pal's ears,
Recalling the companionship they've enjoyed o'er the years.
The dog gazes with soulful eyes and nuzzles a gnarled hand,
Ever alert to obey the old man's every subtle command!
He got him as a puppy when he was just a few weeks old.
The old man took pity on the little runt, truth be told!
But with tender love and care he grew to be a handsome lad,
And became the most loyal friend the old man ever had!
He recalls simple play when he tossed him balls and sticks,
And teaching the old fella the usual silly doggy tricks.
The times his grandkids yanked his ears and pulled his tail.
The patient dog would playfully chase them without fail!
No more are they able to tramp o'er fragrant fields of clover,
And their days of hunting game and birds, alas, are over.
They're both content to spend their evenings nigh a glowing flame,
The dog lying at the old man's feet, dreaming of chasing game!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Senses are aware of a cavernousness,
And of a stillness almost quietley abrupt..!
softness of light & air surround all,
deft as breath as from a doves wing reposing
billows of liquid descending are as grains,
the seeds of an "almost raining"
A lowering of horizion encompasses,
Valley, ridge, and outcropping crag's
the listening atmosphere waits...
breathless as soil is enriching
Close by mammals disturb the folds of fallen bracken,
with bursts of muffled sound, as hand in hand lovers stroll around
Poem by Joe Maverick copyright 27 9 2011
This poem is for Michael J. Falotico's falling in love in the fall contest:)
Sometimes trees’ green fingers
Stand still like reposing harbingers
Of hope and despair; they meditate
On our ignorance of them who medicate
Us when diseases burgle into our souls
Taking us unawares like April fools.
At times tree branches and leaves
Come to a halt and fold up their sleeves.
Like parentless kids, they stand still,
Holding Ozone Crisis Meetings until
God’s silent servants come and sway
Them from angle to angle, wiping away
The spells of fear that cloud our faces
Each time leaves go on leave leaving no traces
Of further existence for Man who digs
His graves whenever he murders figs—
The figs that link us to the Unseen Being
Who reveals His presence in Man’s wellbeing.
But when God’s blowing sons and daughters
Sweep across Earth, letting twigs leave their fathers,
Falling twigs and dried leaves clatter
And produce celestial music to flatter
Man while lizards play basses with tails
And flying fowls chant solos and tales.
Then Man joins this universal worship,
Going down on knees to supplicate God’s fellowship,
Feeding his doubting heart with conviction
As Christ’s promises come to completion
Revealing the active hands of a Father Invisible
Who marvels His creatures with things invincible.
When these invisible but active servants of God gather
More momentum in synergy with Sun, leaves wither,
Tree trunks go epileptic while roofs migrate
And mortal Man gets to concentrate
On these leaves and stems which go on retirement
To remind him of his own imminent retirement.
(Between Carriere and Mbankolo, Sunday 02 December 2012)
There are darksome days
Those storms we all must ride
But the greatest storm of all
Is the monster tucked inside.
It brings out the worst in you
When sullen days would creep
Its like a raging storm reposing
In a gladsome heart so deep.
Only in moments to come alive
When emotions tough are grind
But its hard to tame the fires
Of a proud and monstrous mind.
So many irksome dilemmas in life can be cured by simple solutions.
All are not necessarily fixed by the latest technological revolutions.
To remedy the many vicissitudes that rain down upon myself,
I grab that handy box of lowly baking soda reposing upon the shelf!
This simple, innocent looking stuff is good for many uses,
Including easing the pain of little kneesies that easily bruises.
'Tis useful for sweetening reeking walking shoes and garbage cans,
For shining silver and rejuvenating blackened pots and pans!
Even my inscrutable cat begins to purr a mile "purr" minute,
When I freshen his litter box by sprinkling baking soda in it.
If my auto picks up that scourge of the road, the dreaded tar,
Baking soda is just the thing for tidying up the car!
Why should I pay a plumber to unplug the clogged-up drain,
When a dollop of baking soda will the same results obtain?
It can be used as a toothpaste for making choppers look smarter,
Whitening them and controlling that nefarious tartar!
I've found that after my all too frequent sprees of gluttony,
That only a dose of baking soda relieves my gastric agony.
Its use for indigestion docs would discourage or even squelch.
Fiddle Faddle! I find instant relief in one humongous belch!
A lone cottonwood tree stands on the rolling Colorado plain.
A rippling stream flows nearby, its existence to sustain.
Its lofty branches reach for the pristine Colorado sky.
Tho' badly scarred, the ravages of time it continues to defy.
I tarry 'neath its welcoming shade to muse about its past.
For a century or more it has witnessed the passage of time so vast.
Why did this sturdy sentry survive when others fell away,
Yet, shedding a blizzard of cottony snow each ensuing May?
I wonder if it was a landmark beacon for hardy pioneers,
As they traveled e'er westward seeking new frontiers.
Perhaps a patrol of cavalry paused 'neath its welcome shadow,
To take respite from their weary trek across the sere plateau.
Scars remain where buffalo scratched their hides upon its bole.
I suspect that it was a sanctuary for graceful antelope on patrol.
I could imagine a majestic eagle perched atop its aerie,
Reposing from its search for prey across the endless prairie.
Rustling leaves startled me from my nostalgic reverie.
Were phantoms of the past gathering about this very special tree?
I felt as tho' God considered this solitary tree renowned.
I respectfully withdrew, sensing I'd intruded upon sacred ground!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
He's a seasoned outdoorsman; a lover
and explorer of nature who frequently
goes camping, on occasion, hunting; even fly-fishing.
He's equally at home in the wild as he is in civilization.
He's usually accompanied by his wife, or dog.
Hiking alone in the woods one fateful day,
he never anticipated the misfortune
that befell him. He built a makeshift shelter
deep into the vast wilderness
with palm fronds chopped off of a coconut tree.
Reposing nigh twilight, a rattlesnake crawled
into his shelter and bit him on the right foot.
Suddenly, it becomes a race against time
to get to a hospital, a race he's bound to lose.
The nearest hospital is fifteen miles away, by car.
The poison injected into him is spreading
from his foot up; akin to a metastasizing cancer.
He's confronted with two choices,
do the unthinkable or watch his life slowly
and painfully slip away before his eyes.
Paralyzed with fear and unable to rush himself to
the hospital as quick movements would accelerate
the spread of poison, he chose the unthinkable.
He tied a tourniquet below his right knee and began
chopping off his leg with a machete to save his life.
Will To Survive Poetry Contest (Winner: 2nd Place)
Sponsored by Silent One
Date written: 10/14/2020
Bathing on the mild mid-afternoon sparks sun-charmed,
Reclined on a wave lounge, the pulse of the landscape warmed
My mellowed sighs mollified by colognes of fragranced jasmine,
The scenery enchanting slumbered, its pulsations pristine.
Pliably surfing through the air, with a rustling symphony
A swishing ensued, rocking the willows in tuneful synchrony,
Infusing the stroked atmosphere with its breeze contagious,
Like a sedative morphine, its flowing gust harmonious.
Birds stayed aloft, darting, weaving and swooping in flight,
Swimming in the calmed gale crests, relishing its raw might
Seamlessly suave as a reposing sea, the aura imbued
A chorus of trills recurrent echoed, while trees slued.
The surging wind ambled the aerated skin of nature,
Wandering like a regal gipsy, clad in mistless moisture…
Immensity of efficacy lies within veils of intricate purpose,
Like the invisible textureless wind, moseys to self-repose.
© Maverick Nyambu