Best Rescinds Poems
The sky prepares the sun for night
where drifting clouds are slowly steeping
in tepid pools of waning light
where soon the moon will find her sleeping
above a field of wild blooms
where evening shade is gently seeping
into the brush where sunset looms
beyond the reach of shadows creeping
along the ground where light rescinds
past silver groves of willows weeping
teardrop-leaves that ride the wind
to dusty skies where stars need sweeping.
Through the trees, the breeze is roaming
like a breath into the gloaming.
Written: 7/29/2013
For Andrea's "One in Three" contest
I wonder where earth joins the sky,
then hear the thunder's battle cry,
and ponder how the day rescinds,
with words that rattle with the wind
A rumbled sound from clouds tinged gray,
as treetops tremble, bend and sway
A raindrop tumbles to the ground
I wander back to shelter found
____________________________________________________
Form: Sicilian Octave variation "strambotto"
Path Number 8
Birth date 5/21
Written 9/18/14 For Andrea's challenge
The dove flies by with olive branch extended
Showing the world that peace is not but a whim
to search your conscience is recommended
The leaders of men listen to your heart, affected
by the power that wars can bring, look for when
the dove flies by with olive branch extended
Listen to the people, how the horror of war offended
their very soul, as dignity rescinds within.
to search your conscience is recommended
Why do we fight, what governs these acts, hated
by most whatever the colour of your skin
The dove flies by with olive branch extended
Sit down together you leaders of might and hatred
Bring an end to the conflicts before they begin
to search your conscience is recommended
Peace the advocate of many a dream suspended
Prayers would be answered in whatever religion
The dove flies by with olive branch extended
to search your conscience is recommended
I chose PEACE
Penned March 3rd 2015
Midday light unfolds a shawl
How strange that it can numb the cold
Sun skirts the brow of peak and mound
where white on white can blind the eye
and seize the moment for awhile
Sweat trickles from his forehead,
He pauses now, to take a breath
He'll hesitate to scar the snow
this sterile and pure from earth to sky
like fresh washed sheets hung out to dry
The dunes above are striped with trails,
like distant rails, of twin-lines drawn
He'll take a rest, then a last shalom,
until, at last, he'll head for home
He frowns against the brilliant glare
reminded of a Hitchcock tale
He's spellbound in the frigid air.
A morning haze rescinds to blue
The world he knew of silent clues
will not respect his fortitude
He knows not of its will to take
or stake its claim without remorse
He pushes off at lightning speed
A deep crevice, the deed is done
The bliss is gone, the thief has won
And what is lost, can't be recalled
When last, he's found, ..a bird ascends
to sweep the sky, to lift him high
High into clouds, and through the sky
to where tall mountains must be climbed
It's white on white, where sheets are sterile,
a life unfurled against the light
The light is strong, it blinds the eye
The bone, the spine , the pain, the plight
He'll live somehow. A chair, he's bound
from now until the light is gone....
White on white…the nights live on,
……and life is changed from this day on
______________________________________
Based on a true event
4/9/17
For Charlotte's contest: Open Poetry Contest 2
(SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE 1917)
It’s just another starry night
all is at peace before the storm,
Yet so afraid am I, of the impending summer’s day
now the shadows begin to form.
Many silhouettes create memories
those in childhood verdant pastures aspire,
yet amongst this valley of planted souls
gives one many reasons to suspire.
I see a subtle portrait of mankind
an apparition suspended from the sky,
in waves of committed butchery
to fill one’s saddened eye.
Are they not also human?
those that dance between the lead,
like me, have they a reason to love
those that advance amongst the dead.
Yet still they come uninvited
like the surf on an inhibited beach,
same God! Same belief!
Our ascendancy, our spirit to breach!
Yet still, I keep on making plans for the morrow
my love I know soon to be all alone.
Oh! How I wish my finger tips to touch her face,
before one rescinds this life, this birthright loan!
© Harry J Horsman 2007
I hear your tender words of love
that echo in the winds,
and float on wings of turtle dove
as loneliness rescinds.
Your words so gently hold my heart
wrapped in a warm embrace,
and visions that your thoughts impart
will make my heartbeat race.
But words are tempting heart’s desire;
my passions growing strong;
please share with me, as needs require,
the love for which I long.
Please hold me like you mean it now,
for words do not have arms;
please show the things words don’t allow,
and share with me your charms.
December 17, 2019
When time echoes the promise of a rambling soul, one who knows that the past never can be left, because it is there that solace leaves its caress, its breath ever rising in the presence of sorrow’s tangled web ~ quote by poet
She waits in silence, for the gentle winds,
Soft revelations of what might have been,
She remembers with feelings she rescinds.
She reflects on lost nights that did begin,
Soundless and still, like the sea of belief,
Soft revelations of what might have been,
Sometimes it feels she’s been left in her grief,
Sure to learn of what comes from night’s lonely,
Soundless and still, like the sea of belief,
Should she call friends or her one and only?
Soon, she recalls her beloved has passed,
Sure to learn of what comes from night’s lonely.
Swiftly, time reveals rambling that will last,
Sharing memoirs, she drifts from room to room,
Soon, she recalls her beloved has passed,
Sensitive, like dreams, her heart is all gloom,
She waits in silence, for the gentle winds,
Sharing memoirs, she drifts from room to room,
She remembers with feelings she rescinds.
When walking through a graveyard in among the many stones;
I’m told beneath the path I tread, lies rotting flesh and bone.
But I refuse to dwell upon what death and time have done:
Instead I choose to speak out loud, "To me your still someone".
Then I might introduce myself and ask him of his fate.
Were the years on earth allotted him, full of love, or seething hate?
He comes alive there in my eyes, but only he can tell;
If he found his place in Heaven, or he now resides in Hell.
At least for these few moments; he can now exist again.
Had our paths once crossed in another time; I might have
been his friend.
But I must let him rest once more, for it's time for me to go:
Back to the land of 'here and now', that he left so long ago.
This now rescinds those few moments, he became alive for me.
Not rot and bone, decayed, alone, but from his grave set free.
Brilliant trails of light
Across a darkened sky
Fireworks in slow motion
A cosmic fourth of July
Scattered bursts of rubble
A dandelion in the wind
Extinguished in moments
Flash of light rescinds
Now I make a wish
As clouds obstruct my view
Will I get good fortune
Or only deja vu
A lighthouse blinked deep in the shadows' gray
a fog-horn bordered at the distanced lines,
few stars were scattering above the bay
and scintillating mirrored in my eyes;
- my eyes were focusing upon the brines,
two forms outlined inside the nightly coals
and danced our waltz above the waves and shoals.
Betrothal blossoming of western winds
that blow the cumulus across the quay,
melds with the rising mist, the moon rescinds,
and fades in deepnesses of the dark sea;
beyond the shores the tidings brought to me,
the moonlight drenched in silver waves of flame,
and thenceforth heard his heart, and felt his claim.
I breathed his lonesome air, my soul's accord,
o mother of caressing waves' soft voice,
embraced I was, the silvering award
became my terminal, demanding choice;
inside the crystal night I felt rejoice ,
and in my tiny hands run his reply,
my destiny, the sea, and silent cry.
..
5/6/2014.© Giorgio Veneto, Gautami Phookan. All rights reserved
.
How small I have become
to linger too long in territory
I can not withstand
Tiny whispers spread
like an eagle's fan
across mounting skies that ignite
beckon calls to retreat
to more familiar land
I've crossed these roads
All too familiar now
but willfully still
To step aside and allow
you to take the upper hand.
The starlight lays its golden egg
tucked deep in distant clouds
to stake a pilgrim's claim
The raven black rescinds
To higher ground still
to amend the passing of two worlds
dusk versus dawn
Which will prevail
Lone Wolf” Written by John Moses Freeman
A lone wolf far from the pack of his concern, entertains by flute in hopes of an appearance from Great White Father. Many moon have passed and no sacred white buffalo have been seen or heard of by himself or any of the other members of the tribe. It is always a bad omen to go for so many moons without a sacred appearance of a single white buffalo. Separating himself from the rest of the tribe eliminates the possibility of any bad medicine of unsacred mistakes that might have possibly been made by any of the other braves. Fasting for days Lone Wolf rescinds the weaker part of his soul, giving over to the spirit world. That he might be worthy of the divine appearing presence of the Great White Father. Should the Great White Father decided to divinely grant this mortal His holy appearance from inside the spirit world. Lone Wolf's proof of worthiness is his abstaining from food until his unworthy fleshly senses have rescinded; into the lower depths of darkness of the soul and obliged Lone Wolf’s sacred sense, giving over to the authority of the spirit of his stronger essence.
The nature of the trees of the woods, the air, the water, the sun of day and the moon of night are the image of the lesser senses that must be respected, for they are given to the lesser man’s needs in the lesser world as shelter and food. But today Lone Wolf plays his flute for the purpose of entertaining a presence of the Great White Father of mother earth. He will fast and play until his inner essence becomes one with the essence of creation! By this divinely granted appearance he will receive spiritual council and rectify his tribe with good medicine and receive new direction correcting the bad omen. The white buffalo will appear in the herd again!
For and in Honor of Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet
And Contest: Tell HIS Story
The threshing floor divides the brisk cold winds
and too gentle zephyr of mortality.
I choose the rose-red blush where death rescinds.
My mind reels with the thrill of whiteout blinds
buffeted by green field sentimentality.
The threshing floor divides the brisk cold winds.
Exciting the throng, leather football winds.
Gruff padded players gift us vitality.
I choose the rose-red blush where death rescinds.
To feel so alive in sweaters, not thinned,
bouncing along in haywagon of normality.
The threshing floor divides the brisk cold winds.
Pumpkin and apple pies, corn, all else tinned.
Harvest festivals of cordiality.
I choose the rose-red blush where death rescinds.
A scarecrow field stays put in our minds
filled with Halloween unreality.
The threshing floor divides the brisk cold winds
I choose the rose-red blush where death rescinds.
6/21/2020
Month of the year I like most Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mohan Chutani
I’m what wails late in the night
when it's dark and time erodes.
And the howl that conjures fright
traveling down lonely roads.
The moon dims its meager light
as darkness extends its hand.
And rescinds nocturnal sight
when banks of fog shroud the land.
I'm in sync with nature's way,
gallivanting to and fro.
And tread upon grass or clay,
neither a friend nor a foe.
I imbue blossoming trees
amidst shadows black as coal.
Their fragrance perfumes each breeze,
rejuvenating my soul.
Like a bastard child of fear
I haunt the world of my birth.
And quietly disappear
when the sun lights up the earth.
Out in the rain the restless winds
now moan as winter's pale rescinds.
The flowers at the window bay
are silent bells that stiffly sway
while marching on the roof begins,
a riot of a billion pins
that shatter all my disciplines.
I clasp my hands as if to pray
out in the rain.
I feel the breath of pardoned sins;
on tenterhooks this mid-March grins
its unborn promise. I'm away
to spread my arms in gleeful splay
and echo tales this cloudburst spins
out in the rain.
3/12/18