Best Revery Poems
A Patch of Moonlight
A patch of moonlight glimmers in pale shades of ivory
Then drips from feathery pine boughs in soft revery;
Nightingales fill solitude with pure symphonies
Still serenity of blissful stars in nocturnal brillancy.
8-19-21
If, by chance, the world should end tomorrow
How would you spend the last day of your life ~~
Either in revelry or regret? in jubilation or sorrow?
With time cut short, your day becomes staccato
Apologies for everyone whom you caused strife,
If, by chance, the world should end tomorrow.
Perhaps a visit to a sacred and most holy grotto
To commune with the saints about the afterlife
Either in revelry or regret? in jubilation or sorrow?
No time for entrepreneurial schemes to borrow
No time for the cutting words slicing like a knife
If, by chance the world should end tomorrow.
Interesting, as we’ve no promise for the morrow
Neither breath, nor place, nor space nor heighth
Either in revelry or regret, in jubilation or sorrow.
‘Tis up to us to plow a straight and narrow furrow
To make the most noble, good, and worthwhile rife
If, by chance, the world should end tomorrow
Either in revery or regret? in jubilation or sorrow?
written April 26, 2022
ghosts of the world befriended me
a silence borne of secrecy
ghosts of the world befriended me
to share in their love of revery
ghosts of the world are blind to me
comments section all I see
ghosts of the world are blind to me
though they call me family
ghosts of the world won't hear my plea
we live and die by our own decree
ghosts of the world won't hear my plea
mired in blah mediocrity
ghosts of the world do not live free
attention seekers' comment spree
ghosts of the world do not live free
a silence borne of secrecy
On Devil’s Night
There once was a devil queen on Whispering Lane
Mean and cunning her crew driven insane
For millenniums hurling malice
Content in her palace
Casting a malevolent muse throughout her reign
The King no longer amused by sonnets that shame
Concoction’s of besmirchment tangents that defame
He sends for his men
Calls out to them
bring me an enchanted quill before the sunrise flame
On Devil’s Night…
Along trails a fairy ascends with cascading red hair
Whilst devil queen sleeps inside her musky lair
Dreams of incantations
linking locution associations
Hater of poetry that allures not hers drives despair
As the fairy sings with an angel's voice
The King listens he has made his choice
Let it be so my loyal Jester
the fairy you‘ll sequester
The zealous Jester lures to come rejoice!
The jealous devil queen a tedious word crafter
Responsible for cancelling laughter
Now casts her spell
expelling the fairy to hell
It’s there she sings her happily ever afters
You see she was in a realm from hell, and not even a spell could save her.
The new reign of elect it is when she’s saved, and the devil queen will finally reflect. Denouncing her kingdom and foreboding.
Keep Fairys free! To express their poetic revery
The Dreams of Library Ladies
Library ladies could it be you sometimes dream
With books (and children) all put in their place
Do you imagine an alternate library scene
A view transformed to more exotic space
The British Museum, perhaps you hear it calling
With more books than at which you could shake a stick
Rubbing shoulders with the likes of Marx and Lenin
Guiding them on better path could be your schtick
Under massive Radcliffe Camera's noble dome
Among dusty denizens of Academia
In such an arena would you feel at home
Looking pale, intense, with a name such as Ophelia
Alexandria' s great library (not far from Giza)
As one of nine goddesses of the muse
If given a request from Julius Caesar
Would you find yourself unable to refuse
Then if you feel adventurous and wild
Unseen University beyond the sphere of man *
Magic books have you enchanted and beguiled
But as librarian might become an Orang Utan
The Louvre attended by gallant chevalier
Might be a better option to embrace
Can you see yourself descend a grand escalier
Like Audrey Hepburn before the Victory of Samothrace **
Though life here may seem less thrilling than your revery
Don't be dismayed but feel a rightful pride
In your books are phantasies, a virtual treasury
Dream your dreams for these are such that you provide
* ref. Terry Pratchett's Disc World
** In film: ‘Funny Face’
Levity from the pain of a love that was never meant to be
within the portrait of our fillial destiny
was what you granted to me while wanting nothing in return
but affinity of hearts for the lesson of love to earn
such moments when we descry our children laughing in warmth
of sun;orchestrating celebration of marriage to flesh and air;
of God's revery upon their souls for us to share
through grace of senescence until our final breaths are taken
for to breathe eternal life into our souls within a world
where the entity of love capitulates our force amidst His embrace.
Circle the 1st letter of the 1st line,circle the 2nd letter of the 2nd line,3rd letter of the 3rd
line,4th letter of the 4th line and so on until it spells out the name of a special woman.
You worry I might track you
with suspicion and be leary
of what you might be doing
while rushing around
and hurrying,
But I am not insecure, and just vaguely jealous,
and if rightly connected
I could be very zealous
to watch you wander
and heal a blind eye,
to enrich the unfullfilled
or stop a child's cry.
I'd glow in yr brilliance
with understanding and a resonance
of my own
incompletion,
and yr giving countenance,
But I do have a tendency
to be tricked and misled,
by those whom I'd trusted
on words that'd been said,
I willingly help
only to be robbed,
the GOOD SAMARITAN who
got stoned
buy the MOB
of human-borne
Haters of this life
as we know it,
If I only could explain IT
to them
they'd climb in my BOE-IT
and sail to a freedom
of justice
and grain
for all who might
seek
shelter from rain,
A place I oft see
in dual revery
(both mundane and insane)
the Place we will
go at the end
of the game.
II
So, I quit smoking for the sake of my chest
I thank Jah there
are other ways to safely injest
this King Solomon fairy pixie dust
that is blessed
by an honorable sanctity ordained
by the One
who created the Earth
and gave us the Sun
Who practiced in method
of which that he taught,
of kindness and patience,
and virtue He fought
against the masses
of the unseeing and dumb
who use wise words and phrases
that roll off the tongue
but know very little
of these words that they preach;
to learn from the Master
One must learn how to teach
the ways of our union
with nature and time
and hold deep understanding
that can't be explained with a rhyme...
No time for breakfast, snatch a cereal bar,
anger at mislaid keys to the car.
He vents his spleen at anything that moves
she dishes out a look that disapproves.
The children eat their toast, their heads kept down
until the door slams as he leaves for town.
Alone, mid-morning, ploughing through the chores
her revery broke with knocking at the door.
Policemen on the step, their faces grim
mouths never moved, but eyes said 'it was him'.
The first of many tears now glazed her cheek,
she crumpled just as they began to speak.
In case it be your last, maybe do this-
start each day with ' I love you' and a kiss.
Milky Way dream spots
and other-worlds engaged me
this earthbound urchin
science fiction plots might stir
a pure childhood fantasy
But golden aura
folks can sense that Christmas treat
their pearl orb tot craves
“sight for sore eyes tinsel rapt”
“galaxies galore.” Mum beamed
My peepers wept dams
at magic flight revery
cosmic distance bridged
telescope a nod to star
bright clusters in the heavens
Family ring glow
spark and madcap stellar oomph
cached image-laden
supernova vault’s gem horde
that souvenir I treasure
How many syllables verified
Date posted ; August 27th 2022
NB This work is dedicated to a toy telescope my parents bought me
We held the ash of paling revery
how fast, through shadows blowing out the night
but then, it faded; lost in times remote
in places where I had been known to you.
But flash and fade, the breach of this union
erased me from glint of ardor that once
embraced a wise and knowing vow; entwined
with bliss, laughter and the intensity
of profound hope you plucked from the earth--
a kind that was difficult to siphon root to stem.
God knew it hurt... but I am learning still
to have my soul ignite and heal away
Best Free Verse in April (not for a contest)
For Laura Loo 4/26/2018
I've been going through
Old poetry, my own, a motley
Collection like a dusty attic piled with
Rumpled rhyme schemes
And littered with brightly hued
Scraps of imagery, left half-stitched;
It's an interesting sort of search,
Going through old notebooks
Like wardrobes stacked with
Threadbare cliches and dusty
Scrapbook impressions of a
Younger soul; hazy reflections trapped
Under the surface of a warped mirror
And it is here that I will find
Tucked between the folds of
Outgrown naivete and melodic revery
Hidden, like pressed flowers,
Still-vibrant emotions; memories;
Surprisingly sweet
You've always known me as I have known you,
we must've sent glances ten thousand times.
Beyond all our days done, both bright and blue;
regal fates fail in moving my windchimes.
The ringing we wait for, whilst hoping here
when we must still stay many miles apart;
hearing wee whispers fade year after year
like broken halves of one's only true heart.
So I reach to give you a tiny touch.
Will you feel it? Shall you summon me in?
Taste the sweet embrace that you seek so much,
our life as one may finally begin.
Court has known of us and my wanting you -
together, let's see what we can dare do.
Sonnet 113 words 14 lines
A court couple's secret message, circa 1600.
Bright lights, flames in motion.
Arms weighted with emotion,
as each carries
their burdensome torch.
Lit alleyways, littered by mayhem,
breached by commonsense.
Is it too late
to chase scintillating dreams,
to rid the streets
of the beast?
The mantra
had captivated mouths and memes,
seemed the broad path was in,
was easy. No one understood,
the following was satisfying,
it had treats, whistles and bells.
Pavlov would ring,
ice cream was melting;
drips and dollars,
indecisiveness.
The public fell for it.
Hypnotic, sliding
into each scenario
like colorforms placed;
placemats, paid off.
The scent of incense
scorching the silver lining,
anger the prayers of the masses
who had never knelt
to the unknown God,
only to reason and revery.
Oh yes, they dipped
into psychedelics,
thrilled by curt
and coarse language,
and irreverent motion
of the tall man.
Like any gang,
with any spark of disloyalty,
you’re out,
you’re beat -
tread marks identify you
as the enemy.
No one notices
because each member’s
given rose-colored glasses.
The storm of hail,
thunder, lightening,
frightening
but ineffective to disturb
the disturbed.
Torches light the streets,
attempt peace,
only propaganda distressed.
Occasionally,
one pulls away from Frankenstein’s monster
when the light
lands on the truth.
Proof. Glass house shatters. Gutter
full of bottles; hands through grates.
Dividing line. Blue sky and bluebirds
above the fray; fearless patriots.
I like the smell of rain
That permeates my nose
a little time before miraculously fat drops
start falling on my head .
They bring a joyful feeling that I can not explain.
those clouds have traveled for so long I suppose,
They come from faraway .
They carry laughs , tears, flavors that slide on our rooftops .
The loving sound of kisses , enchanting songs and whispers .
The sweat of lonely farmers , the noise of fishing boats .
Because to me ,each drop of crystal water
brings memory’s life notes .
Wet stories from the past and its eternal trotter .
The never ending process of hydrologic roams .
Imagine if we could, translate the noise of raindrops.
We’ll find in one of them a sweet tale of endurance.
The story of a grandpa and a curious little girl,
all crazed about the hints of any welcomed rain .
Preparing paper boats to set them on gray currents
and hoping that they stayed afloat.
To keep their little happiness
As a forever revery ,
a minimal footnote
that floats inside a circle ,
the circle of rain’s memory .
I wanna talk to you through poetry,
So your soul can take control of me,
And the words that seem to be my
thoughts,
Come from you but wind up in my heart....
Though its me who may be holding pen,
You are free to be the ink within,
Running slow enough to leave a trail,
That its close enough to be
inhaled..Through the tip of what's eternity,
As you grip and touch what's burning me,
You become the author I intend,
To invite the theme that we commend...
And any word that seems to be misplaced,
Is observingly upon your face,
Not in anger but in revery,
Making love that's hidden cleverly...
So the paper that I'm writing on,
Becomes a place for us to lie upon,
Talking softly so you know its me,
As I love you through my poetry...