Best Rinsed Poems
Time keeps crawling
Time thaws fleeting days
Days with daisy hope
Days where you fall
Fall to rise again
Fall in perfumed dreams
Dreams forgotten
Dreams lost in silence
Silence that sings
Silence with secrets
Secrets unquestionable
Secrets unfathomable
Unfathomable reality
Unfathomable clarity
Clarity with no remorse
Clarity of seven stars
Stars of lavender love
Stars of silver hymns
Hymns of forsaken flowers
Hymns whispered in rhymes
Rhymes left unwritten
Rhymes with no rhythm
Rhythm of bleeding ink
Rhythm of whistling waves
Waves of healing
Waves of cleansing
Cleansing yesterday’s pain
Cleansing masks of shame
Shame rinsed in mauve rain
Shame with shimmering stains
Stains of rosy red
Stains from emerald emotions
Emotions that made me hush
Emotions from tokens of love
Love painted in prose
Love within my heart
Heart ribboned with sunsets
Heart reflecting clementine sky
Sky sequined in sapphires
Sky quilted in rubies
Rubies within summer blues
Rubies mirror twilight hues
Hues of moonlit souvenirs
Hues of untangled strings
Strings of faith
Strings of words
Words mean nothing
Words mean everything
Everything…
Nothing…
L i f e
a prison of pretense
and I still dream of
walking through tempests of chaos
barefoot,
allowing stones and pebbles
to tattoo my languid skin with love in lilac,
as ashes of yesterday
erase the thunder marks
that struck my spine
in ruthless rhythm,
oblivious to the scorching solitude
that swallowed the stars
swaying across the heinous horizon.
Trusting the tormentor,
dancing with the devil,
as I drink from the naive springs,
like a jailed jasmine,
to Stockholm syndrome.
I’ve heard the crickets croon,
I’ve felt the warmth of raining tears,
while w a i t i n g
w i s h i n g
upon pirouetting peridots~
a trick played by Lucifer,
as peace is a lie
fed from the serpentine scent of sunlight
that tastes like mists of malice…
Tonight I kneel
at the chapel of charades,
reminiscing fragmented forests
where I’ve long been
a forbidden lace of Lilith,
cursed by the fickle flames
of the blood moon,
like a tortured sin,
tethered by time…
O divine destiny,
designed with darkness,
see the angst,
veiled amidst contoured clemency
and manicured mercy,
the beginning
of an inevitable end.
I fear not the hereafter~
the realm of redolence and zephyr,
there phrases of regret
shall be a rinsed-away garden,
watered with saffron and amber…
Perhaps
when the last refrain of living
rewinds and repeats,
we’ll reflect
on the circus we performed in sheer naivety…
But would you then~
catch my soul, it’s willing to fly away,
feel my pulse, it emanates freedom,
heed my heart, it sings of love,
seize my ink, it flows with faith,
catch my sigh, it homes compassion,
hold my hand, it seeks kindness…
Hallowed be thy Name
Hallowed be thy Light....
I’m singing honey-
rinsed sunflower serenades
twirling with corn rays…
and I’ll waltz through every fall…
to embrace his saffron warmth
when last rays of autumn - tip toe along to sunset streaked reveries
listen to the crisp breeze of fallen fairies - truth floats through tawny tunes
whilst crickets chirp - lulling grieving trees - silhouette of sky bursts in gold
a crumpled haven of seraphic swings - whistling wind-swept dreams of brown
as twilight bleeds merlot red runes - shifting shades of coral pink clouds weep
flurry flakes curve - amidst a deep labyrinth of chamomile silence
butterflies rest upon rain rinsed roses - exhaling brisk balmy blues
timeless tales of forgotten tulips - yet between dusk and dawn faith thrives
and frost-kissed hope - swiftly turns a new leaf - feathered with crystal belief
but - if to love your moon is madness - let stars fade into cosmic dust
Fill my cup
with poetry
and
sweet
lavender
petals rinsed
with
love
blended with flavours of empathy; a soothing
hot remedy on frosty mornings, when the sun
hides behind fogs of memories, add a pinch of the patience and a spoonful of saccharine solace to tea
lull the nostalgic notions lost in November mists of
flowing across moonless skies of sorrow for my
my cup of lyrical warmth rejuvenates senses life
as coldness seeps in while a poet weaves
hope through verses shaped in artistic
lines stolen from the stars
scattered across this cosmic
canvas
As the sky weeps
in periwinkle petals of
multicolored roses,
rinsed in lemons, and lavender,
the poet within me
releases a bougainvillea
bouquet of unfiltered gratitude,
swaying to the celestial duet
orchestrated by
the angel of raindrops,
adorned in braided
wildflower crowns and
windswept wishes,
echoing dulcet melodies
rendered in whimsical accents.
I ponder, if tears had a tune,
would it be the
sound of drizzling dewdrops?
Would you then feel
the pain I carry,
veiled in smoky silence?
Or would I forever be
the silhouette cloaked
in fogs of charcoal confusion,
too dark to be deciphered
by the fragmented eyes
that eulogize
all that sparkles and glows?
But when stained sunflowers
swirl beneath starless spheres,
scattering seeds of sorrow
to cultivate a garland of grief,
puddled with poignant poems,
I remain throned,
as the goddess of black rain,
riddled with cosmic rituals,
sprinkling kaleidoscopic dust
upon forsaken fields,
while listening to the
drifting leaflets in crisp air,
pleading for the demise
of my unfaltering faith,
oblivious to the truth
that I fear not
mists of melancholy.
I surf through surging seas,
unafraid of twirling torrents
and blazing tides,
piercingly striking
shimmering sapphires
floating in deafening despair.
There in the abyss of obscurities,
I’m nestled within restlessness,
in rooted resilience,
like a perplexed paradox
weaving crippled odes to
the sun that longs to rise and sail,
splashing hues of cinnamon clemency.
Tonight, I’m counting crooning comets,
amidst quivering hailstones,
dancing in cataclysmic rhythm above,
to find my home within
an island of daphne dreams
and singing seashells.
For I hear the flaming flowers
in their solitary stillness
serenade rain rhapsodies,
to awaken the petrichor
soul of heavy horizons,
wrapped in stringed
milky-quartz beads,
bursting forth blooming tomorrows,
illuminated by chamomile water,
concocted from charismatic spring falls…
Yet I think of us, engrossed
in umbrella moments,
Cupid too envied this
symphony of romance
where love conquered all,
and grief but a blurred memory,
in sunlit souvenirs of yesterday.
A Magic Adventure of Peter The Pan/AKA Peta The Fwying Pan
Peter was a fine young pan with blue eyes
Like all the other pans his age, except,
Peter could not yet pronounce 'R's'--he tried...
And 'L's'...so hard he tried. He even wept.
School had been especially hard today
Peter had been poked, teased, and made fun of
More this day than any other school day...
And the ride home took so long on the bus.
When he came through the door, his mama knew
"Why the long face? Are you hurt? Are you sick?"
"No ma'am," said Peter, "Just tiwad fwom schoow".
"Some cookies and milk may just be the trick!"
Mama said, as Peter sat down to eat.
By now, everyone was gathered around
To hear of his day--and sneak a treat.
So he told them his story...and they frowned.
"How can someone be so cruel! Makes no sense!
You are the smartest and brightest of pans!"
Said Debbie Dishwasher-- then cycle rinsed.
The rest agreed and came up with a plan.
"Okay! It's agreed!" said Bob the blender.
"You need magic!--THAT--we can render!
Charles Chalice and Gail Goblet--my dear
Bring what you have, for this magic milk shake.
Michael Magic Grill...you go get us some beer
And also get Peter a great big steak!"
Then everyone sang together with cheer:
"A parr-ty! A parr-ty! It's a parr-ty!
We are all...having...a magic--parr-ty!"
Everyone was busy, hust'ling around.
Tams the Golden Toaster was making toast.
Tex Texas Tea Pot hummed a whist'ling sound.
David Dish and Sara Spoon danced the most,
Except for Marlon Mop--he could 'get down'!
Carol Crock Pot was fixing up the Soup.
Russell Rolling Pin had rolled out a crust
For a magic pie with love from the coop.
Joann Juicer made fresh smoothies--a must!
Suddenly...a sound was heard on the stoop...
"Who could that be? It's nearly midnight!"
Said Cyndi Chandlier all bright with light.
Christopher Cutting-board called, "I'll go see!"
Vienna Vaccume said, "Not without me!"
"Wait!" Debbie Dishwasher cried from the sink.
"Let's look at more options. We need to think.
It could be someone in need of a meal...
Or, it's a burglar--come here to steal!"
"Everyone else! Quickly! Hide inside me
Until we find out who that sound might be!"
deborah burch©
5/23/2012
*****end part I...conclusion in part II
A woman's soul, is it as porous
as the air that breaks the water and earth
apart from each other?
In the slither of liquid contours,
this maiden's essence blows into tiny
glints of filling days’ silent pages
without having to fill in the blanks.
But such fire in her navel;
swelling, leaping forth unto a black dahlia
of night dripping with all the kerosene stars
like a tigress on a hidden, sensuous prowl...
This is her shape.
Then coming from metal gut, she fumes
of musky-flavored energy, steaming
the brain for a war of poker in a den
filled with invincible men as she raises
the bets for a royal flush of aces...
This is her bullish time.
Yet, curling into late evening
she enters into the pillows
of her soul rinsed from the bouquet
and incense of a dulcet day,
her bosom of long breaths warming the lamp
gentle, temperate, and mild in peace,
coasting along the ledge of her swan sleep...
This is her soul's time, shape and peace.
For Laura Loo's Second Place Challenge
Resubmitted 6/27/2016
-----------
Place 2nd in the Contest:The Scent Of Your Soul
Judged 10/18/2014
assorted like the washing on its lines
the words appeared along my way
in bunches of neat paragraphs
they briskly flapped into my mind
still dripping with those concepts they
must have been soaked in for a while
I gladly felt them touching me
and liked their affluent display
of shapes and textures manifold
enjoyed the pleasant freshness
of the smell they carried off all
seasons’ winds spiced with ideas
time passing by would watch me
stealthily try on this one or that so
in their context rinsed with thought
to cool the feverish qualms of my
keen heart and growingly my soul
seems to be draped in purified attire
Lost, deep, among the grasses of the dunes
A summer shower rinsed us, sweet and warm
As, breathing in my ear, your steamy runes
I tasted drops of sea mist from your form
Our late-day passions ended as the storm
Was blushed to silence by the melting sun
The swirling stars, like fireflies in a swarm
Told painted clouds the evening had begun
And by a waking moon ... our lover's dreams were spun.
- June 24, 2018 -
~ 1st Place ~ in the "End June 2018 Premiere Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor.
~ 8th Place ~ in the "Summer Rain Storm 2, Spencerian Stanza" Poetry Contest, Dale Gregory Cozart, Sponsor.
Syllables counted at HowManySyllables.com, no cliche's per Poetry Soup Cliche' Finder.
I rise from the white-wine siesta,
letting go of the serpentine songs,
like a crimson-winged dragonfly
lost in the poppy prairies of Persephone,
untangling my prisoned heart
chained by the churning
deceit of Hades’s immortal chains,
savoring pomegranate promises,
pirouetting through petrichor nirvana,
as the sky smells like a saffron rose
above the castle of emperors
dressed in fallen flowers.
Yet the diamonds sometimes are
engraved with ominous omens
and remorseless remnants,
while I return to cinnamon seclusion,
dancing to the mood of my moon.
O divine dandelion,
in your eyes I see suppressed sighs
of a splintered sunrise,
flickering balmy zephyrs of paradise,
as my soul is tied to the softness
of your delicate dusk~
like a faithful disciple,
forever following your footprints~
while velvety roots of florals
face the glows of alchemy,
amidst the array of arrows,
left as ashes of gold gone cold,
and the gracious gusts of gloaming
devouring the unscrupulous wounds
of a fragranced dawn.
I am the aching pigment
in your palette of purples,
longing for butterfly blurs
to bring me back to a
kingdom of kindness,
where I’ll forever breathe tender lilies
rinsed with wind-swept wishes.
But amidst the clusters of jewels
and raining sakura,
tonight I choose to walk with
specters of scorching stars,
allowing curves of my scarred skin
to burn from the blazing breeze
that bleeds nefarious narratives
upon the bleached borders.
So watch me waltz into the
infernal waters of the deep, bruised bay.
There I’ll write an elegy,
for the sorrow that swallowed your spirit.
I will find an anchor to pull
you back to the land of paper lanterns
as I surrender to the
haunting hues of the horizon;
the sweet sacrifice of a beloved blackbird
singing farewell in silence
to save you from the devilish underworld.
As dandelion dreams
are designed in lucid lies,
carving my essence into wintry wires
of woes and verdicts
from the
growing vines of a
villainous valley.
I feel the blackbird weep, it’s everything
I see the blackbird quiver, it’s what you bring
dreary
d a n d e l i o n
Awakening from a restful night,
I thank God for my humble home,
For His keeping watch as I slept,
And for His morning show of charm.
Enjoying my breakfast with delight,
I feel God’s presence in a brimming cup.
And before I grasp His amazing provision,
All my morning meal has been eaten up.
With joy I sit in safety and comfort
While I mull over visions in my head.
I think of words to express my pleasure
For having a window above my bed.
Clouds overhead sailing thru sunbeams
Are like ships on a sea of blue sky.
Such placid scenes have a calming effect,
When a rare day of strife is nigh.
Everyday I receive God’s daily bread
And wash the dishes happily indeed.
I know my heartaches are rinsed away
And replaced by what I badly need.
God blesses me with gifts every moment.
And every night I sincerely pray.
Though I can never repay His charity,
I thank Him for gifts He sends each day.
“Just because you are soft doesn't mean you are not a force. Honey and wildfire are both the colour gold.” ~Victoria Erickson
Tonight the moon sanctioned
her golden halo
to unfurl butterfly wings
rinsed with honey
and champagne ribbons,
as feathers of lunar crust rise,
to embellish the sky
with silver sequins,
drizzling second chances
upon fickle hearted dragonflies,
gifted as weapons of
deception to the sweltering breeze,
that wrapped my weakened knees.
I’ve always known trusting
is a losing game with no winners,
but why do I always feel
like an intruder sinking deep
into the depths of spiteful seas~
where planktons and stinging marine
nettles prick my untouched skin?
Yet I am still searching for
a singing star that wouldn’t
need written renderings of
how my black tinted glass
heart was left to drown.
Who would have thought,
there’d be more to the
onyx glittered
ripples that stream,
in teal blue waves?
If only they’d hear
every unspoken tale
of shipwrecked ruins
resting amongst graphite
motions of frozen intuitions,
forgotten through forsaken
lagoons amidst
fleeting monsoons,
left as memoirs along
soft coral mists swiftly
passing through patch
reefs in abandoned atolls.
So let me take my splintered
spheres to a realm of no return,
forgiving sinful anthems
that lured me to believe
that friends were more
than enemies in sweet disguise.
I am soft, not fragile,
neither am I a
shrunken blossom.
I am a tiger lily,
fragrant yet fierce,
ready to face whatever~
hypocritical fangs of fate
may serve in merlot wine chalices.
I filled the night’s chalice
with knots of desire,
ribbons rinsed
with watered secrets
of the snake stars
I drank the charged blue
of the soul’s sapphire,
brushed the salt-laced air
between heartbeats
named the pining patterns
of crystal lanterns
your sacred fire
and you drift beside me ~
femme fatale fantasies,
singing sweet, sepal soft odes
soothing aquatic angst
placing pink, perfumed petals
where I dream ~
promising I breathe nothing
but the pulse of paradise
untouched ~
as I slowly awaken
to the tulip tempest you’ve stirred
within me,
tongue-teasing
along your ring finger
while my nails roamed
the curves of your
contoured forearms,
learning the lion-mane lines
above your merlot veins
like redolent rain
thirsting to taste
the electrified essence
of your liquid lyrics
rushing restlessly
upon my rose-moon reveries
O, magnetic charmer
at the mercy of your
white-magic spell
even an incubus
shall hide in shame,
forgetting tricks to tempt
the timeless trinkets
awaiting to be traced ~
Oh, how I tremble
at the mere thought
of having love’s floral thunder
enthrall and excite me
in tremors of rolling silence
for I need you more than
the wanting waves
aching to
wash over the sands
I am the sighing sonnet
only the sea-wilderness
within the island
of your gaze can read ~
a mermaid mystery
marked with tides of truth…
My island slept for years in the care
Of Tainos, Caribs and Arawak
Their canoes on the sea breast bare
Dreaming of milk from manioc
The swamps unscarred, trees secure
Batos and songs rinsed in the azure.
Then came doom laden caravels came
Prancing with Conquistadores
Their swords to slaughter, then to shame
The Ave Marias slutted by whores
Whose blazing balls of canons denied
The sufficient death of the crucified.
My island was the Mary Magdalene held
For ransome in the frying lust
For gold, the continental wars spelled
A trembling virginity in the dust
A lost of idyllic grace, where bloody men
Sowed the evil inherited again and again.
From Spanish to French, Spanish to British
How callous is all history
A spectre publishing the marginal brutish
Shrivelled glory of identity.
And still my Mary, her alabastor box a gift
This tropic wonder, this lignum vitae of thrift
From empty tomb to broken hearted disciple
Evanglizes the Mahoe dawn
Over the Blue Mountain where peace ripple
On the motto, still the fawn
In the forest brings the stag to court
This island stands ready to file a good report.