Best Sashays Poems
Sweet Butterfly, with wings now dry 'tis time to break away
and light upon the leaves of dawn while weeping willows sway,
not reminisce 'bout chrysalis discarded yesterday,
but treasure life, with colors rife in nature's cabaret.
Sweet Butterfly, you sometimes sigh "terrene so strange and new”,
but take a chance, with winged expanse of fairy-like bijou,
to taste delight in random flight, to drift beyond the blue
and then collect her naked nectar, sipped in morning dew.
Sweet Butterfly, you question why the breeze is seldom soft
when swirling you, your wings askew, while floating free aloft.
Some seem to find their peace of mind believing gods have coughed,
but others, downed, have often found more freedom when they've scoffed.
Sweet Butterfly, you needn't cry, the fields are full of clover,
and meadowlands bare braided strands that winds in waves flow over -
but if you fear that, more than here, another mead is mauver,
just flutter by, beneath the sky, unfettered flitting rover.
Sweet Butterfly, farewell, goodbye, you've left this world behind.
I oft gaze back along the track of flowers that you've mined
recalling days of light sashays and movements unconfined
that complement the firmament where beauty lies enshrined.
As the
story
goes...
A
pesky
fly,
came buzzing by
to rest and munch
and eat his lunch
and have some fun
on the hound dog's
nose.
The old dog
snoozed
without a clue
in the noontime heat
of the August
sun.
He
napped
awhile
by piles of leaves
in dappled shade
of the apple tree,
where an apple fell
and the flies said "yum"
and the bees would hum
and the dog would yawn.
That lazy bone
won't fetch a stick,
or scratch his neck
or care a lick
about a neighbor's cat,...
That ornery
brat
will prance around,
will tease and taunt
the weary hound,
who naps so sound
on
this
dog- day
afternoon.
Hound has no pep
to take a step
to chase
or race
that snooty
cat,
who
smugly rubs
against his back,
and sticks her nose
up to his snout,
and
sticks up her tail
sashays about.
He hardly cares
that she is there.
She preens and cleans
her own black spots,
She stares at him
he stares right back,
with one eye open,
one eye shut
He'll stretch a bit
and scratch a lot
but it's too
hot
to
chase
that
cat...
Don't
bat
your
eyes..
it's
not a lie.
So
what
do
you
think
of
that?
_________________________________
The seasons vary as they come and go,
and each, a lovely lady, loves to dance.
Fair Winter glistens in a gown of snow
she wears whenever she can get the chance.
She often glides through night beneath the glow
of midnight’s moon. Each sequence of her gown
falls beautifully when she is waltzing slow,
and stillness is the sound as she drifts down.
Her sister, Spring, is eager to dance, too,
but takes her time; she needs to feel the sun
upon her rosebud cheeks and feel sweet dew
beneath her feet. She waits till Winter’s done.
Spring dances with the breeze when she sashays
across a bluer sky with Winter gone.
Her pretty gown is fashioned from sun’s rays
to sparkle with the colors of the dawn.
She sobs sometimes when sunshine goes away,
but it is good! Her tears become rain showers.
With springing steps, she greets the next warm day
and swings her skirt, revealing bright new flowers.
Her sister, Summer, is not far behind.
The blossoms in Spring’s wake last but a while,
for Summer’s hot! With sun, she‘s intertwined,
and different blooms prefer her sultry style!
Too hot for her own good, this lass can be.
She gyrates slowly; if, by chance, she cries,
her tears revive her so that passionately
she pairs with Thunder, flashing stormy eyes!
The beauty known as Autumn waits her turn.
She does the paso doble with finesse,
and often her appearance makes us yearn
for youth because she wears nostalgia’s dress.
She tangos with the wind and leaves. A rush
of ardor overtakes her in her dance.
Some leaves turn crimson, for she makes them blush
while sweeping earth with brilliant elegance.
One day arrives first snowfall, and you’ll glean
the ladies have again begun their round.
A season’s dance is always to be seen
because their ball room is from sky to ground!
An oldie for Brian Strand's All Yours (May 9) Poetry Contest
"A Silent Song"
Mirror Mirror on the Wall
Blessed or cursed
Morning shave
Coffee please
Write a verse
Remembers last night’s dream
Grabs a napkin, spills his spleen
Shoves it in his pocket
Walks to work
Sits at his desk
Carries on as usual
Chats on with the new study,
he’s on a roll, softly flirts
Quietly, silently, it always works
Groundhog Day that’s the worst,
Where’s the breaker to dive under it all
Every now and then a Tempest is called for
A heavenly thunderous squall
Just to shake it up
Move through the strung out long day pall
Cover his mirror with her fog and all
All the while
He’s talking it up, little work day dramas
Meetings minute cutlass pen thrust
Business as usual, balls to bust
Still underneath it all he’s thinking the stories frame by frame
She whispers out of nowhere ethereal in his brain,
“The best story is yet to arrive, it’s only the middle of the day…
maybe some gold glitter, a Llama and a Toucan that sashays?”
Empath on his knees by midnight
He’s writing melancholic love songs
The words are tight, verses short
Not long, he’s thinking Turtle Doves and short skirts
That won’t work…
scrawls it out, writing’s gone with the wind,
The best words for the story don’t take too long
He listens to some music, thinks of her and sings a new song.
Mirror Mirror on the Wall
Dreams flourish dripping words
black on white her familiar screen
pounding faster like raging horses hooves and heart beats
bleed vibrant colors mystic legions of wars and lovers
a foreign sovereignty her mind and wily covers her pageantry
Her eyes the windows of her world
Wings beating flying free
Cages broken, horses hooves hearts racing
She follows him on another shore a dream by sea
Praying prophecies
Empath on her knees
Two very different minds
Free to be
(Lovejoy-Burton/Feb 2018)
Music/ Paolo Conte, "Sparring Partner"
https://youtu.be/tzjdY5rmpCA
Wind and sea and waves and sun
sand in toes as day is done
Seagulls glide, sandpipers run
young dad splashes with his son
Breakers rise, translucent teal
lifeguards poised as youngsters squeal
Seniors search for shells - they feel
twelve again as sun rays heal
Sky on fire towards the west
clouds in lustrous fashion dressed
Cosmic artistry - I'm blessed
songs of peace swirl through my chest
Violins waft quietly
over swelling timpani
Saxophone soars soulfully
bidding hearts to be set free
Blushing scarlet, clouds advance
smell of salty foam enchants
Palm trees sway as in a trance
recalls young love's first slow dance
Couples stroll, fingers entwined
share a kiss if so inclined
Rising moon smiles as designed:
gives the anxious peace of mind
Waves still warm from midday blaze
surfers dance in sea-mist haze
Sailboats flee from stress-filled days
springtime struts; summer sashays
written 23 June 2023
Romanticism descends an unbridled staircase
bittersweet; stripped bare and unleashed
passion in supple nudity
sashays down my spine
a ginned up shimmy and sway yearn
tingling every naked nerve with a sudden surge
of electric longing and unmasked pulses of pang and pleasure
Susan Ashley
October 11, 2019
*romanticism: romantic spirit or tendency*
Spring waltzes in with rosebud cheeks and swaying with a breeze.
She summons Sun and Rain to do her bidding; grace blossoms,
but she can’t compete with Summer’s sultriness; thus she takes her leave.
Summer spiritedly takes the stage as she tangos in with Sun.
As their passion scorches the ground on which they dance, storms may come,
cooling Summer off, but she leaves once Autumn sashays in.
Autumn is a playful sprite, brightening leaves for a while
and twirl-flirting with Wind as the days grow ever cooler.
Romantic at sundown, she slow-dances with shadows that lengthen.
Fall's sister, not as romantic, moves in a courtly way.
Winter enters Earth’s ballroom sometimes frigidly, yet can show grace
when she lets loose a white gown that glistens beneath Moon’s glow.
(Checked by Syllablecounter.net)
She yearns for summer’s stage
as snowflakes minuet,
to escape winter’s cage
for summer’s footloose steps.
A dream of sun-swept days
and bright-winged floating trails,
of surf’s and sand’s sashays
spellbound by cobalt veils.
She waits for fall’s fair waltz
as heavy air heel-toes.
Longing for vibrant vaults,
leaves choreographed show.
And while the foliage glides,
she prays for spring’s parade.
Ne’er to be satisfied
with current dance displayed.
Oh my, how petals sway
and raindrops pirouette!
Her love of springtime wanes
amidst the merriment.
She calls to winter come
again and dance with me.
The rhythmic season’s hum,
her playful fantasy.
Swirling, spinning, swinging
on starlight, season's dance.
Twisting, tapping, turning -
the motions of romance.
She hopes one day to find
the partner she adores.
Each season’s steps remind
of love she’s waiting for.
10-4-13
for A Season's Dance Contest
Sponsor: Gail Angel Doyle
Late mid-life street woman she is...
I grew up with her under
mango trees now softly drooping
their shoulders much like hers.. but she,
still shaped like a Boticelli urn, wrapped
in arms diaphanous in flesh and heat,
fanned banana leaves swaying to
latin notes while cooking fried bamboo
shoots, her fragrance buzzing along
summer's exotic fly: how she pinched
my cheek with her tapered fingers still
wrinkled pink in grasses floating
on her quivering body.. .
somehow, she gave me this
epiphany of riding with my own instinct,
the slow wave of breaths gently drifting
through a young rosiness of my adolescent
stems... if i knew how to swirl in the wakening
glides of inner flow , it was her circling baked hips
winding and bellying in nights and morns
of her own natural sashays...
How i long to climb her mango tree,
her waxing then waning shape still
blazing among plucked banana leaves
of female revelry or finery… I tell myself,
there is no age when her contour sways
in places where her eyes dazzle
with her near floating, tanning limbs,
of how she made me feel unashamed
being just who I am without much caution
or youthful pride; humbled so by her inherent
moon-full grace…
©
... ..............
Skat's Contest---Any Old Poem #4
Bespangled
she sashays up the shore
from a sequin gowned sea
wearing the undulating waves
of aquamarine and ambrosial sheen
adorned with shimmering and shivering seeds of excitement
A thousand beaded fingertips
trace her coral curves
whispering sweet nothings
in the luscious language of brine and blue
drizzling down
her sea-salted soul-case
teasing and tempting
her cooled honeyed patina
to passionately impearled pertness
Enraptured as he is
enticed by her dreamscape
the yearning senescent sands sigh~
longing for relics of rose-water regrets.
Susan Ashley
February 8, 2017
~ Fourth Place ~
Premiere Contest: #400
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Our month of May unfolds soft pastel haze
to spread her joy ahead of summer days.
'Tween buds of April and June's full-bloomed phase
spring daffodils and tulips pave the ways
for lilac and forsythia bouquets.
Lush verdant leaves create a rich, dense maze
from warmth and rain through her 'communiques'
to wake lush growth and blossoms 'neath sun's rays.
Our month of May lifts up our hearts with praise;
her transformations of landscapes amaze.
A child of spring, her growing scene displays
'till summer's full maturity sashays.
Then lovely May will yield without delays,
as June slides in to bring full summer blaze.
May 24, 2018
~1st Place~
Contest: All Yours (May 9)
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 05/08/2021
~5th Place~
Premiere Contest: Memories of May
Sponsor: Michelle Faulkner
Judged: 05/08/2019
Rules: Poem posted during the month of May 2018
Monorhymed Sonnet
Belligerent bulldog blows up balloons, bulbous and blue.
Frantic frenzied flamingo flips for a flute and a flu.
Persnickety porcupine prances perilous with pooh,
Concerned calico cat coaxes a cardinal’s carnival coo.
Daredevil dolphin diligently designs dalmatian dog’s hairdo.
Serendipitous skunk sashays toward sticky sweet stew.
Lavishly laborious lion lunges into little linguistic loo.
Youngish yak yells and yips at yellow bellied you.
Awaking from Stupor 1-16-24
It's not desire per say but the clinging
That stifles soul and stops heart from singing
Enlivening silence sets our souls free
Vibrant in the now, joyful and carefree.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Awaking from Stupor
Winter haze beats upon the door,
Drunken dreams cling to bitter cherries of midnight,
Before night sashays into white flurries of dawn
When dull eyes wrestle out of binding yesterdays,
And pink-purple pussywillow hallucinations,
Provoked
Awakened to dream
Throwing off phantoms of eiderdown illusions,
Dawning redeemed from the clutch of midnight shrouds,
Nascent emerges sipping sweet soul sunrises
Coaxed from aromas of grace,
From holographic hollow mazes,
While pale sleepwalking staggers into real
Returning with a rosy heartbeat flush
To leave in shadows lethargy of ragged pastels
Numb shades to retreat like useless ghosts
And cower in new auroras of primed breathless light,
Neon insights flash electric incentive,
Sparks ignite fertile tinder stored in silence,
Sentient eyes step into the womb reserved
For every new second purified
In percolation of harmonic animas –
Conscious and unconscious
Awake emergent -
Bliss consummated!
Speak my name, learn me through deep ways...
Bring horizons which enthrall
while blossoms twirl as night sashays
to enchant our flamed spirit's call
that time, in slow-hour dance obeys.
When seasons reap a love's harvest
Let’s wander among clustered leaves;
fallen gold on oak then we rest
igniting vows …heaven believes,
until one nuptial theme song weaves.
8/3/2019
Janice Canerdy's English Quintain Contest
As Dawn Weeps Its New Fall
To the old fallen barn
where fine horses once stayed
Life spins its never ending yarn
through an old vanishing parade.
Within your rotting boards
termites eat long dead trees
Life existing in massive hordes
busy as busy honey bees.
Empty stalls, once held more
now upon wide cracked walls
holes were active bumble bees bore
echoes heard, ghosts of farmer's calls.
As dawn weeps its new fall
upon dead, fallen host
where once life begged its recalls
of picnics, and marsh-mellow roasts.
Dusk came, refused to leave
its trailing dark, obeys
time and loss, twins that do not grieve
one dances slow, other sashays.
To the old fallen barn
where fine horses once stayed
Life spins its never ending yarn
through an old vanishing parade.
Robert J. Lindley
Rhyme, ( What Time And Weather Destroys )
Note: This was once a sonnet, but I thought it better to rework it into a longer poem. In that decision the ten syllable verses were changed to 6,6,8,8...
My muse demanded the change so please, do not blame me..
Having lived and worked on a farm, I am very acquainted with old barns, hard work and getting up well before sunrise... etc. etc.
Syllables Per Line:
6 6 8 8 0 6 6 8 8 0 6 6 8 8 0 6 6 8 8 0 6 6 8 8 0 6 6 8 8
Total # Syllables: 168
Total # Words: 126