Best Scarves Poems
cold-cling of Winter
wrapped in sweaters, wound in scarves —
fashion for snowmen
11/15/2018
Twin, silver cathedral bells, sway and chime.
As every note peals out, clear and sublime.
No winds blow through the sky, this silent night.
The peaceful heavens, filled with a celestial light.
Arm in arm, down the icy lane we do walk.
Heart to heart, our souls they seem to talk.
A pair of happy cardinals, one red, one gold.
Go bobbing through the snow, so white, so cold.
Along the hillside, stands rows of frosted pine.
The fields, blanketed in diamonds, a vision divine.
Couples, young and old, seated in horse-drawn sleighs.
Making new memories, and reminiscing their by-gone days.
Nestled so close together, like two turtledoves.
All bundled up, with warm scarves and gloves.
Amongst white winter lands, we two do wander.
While our light hearts, are growing ever fonder.
Written for Isaiah Zerbst's contest - "Let It Snow-12 Paintings of Winter"
This poem was inspired by the painting-"Christmas Day" by John Ritchie
Night of Aurora
Dance of Life -
Night of Aurora before the midnight sun,
Before the polar threshold of the daystar,
As Aurora’s swirling spirals flicker
In winsome purple-green electric flashes,
Dappled spectral neon scarves
From nighttide’s celestial dust,
Dance of barefoot soul bewitched -
Arrayed in fiery folds of scarlet-red
Leaps from star to star
When snow buntings chant
Artic serenades with her melody
As silence falls in silver solitude
Of flashing silent symphonies
Across philharmonic fantasies –
Dance of the artic
Beauty in diaphanous neon,
Ephemeral bursts of celestial streamers
Surge from astral pavilions,
Splash in sheer waves of gossamer mauve,
When lavender prisms pirouette
In charged rhapsodies over the fair isles
With sweeping pirouettes
Dance of the ancestors –
Ethereal ribbon dance in cascading rainbows
To tell tidings of sonorous harmony
From those released past the limits of the sky
They wear kaleidoscopes of happy hues
While Aurora dances a tarantella to say
She rejoices too.
11-17-22
Checked the Thesaurus for the spelling of “nighttide.”
Twenty-nine lines of poetry
Contest: Poetry Marathon - Mile 22
Sponsor: Mark Toney
October, when the leaves intensify -
colored explosions: orange, yellow, red,
breezes to temper summer's heat draw nigh.
There's one last month of days with lightened sky
before our Daylight Saving goes to bed;
October, when the leaves intensify.
A campsite will my kinfolk occupy,
by hot bonfire we'll sing and break the bread,
breezes to temper summer's heat draw nigh.
So many sports events to satisfy
this fan: World Series appetites are fed,
October, when the leaves intensify.
The crisp night air, hot chocolate, pumpkin pie,
warm sweaters, gloves, and scarves become widespread,
Breezes to temper summer's heat draw nigh.
Sweet treats for trick-or-treaters who stop by,
the pirates, princesses, and walking dead.
October, when the leaves intensify;
Breezes to temper summer's heat draw nigh.
Written 12 July 2020
Two teddy bears, named
Ted and Fred,
Packed a picnic basket with buns,
And home-made bread,
Keep to the path their mummy said,
So off they went, along the way,
Happy teddy bears were Ted and Fred,
We’re going to the woods’ hurray,
What a lovely, happy first of May,
Was this exciting warm Spring Day.
They swung their basket as they skipped,
They sung and saw fresh berries’
Which they picked,
Poor little Fred his finger pricked,
It’s just a scratch,
Big brother said,
But we must be careful, said Ted,
It’s going to rain, must find
A safe, dry place,
Fred began to cry, tears streaked
Down his face.
The clouds were building up in the sky,
Lightning and thunder way up high,
Each one pulled up their hood.
Brrr………… its getting cold,
Don’t walk so fast Ted, said little Fred,
I’m scared, are we so very lost,
No, Ted replied, but we must find
The path back home at any cost.
Big brother looked helplessly around,
Felt hopeless, for young brother Fred
Who wanted mummy, what if they could not
Find their way back home, what a dread,
That would break their parent's heart,
Shhh ……. Fred, said Ted, lets' find
the path, where did we start'.
Mama and papa bears began to worry,
They put their raincoats on,
And went into the woods, where are my
Baby bears mama cried,
Freddy and Ted.
Papa bear bravely took the lead,
Mama don’t fret said he,
We will find them soon you’ll see.
Both plump and slow,
Papa started to sing, I know,
Singing calms you down, join me.
The little bears heard their parents singing,
Excited, they began flinging
Up their scarves and hats, screaming,
We are over here, we are over here,
They ran into each other’s arms, so glad,
All were so happy, this picnic,
Could have ended sad,
For eventually no picnic was even had.
They all joined hands and sung,
As their voices merrily rung
Through-out the woods.
They got back home papa, Fred and Ted
Watched TV,
Whilst mama bear prepared supper happily,
She read them nursery rhymes in bed,
They fell asleep, she tucked them in,
Sleep well my babies, mama said.
Where are you, Spring?
Nor'westerly, with icy blade it carves
through puny shields of woolly hats and scarves
gives brief respite, then pierces yet again,
brings tears to eyes of happiest of men,
umbrellas inside out, their holders curse
no pity, winter laughs and does it's worst,
where are you?
Where are you, Spring?
Your many coloured blanket still unrolled
we gaze at barren lawns with colours cold.
Snowdrops like bullets pepper fields and lanes,
your daffodils and gifts of daisy chains,
heads lift and petals spread in early light
short days and longer nights fade from our sight,
where are you?
Where are you, Spring?
Your subtle kiss, your silent call to arms
to regiments of bulbs and seeds on farms
and sleeping creatures, heartbeats soft and slow
that warm in chorus with the melting snow
to crawl with blinking eyes from 'neath the earth
and celebrate with us your next rebirth.
Where are you?
Shapely to coarse green stem,
sitting alone; wanting to grin.
Patiently waiting for the take,
wanting Halloween to begin.
A few more weeks left to grow,
inviting; nestled in straw.
Children soon make their choice,
with little eyes in awe.
Fields abundant in orange hue,
serenading a season of rest.
Large or small or fat or thin,
any grab will be the best.
Cold winds blow just enough
to take its nipping bite.
Scarves and hoods, snuggly warm,
fending autumn with wraps pulled tight.
Little arms try to carry
the most perfect pumpkin around.
The patch now shrinks very thin,
remnants of a once lush ground.
Copyright © 2009 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Second Place Winner ~ "Happy Halloween" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kelly Deschler
Nov. 04, 2015
(a Salute to Howard Moss)
Although it is not yet warm,
we have shoved to the backs of closets
snow-boots, gloves, and woolen scarves,
locked tire chains and ice scrapers
into trunks of automobiles as if
tomorrow the first bloom appears.
Oh, stiff wind blow, hold back snow,
whose flakes unwelcome gust
while hearts claim lilac scent.
Oh, pale moon, come, lend your light.
Oh, songbird, drop your sweet notes here,
while old men's hats sail past
and girls push down their skirts—
with both hands—as purses cling
on hunched shoulders and hair-strands
blow against cheeks.
What is this howling wind
and who brought this mournful song,
this wild, feathered up-surging
as if tomorrow the world upturns.
We've shoved our gloves,
our boots and scarves behind
the racks in backs of closets,
locked away the sacks of salt,
and scoured the ground for signs
of hyacinth buds or crocus flush,
while old mens' hats sail past
and girls hold down their skirts
as purses sway and hair-strands
whip against their cheeks?
And though it is not yet warm,
there is the mystery of spring.
She leads her army up and down,
two sides of Main Street, and is found
companioned by three basset hounds.
They follow, closely, at her heels
like foundlings gathered round
I've often wondered where she goes,
with shopping cart, and dogs in tow.
Tweed on her back, scarves on her hair,
regardless of the temperature
She never speaks, but no one cares.
with eyes like windows, dark and clear.
A friendly clerk will wave hello,
while patrons share a coin or two.
We help her fill her cart with food,
her needs are scant, her wants are few.
When spring arrives, she'll sit and rest
upon the bench, within the shade
to watch daily passing parade
She'll stay awhile, become our friend,
then disappear, as summer ends
Dark hooded eyes have not revealed,
just why she migrates, what compiles
her secret story, or where she goes.
She's a soldier of frenetic times
where clocks tick fast, and seasons change.
She holds the leash like it's her string
to keep the world within her hands
A solemn ritual, we have seen
again, again, where has she been?
And through the seasons, we have grown,
more curious, yet pleased to bend
a little more to understand
She stays until the autumn comes
But winter knows her silent song
_____________________________________________
4/29/16
Contest: Second Place Contest
Sponsor Laura Loo
(Based on a real person that we often see on the streets of our small town)
__________________________________________________
Upon the ground
(To be sung to the tune of “As Time Goes By” from the movie “Casablanca”)
In this October mist
I know you must insist
The leaves will fall around
In colors right before your eyes
Upon the ground
The temperature will chill
These sunny days so still
A pumpkin patch you will be found
They grow along a vine of green
Upon the ground
Pine cones and scarecrows
Wreathes upon the gate
Warm sugar cookies
Resting on a plate
Scarves plaid and woolen, oh we cannot wait
For autumn’s wondrous sound
The gardens now are bare
Though still a smile we share
This season always does astound
Our footprints as we walk we leave
Upon the ground
For the: Change the Record Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Natasha L. Scragg
Spring
A refresh of rain, falling down on them all
Un-quenching each leaf with tilt refrain
Linden shaped blossoms in spring do install
Such beautiful heaven that no one can maim
The burst of an orange, a tulip in bloom
Infusion of flowers, by meadow's festoon
The shine of an orchid, ever so stark,
It stays on my mind, long after dark
The Rose brings her beauty, as I swift appraise
And summer goes trailing with fever, her blaze
Summer
Heat waves arrive, wearing red flaming scarves
Bronzed cherub angels, by cool fountain spout
Yellow kissed flowers by summer's head count
The dahlias in love, with passions, don't starve
Bikinis and tank tops with summer tanned legs
Atop the hot board walk, skip trampling keds
Bleach blonds and ravens in tune with the fair
Coasters and bolsters and times without care
It's all in the season of sunshine and thrills
Where fireworks burst, o'er emerald hills!
Autumn
The seasons pass as my eyes behold
Soft change in hues when bending limbs grow bare
As colored leaves turn brown begin to fold
To finally scatter into Autumn's air
These days remembered on a road of leaves
Traveling aspen groves ablaze in gold
A Winter's chill before the Autumn grieves
Reminds that all life ends before its cold
And calls in voice its yearly subtle dance
As songs from birds now give a quiet note
While those in love hope colors will enhance
To feel chill from Winter when color dies
To bless the fallen leaves with sadder eyes
Winter
The Winter's cold comes dressed in velvet white
And spills its unique flakes upon the Earth
Scenes of beauty calm, open eye's delight
And cleanse the ground before the Spring's rebirth
I'll walk upon the freshest fallen snow
And see the trail of prints I leave behind
While knowing it reveals the path I go
I'll make a snowy Angel some will find
To cross the banks of white where depth is low
And sit among the quiet, Winter's brought
To see the landscape clean with softest glow
Shall bring to me another gentle thought
I'll lift my eyes to find a pictured scene
And marvel at the white that is pristine
written by Mystic Rose & Frederic Parker
9/20/14
A place called Copenhagen, do you know its song?
Joy and laughter safely ride waves of light.,
and summer days are twenty-five hours long.
Do you still hear the sprocket's cadence and pedals din..
our hearts saying "follow me!" to clamour, and climax in sun,
along the perch fishing canals and Strøget's shops.
You wore Pegasus sandals and a Nørgaard 101 striped t-shirt.,. two sizes too small,
our bikes were true friends, our chains sang in unison,
to the lonely smiles of the raggedy ann town folk.
From the biergarten our parents look on..
sipping Carlsberg Pilsner and Mulberry Aquavit snaps.
Just a hint of sadness hidden behind sunglasses,
they knew that innocent sun too..
Let's sup on ourselves unrepentant,
where no one else can dine.
Your basket holds sweet fruit of existence..
the fresh bread of light in mine.
We'll make a pact to return one day,
where sunshine brightens the May,
and If the clouds turn to grey,
or we're separated by a crowd of strangers..
I'll look for you at the center, searching through the bins,
for what two foolish lovers threw away..
Among Kewpie dolls, sandals & scarves,
clothed déjà vu dreams abound.
Yet true hearts yearn for eternity still,
in Tivoli Garden's lost and found.
trees with sprouting limbs
bathed by spring's April showers
don
their lacy green robes
trees with dense full limbs
swayed by warm summer breezes
spread
their green velvet capes
trees with brilliant limbs
whirled by the cool autumn winds
shed
their burnished gold gowns
trees with cold bare limbs
frozen by winter blizzards
drape
their white fluffy scarves
Dreams herein, our progeny, still birth sometimes inside,
blind and rigor twisted, formless foetuses upon
the terrace steps where innocence bled and occasionally died
screeching for salvation when every shred of hope was gone.
Yet also soared in glorious flight, monstrous span
of righteous flapping wings in the stadium sky,
drummed thunderclaps, exultant fear insurgently began
inflaming souls and lifting living spirits heaven high.
Externalised, the primal chants and streaming scarves,
the goading, cheering, praising adrenaline infusion,
the fluid rush of gameplay, of two dovetailed halves
painted on an emerald canvas with fleet of foot profusion.
In a cloud of air horn banshees and muddied leather vapour
where studded feet slap pigskin like a hated face
spins a salt and vinegar smudged result newspaper
telling tales of holy triumph or damnation and disgrace.
Abused patriotism, the easy asylum of the scoundrel cur
whose omnipresent wield of slick wet Stanley blade slashes
carves desired resurgence of the way that things once were,
for Nazi flags, stiff arm salutes and pencil black moustaches.
Yet overriding all, the team and the game, the beautiful game
and the chasm rift between each side as deep and wide as forever,
the team is all, all is the team and will always be the same
and whatever divides team from team let no man draw together.
The crispen lips of autumn
when pumpkin leaflets fill the air
and sing-ed wood is smoking bare is freedom.
It's the crackle 'neath your bundled feet
and scarves tied loose and apple pinched cheeks
and majesty you'll never reach from a window.
It's linking arms with your closest friend
and letting the warming sun pretend it's working.
It's chipmunks still and frozen there
beneath the tree, nuts everywhere
a glint in their eyes and they're back in their lair
cheeks popped full of magic.
This kiss is the glory of your love's embrace
lying there you're face to face 'till slumber
'Till the big goodnight, 'till the bright snow light,
"till winter...