Best Scene Poems
ripples of blue ebb
as ocean pebbles crumble--
washing summer out
Tania Kitchin's Ocean Waves Haiku Contest
1/27/2019
How I love the sky, the sea and land.
Today I paint myself into a scene
of visual delight; though I'm on sand,
I dip my brush first into vivid green.
Tall trees are in my view far left and right.
I paint the path made out of stones that led
me to this beach which now is my escape!
I paint the sand, then dip into some red!
I'm all alone in my red bikini.
I like the fact that it’s in contrast to
the white of sand and forest’s verdancy.
But, oh, the backdrop is amazing blue!
My picture’s top half is the sea. Beyond
its tranquil surface, now my eyes are drawn
to hues of brightness of which I am fond
as twilight’s sky I am adding on.
Some tangerine with crimson I have swirled
onto the canvas, and the red’s the same
as my bikini! Finally, this world
I've been painting I inscribe with my name!
10/21/17
Permafrost upon the boughs,
in a glistening diamond wood;
where the water meets the Terra,
thin sheets in semi-melt
perform a slow ballet.
Machinating the manger scene
The little shepherd sat at night
and kept his sheep within his sight
he gazed up at the starry night
and saw one star was shining bright
onto a solitary manger site
inside a candle gave its light
two images appeared in sight
and in a straw crib was a child
so beautiful with manner mild
encompassed by a sandy drift
he smiled and wished to give a gift
and from a lamb its wool was sheared
with nothing else though he still cared
he rolled it into a wooly ball
a present that he would recall
he saw three figures enter near
and stayed behind to watch with care
gifts were presented with blessed intent
one had offered a pleasant scent
they bowed before them as they went
Mary, the mother saw the boy
and beckoned him to enter in
she thanked him for the little toy
I’ll remember you and the wooly ball
“Your welcome ma’am, my name is Saul”
Cool Writes and Imagination Contest
Sponsored by Kim Rodrigues
November 22, 2018
* Saul became Paul an apostle in later years
The moonlight's pale rays
Pockets of crystal water
- expectation pearls
Fragrance of moonbeam flowers -
ready to be kissed by light
How lovely to spend time
On a hillock overlooking the bay!
The ruddy sun just warms enough,
So I’ll enjoy my perfect day.
The sea is not perfectly calm.
Waves roll towards the beach,
What are they whispering to the sand?
What thoughts I wish I could reach?
There on the other side of the lake shore,
I spy a fascinating pristine vale
White beeches cover most of the land,
Except for a cottage that stands in the dale.
It is the place I want to go
So I take a leisurely walk
Ignoring the restless harbour bars
Avoiding friends who would want to talk.
The air is fresh in the awesome vale,
I watch a hawk attack a sparrow,
But my mind is on the cottage,
As I wend my way though it is narrow.
She must have sensed I was so near,
As she comes out and there we kiss.
I hear the dulcet sounds of mellow tunes
Euphoria reaches its peak, my mind in a mist.
Inside the cottage lavender perfumed,
She brings me the delicacy of an ambrosial repast.
Satiated we rest on a soft sofa
My dearest love reaches its peak at last.
Like a royal parade,
they waddled across
the well traveled thoroughfare
teeming with autos crawling to a stop;
otherwise road rage reduced to admiration.
The regal drake held his head high—his eyes
piercing straight ahead—oblivious to the traffic.
The obeisance of his trailing brace
reflected a solemn reverence to their chief.
A mother hen shot an evil eye to a baby Donald
who quickly got back in step before exiting onto
the dew laden emerald grass—Glistering.
With the aura of a spa for creatures
bearing wings or fins or tails, as well as feet,
the pond awaited them—one by one
quacking with pleasure as they entered.
As we mounted our bikes
to continue our ride, auto horns
began to honk and obscene words
abated the serene ambiance.
Calm
Following an ice cold calm night
Winter sun bathes a splendid sight
Icicles pirouette to ground
Nature's ballet dance does astound
Winter wraps herself round the scene
A frosty regal beauty Queen
Clothed in a fetching wintry gown
Lustrous as diamonds in a crown.
Robins bop along, feathers fanned
Upon Earth's dazzling wonderland
Squirrels gaze in awe of their play
And amuse with their own display
Spider webs, they simply look grand
Silvery art in every strand
Each web so delicately spun
Enhanced by rays of wintry sun.
Weeping willows elevate cheer
Featuring crystal chandelier
Serene majestic wizardry
A finer sight there'll rarely be
Observers feeling truly calmed
By the magic of wintry charms
Savour these sights ere the Earth's thaw
Before Spring has the world in awe.
11th January 2022
C Form - Couplet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Act III, final scene, psychodrama script-
the world is ushered off into history's crypt.
All the super heroes lie slaughtered on the floor
while apocalyptic addicts are screaming out for more.
A handful of patriots ride the airwaves into night
broadcasting dire warnings to bring the truth to light.
General population is glued to the TV set
watching situation comedies, smoking cigarettes.
The program's interrupted by a special news update
"World War III declared" more details at eight.
General population pumps his fist hard into the air
grabs himself a six-pack and settles back into his chair.
Less then twenty cases later he is morgue decor
from the radiation resulting from the war.
The tube becomes his headstone, body decomposing on the floor
beneath blue light TV flickering...1984.
swirls of clouds trim sky
leaves twirl as wind passes by . . .
a squirrel stands still
Sept. 8, 2022
for Tania Kitchin's Autumn In Nature - Haiku Poetry Contest
for 'A HIKU PREMIER' Poetry Contest
I sit and pause, looking at the sky blue ceiling above me. White vapour cotton wool clouds
gently float like water lilies on an upside down pond. My humble seat, an igneous rock
from the Devonian period. A glaciation past has moulded this comfort to rest this weary
climber. I am in fortunate delight as this skyscraper of old can turn nasty with nature.
These marvels can unite and lure unsuspected hikers, and draw them into a weather world
they have never known. The gulley's and faces of this quite wonderful Munro hide
challenges and dangers for all who dare climb. Many have been lost as they become
disorientated, as natures weather closes in.
The ascent route to the summit on a day like today is quite wonderful. The beauty of the
glens, with their sporadic mix of andesite and basaltic lava mountains, rival many a range
on our fine planet. Many colours explode on the surrounding canvas. Greens and beige's,
greys mingling with red granite masses. Screes are in evidence, a sign of the range ageing
as natures seasons take their toll. Plant life carpets the slopes, where grasses of sorts
mingle with the purple and white heather. Ferns from a prehistoric age fan out catching
the breeze, like Sea´ ferns´ in the ocean.
As i climbed, at various intervals i would close my eyes and listen to the calls of the
wild. The sporadic bleating of sheep, as if echoing through the glens. Crows and their
hooded cousins fly sorties looking for carrion of such. Suddenly they scatter, as royalty
makes a welcomed appearance. As majestic as the King of the mountains can be, a Golden
Eagle glides on the thermals. His subjects looking on from a distance, for fear of
angering him. Rabbits, lizards and even sheep and lambs, bow down in whatever chambers of
safety allows them. As graceful as he arrived, he leaves. Slowly but slowly, the lookouts
of the species declare their haven a safe zone.
This climb has certainly given me a thirst, as the thinned mountain air leaves me tired.
Nearby a small stream offers a weary climber a much needed tonic. This pure fresh
translucent chemical substance quenches my crave, with a gentle splash over my sun beaten
face, i feel refreshed to a point.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland-3.php
Derelict tombstones lying at death’s door.
Contest: Six words Sponsor: John Lawless
02~22~16
The house down the street is under wraps
With hazard suits milling in its flaps
The one with the garden most luscious
Now being trampled beneath all the ruckus
The lady with the green thumb it's suggested
Has been by her Venus Fly Trap ingested
17.10.17
Composed for Kevin Shaw's
"Daft and Surreal"
Gravity enters my thoughts, what ever goes up has to come down. As i start my descent from
the summit of this giant of the Grampians. My journey down is so different to the ascent.
Clouds build for the evening mass. The breeze has magically transformed into a cutting
wind, as the tallest of ferns whistle a goodbye.
The melting snows still show their march, small waterfalls run into fast flowing burns.
Lambs now hug close to their mothers, its as if they know nightfall is upon them. The
quietness of the glens are a memory now as modern mans noise appears from the distance.
The local mountaineer team are on the ascent on a training exercise. These unpaid
volunteers put their own safety in danger to save others who are in danger. The orangy
glow of street lights confirm my descent is complete. I head back home, tired, weary from
my day on the highest mountain in my homeland. But so alive in the joys and sights that it
allowed me to share on this day.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland-3.php
I stand still and silent,
My eyes are closed but I can picture in my head,
What I would see in this late summer scene.
I can hear the young children screaming and shrieking at play,
The squeaks of the playground slides, swings and see-saws,
The gentile gossiping of girls,
The angry football cries of boys,
The gentle chuckles of old men a women trading tales.
I can feel the smooth, soothing warmth of the suns last few rays,
The soft blades of grass beneath my feet and between my toes,
A soft summer wind runs its fingers through my hair.
A smiles plays across my lips as a graceful sense of calm falls upon me.
I am brought out of my trance by the sound of my phone,
I answer it and hear the most angelic voice.
The only way this day would be become better was if the owner of this voice was with me,
As I think this a pair of hands slides around my waist and a head rests on my shoulder.
I know that touch and that scent.
We stand in silence for a second, a minute, an hour,
Who knows?
He is with me,
making this day pure bliss and perfection.