Best Scintilla Poems
The Drag of Writing
A smidgeon of silly,
a scintilla of sad,
a wee gong of rhyming wit,
a sentence to start me
a participle dangling
a lead to bring me to it,
a last ditch lurch to my
personal God, who says
“this is not worthy of prayer”
six single words is all I need
for my fingers to fly with a flourish,
a little ole ‘v’ to victory,
parse me up
and parse me down
I’ll carelessly click the keys,
till I alphabetically ache
and a roll of the dice
brings a poem for the centuries
Is that how THEY did it
Longfellow and Poe?
I’m not so sure they were so slow.
©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
May 28, 2013
Categories:
scintilla, writing,
Form:
Rhyme
If I could paint
I would paint a kiss
between our lips
as your arms lift me slightly
to dawn in your eyes
If I could paint
I would paint my emotion
through mist on your window - pane
I would write my name
in hope you'd think of me
with each pitter-patter
of first autumn rain
If I could paint
I would paint a muse
who is never distant
Nor She a night mistress
But a muse which dwells
in your soul, mind and heart
A muse which lives in your shadow
which travels the distances
and is never apart
.
If I could paint
I would paint a bridge
between the river and I
I would paint our silhouettes
between scintilla stars
and a mid~ twilightt sky
If I could paint
I would paint this dark world
as beautiful as you
I'd splash my brush
in a palette of pastels
Of hues'early blossoms
which bloom sweet jasmine blues
Categories:
scintilla, beauty,
Form:
Light Verse
I picked up a Rose an emblem of love
Hopeful heart and a rolling tear
He loves me and he loves me not
One petal at a time with a soft whisper
Each petal of rose a scintilla of hope
With each pluck rising and sinking
Last petal of Rose said loves me not
Eyes made way for bursting tears
Letting go is not an easy mission
Hope searched and found another Rose
He loves me not and he loves me true
Whispering again I found my self
April 19, 2015
Categories:
scintilla, longing, lost love, love,
Form:
Romanticism
Darkness hides the sunset in her eyes
Ripples of rain wash tears away
Moon -dust falls over her hair
Its dim lit glow reveals a smile
wider than dappled clouds of grey
Scintilla stars become a ballroom
reflecting sparkles in every meadow
where She would sing through garden-winds
that blow rose-petals of tarnished-yellow.
Enchanters'shadows try to surround her
Sweetly She walks wild spirit free
She leaves to meet her one beloved
who lives far down by the calm sea
He is the one, her blue-hued butterfly
who waltzes and flutters close to her heart
The one who picked her lost glass-slipper
and offered his hand right from the start.
Inspired by the ocean and music
Categories:
scintilla, dance, happiness,
Form:
Free verse
The past always returns to haunt us
Old debts demand to be paid
The very best hand
Of many a man
Stays un known
And remains unplayed
Some men wish to be
In alliance with Angels
But alas, e’en more opt
To owe a debt of allegiance
To the dark…
And deep within those sad souls
Lie haunted black holes
Absent of light
Not e’en a scintilla nor spark
They yearn to return
To a world once spurned…
But once the die is cast
The past holds fast
And Fate and Karma decrees…
For lack of their wisdom
They be trapped in a prison
A prison made of
…memories…
Categories:
scintilla, bereavement, conflict, feelings, introspection,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
O souls of the Island,
I have silently
heard through
tropical torrents
and surpassed
a million miles
of the milky seas,
away from
mint-marine
silhouettes of my
utopian wonderland,
as strawberry
ripples and
coconut-scented
musings called
upon my
flamboyant spirit,
to explore those
ebony-emeralds
of universe and
envelop my hope in
creamy pink shells.
I have soaked in
sepia impressions,
ebbing as
crepe currents
on splitting shores
and windsurfed
through the
hibiscus rays
of life by forbidding
heartache hymns
of yesteryears,
from lurking in
jewelled hours
of today
and built a
kryptonite kayak
to sail in the
turquoise times
of tomorrow.
For, now I know
that the
opalescent ocean
has chosen me,
to return the
riveting spirit
of sage-rufescent
rivulets back to
the 'Heart of
Humanity's Cosmos',
shaped in
soft serenades
of seraphim.
When the
whispers of a
mauve french-rose,
blooming within,
will uncurl their
farthest wish
in silken twinkles,
my eyes will always
remember these
watercolor heights
splashing crayon dusks
and revealing
silver moon truths,
for there's more
beyond the
neon networks
of syzygy pearl skies
and chestnut reefs,
yearning to be
cherished by the
blonde alchemy of love.
So, I abandon
those sooty
regrets that snorkel
with their fragile fins in
kohl-lily gulfs
and observe these
constellations
of intuitions, formed
by the star-kissed
manta rays and
sketch sagacious
saudades laced
with hope, as a
halo around the
lilac Pole Star.
In this mortal
seascape of
the seventh heaven,
every orphan
of darkness
shimmers as
the beacon
of lustrous
sugar-scintilla that
shapes this world,
in ivory-smitten
spheres of
magically
diaphanous helix,
waltzing in whispers
of wind and water.
Every lava-skinned,
feminine flame
of doleful daffodils
was once a glittered
cherry-red gardenia,
laced with
cardinal buds,
who nurtured
velvet seeds
in the womb of
celeste compassion
and edenic empathy.
And like myself,
every sea-maiden of
sequined lush ruminations,
crowned with
purple plumerias,
is a whimsical wayfinder,
wishing for ~
white bells of serenity
and blue-star petals of peace.
Categories:
scintilla, emotions, fantasy, meaningful, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
It all begins in the darkest part of our empty souls.
When we realize we won't or can't possibly reach our goal.
We gnash out bloodied teeth, crying to a crimson sky,
Lashing out..... "Why, why, why?"
So we bring out our heavy clubs and our iron chains.
And just like Nazis kill people with our words and ignorant
quills and propagandized brains.
There's not a scintilla of humor whatsover involved in this.
Just knives, cruel words and even our baseball bats and fists.
Keep reading and listening to hateful words and soon they
are your own.
The grass you walk on turns to broken glass, your hateful
words become shards that you cannot disown.
Making fun of others or belittling them to mere nothings?
Is one Hall of Fame to save ourselves from and find positive
moorings and dockings.
To take the gift of poetry and turn it into a hapless mockery?
Is surely is no show of goodness, humanity, nor is it poetic gallantry.
~*~*~*~
Exodus23:1 "You shall not circulate a false report.
Do not put your hand with the wicked to be an
unrighteousness witness.
No matter who originates the accusation, we should
not repeat and spread it."
Lots of people in the Bible have been innocently accused
and since.
*It goes on daily on the Internet and so called news sources*
~*~*~*~
February 2, 2020
7am PST
Categories:
scintilla, evil, humanity, people, perspective,
Form:
Couplet
When Neptune's
nostalgic sighs,
weave ruffled rosaries
of brocade ink,
bleeding from
blackberry wrinkles
in torrential time,
I wonder if
herculean eyes
of my earthen heart,
are afraid of being
abandoned by the
electric rhapsody
of life's alienated
aroma.
Swinging on the
translucent
parabola of a
frozen rainbow,
my fate is
skewed as a
cantaloupe
silhouette, of
helix-shaped
maple pamphlets,
where, bluebirds
feast on decaying
seeds of love
and sing
hemlock-croons
in those magnolia
gardens.
But,
what if stars
were edible and
I devoured their
ivory scintilla,
submerging
cosmic potions
in my arteries,
iridescent with
clusters of
quasar's quivering
rays and pulsar's
pistachio glitter?
So now,
I collect
volcanic ash
from rust-orange
ruins of dahlia's
dreamscape
and embalm
them with
paradise-pink hues
of distilled empathy,
for my swan-white
halo of faithful
silence, is still
glowing with
sombre yet
glossy shine
of the linen sun
and I inhale
the fragrance of
my marshmallow moon.
Categories:
scintilla, angel, deep, fantasy, heartbroken,
Form:
Free verse
THE EARTH BLEEDS
We need a little light and dark.
Our eyes but blur infinity blue,
as a cradle robs us of our spark
when we visualize variety’s few.
The white nest of my sparrow skin,
a scintilla reflection of the Holy Spirit.
He distributes wisdom from within
a dark parka, grass skirt, winsome fan skit.
Proud to be white with ruddy sensation,
as my multicolored Sethian kindred,
adore, the beauty of their own pigmentation.
In this world, as God so chose, we are bred.
Pure white of virginity, of celestial wings
we lose. I ask do we really resemble right?
All are but pain and scars, disjointed things.
Honestly the earth bleeds red not white!
1/13/2018
What is white/Debbie Guzzi
Categories:
scintilla, beauty, color,
Form:
Rhyme
THE MONSTER YOU DREAD
i can’t handle rejection,
the unhug of perfection.
a piercing scream of perplexion —
my complexion streaked
grouted and piqued.
i backhanded you by
closing the splintered door,
vainglorious to the core —
now you can’t see the open sore.
you never uncovered, never looked,
never came to find me, i’m overlooked.
hiding beneath the bed, i’m the monster
you dread — tear-salted tongue, the martyr
with claws tearing at my skin - my fear
that she sips her coffee carelessly - oh dear...
the suicidal stripes down my cheeks sear
as my mother wanders through her year.
if only a look, a hug, a kind word spoken
to me would tear me from this sea forsaken —
this torrent, harangue of waves, haplessly
dashing, against heart and soul. if only a creak,
a scintilla of light would peek into
my claustrophobic space, saving me from me.
but i, only i...must resolve, unhinge the lock,
step out and see the clearing of the crock...
all alone on my private island - its unsecured dock.
i pretend it never mattered but carry the doom
within my flesh, my invisible childhood looms.
ready at turn to rear its misshapen head, its claws
digging into a buried past — all my flaws...
jealousy pops up in the middle of my joy
i stomp the frenetic beast, clawing its face.
i refuse to be that monster, that disgrace!
6/14/2019
Move me Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux
Categories:
scintilla, childhood, emotions,
Form:
Rhyme
MY FIVE SENSES
In my fifties I disavow the taste
but back in elementary school
the image would drift into daydreams —
pork kidneys with savory gravy
went well with the pucker of dills.
The fleabag oil of dog fur,
the weighted polish on nails,
and the brush of bangs on my forehead —
equally threatening.
Honeysuckle to a virgin’s pulse points,
like the aroma of heaven. Lavender seeds
sewn into a sachet. A long sniff,
the bag pressed to the tip of my nose.
My patrons walk into the library, eyes wandering,
lips gripped tight in thought, but with a proper hello
the curvature of their lips in upswing, eyes meet mine
and for a scintilla of time our hearts touch. Likewise —
the smiling eyes of children virtually untouched by experience.
Background sound unsettling, loud sounds deafening,
chomping, chewing — I run! Yet the good conversation
of friends at the table, at work, on vacation — I hug.
My five senses not always sensible, surely sensitive,
and poetic fodder — even in the negative sense.
7/25/2018
My Five Senses
Sponsor: Viv Wigley
Categories:
scintilla, senses,
Form:
Free verse
in memories a scintilla of faith
momentarily sustains surging tears
as the pulse of darkness awakens wraith
erasing the distance of lonely years
your voice befalls the silence my soul hears
in the absences death has bequeathed me,
i linger on the edges of time's quay
crawling along these worthless grains of sand
awaiting whatever shall come to be
too empty to care, too fragile to stand
December 28, 2019
*Quay pronounced kee, key, kwey
Categories:
scintilla, death,
Form:
Dizain
Written: December 02, 2023
Quote "Without birth and death, and without the perpetual transmutation of all the forms of life, the world would be static, rhythm-less, undancing, mummified." Alan Watts
________________________________________
“we woke up early one morn, ego shorn
it felt as though we were in form reborn
nodes within stirred, boundaries blurred
our head and heart, with love concurred”
I deploy discursive divine depiction as a guide.
A gateway to Genesis, where it takes its side.
Unbridled and untamed, my voice may rise.
I pursued knowledge out of pure surprise.
Low-frequency vibes induce a shift in shape.
Scarcity leads to transmutation, of spare scape.
Alchemists transmute leads to sacred gold.
Metal sheds its genius luster in the kiln hold.
I waltz freely with doom in the gloom.
I inhale oxygen to marvel at life's bloom.
I endure steps yet disappear in the dream.
Structure is unaffected by the skill stream.
Love is my soul—my reason for existence.
Living in lavish love is a lifelong vow of diligence.
A mind, weaved with such insight, was so warm.
I flaunt my firm frame in this fabulous form.
When you are feeling opulent and egotistical.
Those who are dominant were miscible.
Departure might induce an unfillable hole.
Descry a suitable way to purify your soul.
There are ecstatic and tragic days, love and hate.
No matter how tough we strive, this will be our fate.
Note how sporadic and fleeting life is; spot the stride.
Our days of tribulation bruised our noble pride!
Rather than succumbing to hatred and rage.
Turning negative into a rising trend of assuage
Let trust and troth tackle tricks and malicious
Such a restrained demeanor is truly auspicious.
Within, most consensus spans are wide.
It's all whim; scatter love and watch it glide.
Trust your scintilla—trek to the boundless sea.
We may all profit from sowing wisdom trees.
Conquered the most-dubbed landmass on Earth.
And yearning to discover raw levels of worth!
Death, then delirious with deceit, drove his life.
A wicked beast embedded himself in strife!
A susurrus sparkle to the shimmering love.
Enhances adieu strut below the moon above.
Breeze says, "Love on, my dear, and dance."
Across the trees, a gentle man's glance.
Categories:
scintilla, analogy, angst, appreciation, bereavement,
Form:
Rhyme
Frenetically I rest in her guest room.
I think of her quiet hospital room.
I’ve laid my head on this pillow before.
I toss, turn, and pray, in this cozy room.
The lamp that’s lit sees the quiver of lips.
The cool sheets rumple my soul in this room.
The morning will bring no kitchen nesting.
Silence of pantry doors - feastless, this room.
Cars leave the driveway while mom’s still alive.
The staff is preparing her hospice room.
The transport holds my heart; mom’s head is bare.
Tender care, support, comfort in the room.
I shared a scintilla of who mom is.
Caregiver softly stroked mom’s brow, in room.
After she passed, saw a tear on her cheek.
Her bones turning to stone in this room.
This daughter remembers the softest hands.
In dream, mom squeezes mine, from heav’n’s room
Categories:
scintilla, death, grief,
Form:
Ghazal
whereas I, by chance, talking to myself, finding myself
alone, enclosed by four walls and a door, knock
to see, in the invisibility, with x-ray ability, not held,
if you dear reader, sitting by your nightlight, might
switch it on and find a word to speak silently
or out loud; your choice. the ones you borrow
from a native tongue, feeling
their incomprehensible weight,
stopping mid-sentence, to ponder if you are moved
in the slightest bit; I’m biting my lip in anticipation,
though I’ve no inkling that you're mulling over
my thoughts, my doubts, my innards, my all.
now, I, think of you, sitting by a scintilla of light,
moonlight marvels at the roundness of your lips
as you nearly sing your “o’s;” sonnets seem
sensual alongside the bed, though always grieving.
love is a dog, a walk in the woods, a lark.
leave me be. let me remember you as I long to.
don’t say goodbye, but leave my sighs on the table,
where you first met me, and I almost met you,
and you, dear reader, take back up with me,
though now there’s a familiarity between us,
lost in the shadows, amidst the stars
and you can nearly hear me breathing.
Categories:
scintilla, writing,
Form:
Free verse