Best Seattle Poems
Fate
kismet
good fortune
pre ordinance
luck
I have seen you flash by
Amidst thick green foliage and swaying pines
Like a distant silver dream
On receding skyline
But was never satisfied
For a close encounter I craved
I did then go up
The Space Needle in Seattle
Hoping to have a clear view
Of your snow-clad balding pate
That thought profound thoughts
Against mortal blues of the empty sky
But, alas, you remained
Elusive to sight
Hiding behind shifting clouds
Yesterday, I drove over a hundred miles
Climbed my way to Sunrise Point
Hoping for a close tete-a-tete
You played truant again
I saw a blank
Of nothingness, void
A grey screen of clouds and mist
As snow-flakes flew around
The board before me read
You were somewhere there
Amidst mighty peaks
Right before my unseeing eyes
Doesn't matter Rainier
You are there, I know for sure
Like the Himalayan peaks
I haven't seen
And yet am charmed by their beauty
On calendars, picture-cards
Inherent philosophy
Their height and grandeur speak
Better luck next time
Rainier, you are a teacher
I have now seen
Lofty nothingness, void
Against which I have all the peaks
Of the world that speak
Of Truth that belongs not to things
But to an evanescent dream
That the Lord, whoever He is
Conjures up for stupid minds
Ciao Bella
Early Misty, morning raining in Seattle, businessmen rushing, hitting the concrete
pavement trying to make those battled Seattle dollars. Walking down the street a refine
gentlemen with such style and grace doesn't seemed bothered at all he holds on gently,
yet firmly to Mona Lisa.Past art, living art, art walking in motion beauty upon beauty a
gentlemen with good taste he and his umbrella Mona Lisa.
Grant me pancakes trolleys
Rocket-fueled swingsets
Marmalade mountains
with high-crusting cream.
Seattle strings its polite passers
Among misting choirs of clouds,
So begging I go for dixie cups of chili
Steaming block by block, as a harsh July
Has every fourth day blue.
I wish for weather with wiggling hues
of pinks, rouge, and mauve,
Landscaped with blazeberries, lazer lemons, and fudge.
Fudge, fudge, for all with small children,
Young puppies, and dwarfed camels,
So we can ride slow, strong, and merry
in bliss-hoofed patterns.
My final wish of this corrugated ten,
Is to speak of such long tales, once rested and spent
Along the shores of our Lord, at the edge of these dreams.
Like Loading Cattle In Seattle
When we will spend time in Seattle,
We would like loading lots of cattle;
See Rainer;
Docile deer;
What to do next, we had big battle.
Jim Horn
Lived in Redmond, WA near Seattle
from August 1976 to May 2001.
Really liked it but too expensive.
The traffic light
delayed us both
Me driving my car
She driving her cart.
The traffic direction changed, rotated,
making black eyes spark annoyed
as her walk signal failed to appear,
shrunken mouth twisting crooked
‘neath her frowned brow
as roughly she retreated,
Bang-bang banging her fist
against the shiny metal round,
push-to-cross-pedestrian-knob.
Then glancing up
relief cleared her angry face...
The green walk-stick-figure beckoning her
across from the street light across.
Adeptly her cart she wheeled ‘round
worked down the sidewalk dip
Then scurry did she quick-careful between
the safety of yellow crossing lines.
Unabashed, I watched
as her crooked shape veered
down the opposite sidewalk
hugging the closed wall of shops
hurrying hurrying to where oh where
cloaked all in black
nearly invisible
amongst the street dusk shadows.
Black colored her,
from escaping hair,
to scarf, long skirt, scuffed dark shoes, many layered black socks.
a so-slight woman, mostly skin and bones,
scarfed head bent, right-angled downward peering
tanned skin stretched thin ‘cross facial bones protruding,
sunken cheeks now filling the space of now-gone teeth,
the rooster wattle skin beneath her chin
to yell the tell of years passing past.
Pushing resolutely
her world
bungie-corded to storage on wheels
a layered life stacked high
ancient black suitcase on the bottom,
twine-tied brown box layered next,
bulging black-shiny plastic bag top-crowning,
all securely strapped…
Simple baggage that never
never
would be checked at the gate.
Seattle Seahawks Haiku
Off in cloud of dust
Was it do or die or bust
Possibly a must
This was Seahawks game
All full of fortune and fame
For loss who should blame
Guess is good as mine
When you are so far behind
Throw pass be so kind
Guess that should be salt
After game came to a halt
Was a big insult
Two games with no win
Hope will not happen again
Did fan I offend
You have football blues
Seahawks haiku sure could use
For both me and youse
Jim Horn
Sunday in February
a pigskin
deflates on the one yard line.
October days; dark and cold
The People don’t complain
No one seems to stay at home
Because there’s wind and rain
People come from out of state
They hate the weather scene
Seattle's residents say:
“Well, that's what keeps us green”
Now a bright and sunny day
Finally comes around
The weather is talked about
By everyone in town
Sun glasses on - barbe lit
Lawn chairs out on the grass
Skip your work - enjoy the sun
It’s sure not going to last!
The rain continues to plummet and fall
And the gray of the day looks like it will never go away.
I long for the boisterous blue of a hot summer’s day.
It seems our shy sun has wandered and meandered astray
From today’s and tomorrow’s forecast much to my dismay.
I wake to bright sun
excited to see summer
finally arrived
gray sky yawning
into never-ending
clouds that drench
the deep green ground
(vertical haiku)
*Image of Out in the Rain by Gifer
Rusting In Seattle
Prompt rain starts~~I without an umbrella makes me feel dumb & dumber
2020 August 24
*1st Place*
STRAND COMPLETELY NEW (27) ,any form,any theme
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2020 August 27
There once was an old man from Seattle
Who had it in his thoughts to skedaddle
But booking trips his mind they would rattle
He took plane
Landed in Spain
When he wanted to go to Newcastle.
Slowly dripping down the steamy panes
To the warm floor, where the gasps
And the moist rest into numbness,
On a rainy nameless afternoon.
The sax fawning over the thin ankles
As they daintily savor the dark.
And the piano chords tickling
The brazen cheeks of drowsiness.
And then you pull out from the touch
For a smoke that fills the room with attire
All words are silent and all trees are free,
Unwonted by any cunning tongue or alphabet of God
And I keep looking this story in its fiery eyes
Waiting for its breath to ground and humble me.