Best Sheaths Poems
There’s a beguiling danger in beauty…
seduced as I was by the fickle fingers of fate musingly stroking my hair,
I envisaged
this lusciously lavish landscape
of sun-raptured heavenly hills and valid valleys
to be a lush, plush place for me to land ~
alas, such deception my naive perception did offer.
Buried beneath the facade of a fertile dream-come-true
and a mesmerizing mirage of natural light and zephyrus breaths -
where your thoughts hugged the horizons of my mind
like clouds on the edges of prairie dog skies
and where your stampeding passions trampled my inhibitions -
were delicate bandeaux of ice;
finespun and feathery like polar gossamer
that formed on the stems of your ruptured dreams
that then became my nightmare
when you had your hard freeze
while warm sap still flowed through your veins,
pumped and pushing through your broken being
and freezing on contact with the chilled clime
cocooning me, in a sudden silken surge of your glazing gauze
holding me, in the vivid wild magic of your frosted crystallized clutches -
fossilizing me, in icy opalescent ribbons of ornate whorls.
Unable to escape the grasping glacial petals of your exquisite pain,
your frost flowers plunged me into the frigid heart
of your bitter bluestem’s prairie winter...
There’s a beguiling beauty in danger
hypnotized and hijacked
as I was by the rhythmic sways of your tall grass ways -
your flickering tongue tasting my air
as my emotions were extorted
till I was bled white -
obviously oblivious
that I was being preyed upon
by a stealthy force of nature motivated by indigenous instincts.
Susan Ashley
March 13, 2018
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Poetry for the Sake of Poetry
Sponsor: John Lawless
*bluestem: tall grass native to the Great Plains with bluish leaf sheaths*
*frost flower: thin layers of ice extruded from long-stemmed plants in autumn or early winter. These thin ice layers form dainty ‘ribbons’ or ‘petals’*
Categories:
sheaths, betrayal, dark, emotions, heartbreak,
Form:
Free verse
Between paper-soft
worlds of fragile
imaginations,
I float upon those
gossamer tulips
that split every
second of saccharine
musings and
eclipsed confessions,
distinguishing all
photoelectric synonyms
of lachrymose
stimuli towards
glassy manipulations
of blood-fragranced sun.
Everything that is
sown in sweetened
textures of afterglow-soil,
always blossoms upon
decayed fossils of
frivolous fates, as
balanced bullets have
forever pierced
through the pulpy
sheaths of nature's
rainbow-blankets,
but their aged roots
always adorn nourishing
gemstones of
ephemeral healing,
to spread their wise
branches across earth's
mirrors, as the thin
veil disappears.
What is the raven-spade
-hearted impulse
without its nascent yet
succulently flowing
snow-white mist?
What if, reality speaks
of those skies smitten with
hypnotic illusions of
chess-shaped horizons?
Have yin and yang ever
repelled each other's
rusty-maroon notes
that they whisper in
immortal prelude?
We have remained
skillfully blindfolded to
the isles of inceptions,
swirling amidst ripples
of diamond-kismet
estuaries, washing away
consciences with
diplomatic dewdrops
of frosty maple fog.
Tending to forget that,
we are mere syzygy knights,
crawling along
slanting seesaws as
bioluminescent bishops.
Our schizophrenic
threads have been
tied to the aroma of
poisoned satin within
these final alphabets of
enchante´ epitaphs,
where life will be
the last organ grinder
of karma, playing
an evanescent checkmate
which shall ascend
every soulful spirit
beyond Persephone's
penumbral embrace.
Categories:
sheaths, dark, deep, destiny, meaningful,
Form:
Free verse
Long gone are the golden
Dusty days!
Where once, like Blazons
On Armorial Shields,
The gathered bronze sheaths
stood -
Cut through at the stalk...
Raised from time honoured
swathes.
Burnished like brushed copper
By high summers slanted rays:
That were sliced so thinly
From the thickening air,
As they brightly
Caught the hot glare,
From the grass mowers blades.
For the singing scythes,
Once wielded so ably
By strong, capable arms,
Are standing abandoned and
Forsaken:
Blunted, left rusting,
Languishing alone
In damp, dilapidated barns.
Now their songs are forgotten -
Lost within a woeful winds
lament!
Blown far out
From the green meadows;
Separated from their verses
Once sung so heartily
With purposeful,
Lusty, well practiced intent.
So think you all well,
Next time you pause
Your drawn eye,
Upon Englands rich harvests
Of ripened barley,
Yellow wheat, and stiff rye...
To dwell on the lost seasons
With melancholy tears...
And think of the old reaper
Who cuts back at the years!
Categories:
sheaths, autumn, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
Thanksgiving Day for me is very nice,
I do what my mother did and her mother.
A gathering of family in a circle of eternal love,
with food a part of it,
turkey with stuffing,
mashed potatoes, gravy and corn,
cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie.
It is a day to celebrate the bountiful harvest.
In Canada it is a change in the weather,
the trees are bathed in orange, gold and red,
and we go shopping for the best pumpkins.
The church is decorated,
in cornucopias and corn,
pumpkins and sheaths of wheat,
there are prayers and songs of thanks.
After we go on a hayride and watch a parade.
It is time to recall what the day means,
how the explorers found Canada in the Fall,
and had a great celebration to give thanks.
First celebrated in 1578,
on the second Monday in October,
there is always a football game on TV,
there is always that circle of love.
And did I mention the pumpkin pies with,
whipped cream!
__________________________________________
November 5, 2016 - Repost for Blog Inspiration Challenge
Poetry/Verse/Thanksgiving Memory
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1305-940-16
All Rights Reserved, 2016, Constance La France
Blog Inspiration, EoW (11) thanks giving
Brian Strand
Poem of the Day - November 20, 2020
Categories:
sheaths, thanksgiving,
Form:
Verse
In summer night when the sky is blue
When in hearts passions ignite
When the clouds shower a sprinkle or two
When desires brighten the darkness of night
When in the skies the stars wink
When butterflies sleep and night bird’s awake
When fountains flow with serenity’s drink
When the sound of breathing, the silence break
When thoughts are dressed in colorful gowns
When the breeze is pregnant with love’s fragrance
When the time in the lake of enchantment drowns
When in ecstasy the whirling Sufis dance
When my soul in agony of despair writhes
When swords of loneliness are out of sheaths
I care not whether false or true
Whisper in my ears, “I love you”
---
Categories:
sheaths, love, passion, night, night,
Form:
Rhyme
Weary... my footsteps reach a dark alley
as kohl light pushes stars into tender
tempest; notes from an old man's
weeping guitar choke my lungs droning, droning---
as if bitter bass of winds silences
my voice--- never to hear pang of a numb day
that holds this sacred dream I'll never possess.
Entering the halls of my mind, there she is,
laughing like an angel divine, shaping a lullaby
I hummed when arms cradled her when one
night's breath snuffed my child before her time.
And though without her, the young plum tree
that grew under her shade will always bear
sour flowers...its leaves and branches
reaching out to me with tender longing.
Perhaps I'll water them one day,some day...
because without their blooms, I might forget
the face of my little girl whose cheeks
looked like their flushing sheaths...and I gaze
at the same moonlight to touch her eyes
then fold them to sleep. Opening the rusty door,
we kiss," goodnight, baby... I am home."
---Based on my first cousin's experience
BEST SAD POEM EVER II Contest for Laura Loo
Resubmitted 9/12/2016
Categories:
sheaths, absence, love, , Lullaby,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Oblong outlines of a soul
Stretched in elliptical misery
Redefines the perfect circle
To a breakable volatile tautness
Loosely cloaked in sheaths of epitonic blue
Draped upon the shrinking body to hide a terrified world
Dressed in swirling ominous patterns of anonymity
To be lost within the deepest abyss of fatal fear
Planted like a tenuous girder of iron truth
On a bridge of no return
There is no departure from excruciating fear
From this wicked self-imposed poltergeist
An unseen force deliberates death
Smothering with tremulous trepidation
Annihilating the essence of existence
With no bond found on common ground
There lies the secret
Within the mystery of a soul’s distress
The exorcism of human strength
As fear brings the will of life to a standstill
7-12-2023
Categories:
sheaths, fear,
Form:
Ekphrasis
Once upon a Christmas dreaming
Alphabets of spelling sleep,
Coal and snow plumed shrouded wreaths,
Fantasia minds plunged ever teeming
Distant choral souls redeeming,
Silence weeping, starlight beaming,
Light years bursting solar sheaths.
Whatever lost craved warmth and finding,
Rang the bells and rapped the brass,
Crept a creep of holy stealth,
Midnight chimed, the clock unwinding,
Visual feasts of gospels blinding,
Shadows lifted, ever minding
Love bestowing priceless wealth.
In the veils of crystals falling
Carols gelled with latticed ice,
Knitted pearls of liquid frost,
The songs of Christmas past were calling,
Eerie, wistful caterwauling,
Heaven bent on reinstalling,
Beckoned home whatever lost.
Once upon a Christmas waking
To a world of perfect white,
Love and caring left the grave
And arms wrapped bodies live and shaking,
Purest beauty in the making,
Gifts for giving, gifts for taking,
And all we took was all we gave.
Categories:
sheaths, childhood, life, seasons, time,
Form:
Now,
as the rain falls in tiny droplets on the ground
and the breeze is wafting scents of petrichor,
a soothing oil released by dried decaying plants
that longed in thirst for reprieve from the burning heat;
only
the rush of wind hustled high in the tree tops sings
brushing gently the leaves upon each branch
pining in oaken roasted acorns and chestnuts,
pinging and popping on the sun drenched fires of autumn.
Teasing and tantalized
the senses breathe in deeply
the musk of the forest
where leafy residue, pine needles and fronds pale
in the rise of autumn cascading arrivals.
Coated foliage colored rainbows
lilt hues of yellows, orange and reds,
disfigured curls browning in the last of summer heat
to welcome and bare the mighty sheaths and torsos
that the forest leaves behind in memory of spring.
An equinoctial sundial
marking the trajectory of earth and sun
the rise and fall of time and space
upon the earthen realm of seasons change
greeting autumn, goodbyeing summer, fireside winter hibernation.
Categories:
sheaths, autumn, seasons,
Form:
Free verse
Silver Sheaths And Gems Are Not Listed Needs
Promise not, which hand and mind can not deliver
silver sheaths and gems are not listed needs.
This world and poor in life loves a cheerful giver,
red blood flows freely whenever one bleeds!
Should you promise, your heartfelt and dearest of dreams
what on earth more, could any man dare ask?
Life and Love are not clever little mortal schemes
one profits nothing wearing a false mask!
Can you see wisdom in this, holding out for more
with hope and kindness as your saving keys?
Beach-sand is not better on distant foreign shores
neither is, living life of begging please!
Walk with a giving soul, happiness there abides
With greater wisdom one can in peaceful, soft-strides!
Robert J. Lindley, 1-24-2017
Sonnet form- LIN 12/10
Syllables Per Line: 12 10 12 10 0 12 10 12 10 0 12 10 12 10 0 12 12
Total # Syllables: 156
Total # Words: 117
Categories:
sheaths, character, creation, deep, inspirational,
Form:
Sonnet
A cloudy blanket sheaths the peaks,
Wrapped in blue, they look enthralling,
Emerald trees behold the sight!
Milky river of mist like creeks
flows overhead this scene sprawling,
What a magical view and bright!
Here is found peace that this heart seeks,
When the morning sun is crawling
high to spread its radiant light!
In wispy whispers, their glow speaks,
Green, white and azure's soft drawling
arouses sheer joy and delight!
A myriad thoughts stirred within,
God alone can such landscapes spin!
1st June 2023
Image #1
Trilonnet poetry contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Categories:
sheaths, beautiful, blue, green, mountains,
Form:
Rhyme
Thanksgiving Day for me is very nice,
I do what my mother did and her mother.
A gathering of family in a circle of eternal love,
with food a part of it,
turkey with stuffing,
mashed potatoes, gravy and corn,
cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie.
It is a day to celebrate the bountiful harvest.
In Canada it is a change in the weather,
the trees are bathed in orange, gold and red,
and we go shopping for the best pumpkins.
The church is decorated,
in cornucopias and corn,
pumpkins and sheaths of wheat,
there are prayers and songs of thanks.
After we go on a hayride and watch a parade.
It is time to recall what the day means,
how the explorers found Canada in the Fall,
and had a great celebration to give thanks.
First celebrated in 1578,
on the second Monday in October,
there is always a football game on TV,
there is always that circle of love.
And did I mention the pumpkin pies with,
whipped cream!
_____________________
November 5, 2016
Poetry/Anisometric Verse/A Canadian Thanksgiving
Copyright Protected, ID 16-846-307-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Thanksgiving Day
sponsor, Nayda Ivette Negron
Second Place
Categories:
sheaths, thanksgiving day,
Form:
Verse
Standing on a hill of Jezreel,
Watching growing corn in the field,
Listens she does to the birds’ song
And to the trilling crickets’ chirp.
The sun now pass the most far hills
Means the days’ work is over and done.
Soon the night guard will shut city gates
And all eyes will yield to the dark.
By music of the spirit of silence,
The visions of rest are made to dance.
Then in the middle of the darkest night,
She arises from slumber and the bed,
And leaves the sweet relaxing visions
She had waltzing through her head.
Laying aside all her night garments,
Off she runs to her nightly chore.
Running around the corn they planted,
Makes her sacred circle ‘bout the field.
Magic footsteps giving blessing
By her dance and dark undressing.
Soon passed the summer season
And away went her warmest sigh.
Corn in green and golden garments,
Stood in ripened splendor gleaming.
With its emerald sheaths bursting,
Send its gold rays into the sky.
To the harvest come young maidens,
To strip the ears of their garments,
Laughing under the spreading trees,
They sing the blessings of Jezreel.
Categories:
sheaths, food, inspirational, on work
Form:
Verse
He only saw a speech bubble from the
paper's cartoon section.
The facial expressions and gestures
were clear-that is the action.
'Hagar the Horrible' waving a sword
in the name of protecting the nation.
All that he saw in a paper's section.
And he yearned to grasp its meaning.
It's the funny characters that seized his
attention.
For though they were segregated they
showed some relation.
A jewel they seemed to be - why would
mom fix her eyes on them for so long?
Neared to her lap he did,
But mom put her cartoons down and
gave him a 'STOP NOW' glare.
Being a tiny toddler of two years
His curiosity no one could silence.
From his still barren vocabulary, he
managed to pull out a 'what' question.
With his worm-like finger he was able to
point at the section in question.
Albeit her irritation, the mother managed
to say:
Son,
When I was two years your senior
These characters you see invaded my
eyes bits by bits
In groups they went straight into my mind.
They further regrouped,
And, finally, I realised.
They were alphabets
Mating to form words
Words that formed sentences
Sentences that told a story
A story of grief and misery
And of happiness and jubilation.
And there I was
Hungrily swallowing it in
Blades escaped their sheaths
To force their way
Through my chocolate skin
So that tears streamed down my face
For I was but just reading.
Son, you will realise and comprehend,
In time.
Categories:
sheaths, words,
Form:
Narrative
If you look closely, you will see
the masterpiece Winter painted
along mighty Erie’s shore
in the darkness, well into the early morning light.
You will see his fondness for delicate shades of gray,
How one by one he bends and sheaths the tall ornamental grass
in rounded silvery whiteness, and
how he paints ripply footprints at the water’s edge.
If you look closely, you will see
the fluttering gulls in the distance,
Seemingly small, yet not insignificant,
Every detail a pixel of life.
There’s more, if you look closer,
If you’re willing to brazen the biting wind,
Like the pile of jagged sticks, and mossy green rocks from summer,
Now a single creamy white ice sculpture.
And if you hold your eyes and heart wide open,
you can read the painter’s signature
written in the battleship gray sky—
December
Categories:
sheaths, christmas, nature,
Form:
Free verse