Best Shrouding Poems
Down the majestic mountain, over the grassy knoll,
Themes verdant, chromatic, summer’s vistas scroll,
Rustling zeal of willows, as zephyrs-avid gently blow,
Propelling tides of vigor, where rivers burbling flow.
Cherishing blooming prairies, birds frolic and trill,
Gliding over scenic valleys, reveling flight of thrill,
Circling back to realm serene vying mirthful trees,
Warbling soft melodies amidst buzzing beats of bees.
Scattering gloomy shapes, clouds tenebrous reign,
Floating haze over horizon, shrouding vibrant terrain,
Unleashing with gusting winds feisty rain showers,
Swirling, whirling mid-air, delicate petals of flowers.
Storm cedes to calming breeze waltzing long shadows,
Quivering in twilight, scintillating face of meadows,
Luring glances of smiles where blossoms of lilies cajole,
Enthralling enamored eyes, as leisurely people stroll.
Inscribing motifs amethyst, as day’s journey slows,
Refracting sun’s golden rays, skyline-amber glows,
When passions of lovers, to blushing eve disclose,
Secret lyrics of passion, hearts romantic compose.
While gelid breezes of winter, quiver emotions of decaying rays,
And arc of horizon cedes to dusk, evoking grimace of malaise,
Casting shadows tenebrous, shrouding glimmer of a slowing day,
Desperate hope lingers still, in resplendence of autumn’s decay;
Gawking in yonder, where gamboge-orange woodlands fade,
Reminiscing in seasons harkening, realms of love now evade,
Mindful of the broken vows, when grievous calls destiny made,
When forever promises receded, and pledges eternal strayed.
Love now mulls~ if kiss of passion was a subtext of final goodbye?
Was it the last tear of hapless eyes; a bawl of love gone awry?
A silent protest, concealing mindfully, anguish of a forlorn sigh?
Was it the clamor of jilted desires, love enamored chose to decry?
Springs of past summon hope, having risen from wintry throe,
Nights of nightmare cede to dreams in halo of daybreaks aglow,
As candle of love revives hearts, fueled by inspirations of soul,
When whispers of sensuous hints, aspirations of romance cajole.
Desperate hope expounds repentance, vying healing through time,
Unsure if, pleadings in atonement, will redeem future sublime;
Whether love saplings will ever sprout, from ashes of passions bygone,
If dreams forsaken will blossom, in womb of tomorrow’s dawn.
As a misty autumn succumbs to winters harsh chilling grasp.
The sky turns bleak and hues of shrouding grey.
The ominous days unfold shorter and colder.
The remnants of vegetation lie pitifully withered and sparse,
as nature rests dead and in the throws of decay.
Early morning frost like sprinkled powder
smothers a barren land
and shards of ice hang from naked trees as fingers of a hand.
Dew drops appear like goose bumps,
along a parade of wrinkly naked trees.
Bare branches and rooftops seem lifeless,
as birds have no desire for frosty serenades.
Trampled iced leaves, decay in ashen damp air,
as snail-like sluggish humanity adorns its seasonal fleece.
Despite winter's scentless bitter breaths,
the soul ignites an internal bonfire -
radiating a vigilant glow to the surface.
Silent One collaboration with Peter Dome.
13 November 2020
Thank you Peter for this brilliant collaboration.
Peter is a very talented poet, please check out his poetry.
Wishing Well by Juke55 @ Deviant Art
I circle from pale to shade,
countless steps
around the abandoned well.
Wasted wishes rest
in dried-up depths,
we perish
in its hollows.
Promises break
but wishes will wait
to be retrieved,
granted,
cherished.
When you were the promise,
you washed over me,
permeating sacred spaces,
shrouding my soul.
I searched your changing face
for symmetry and solvency,
longing for stability.
In wrung-out wrappings,
I chilled in your deception
as I clung to the warmth
of our inception.
I trusted you.
It was easy.
You promised. I believed.
I wished the same wish everyday
that love would last.
Now, I reel in my resistance to love,
an outcast of wreckage from your ravine.
Will I ever love again?
I want to reach in to divulge a deluge
of brokenness and betrayal.
I retrace your words between
the yesterdays.
They start as whispers
then wail in echoes
off impervious walls.
Each sanguine syllable a lie,
projecting sound into a chasm of darkness.
From the depths of the wishing well,
vows reverberate from my own lips,
gently rumbling then rousing
feelings of love turned to loneliness.
If one drop of water remains
to reflect only one recollected wish,
I may find my own eyes
not yours looking back,
and in the end,
I may learn to forgive.
Maybe I will love again.
written 6/2/20 for Silent One's
Promise Contest
In times of muteness,
I found her grazing in fields
of paper hummingbirds.
Her featherless wings
resembled a ruptured lute,
so I pressed my lips onto hers,
breathing poetry into her soul,
weaving velvet yarn,
shrouding around her muse -
embracing in an autumn scarf.
We bonded like Rumi and Shams,
but such is the tragedy of kismet,
her spirit floated towards Delta Caprcorni,
leaving me behind in a world less poetic -
without a poem to call my own.
Just a little Sunday scribble.
All alone you sit there in grip of graveyard, hosting demonic thoughts,
Listening to cries of tombstones, squalling from lovers’ somber epitaphs,
Recounting how you chased prospects, innocent souls you courted,
Celebrating your maleficence building bonfires on the burial grounds,
Where you buried them one by one, watching the dance of demons,
As your stony heart laughed aloud, mocking the dead in total disregard.
You lured them with synthetic smiles, faux glamor of loveless stance,
Never meaning a word uttered, attired in stares of spurious glance,
As you prayed on them, then discarded; in landfills of broken-hearts.
Relationships initiated in springs of life, often parched in summer heat,
As passionless encounters burned in flame of hideous promiscuity;
Got washed away by the feisty storms churning scurrilous intensity,
Propelling hurricanes lovelorn, flooding realms of lovesome prairies,
When aspirations of your lust subordinated inspirations of pure love.
Old and fragile, you ruminate now, in frigid winters of your miserable life,
Speechless, motionless, fearful of your pitiful world swiftly passing by,
Haunting your eyes, as paranormal spirits, the silhouettes of the dead,
Mock your decrepit existence, shouting insanities at your grimacing face.
Remorseful beneath moon and stars, you inscribe your own epitaph:
She was a gloom of stygian clouds, shrouding arc of love on sunlit dawns,
She was a dubious counterfeit act; she was a vile curse on romance,
A cooing dove of morn she was not; a phantom of love she sure was.
Maui Sunrise
Warm hands seek out each other in
Maui's gloaming skies atop Haleakala.
Platinum clouds gather, slightly
shrouding dawn's shy arrival.
Forehead to forehead, soft breaths,
sharing butterfly kisses as lilac
skies morph into cerise hues
reflected on blushing cheeks.
Heartbeats increase, anticipating
dawn's brilliant appearance.
Her back to his chest, cradled in his arms,
his warm lips on her fragrant neck.
Excitement builds, a sliver of dawn's
tangerine eye makes a coy emergence
winking, as if she's aware romance
is blooming with her divine approach.
Slowly she gathers her satin robes of
scarlet and gold in an elegant display,
as enraptured eyes enjoy glorious hues,
as dawn dances in sparkling irises.
A couple wrapped in colors tenderly
share love's first kiss in paradise.
As dawn ascends, her light erases charcoal
shadows on emerald valleys and on
a cerulean sea mirroring the sky,
now blooming in symbiotic ivory clouds.
3-11-2016
Colorfication Contest~Third Place~
Sponsor Silent One
Grey- platinum
Yellow- gold
Pink- cerise
Purple- lilac
Orange- tangerine
Red- scarlet
White- Ivory
Black/brown- charcoal
Green- emerald
Blue- cerulean
Shattered and battered by the inequities of life
Dark nights hindered shrouding luminous skies
In a childhood that missed the thrill of playgrounds
And adulthood that ran a solo sprinter’s marathon,
Crossing continents on pedagogic visions of joy
When testimonials of knowledge bestowed wings to fly;
And there I landed far from where nothing was
And molded its shape into works of arts and crafts
From humble sketches outlined in the grains of sand—
In prairies of essence now a happy abode stands.
September 29, 2019
Placed 1st: Story of my life in ten lines poetry contest
Sponsor: Silent One
Mild mauve sky streams like lakes of blushing pearls
weaving clouds of hope beneath my veiled tears,
shrouding streaks of scarred sunsets with soft swirls.
Mild mauve sky streams like lakes of blushing pearls.
I turn to rose stars as midnight unfurls,
and the moon serves love amidst woeful years.
Mild mauve sky streams like lakes of blushing pearls,
weaving clouds of hope beneath my veiled tears.
Mild mauve sky streams like lakes of blushing pearls,
shrouding streaks of scarred sunsets with soft swirls.
I turn to rose stars as midnight unfurls,
and the moon serves love amidst woeful years;
weaving clouds of hope beneath my veiled tears,
he feels the frozen angst behind my fears.
Every night Sea rises at high tide
His waves are like warm frothy fingers
caressing Moon's golden glow on the shore
It's a game they play with ebb and flow
Hide and seek. She has a flirtacious streak
when shrouding herself behind a veil of clouds
Eternal lovers who share intimate moments
romantic thoughts ~ nothing more
As a misty autumn succumbs to winters harsh chilling grasp.
The sky turns bleak and hues of shrouding grey.
The ominous days unfold shorter and colder.
The remnants of vegetation lie pitifully withered and sparse,
as nature rests dead and in the throes of decay.
Early morning frost like sprinkled powder
smothers a barren land
and shards of ice hang from naked trees as fingers of a hand.
Dewdrops appear like goosebumps,
along a parade of wrinkly naked trees.
Bare branches and rooftops seem lifeless,
as birds have no desire for frosty serenades.
Trampled iced leaves, decay in ashen damp air,
as snail-like sluggish humanity adorns its seasonal fleece.
Despite winter's scentless bitter breaths,
the soul ignites an internal bonfire -
radiating a vigilant glow to the surface.
Silent One collaboration with Peter Dome.
13 November 2020
The silver sky gently mists,
shrouding trees, emerald dark,
with echoes of mystery.
Soft, beautiful and cold is the melody
the wind blows, far away
through branch and lilting bough.
All is quiet, with the deep-breathing silence
of cool, evening peace.
The air, fresh and cold, enveloping light with grey;
carrying with it the harmony of
crickets and birds. Keeping the ancient
twilight tryst they sing a little warmth amidst
the charcoal world, and a gust in the shielding leaves
speaks in barely a whisper:
beckoning…
While I lay, still as silence –
Fingers pressed upon the chilled glass,
the wind noiselessly billowing
the soft, pale curtains.
I reach for a cold, sad,
beautiful world -
until the rain begins to fall.
Alone, breathing slow and deep,
I smile.
It doesn't matter what you say because I'm going insane
I've put a bullet in my brain, what's the name of the game that I have play to be free?
It really doesn't matter what anybody says to me, they didn't listen when I was spilling my guts, dropping pills and believing my paranoia
Even though paranoias just a frame of mind.
Now what is this I'm seeing when I'm swimming through a river of blood and shutting down
Drop another round begin to feel the love with an amorous desire for life or I'm lying
While I'm dying on the floor when I failed trying to stand back
Managed my doubt that the black cloud over my head will retract now and stop shrouding my world with its shadows and down pours
I'm damn bored, no I'm ill and what else can I feel?
What else do I need? I need motivation to succeed and achieve where I'm heading, where I'm going and where do I want to be at.
I haven't got a clue, I stopped thinking and stopped drinking and lost all my tact
It doesn't take long for the river of blood to start flowing again, it's rushing towards me and adroline is flowing through my veins
Depression often does it to the next sufferers head and you know it's getting bad when the rivers running red
It doesn't really matter what meds you use you always hear stories of the drug being abused and self medicating is just something that you choose
So if you don't have a plan about where you want to be take a f*** load of drugs and live a false reality
Its been going on for years and I got bored to f****** death
Fed up living life like it's a school exam test
I'll admit that pills, weed and coke can be fun for some in moderation but I won't again let them make me feel like I'm staring down the barrel of a shotgun.
Now my head is clear I'll let you in on one thing, you won't get where you're going if you keep living in a dream there's only two true things in life that arnt lies
And there's two true things in life that never dies and those two things are called smiles and cries
Is it a tragedy or comedy if you find comedy in tragedy
thunderclouds
shrouding the grave
my falling tears
03~30~16
13 syllables or less contest sponsored by Timothy Hicks
A constant vein of nature’s blood cascading rock and sand,
Flushing grains of dislodged mud. The beat in a mountain band,
Currawongs sing melody. Black Cockies rasping call;
The whispering breeze that shakes the trees, near a waterfall.
Sassafras and twisted ti-tree display a rippling shadow,
Mosses mingling with lichens where the sunlight doesn't show,
Blackwood and Lilly Pilly trunks, struggling for the light,
Lost is the canopy, when mist rolls in a billowed eerie white.
Where there's always a river through a valley in the high country,
There's always something there that takes my breath away from me
along the banks by the shimmer, pristine life is shrouding me,
Walking this river, through a valley in the high country.
The flit is there, sharp eyes note, in camouflage a glistening eye,
A Ground Thrush as still as stone watching me go walking by,
The rustle of the leaves are gentle, attracts a fleeting glance
of a disappearing rodent. Instinct breeds no games of chance.
The reason I am walking here, with times eternal strain,
I find no battle with my mind. Up here the world lives sane,
Life and death hold constant beauty, complimenting every stage.
Slow is change that's left alone, even when the waters rage.
Where there's always a river through a valley in the high country,
There's always something there that takes my breath away from me
along the banks by the shimmer, pristine life is shrouding me,
Walking this river, through a valley in the high country.