Best Sights Poems
The fog is creeping through the trees
The woods have lost many leaves
There's a veil of gray from high to low
All is still, no wind to blow
It looks like smoke has covered land
Autumn tries to understand
Why its color has left so soon
And the birds have changed their tune
Until tomorrow, sun returns
To ease ill tension that churns
Change dismal views to memory
And bring new sights with clarity
Heidi Sands
10/26/22
POTD 10/29/22
In the universe, before a star dies
It goes through implosive pangs
In this realm a supernova lies
As the star goes out with a mighty bang
The resulting explosion causes a celestial storm
And illuminates the galactic night
And then a nebula is formed
A beautiful otherworldly sight
In our galaxy supernovas are rarely seen
Within our realm the moon must suffice
An earthly view much more serene
With a glow to enchant and entice
5/8/17
Forget that first glimpse of the tower of Pisa.
The glorious colorful tulips in their beds at
Keukenhoff Gardens in springtime.
The Eiffel tower blinking in the darkness.
The Grand Canyon gilded at sunset.
The wandering mist from the power and
thunder of Niagara Falls.
The magic in the sails of Sydney's
Opera House on the harbor.
The bright beauty of Tokyo city lights.
Disney World and all its sights.
Neuschwanstein Castle in Bavaria's green hills.
Views from Seattle's Space Needle, day or night.
How the cool smooth metal of the towering
St. Louis Arch changes color with the sun.
Atlanta's pride in her Stone Mountain carving.
Forget the impressive beauty of the
Statue of Liberty on her own tiny island.
The thrill of traveling the everglades by air-boat,
Hong Kong's breathtaking skyline.
Enjoying Auckland's shoreline by horseback.
An enchanted river cruise down the Thames.
The awesome art museums each city offers.
Ancient Irish castles and countryside cottages.
The music and lights of San Antonio's riverwalk.
Marveling at the golden gate bridge swaying in the wind.
The warm aqua Hawaiian Surf and pearl white sands.
I now have my greatest sight. . .
Those button shaped ebony eyes that twinkle
Those cute little chubby cheeks and
A smile that lights the heavens.
© 2012 Connie Marcum Wong
*Note: During my flying career I have been blessed to see all these sights
and more, yet they can't hold a candle to my g. children Carissa or Brody.
Upon a time, not so long ago
I saw these things, and locked them away
In the treasure room of my memory:
One sunset, Apocalyptic in its brilliance;
Clouds of opal shimmering,
Flying across a sapphire sea.
The white ruins of an ancient city.
Once home to a great and proud people,
Streets long settled into the silence
Of years marked off by dust,
My footprints in that dust.
And just beneath these things I felt another something
Immense, Unnamable
That lies far below our common perceptions
Like water flowing beneath thick ice.
The knowledge of its prescence,
Felt only in those fragile moments
When images too beautiful for the frailty of words
Burn their way into the depths of our souls,
Has given me that sound I hear now in silence
A clear bell that sounds a tone
Not made by any instrument of Man,
Which stills the frantic revolutions of my reasonings
And gives me back the pure sight I had long ago
Before my childhood disappeared.
In fleeting impressions
Falling through the tempest of experience
That carries us all through life,
I sense this other side of the world,
The calm, steady eye
That holds fast in the center of the cyclonic round
Of Creation and Destruction
That drives the Universe along:
The unmoving Hub
At the center of the infinite wheel.
Sometimes I feel this faraway place
Lying nearer than my latest breath,
Standing firm somewhere beyond all confusion,
And island of strength beyond all substance
Surrounded by the seas of our doubts.
I touch it with my mind, in flashing moments
And it is enough
To bring some peace to the wars of my emotions,
To steady my hands as I guide my life
Towards its unseeable end,
Uncertain and dim in the approaching distance.
How I long to return to the Summer of my life,
When days were so long that they required a nap or a refreshing splash through a tadpole-infested creek to make it til night.
Yet, still, my eyelids raced the setting sun to see which would douse the glorious light of the day first.
Summer conferences were held in the privacy of a field of wheat,
Concealed in the rows, chewing a stalk between our teeth and whispering earth-shattering childhood secrets,
Including our greatest fears and least favorite vegetables.
In the Summer of my life not even darkness scared me.
Dusk was the greatest of all miracles of summer, when fireflies, in consideration of children unwilling to leave the glories of nature but paralyzed by the terrifying noises of the night, burst forth in waves like tiny torches leading us on to more adventures and finally home.
Now, as I approach my Winter of life, having marched solidly through the fall while raising a family of my own,
Summer sights fill my dreams, both day and night. Barefoot in overalls, skinny dipping without the slightest notice of gender or sexuality, gulping lemonade and eating watermelon, seeds and all, these are the things I miss the most.
In my life, I will see many more summers. But I will never again live the Summer of my life. I wish I had known how magical climbing the biggest tree in the woods or digging my way to China then napping in the cool earth I uncovered, could be. In hindsight, though, I believe the innocent naivety is part of Summer's charm.
So I will use Summer to keep me warm in the long Winter to come.
I will pretend the sun is beating down on my youthful, freckled skin as I fight the ravages of time with cream and Botox. I will lay in fields of golden wheat chewing on just one stalk, not in my medical bed with the oxygen tube in my nose. And when I see fireflies, I will know it is time to go home.
TOP TEN MOST BEAUTIFUL SIGHTS I HAVE SEEN
Photo of my wife holding a rose
Some years ago in a hotel in Tallinn, Estonia. . . . .
My newborn children all red and bright-eyed.. . . . .
My 12 year old daughter present-hunting
In her robe early on Christmas morning.. . . . .
My two small sons and the cat all fast asleep in one bed
And three noses just poking out of the blankets.. . . . .
Actress Elizabeth Taylor playing
The role of Rebecca in movie “ Ivanhoe”.. . . . . .
Fiery colors in autumn forests in Montana near Butte.. . . . . .
Early spring on the still-snowy Banff-Jasper Parkway, Alberta.. . . . .
The Northern Lights seen from high up the Canadian Rockies.. . . . . .
Winnipeg at night seen from 30 000 feet in an aircraft.. . . . . .
Saturn in a telescope, all silent, still and majestic.. . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written for Adeleke Adeite's Contest "Top Ten"
a breathtaking sight
Devil's Tower Wyoming
from Close Encounters
a breathtaking view
Valley of the Gods Utah
featured in Airwolf
meteors
shooting stars
the Pleiades
Orion's Belt
the Little Dipper
the Big Dipper
stars
galaxies
the moon
satellites
police helicopters
sirens
a bullhorn
time for breakfast!
Beckmann's 'secrets' whispered loud
In Nolde, 'the spiritual' bowed
Kirchner saw a 'vision'-
Kandinsky,'sounds' he could not see
As Klee painted 'poetry' *
Tribute to the Expressinists
* Example of Klee's
http://www.bestpriceart.com/painting/?pid=56406
Within my breast a promise of earth splendor
Jovial sapphire lake sheer blackness cliffs
Kempt, sights amid whispers Spirit renders
Lithe shadows of spike pines manifest quiffs
Meek pink aurora waning like a thief
Neighboring Big Dippers pouring , springs scars
Operatic skies speckled stars relief
Picturesque Moon rises as well as Mars
Quelled waft and sounds blows through the hours of night
Reflective flow of spring beside banks ends
Sacred of God's earth splendor faintly light
Thrilling sublime sights and whispers descends
Unhurried choices amongst no worries
Venturesome challenges though tangled miles
Whimsical splendor rich untold journeys
Xanthous uniform through seasonal smiles
9/12/2016
Note; Crater Lake National Park’s Oregon
Paris is so beautiful, that it’s emotional,
like the red tile roofs of Rome,
or the Kenroku-en gardens of Japan.
It’s a relatively large world.
Whenever you can fly over an ocean
you feel limitless, and godly,
like the world is there for you, on demand.
Speaking of God-like views, I’m headed
to Lisa’s (parents) Manhattan highrise again
this year for Thanksgiving—six, very-long days
from today—and I have to wait—but I can’t wait.
I’m starting to stuff things into my bag, like a turkey.
There are so many holiday things to do in Manhattan.
Things that invariably whip you up for a sparkly Christmas.
But these are only commercial attractions—planned distractions.
One frosty November-break morning, two years ago,
a tide of clouds had rolled in, like a trillion tons of cotton
candy had been dumped on New York city, overnight,
filling it up to the 42nd floor. It glistened there, below us,
in the klieg-bright sun, like Tiffany diamonds on cotton.
So, imagine that, then add a flock of geese, in military-like
v-formation flying just at the crest of the glitter, like dolphins
hopping in and out of the waves, as they passed above the
insignificant works of man. It took my breath away.
So, naturally I grabbed for my fancy phone with its super-duper,
high-res camera. The snaps did the glorious scene poor justice—
the majestic, wild geese came out as dots on glare.
I’m watching things carefully this year, not just the multicolor, cachet,
window displays on Fifth Avenue and the decorations at the Chelsea
Market (where Oreos were invented). I’m going to capture this year
—every intense, emotional second—with that most unreliable, 3D
gadget of all—Memory.
.
.
A song for this:
Holiday Road by Lindsey Buckingham
.
.
Merriam Webster: Cachet = a synonym of prestige
A distinguished pair of spectacles, selfless and serene, doze snuggly atop a
Proud bureau of drawers.
A placid fireplace yawns and winks
As giggling embers tango on tiptoes with
Lilliputian logs,
haughtily cackling a cacaphonous tune.
Outside a stoic mist galumphs betwixt gregarious
shrubs and egotistical stars
Dewy eyed and squinting, windows, aching and arched, peep out--
Out to the blaring beams from a crochety moon.
A pensive pair of spectacles ruminates on sights
Carefully seen--
Of frugal birds and courteous walkways
And terraces splendid and keen
Now a scent of myrrh caresses the room
A pillow of mist blushing, blows kisses to
A muzzy moon
Sights, that will always arouse
Sights, some we second guess
Sights, that raze your eye brows
Sights, that always have intrest
Sights, like those for sore eyes
Sights, some give you eye strain
Sights, leave you mesmerised
Sights, some we try to retain
Sights like those that are historic
Sights some are so memrorbale
Sights those that are photogenic
Sights some are just sensational
Sights, are not always that pleasent
Sights, can some times be sacry
Sights, some are just so evident
Sights, there's all so much to see
Written 2012 by myself david scott inspierd by
other soup members and own experances
over years following on from now and then
thoughts feelings with you with out you poems
updated a bit better than befo
The Eiffel Tower stabbed at a midnight
as blue as an old Muddy Waters track.
From a distance, its lace-iron skeleton
looked like a slick and oily spider-web
crowned with a glittering neon diamond.
(My Grandmère's home is across the street from it).
“Do you want to go climb it?” I’d asked Peter (my bf).
“Naah,” he’d replied, “too crowded - what’s next?”
We’ve been tourist-ing all of the big Paris sights.
As we night cruised the Seine, the rivière looked dark
and perilous - a phthalo-green snake slithering north
westerly at six times the speed of the Nile.
We took a guided tour of the Louvre - it’s a crowded
fortress and you can’t see the Mona Lisa up close.
We day-toured the palace at Versailles, with its ghosts
of past grandeurs and revolutionary, royal beheadings.
The Arc de Triomphe is just an unsafe round-about.
As we Uber’d around it, I turned to Peter saying,
“Joke time: What’s more dangerous:
a shark or an American driver in a Paris traffic circle?”
.
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Paris la nuit = Paris at night
Muddy Waters was a singer and musician - a delta blues man considered the "father of Chicago blues." Chicago blues was electrified, hard driving and drum backed. The Rolling Stones took their name from one of his songs. He was the original “Hoochie Coochie Man."
CAUGHT IN THE SIGHTS
like Bambi caught in the sights of a hunter's gun
life sometimes ain't any phun
like never gaining permission to be what you want to be
life can often leave you less than feeling free
like the nine to five can often be a burden
life often curses you one to hide behind a curtain
and of all these things i am very certain
like a master with a whip ordering you what to do
life can often seem like a disorganized zoo
like walking through a desert can leave you with an unquenchable thirst
life can make you come in last instead of first
and so one feels thus to be caustically cursed
like so many wasted amens go unheard by the lord
and remorse causes only vengeance and discord
like life often makes you wish the dr. had never cut the cord
life can often leave one disenchanted and bored
but one must perservere
the way Bambi ambles through the woods with fear
and suffers what he thinks he cannont bear
and so i tell you dear on this paricular day
i must leave you now without an adieu or delay
(c) 2012 ......PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~