Best Singe Poems
A field afire
papery petals glow like ruby votive candles
a collection of cupped solar flames
vowed to shine despite the dew before dawn
evaporating any doubt the sun would rise
the mist would lift
consoling one in darkness
Rising up where wildflowers past have fallen
victim to soil fallow and shallow
your Spring growth resurrects my hope
as your resurgent blooms stretch to the heavens
I awaken thawed from the frost of loss
regenerated by dreams
of undying love sacrifice and joy
O poppy blood red
vast your bed a symbol of life and death
and imagination.. you inspire me with your irony
your roots belie a feathery foliage
anchored though airy
light and looking like you might take flight
but spirited blossoms stand an army of angels
earthbound and blushing
My breath stops when I gaze upon you — yet
when I walk among your thronging whorls
grazed by your grace
my chest rises and falls
my bloodstream set ablaze
by the grandeur of your inner light
my heart rejoices with the voices of breezes
aswirl with a swish through your scarlet banners of peace
We share a savor for new-day chardonnay skies
tender the warm tinge before summer’s singe
rhythmic air moves us with singsong sighs
a swaying dance of sepaled celebrants
with nary a fresh bud trod upon
crimson and sunrise spirit and flesh
raising palms and psalms in thanks and praise
festive in rebirth and remembrance
where tears fall not as rain but as
c o n f e t t i
as my heart carries the bouquet of your immortal beauty
like a bride on her May wedding day
Susan Ashley
March 11, 2022
*Dedicated to my father who gently passed on June 10, 2021.
You are loved and missed dearly, dad
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Spring Showers or Spring Flowers
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
*nary: not, or not any
(Image: Glow with pride: Express.co.uk)
Categories:
singe, beauty, flower, life, love,
Form:
Free verse
The worldliness within the sphere
reflecting morning light,
as poignant as a single tear
idea bright is crystal clear
and frames the heavens in her sight
though soft the fall through night.
Settled 'pon a leaf flirtation
awakens dreamy mist,
sow the sweetest need sensation
clings a kiss in wild elation,
and though short-lived the earthy tryst
a reason to exist.
But rendezvous a bitter binge
though gentle loves cajole,
for soon the feel of daystar’s singe
O lifting dew from leafy fringe
no matter of the kiss they stole
the cosmos in her soul.
Deep the tender-hearted flower
whose muse elusive dew,
look how she shines this golden hour
evanescence is her power
as rays do make such moments few
alas, the mourners coo.
Susan Ashley
June 18, 2022
~ Fourth Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 7
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: Dewdrops
Sponsor: Angel L. Villanueva
*Required rhyme scheme: ABAABB CDCCDD EFEEFF GHGGHH
*Required syllable count: 868886
*rhymes checked: rhymezone
*syllables checked: howmanysyllables
*idea: 3 syllables per howmanysyllables*
Categories:
singe, destiny, life, lost love,
Form:
Rhyme
The staticky-stars climax under intense blanket of Winter glow.
Your spouse can’t see your spirited green eyes that burn slow.
The friction of campfire sticks, the satiny slipperiness of moon.
Flames of blue, orange and red won’t be overcome too soon.
Pert rose petals, that once were goosebumpy and ice cold,
scintillate like fireworks until the grand finale’s loosed, uncontrolled.
Warm breath in a cold Winter’s steamy and a restless beast.
Lips lavish over late night feast, matches singe, sate increased.
Squirming under the leisurely complement of coals, coalescing,
Coolness of a blue lake vaingloriously countering, distressing.
A long midnight’s thrashing, sans pillory; the high beams foray.
Pillow talk, a sensuous squeeze, a high-diving elixir bouquet.
Ah those stars brilliantly glowing on a long Winter’s night!
Those limbs blush, rose petals crush, with unfettered light.
Categories:
singe, metaphor, sensual, winter,
Form:
Couplet
Trees reach like glowing embers
to singe the autumn skies.
Leaves burst with blinding colour
like sparks that spin and rise.
Then a breath of weightless fog
moves across the silent lake
where trails of molten clouds
fill the sunset's smoky wake.
The harvest moon emerges
like a second burning sun
to fill the sky with button-stars
that morning pulls undone.
Sunlight floods the gardens
to melt the morning dew.
This is where my heart resides
since September gave me you.
Categories:
singe, love, nature,
Form:
Quatrain
A glass half-full of August pours its gold
on autumn's copper turning it to bronze.
The brittle Santa Ana gusts unfold
to rattle omens hidden in the fronds
that burst from trunks up high like absinthe flame
and singe October's turquoise-matted sky.
Each puff of smoke that dormant clouds became
has disappeared from desert's opal eye
as amber winds come shrieking from the east,
igniting saffron plumes among the brush
like raptor birds of paradise, a beast
awakened from a summer's verdant hush.
The crows in flight are ashes on the air
that scatter in the sunlight's molten glare.
Categories:
singe, autumn, imagery, metaphor, nature,
Form:
Sonnet
Where Are The Words …
I Am Looking For Words …
… That Will Give Meaning
To Meeting You, This Evening
And What Can I Say ? …
What I Long To Say …
Instead of, Good To See You Friend
And Oh, How Have You Been ?
… Such Polite Conversation
Is Safe Presentation
Nothing More … So Much Less
I Need Hunger- Honestness
Packed With A Passion
Full-Out Conflagration
Instead of A Shy, Dulcet Tone
I Wanna Torch-Talk You, To The Bone !
Use Words, To Sear You To Your Soul
Singe, Deep Inside Your Soul
Soft and Husky In Confessions
Words, That Demand Actions
Emotive, Elusive, Essential
Elocution of The Quintessential
Romanticism Expressed …
The Pleasure Of Your Face, Eagerness
In Bold Explorations, Evolved
From Virgin-Feelings of First Love
That Make It Seem … Like Last Night
Invoking Future Visions, So Bright !
Oh, Where Are The Words ? …
I Am At A Loss For Words …
So Many Things, I Want To Let You Know …
Instead of Just Saying … ‘ Hello ’…
For: Ismael Nieves
Who Has Such A Passionate Style To His Poems
(and Also, The Little Joke of Big Words Between Us …
Hope You Enjoy This One Kiddo - Smile)
Categories:
singe, introspection, life, love, nostalgia,
Form:
Light Verse
News Flash! Dragons Back! He’s the News Hog of the Day.
No one can print, without him, becoming entangled in some way.
He heard that there’s a new newspaper lurking, around the bend.
He wants to know… if he can pose as the new Super Hero, therein?
He’s already has a cape, and cell phone, so those in trouble, can call.
But beware, of his landings, he’s known to knock things down, even walls.
Still he gives a striking pose for the paparazzi, who always following him.
He’s been made a junior fireman, because fire simply, doesn’t bother him.
He saved a cat form Old Lady Moores’ burning barn, just the other day.
Don’t believe the rumor, it started from a stray spark, one of his, they say.
Remember don’t say that, it makes our little Dragon cry…it was the wind!
Our Carpenter Trolls are building a new one; to replace the one, he did singe!
Acorn Falls is our town; Dragon seems to have put it on the map, to stay.
Folks in town are wanting a name change, to Dragon’s Mayhem Falls, today!
If you want an exciting vacation, let me know, I’ll tell you where, it’s at!
Here are the numbers to call, to contact us, and we even rent hard hats.
The carpenter Troll’s are 1-800-555- Repair & Fix
The town number has become 1-800-555- Mayhem Falls
My number for a joyous write is 1-800-555- let it rip
To Rent a Super Hero Dragon is 1-800-555-Dragon Here
Just remember that if you call Dragon, Please keep the other numbers on hand.
There’s a free coupon given, for first time services, if things don't go as planned.
And remember, if repairs are needed, a free barbecue, can be on the house.
Especially, if that’s what’s burning, so be prepared, eventually it'll be, put out!
Written 10-18-2014
Categories:
singe, fun, funny, happiness, humor,
Form:
Light Verse
Would you crusade to remote regions
in search of that timeless tomb, the one made of seasalt & sandstone,
to towns tempered by the terror of war, windswept with worry,
Do prayer calls of the Jihadist singe the comfort breathing in your books of traditions,
could the Koran summon an instinct of journey in the feet of your hopes,
perhaps the Bardo Thadol a simmering shout from the monastery of one's monsters
suppressed in cells of selfless sorrow, daring repressed in reminiscence of rectitude,
in the Old Testament do you find aged allergies or fertile figments of prophets' pennies,
saviors in the center of gravity cinching the flinching surfacing in proverbs proofing
along the borders of the desserts chilling in the kitchen of your cares,
Maybe in front of the Wailing Wall you'd find dust entreating you to become a martyr
for the charm of morning, on your knees amid the Caaba perhaps sand jinies will jest,
in the midst of the tree grip of Angkor Watt the tongue of first life might muse of miracles
sewn into the sackcloth of parents' aspirations, conceptions wrought from the wanted,
take it to the sky, take it to the soil, take it to the core, let saints keep score,
take it 'till there is no more -
J.A.B. %
Categories:
singe, faith, prayer,
Form:
Didactic
Plea From A Dark Soul
Weep not in the sun for me
my wasted life spent in vain
by death I did flee,
all but my shadow dwelt in pain
Utter not proud words for me
years of drunken whoring feasts
by death I did flee,
feeling no love, set loose my beasts
Deny not the fate I did earn
in my own just Hell to endure
by death I so return,
leaving a black heart so impure
Cry not over my burial urn
my deeds harvested bitter fruits
by death I so return,
to languish in my dark roots!
Robert J. Lindley 11-09-2014
note: Written from a dream, rather a nightmare that I had recently. As the darkness closed in the screams grew louder, the pain stronger and the heartaches
shouted for more agony.. Singe this sinner's hide with pain
that makes the angels cry..
A voice speaks out, tis only the start , we have ages and ages to increase
the torment and pain.
Time serves us this sweet delight , this lost soul now lives within our eternal night!
Quote for perspective--
Poetry is a bowl of cereal and if you are nice you get to add milk and a spoon.
author, Robert Lindley
Categories:
singe, conflict, creation, dark, death,
Form:
Rhyme
1. INCIPIENT
the smell of burning body helps me sleep at night
i'd rather ignite this spark in my stomach than shove bread down my throat
singe this hollow home
choke these lungs with bone dry soil so nothing can grow
and maybe they brainwashed me
or i did it to myself
but all of my dreams lead to being skin and bones
the humming of crackling wood whispers
"starve"
i listen
the humming of crackling body whispers
"this is all your fault"
2. GROWTH
this skin is getting too hot to live in
i, the embodiment of a fire breathing dragon
i hunch over
choke on second hand smoke
and misconceptions
there are so many ways to feed into desperate
too many ways to swallow yourself whole
i let this esophagus sizzle and cry
i lie arms spread naked on the bathroom floor catching my breath
a slab of meat thrown onto a cackling grill
fatty and full of blood
sized up and bitten into
violated by my own opinions of beautiful
where bitter
where acidic
where a dysmorphic enemy does not linger
nibbling at my tonsils
3. FULLY DEVELOPED
i am engulfed in flames
these charred hands stain my body with words like
"bony"
like "thin"
like "sick"
this flesh can't escape the freezing creeping up on my being
the trembling of limbs
the chattering of teeth
is a physical trophy
"congratulations!" you are one flicker away from broken
winter almost melts me
christmas and thanksgiving
piles of food fresh like flesh mocking me
rotting in front of me
a mirror image of my organs and intestines
abandoned and squeezed
some sort of puzzle
pieces twisting and breaking
i sit quietly
they ask "aren't you hungry?"
i don't tell them that it is too late for this fire to be put out
or how often i dream of drowning
4. DECAY
a guilty arsonist
i toss my lights and my matches
sweep up the ashes
what is left of my home
and i start building
i blow out the candles
shove my hands into the wreckage and chew it up
i won't spit it out this time
i fill myself up
i introduce myself to my reflection
say,
"hello. i am healthy"
say,
"i've missed you"
a phoenix flies over a body she burned
a city she burned
a world that she burned
says
"go. go find out what happiness tastes like"
Categories:
singe, food, health, moving on,
Form:
Free verse
You should have seen this tree before the winter came
Before the sun broke faith with its suckling leaves
Before the heavy ice of time sagged its limbs
Before its roots were singe in a frigid flame.
Did you know HG Daniel then, did you walk with him
Through spring and hear him sing of his king
Did he teach you "the elements of survival," when Eden
Closed its gate on us did he tell you its lore
And make you long for earth's long lost heaven
Though he struggles "not a man as before"?
I knew this tree when spring was a leaf of tongue
And poets sip the nectar of imagination young
I read him in rhyme and works of tribute
To fair Barbara and other members of the soup
Before the strokes, his loss of wife, and the loop
Of pall upon his hand with which he paint his love.
He is a noble tree, a great one in our forest of rhymes
A brother in arms of faith, a comrade, a friend
I send him prayers today, and wait for yours to come
This tree still from autumn mist a few fruit holds
Of friendship, love, and loyalty to the babbling scrolls.
Categories:
singe, dedication, friendship, on writing
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Penning my thoughts is an important part of who I've become.
Some memories hit me hard, like they're beating on a drum
forcing me to acknowledge them, and a poem is the outcome.
Others make me smile, and to write of them I gladly succumb.
There are moments when my emotions inundate me with rage.
Flames ignite inside me that I fear could singe or burn the page.
That pent up angst against someone or thing I have to assuage
and writing poetry frees me from rancor when I must disengage.
Not all I write is of personal experiences in which I've had a role
I'm a bit too private to compose an intricate blueprint of my soul,
but I open my thoughts when creating idyllic imagery is my goal
and reveal heartache when writing of lost love and I lose control.
I write because when my heart is broken, I allow myself to cry
If my wounds have need to bleed, I offer no excuses as to why.
I can break Cupid's arrows, and clip his wings so he'll never fly
near me again, for love hurts too much to ever say 'good-bye.'
My poetry can sing a mourning song or take flights of fantasy
In verses I can choose to be anyone or anything I desire to be
The power of my pen can turn a fallacy into the truth and reality,
and change a pending tragedy into one that ends quite happily.
Authorship of verses gives me liberalism to pen with expression
Sometimes I concede my guilt and write a repentant confession
As a poet, I think composing is a catharsis to bouts of depression,
without exposing everything during a psychoanalyzing session.
I express my feelings when I view the beauty of a moonlit night
or when I witness sunrise paint the sky with glorious pastel light.
I scribe romantic sonnets about a princess and her white knight.
This gift of writing provides me with pleasure. and thus, I write.
Submitted on August 30, 2022
For the contest: I Write Because... Contest
Sponsored by Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Categories:
singe, poetry, writing,
Form:
Rhyme
Oh how he watches me in the shadow of his tree,
strong, bold and blocking out the glare of the sun.
He claims I shine like the stars, the moon, brighter than them all,
A blazing comet, a speeding fireball.
He stands close and my sparks ignite a fire,
They shower down upon his figure,
warm and yet his skin does not singe,
Nor does he burn or go blind when staring at my radiance.
When first he lay eyes upon my naked form,
Heart mangled and organs thrust out into the world,
My skin quivered as fear closed a dark cloud around me.
He pushed through it with a soft light,
Barely gleaming so as to not hurt my eyes.
Gentle touch to my cheek with not pity but understanding,
Like a Shepard to a lost lamb he tended to my wounds.
He spoke with intelligence and honesty,
and watched as slowly I stood and then grew.
Shedding the shadow in which I had once lived
He tended my soul until I bloomed
Galaxies away I felt the touch of his love,
He threw his faith and his hope at me,
Feeding from the power he saw.
A hummingbird to nectar,
And I was his flower, growing high in the sun.
He whispered great stories to me
saying, oh, powerful one,
Live in beauty and laugh often,
Ride through the winds like a spoken memory,
Pictures engraved in the heart of a tree,
Be the beauty, the power you wish to be.
Categories:
singe, celebration, faith, for him,
Form:
Free verse
New day, the same circle conversation!
I slow speak my felt truths,
You stumble-spin lame accusations
And another valid topic will thrash itself mute.
We should just get a tape recorder.
Instead of arguing, we’ll just play that
And save emotional voices the bother.
You may not know what happens next,
But I know, I have memorized the steps:
Your chin will raise as your fists flex and
You’ll accuse me of thinking I’m perfect;
I’ll give up on your ability to reflect,
Execute stern hushing for my quiet effect
And we’ll live stiff with no sign of upset.
Stormy emotions from this current singe
May taint our bond with their imprint,
But our love violins aren’t in quit’s bin.
Our imperfect love remains heart-hinged.
We know when this new circle conversation ends,
I’ll be a silenced pinch, you’ll do a pouting binge,
Until need finds us easing for embrace again.
Categories:
singe, conflict, cute, love,
Form:
Free verse
G rowth requires the reins of pain, the curing singe of fire
I nside we shrink, we quiver, quake but we rise inspired
V ictory through vice, challenge hardens resolve, lifts higher
I nnocence belayed, tried, can raise us whole, entire.
N ever damn the pain, decline the fight, rise, with life conspire
G od knows what's best this I believe what comes must transpire.
T he faint of heart, will never know the crucible, the pyre
H aving never risked the plunge, never left the flowery briar
A nd angrily bemoaned the dark, the pain, the fret conspired
N ever giving thanks for the test, the trials which seem most dire
K iss the ring, the ground, blow kisses skyward to the Holy Crier
S uch gifts as these diverse and free, all necessary and desired.
Contest Count Your Blessings
Date: 11/14/12
Categories:
singe, faith,
Form:
Acrostic