Best Singes Poems
The setting Sun singes the edge of Earth:
dimming down, any lingering light found.
And Sol's receding rays give shadows girth,
while ebony slowly engulfs the ground.
Twilight fades, and darkness begins to creep,
silently leashed to an ebon tether.
And from the undergrowth, there's not a peep,
as Dusk stitches silhouettes together.
While the day shuts down, stars begin to show:
twinkling against a drab backdrop of black.
And tides in a cobalt sea, ebb and flow,
while Gaia welcomes a pitted moon back.
Awaiting Dawn's releasing rays of light;
shifting shadows are shackled to the night.
Pretending can be a bold form of experimentation
and inventiveness. In pretending joy or happiness,
we may discover or enhance our capacity for it.
Harriet Lerner
Lord Leofric: The waging of war is man’s affair
Lady Godiva: Then wage war in your way, M’Lord,
and I’ll wage war in mine
Movie, Lady Godiva of Coventry (1955)
MASQUERADE
Quivers the man traversing the icescape.
Queen dominates the saddle with her eyes.
Size five, bare, narrow feet melt snowy floor.
Masquerade - his wife dreamy in disguise.
Flesh, smooth as ice rink, after zamboni.
Warm hearth behind the seven veils of d’sire.
Godiva tresses descend to her knees.
Bright red lips, parting flames, a flute of fire.
Singes where cherry makes contact...shivers
and moans like Winter Nor’easter through trees.
Memories malleable — tongue to ink.
Lobe, neck, thighs surrender to cold night tease.
Quiet warmth underneath the satin sheets.
His eyes wide open - concedes his defeat.
2/1/2021
Sensual Poetry
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
HMS Line 1 lists icescape as 3 syllables but it is 2
When you dread the break of day
and wait with the bated breath
the dawn of dusk
for an eerie peace to descent,
When the balmy twilight
singes your soul and you yearn
for the welcoming arms of darkness,
When you begin to walk
and lose all sense of direction
but are too far down the road
to turn back,
When you turn to your friends
and find none to comfort you,
When the concept of an all pervading God
dissipates like the morning mist
besetting you with doubts and fear;
Then in the midst of a looming storm,
death appears like a beacon of hope
beckoning your weary soul ashore.
~04/20/2017 / Words count: 111
~Free Verse contest by Laura Loo
Inspired by the Connecticut tragedy and another minor shooting that happened in my home state
-------------------------------------
Blood and Bullets
That night we cried ourselves to sleep
For each of the little children the blood did weep
Serve upon this misery and damage
No words will excuse the savage
The vultures swoop, spread the sugar coated lies
But still the frozen child dies
Yet they still wish to remove what little safety we have
But they fail to see that will not stop the slings and arrows they have
For the media projects the fame they crave
Like wild dingos they consume what we fail to save
Serve and protect is not the duty of just some but all as a whole
ALL AS A WHOLE
And we fail
And we fail
The cameras prance around like costumed horses in a dance
All the while the mud splattered reality burns and singes the lines of damned fantasies
We are to blame, shining glitter and fame on the damned souls that should be burned
We spit acidic words of hate all the while praising them in glittering spectral lights of fame
They do not heed the angry words, but revel in the talk of them...them..
Them...
It's
All
About
THE KILLER
Blood and bullets pollute the spoiled ground but no one cares for the rotten
Sadness rings through for a week but soon the victims are forgotten
But no one forgets the criminal...Infamous
He is immortalized by the fame...fame...infamous
Blood and bullets
Blood and bullets
Blood and bullets
Blood and bullets
Blood stains
Bullets jump
dead forgotten
left rotten
Monster remembered
remembered
Blood and bullets
Blood
and bullets
Walk the wooden deck
of the boat I was tied and shackled to.
Feel the sun as it reaches down to
the cotton fields I have picked, burns the ground and singes
the skin dark as the night that
calls for us all to find our freedom.
Hold the chains that weigh on my soul
and bind me to the man we are forced to call master.
Trace the scars on my back that tell
the story of how my will was broken,
stepped on and left to die in a place
only my ancestors can call their home, which I
can only describe as a long story
forgotten, and the tellers too far
gone for their words to be heard.
Look through my tired weary eyes that have
seen too many scenes of red tears, last breaths
and grave diggers to last one too many generations.
Come sit, turn on the oil lamp who is
too weak to even give off the illusion of something bright
squint your eyes and sound out the letters
connect each word, form each sentence
that read out the directions to finding our freedom.
Christmas roses are red, and violets are so very blue…
Dear Santa. We love our dear Dragon and hope you do, too.
Nightly, visions of colors dance round and round his big bed.
As delusions of grandeur… continuously dance in his head.
For him sugar plums dance swirling, in dreams oh… so… sweet.
As you know… that tomorrow will bring a new, disastrous treat.
But this is the nighttime, as he lays snuggly, sleeping in his bed.
Honestly don’t worry! For the moment, there’s nothing to dread.
See how he looks, like a sweet heart, innocent, while cozy in bed.
But to be truthful, to help Santa, This year like promised and said…
We gave Dragon… Just a few of those wee, little knockout drops.
Now Santa‘s coming, lickety split! We’re ready, here, like on a military op.
No fricasseed Santa, will happen this night, during Santa’s great yearly flight.
Last year was an accident, we swear! It was little Dragons 1st Christmas night.
When he's excited, he tends to throw fire, through the air, like a son of a gun!
We told you to run, not goo and make cutesy faces, after all he was only one!
And truth to be told, those strange faces on anyone would scare him, we fear!
To make matters more clear, we copied our book, on Dragon etiquette, Dear!
We sent it to the North Pole, and a fire retardant suit, in red, made just, for you.
Don’t lift the face plate, on top of the suit, hair singes fast, to blackened soot!
Suddenly, Santa’s sleigh on the rooftop did land, and he was there within a blink.
Last on his list, it was close to the morn, he wanted to meet Dragon, he thinks.
Entering the room, over a penguin he fell, and landed face down on Dragon.
Dragon woke up and gave Santa a hug, as a new story for Christmas was born.
Now all is well, after Santa was gone. For he got to meet the first Dragon child…
In a thousand years or more, and thankfully Dragon behaved as he smiled…
Two icons in life finally did meet, then they went off to Church and back again.
Now, don’t be surprised, such things can happen, on a day where miracles reign.
All had a great Christmas with reindeer, Santa, Trolls, penguins and Dragon.
Can’t ask for more, at Christmas time, where Jesus in our minds, shines on
So have some good cheer and like Dragon and Santa, together, lets celebrate…
You should know, by now, it’s never too late to participate…The End!
silt drys layered
packed, heated, plates collide bang
flings upright pegs
molten steam singes life
bones crushed down below surface
seed never more green
A scarlet sun singes the edge of Earth,
receding rays giving shadows their girth.
And a darkness descends over the ground,
swallowing any lingering light found.
Twilight summons shifting shadows to creep
through the undergrowth, where whippoorwills sleep.
And Dusk lashes them tightly together,
loosely leashed to an ebony tether.
Liquid shadows appear to ebb and flow
as Day shuts down and time begins to slow.
And night skies welcome the twinkling stars back;
glittering against a backdrop of black.
Silhouettes silently merge with the Night,
awaiting Dawn and the first rays of light.
And as Luna rises, shadows disperse,
exposing new horizons to traverse.
The cob webbed city sticks to my dirty skin,
as I pass through its predator strings.
On the corners are hustlers, men with wigs and worn heels,
selling their wares, fighting with women,
over property rights.
Traffic moves slow, crawling along like a large slug,
melting into the blacktop.
Your eyes get accustom to waves of heat,
rising like dragons from the burning street.
The musky smell of filth singes the air,
while old men linger by drug stores and bars,
smoking old cigarettes they found, coughing.
Hey buddy, do you have a light, some change?
Still, I'm alone.
A wanderer, born from tainted soil,
surviving on wits and will.
Stopping at every liquor store and chili parlor,
searching for pennies.
Knowing each minute as a day,
as I stick on the soles of society's shoes.
A reminder they don't want to see.
That young is old when left to fend for themselves,
and evil is a weapon never born from a gentle touch.
Gray days are constant,
as life becomes motion with unintended reasons.
Stopping long enough to disappear in the city's web.
People passing by see only dirty shoulders and backs,
leaning against graffiti walls,
trying to stay out of the rain,
until the doors open and the soup line moves.
It's there I feel human, before wandering back,
to my rags and cardboard.
I'll try to sleep away despair as humanity passes by,
with their cold collective misunderstanding of misery and pain,
carried on the backs of the unfortunate homeless,
as we lay in the garbage of society's world,
crying without tears, holding on,
until we just let go and fall into the abyss,
where our bodies are then removed as Jane Doe.
contest A Poem Time Forgot
In The Desert
In the desert walks a man with no name
within its barren sands he seeks no fame
Survival is his only wish and only game
all burns, sticks or crawls nothing is tame
The rattlesnakes strike with poison gifts
nothing soothes, quenches or uplifts
A heat that singes as it burns on down
Rarely, if ever relief from a cloudy gown
Yes, O' yes, beauty does still hide here
found only if he can conquer his great fear!
note: Fear of the danger a desert presents often clouds
the beauty lying within. A proper emergency plan is a must
when entering a desert.
Food, water and a compass are just the basic start..
Robert J. Lindley, Contest- In The Desert , 09-14-2014
Blue Iris,
Grimoire gondolas steal unbound human yawns,
Each Charon poised with sallow spear along the River:
Austere laughter of headless boughs
sipping grave-scented spiritual kisses.
Gruel to Drinking Fear you do coerce,
Till evil flees the dawn within its hearse.
I shall not warn my successors, no—instead
I shall laugh
A Godless laugh
From this unlit, inward tower
At the Thoms ever drawn to a fog-rent
Harbor of Lights,
Forever in flight
t’wards a searing promise:
“The shadow of your smile when you are gone.”
Softly flows
The Months; cadence down
The end of Years,
All Great Whites closely duty-bound
Gleaned russet stress and tears.
All I do
As gardens do
As zephyr hewn
Is wash my hands
I watch my hands
Just watch them grow—
Closing impossible crimes
By the cold March of Time.
Shall I catastrophe? I shall wasp anew
Geronimo! hellbent swoons: withered Eye see U:
A veldt vision on this peace of death
That singes arrows unto my breast,
Non-quietus—not of suede nor hawthorn
That singing! Unveiled Vistas Reborn.
The summer breeze made chill wastrel flames,
E'en herrings dappled across minstrel viridian
All bearing my name.
Subtlety
Is your root, surely as I inhale the palpitations
Of this noxious City so small
Yet so grand in its delusion.
Rachel or Leah? Suffice it (and damn it, too), at least Jacob’s subtle darkness
Invited crystal warmth to dine on elegant raindrops. At Life I laugh,
And Life laughs long, dreamy along kestrel seams. I dine
On sweet air.
Despised dream origin.
Quickly, quickly, awaken me—unwrap
Your blessed hearths, creature,
And begone—I despise
Your balance of whimsy; I despise
All of your beauty.
Pastiche of divine bliss,
The fluted sister of evening,
sits on her bridal bed
With troupe of twinklers,
Cheeks aurora Borealis.
Night, my sweet love
Kiss this noctivagant;
Wandering bereft of dreams,
Drop like Indian bangles
Before me, reminiscence
Of black flakes,from fire
Burning in the cave of day,
In the month of May.
When sun singes the sequined earth
Seeds are sown, for your birth,
The lady of the deep, you rise from the sea
A kenning of the mother-to-be
Crawling, moving, swimming,
In me.
Vapors over the wafting moon
Catwalk for sleepless birds,
Heavenly night, a howling wonder
Trickling in.
A day to begin.
10th December, 2017
Having taught GCSE’s, A-level’s and degrees,
Sue switched to primary teaching with a PGCE,
And won the Yorkshire/Lincs Sportsperson twice,
Was given the MBE for her services to charity.
She’s a patron of Rainbow House, disabled kids,
Which offers them conducive education, trying,
And she organises fundraisers for cancer research,
Along with encouraging sports games by coaching.
Sue has attended every Paralympics since 2000,
And at the Commonwealth Games in 2002, 2006,
Won two gold medals in the Women’s EAD Singles,
Where she did not panic, tense up or get into a fix.
Originally as a child, she played as able-bodied,
But her Ehlers Danlos muscle, ligament disease,
Meant that Sue used a wheelchair from age 17,
And her debut was the Euros in 1998, a release.
By 2005 she was the European Champion, gold -
Sue had won silver in 2003 as a pregnant lady,
Gold in 2013 at the Bayreuth Open in Germany,
And she took a bronze in the Europeans heady.
At Vejle in Denmark, 2015, she won the bronze,
In the team class 4-5, and at Lignano’s Master,
She won a bronze for the same event, the team,
But Sue won another bronze for the singes caster.
She just missed out on a podium finish in Rio,
She comes from Dodworth, Barnsley, S Yorkshire,
She was born on the 19th day of August in 1972,
And trains in Barnsley. She’s a mum of two, on fire.
A birthday wish whispered –
If this world weighs too heavy
on that which remains, leave.
Promise, it will be fine.
Your blind eyes see through my
comfortable sweater,
the fuzzy one worn down
to remember warmth.
Furious, I could scream.
It had always been my favorite:
Always green. Forgiving. A perfect fit.
Meanwhile, get to the heart of it:
The promise reverberates in spaces.
Do you get it?
Enough of this matter!
Can you hear me?
You died the next morning
at 6:04 AM in the blizzard,
of January 23, 2005.
I followed a snowplow
down an unclear highway,
on Sunday in Dedham, Massachusetts,
hoping the next skid won’t
send me too near to you.
Too late, and arriving to crumbling knees
the following considerations:
How many demented trespasses;
how many cognizant?
You are still
just a shell of the man,
imposing, virile, mad.
Your outline singes me, again and again.
Burning fear came before pity.
But, perhaps more importantly,
you were ever loved.