Best Sinuously Poems
My Goddess
I
Met A
Goddess! FroM
The very starT
Of course it was heR
Had dreamt of this daY
Pierced my ennuI
An unseeN
KnifinG
ShiV
LifE
NeveR
More clearlY
Defined. The patH
It changes in A
Flash now she is neaR
Mind is openeD
I n t u i T
Key tO
LocK
Eyes
Each glow
Pleasant smile
Moment lingers
Your curly brown hair
Showering strong shoulders
Every breath filling bosom
Lusciousness, sinuously moves
Flowing across the room, wild river
Frozen deer I become, looking but not,
Round, wide eyes misdirecting intention
Obvious I’m caught. Could you be too?
Meeting for the first time, crowds part
S m i l i n g d e s p i t e m y s e l f
Te l e g r a p h i n g i n t e n t
All pretense forgone
Reaching deeply
I asked you
Now my
Girl
5/7/16
© Thomas W. Quigley
Open lotuses of purple and indigo hues
casting spells beneath lawny skies of midnight blue
each brilliant star more sparkly then the next by heaven's roam;
Like shooting fireflies and minuets of silent reveries,
the neon fairies claim the quiet waters of the Thame,
as lilies glide inside slow gentle rain ....
Opuses of art in natures private Cul de sac
water vessel of grace, incumbent chalice of the night
undulating sinuously towards the evening light
none can duplicate the beauty of, your even flow;
Who knows who knows which way the gale winds blow
but this I know,... no never have I seen
such incandescent fiery light, cleaving at the cusp of night.
January 20, 2022
Sponsor Chantelle Anne Cooke
Contest Name The Chalice of Night
Ever flying, never ceasing, ever soaring, speed increasing,
Two sharp scythes by your side,
Leaving land behind
Journeying over land and sea,
Flying high, flying free,
Super speed, velocity,
Hawking prey incredibly.
In the air you make a rift,
With your pointed scythe-like wings
Ever moving sinuously swift,
In the air you are the king.
In your flocks at dusk you're screaming,
Rapidly whirling, whooshing, streaming,
To fly is your life's only meaning,
Swiftly whooshing, whirling, screaming.
By Sean Martin-Byrne
Let us walk together
to a garden of flowers
beneath a clear
blue sky of spring weather
we will when we get there my love
while away time
sitting under cool shades
of sinuously swaying trees
as we listen to the mellifluous
harm of nectar sucking bees
and the enchanting songs
of flower birds and watch
as butterflies of all glorious
colors grace the place
and when we are deeply satisfied
I will pick for you the flower
most admired by bees,
flower birds and butterflies
and we shall walk back home
dreaming of love
which does not wither
as time grows old
with a vivid picture
of a never aging flower garden
painted on our minds
The road to my backyard is long and straight
Evergreen trees abound and provide welcome shade
Home to myriad birds, butterflies and the bees
Last summer their branches were sawn off, without notice
The orgy with power-saws lasted barely a day
The trees shorn of foliage, the limbless torsos remained
To secure the safety of a VIP on a state visit
To a smog-laden metropolis, labouring hard to breathe
A few years back, we moved house to an oasis of green
But now, the storm of development is relentlessly closing in
Razing and levelling with electric saws and bull dozers
And a host of equipment used by modern day builders
Pile drivers mounted on rigs clump through the day
Unrelenting even at night, when the elusive foxes bay
Grieving in the darkness with plaintive howls
For a vanishing habitat where his endangered kin prowls
They have acquired fish farms and farmland
And even encroached on the protected wetlands
Which naturally dispose tons of city waste
In danger of destruction due to greed and haste
Truckloads of rubble are dumped every day
The pace is frenetic, even in sweltering May
Toiling hard for masters, who’ve deadlines to meet
And citizens to house, from whom votes they’ll seek
A haze of dust now covers construction sites
The pace doesn’t slacken here, even at nights
Construction materials arrive here daily by the truckloads
And given shape by workmen, as planned on drawing boards
What was once green cover and blue sky
Will be concrete monoliths, stretching up very high
With parking lots and asphalt streets
And billboards and neon signs, ready to be leased
No longer will fields of mustard flowers sway sinuously in spring
Nor ripe ears of golden corn bob gently in the wind
The sounds of frogs and crickets are a memory of the past
Songbirds have fled, deprived of their natural habitat
Slowly the memory of winter’s migratory birds will fade
Never again, the razed canopy of green, provide cooling shade
As I walk through my ravaged neighbourhood, I wonder why
Impotent rage pervades through me and I silently cry
Lying in bed
Streching limbs
Slowly sinuously
Gently
Snow is falling
Forecast is bad
Budget Day is here
Reality intervenes
Anxiety filters in
I get up stiffly
To absorb it all
The price was worth it, so it seemed;
It was right and not a penny more.
Here the clock will sit, here it will count
Its days - round and round its hands
Will spin – metered by its spirit within.
Embedded in its mahogany tomb
And gilded by an exacting eye
Only seldom will you hear it cry
With the hours that amble by.
Atop the clock’s mantle green
Within a parapet of stone
There you’ll see a sailing ship
With wooden masts and ivory sails
Pitching to and fro against an angry sea
Heralding the arrival of each anticipated eve.
Standing on the shoreline resolute and sworn,
A gilded sailor wields a rope
To lasso those who mourn;
He offers to them the strand of hope.
A stone wall crumbles across the sea,
A fortuitous port of call reveals
How brief life’s glory can be
As it makes its unwary fall.
The golden wreath of life eternal
Surrounds the clock’s face
To show assuredly our victory
Over death’s dark embrace.
Descending sea serpents sinuously wind
Beside the timeless garland shrine
To gather at a feast of shells
Mingled with some flailing scales;
Even in the depths of shadows,
This mahogany tomb yields its enslaved
To the resurrection of the saved.
Gilded tulips etched in a circle
Atop the clock’s opulent base
Testifies to the supernal foundation
Of Christ’s unchanging grace.
Though just a clock, it’s slightly more
As you gaze deeper into its obvious lure;
Where some things are as they seem,
Others hold to a different scheme.
They surrendered to Virtue all they had, tears
They gained from society( 'twas all they yearned for) tranquility
They sang songs so serene:-
"Oh, blessed is the shunner of all forms of evil!"
And perched on tower-tops
While the city went out and commenced
Jumping walls topped by sharp-edged-jagged pieces of china and glass
Door-breaking and stuttering rifles.
In eloquent gestures and mazy motions,
They recited poems pregnant with emotions:-
"It took yesterday's madmen to
Build a better today
One cannot make a fundamental change
Without a certain degree of madness!"
While corrupt preachers, politicians, policy-makers
Reiterated their usual rhetoric.
The rhytms and rhymes of political ruthlessness
They painted pictures so loud:
Black guns circled and crossed in red.
They stuck the paintings on hospital walls,
Schools, churches, playgrounds and market stalls.
Patients, nurses and prechers
Vendors, doctors and teachers
Were awe-struck as the questioned, "Who are they?"
I whispered, "Youths, to Vice and to Crime Unknown."
Their soles maimed sinuously the city tarmac
Their voices pierced the polluted atmosphere
Their banner sang volumes:-
"USE COMMON SENSE NOT CRIMINAL SENSE!"
While the peace saboteurs used violence as a tool
To keep the elite few
In top rule
Shunning majority rule
And treating the majority as one fool.
Thus, at Africa Unity Square
The march on Harare ended sincere.
Huge was their number, and their agenda clear
One of them whistled a tune
It lasted till noon.
Then I heard a whispering pulse
In my ear
A whispering pulse
Of evil eroded clear,
"Youths, to Vice and to Crime Unknown."
Corn Snake
Coiled in the path, a shining astonishment.
The dogs bark furiously and for a moment
all creation surrounds this bright singularity,
gleaming eyes cheap as Indian beads,
markings as sinuously symmetric
as loops scribed on an ancient potshard.
Certainly a harmless, useful creature, and yet....
A forked tongue flicks and the heart stops.
The ape-thing awakens, that slouching hater
of all that slither and scurry low upon the Earth.
Is there some meaning to this old loathing?
The wind stirs the pines, but signifies nothing.
The sky is blank and the world is mute.
The old answer seems as good as any --
the serpent, the woman, the tree, the fruit.
Once upon a sullen silence, I sighed, I sighed about the Cullens.
Crazy, dreamy, drowsy fans, oh how it made me sore;
Muscular, masculine vampire men with shiny skin gave me chagrin.
Their paleness, ageless, alter less lives gave me such a bore.
Guys abhor this whole love lore, “where’s Harry Potter?” I implore.
This Twilight book girls opt for.
Meyer’s tale is mildly cheesy; the protagonist makes it look so easy.
Edward sinuously stalked our dear Miss Swan, which many girls adore...
When suddenly there came a tapping, tapping on the tall window;
Our happy Edward leapt right in, in black Goth clothes galore.
His ominous outlook, his empty stare; if only he had a councilor.
Only this and nothing more.
Since when did vampires sparkle in sunlight, now why are werewolves so cute and
cuddly?
These addling attempts of harrowing humor make my head too sore.
Rabid fans now buy icepacks and glitter, Volvos, old trucks, furry jackets and such.
Meyer’s has made mounds of money from unfortunate fans, the movies, and more!
Please stop these callous and crazy cults of women I implore,
None of this Twilight anymore!
side glances mock
the youth,
their moments
of relenting-
sinuously fulfilling,
as if the time
was their own,
and not perpetual.
ideas making cycles-
actions and reactions,
captured by neurons,
and called original.
concisely,
unable to grasp
The Laws of Wisdom,
only time can teach-
imperative,
the elder thinks,
as arthritic bones savor the sun,
skin blisters raw, and pains to touch.
A
snake
sinuously
and
smoothly
wriggling,
gliding
swiftly
through
the
grass,
slithers
silently
away,
stealing
from
the
startled
onlooker's
gaze.
It is the soul
Twixt in motion,
Bended by dreams,
Sinuously thoughtling
Round the the palms and it's breeze
And lo how the old eaves glow
And the rhythm chords the drums in its
Senseless doing,
As the maker decides the making of the doing
The maker makes in the doing,
As the bubble swells and bells and sbwells
And then bursts.
And you feel the rise again.The swaying of the breeze,
And your soul.
And its trees.
Stimulus excreted
Sinuously invades
Subconsciously corrupts
Suggestive images
Seeded, sneakily sown
Sacrificial victim
Satiability owns
Pleiades S Contest
Date 4/21/21
Crimson scaled serpents
Sinuously slithering
Winding through the reeds