Best Skillfully Poems
Day -
dreams drift,
until they drown
in the morning dew
Certainly
circling moments -
those teasing tantalizing
thoughts, sweetly surround you
They
skillfully hide -
poetically from me
. . emotions of mystery magic
Only -
the dew
seems to understand,
those delicious, delicate desires
Longing
to dive -
in pure ecstasy,
the vibrations of you
Playfully . .
~ In Sultry Sunlight ~
___________________
Just a little Scribble
~ Longing to linger in Warmth ~
Sunday November 22nd, 2020- Poem of the Week
Between paper-soft
worlds of fragile
imaginations,
I float upon those
gossamer tulips
that split every
second of saccharine
musings and
eclipsed confessions,
distinguishing all
photoelectric synonyms
of lachrymose
stimuli towards
glassy manipulations
of blood-fragranced sun.
Everything that is
sown in sweetened
textures of afterglow-soil,
always blossoms upon
decayed fossils of
frivolous fates, as
balanced bullets have
forever pierced
through the pulpy
sheaths of nature's
rainbow-blankets,
but their aged roots
always adorn nourishing
gemstones of
ephemeral healing,
to spread their wise
branches across earth's
mirrors, as the thin
veil disappears.
What is the raven-spade
-hearted impulse
without its nascent yet
succulently flowing
snow-white mist?
What if, reality speaks
of those skies smitten with
hypnotic illusions of
chess-shaped horizons?
Have yin and yang ever
repelled each other's
rusty-maroon notes
that they whisper in
immortal prelude?
We have remained
skillfully blindfolded to
the isles of inceptions,
swirling amidst ripples
of diamond-kismet
estuaries, washing away
consciences with
diplomatic dewdrops
of frosty maple fog.
Tending to forget that,
we are mere syzygy knights,
crawling along
slanting seesaws as
bioluminescent bishops.
Our schizophrenic
threads have been
tied to the aroma of
poisoned satin within
these final alphabets of
enchante´ epitaphs,
where life will be
the last organ grinder
of karma, playing
an evanescent checkmate
which shall ascend
every soulful spirit
beyond Persephone's
penumbral embrace.
It’s always a good practice when living on a farm,
To have a family of cats living in the barn
They always keep the rats and mice at bay and furnish humor too –
Wherever you find kittens there’s usually a laugh or two.
Now, I remember one time, I was out there milking cows,
When I noticed three young kittens, out and on the prowl.
One, a fine young tomcat, was really acting brave
And I wondered if he faced some fear just how he would behave.
Skillfully I squeezed and threw some milk across his face –
He winced a bit, then licked his lips – he knew he’d found the place.
We played around awhile and soon the playing stalled
When he stopped and took a minute to answer nature’s call.
He didn’t know it but he backed himself up to a fresh cow pad
He grunted; then had the best little poop a kitten ever had.
He turned around to cover it; then began the fun.
He knew what he saw lying there was more than he had done.
He arched his back, let out a scream and broke into a run.
I thought, at first, it might have been something I had done.
But soon it was no mystery what scared that little cat.
There was the giant pile of poop I couldn’t help laughing at.
This kitten was the alpha kitten of the litter
Who ultimately proved to me that he was no quitter.
So, when the time came to find him a name…
Well ….. I just called him……”Fraidy”
Written By John Posey
05/29/13
We see ourselves unimpeded initially
Some are stricken with a view artificially
We are told by others very specifically
There is a ceiling so proceed timidly
We try in vain with no support futilely
As we age blazing the path dizzily
Sometimes we see the results dismally
Eventually we learn to climb skillfully
We began to achieve sufficiently
Eventually finding success brilliantly
Living life with dreams so vividly
Sadly, a haunting voice still speaks flippantly
Reminding us of the ceiling frigidly
We remain in the arena mistily
Each overcautious step taken judicially
We endure the voice shouting viciously
The battle to continue is done willfully
Armed with chainsaws in the field, two young men are shirtless guests
with shoulders bronzed by sun and sweat.
The timbre in the August sun has scattered birds and stirred unrest
The tree they'll slay has leaves of gold,
lacing branches frail and old, - but now its time is spent
Rising from his afghan nest, a man peers out the window glass
to witness as the death unfolds.
As one who brought the seedling home, he waits to see the giant fall
He holds his breath, but not his tears. Age and illness hems the years.
And just as earth might moan in pain, the tree comes tumbling down
There was a day, not long before, ....before his war began
Back then he could lift a saw like that, ..hold it skillfully, carefully, casually
Angle down, - angle up, - cut a wedge, - hear it crack
Now there's pathos in dust-driven clouds
that shadows an earth that has lost its sun
It trembles now to catch its breath.
And branch by branch it lays to rest the leaves of courage, a golden crest,
that was shelter, home, a fortress blessed, a place to lean to find solace
A tree, ... nor a man cannot be defined
by disease, confinement, by age or time
A tree falls down. It is nature's plan
to open the field, while clearing the land
What came before, grows new today,
The void that's left cannot be filled,
and tears we shed cannot be stilled
His leave will make a louder sound
The dust will rise. Trees burn to ash
What matters most is never lost
Oh yes, how it shatters the fragile heart!
Oh God, how it matters, how could it not?
- But, the man and the tree have earned a rest
____________________________________________________________
6/6/17
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtpPcmLKRFU Dancing Bird
Yesterday, I saw a shadow dart across my keyboard.
When I turned to look outside the window,
I spied upon a sparrow playing in the sun.
He was dancing in dramatic fashion
Across the shrubbery that was his home.
I could tell it was a male by his markings.
He was busy with his boasting, and proud.
No longer a fledge, he fluffed his feathers
To parade his prowess to all that might adore him.
Then, he pivoted into a pirouette, and pranced
Most skillfully across the length of a branch
And launched himself into flight.
Today, the sounds of birds cackling and chirping
Inside the shrubbery drew me to the window.
I could see three sparrows engaging in some fun and frolic.
Perhaps it was some flirtatious mating ceremony.
While most sparrows do look alike,
I’m sure that one of them was the dancing bird
I’d seen the day before. I watched briefly and smiled,
Remembering my own courtship and rivals
Who would fancy my choice as their own.
I returned to the monitor and before I could begin
My work, there was a loud thud upon the glass.
I gazed outside and there upon the ground was a small hawk
Clutching the dancer in his talons.
Tomorrow, this bird will not dance.
He will not sing or court another.
And as sparrows are many,
I will no doubt find another to enjoy from this vantage.
I chide myself for failing to warn him of the danger.
I was too busy with my own enjoyment to notice.
Now, I close my eyes and reconstruct those moments
As I attempt to resurrect the dancing bird,
And preserve him....forever.
Music of Love
On cloudless, starry, starry nights,
you sit on your moonlit patio,
under the cool canopy of Royal Poinciana trees
showing-off their flamboyant scarlet petals.
Cradling your beloved cello between your legs,
you plunge into a vortex of musical love.
Skillfully drawing your bow, you fine-tune her;
testing for perfect fifths, you arouse her.
She thrills you with every expert caress
flowing from your fine, familiar fingertips,
so intimate, sensitive, and silky soft.
Tenderly titillating her, you bewilder
even the stars with your playing,
as the most melodic, harmonious music
breathlessly, seductively emanates from her soul…
more melodiously profound than the sweet,
nocturnal song of an amorous nightingale.
Together you two eviscerate the ills of the day
as you embrace her close to your heart,
plucking and stroking her sonorous strings.
An ardent lover, you tantalize her,
releasing a dulcet, celestial sonata
that causes even the passing breeze
to shimmer and quiver in jealous ecstasy.
Charmed, captivated, and curious,
as if sipping wine from the Holy Grail,
you thirst and hunger to delve and discover
the essence of her innermost secrets.
Lovingly romancing her with every touch,
she senses your love is not fallacious;
for like warm molasses, her music melts…
seeping into your brain, your heart, your very being.
And your soul passionately pulsates with the pure,
rhythmic melody of your cello’s divine voice.
06-17-2018
Contest: Eight Word Challenge – 7 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Placement: 1st
8 Words:
Fallacious, Eviscerate, Curious, Bewilder, Plunge, Tantalize, Vortex, Scarlet
"To play a wrong note is insignificant, to play without passion is inexcusable"
Beethoven
Hands above the keyboard, flexible fingers start to dance
Up and down, back and forth, so skillfully they prance
Interpreting a dream into a poem without words
Awakening both heart and soul, emotions swiftly stirred
The restless soul is soothed, unsolicited tears fall
Such beauty in the sadness that the heart becomes enthralled
Soft and sweet love unrequited, sobs in every phrase
I quietly sit and listen as "Moonlight Sonata" plays
Thirty six, fifty two, black and white piano keys
Serenading time and making music written to appease
The fingers slowly moving in a minor c sharp chord
Which brings me back full circle, hands at rest above keyboard.
Daniel Turner
3/11/23
_______________
(PoetrySoup Format)
_______________
i know
the moment the wind becomes more than a melody,
when shapes skillfully surround me
because of the sun -
i can feel you.
------------------------------
~ love is in the air ~
and
the welcome of a summer shadow
Sunday June 1st, 2025- Poem of the Day
SPRING CONSTANZA - NOT FOR CONTEST
New life arrives in stunning spring
When many animals give birth
rejuvenating mother earth
I love to hear the bluebells ring
when I am strolling in the dell
zephyr winds carry their sweet smell.
Blackbirds open their beaks and sing
As they skillfully build their nest
They never stop to take a rest
Young fledglings grow and take to wing
I love to watch their maiden flight
It brings me joy and such delight
I try hard not to miss a thing
As I enjoy the countryside
I keep my peepers open wide!
New life arrives in stunning spring
I love to hear the bluebells ring
Blackbirds open their beaks and sing
Young fledglings rise and take to wing
I try hard not to miss a thing!
07/28/20
Sweetened dung is shoveled down
gluttonous throats with eager appetites for
alleged misdeeds skillfully spun
into a frenzy of sensationalized hype
by media-seasoned reporters.
.
Seduced by speculation and hearsay,
a jury of pseudo-intellectuals assembles
neatly with moral turpitude tied
smug and tight around rigid white collars
stained heavy with sweat and anticipation.
She stands alone as the eyes of
the court pierce through her appraising
her posture and expression while
the echo of charges being read dissipates
with the smell of type ink and old mahogany.
Fragments of truth embellished
for shock-value and dramatic effect
spill forth as vomit
from confessional mouths
reeking of rot and fermentation.
Vulturous prosecutors rise in fluid
motion squawking accusations in
expert execution of closing arguments,
pecking apart flesh, unconscionably
scattering the meaty bones of her defense.
Spring
As Dark-Eyed Junco birds head north I know,
you’re not far behind with warmer weather in tow.
With an experienced artist’s colorful brush,
you skillfully paint away winter’s gray slush.
Bringing sweet sunshine and cleansing rain,
ravaged Earth you renew with rainbows again.
Crocuses yellow and white are brightly blooming,
oh my goodness, you are absolutely amazing!
Even the rhythmic tap, tap, tap of woodpeckers
tell me you are here – what mesmeric music to my ears.
Wrens return building nests and spreading their wings,
flying high in your blue skies as they joyously sing.
Coming alive at the wave of your magical wand,
my elated heart soars and I feel superbly grand.
I love your cool breath so fresh and tender,
and light butterfly kisses that you gently render.
But my dearest Spring, as much as I enjoy being with you,
I have a jealous lover, Summer - so this has to be adieu.
01/03/2015
Contest: Seasons
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Placement: 1st
I was punctured by punctuations
The words you wielded with such disdain
A ravenous revolutionary
Pitilessly piercing deep into my vein
I pretended such positivity
Holding happy forward as my shield
Your attack so precise and persistent
cold and calculated you would not yield
You left little to the imagination
Expressive expletives flowed from your lips
The harmonization of my horror
I was firmly nestled within its grips
Attacked by your callous conversations
Skillfully white washing every event
They were but measly misunderstandings
Never the nouns that I thought you had meant
The truth is that I perceived your pleasure
Within that capacity of your cruel
Heading towards a cliff like a lemming
Dancing dangerously close like a fool
So I sought out new triumphant treasures
Better lines lead to a more complete me
No more would I dangle dangerously
Halting hearing you speak helped me to see!
There is sun in my window this morning and it makes me smile. My wife is buzzing about outside, watering her plants, trying to nurture back to life some that have been brutalized by the recent heatwave. Soon she will leave for her bi-weekly water aerobic therapy. Not much on my schedule for today. What's new on the soup? I read a poem that is sad, melancholy, and I feel it deeply. So much suffering in the world. Little ones being bombed out of existence over land disputes and raging hatred. Just as I am musing on this rather morbid theme, a poetry friend on Facebook sends me a video of a little boy singing a pretty song and I think, "How precious is this young fellow?" And how lucky. He was born in the right place under better circumstances. Some aren't so fortunate.
Then I read the poem of the day. It's a light, heartfelt poem telling us all to look for the good in others, and to be happy. My mood suddenly shifts, and I think of all the little things in life that I have to be grateful for, most of them admittedly undeserved. It is in this moment I realize that poetry is life. All the moods, the hopes, the wishes, the frank truths and the hateful lies, the ups and downs of life, all of it. It is we and we are it. Poetry can save a soul or destroy it. Those that have the gift of skillfully weaving words also have an obligation, to tell it like it is. To make us laugh or make us cry. It is humbling and at the same time, liberating. I am... poetry.
sunny day delights
hot espresso in my cup
think I'll skip the news
Visions of me occupy your days,
my life's been planned in intricate ways.
And though my future's set in your mind,
I'm skillfully taught your wish is blind.
I've been manipulated for years
to achieve your dreams though quiet tears.
For you always told me what to do,
I was a mere reflection of you.
I lived my teens by your golden rule,
repress love, don't be somebody's fool.
Now I'm hollow, a soul with no spark,
alive; I exist, empty and stark.
Over the years, you're proud as can be,
accomplishing all your goals through me.
And you don't even pretend to care
that I'm a shadow, barely aware.
You triumphantly boast of your deed,
molding my life; you swore you'd succeed.
And the look in your eyes seals my fate,
for there is no love, there is no hate.
(Rhyme)
5/1/2017