Best Slip In Poems
Insistent starkness claims a leafless day
Where morning breaks with silent calm and dread
The slope of field is framed, behind the glass
reveals a fallen tree, with jagged edge
and grassy hills now laced with autumn rust
Inside we find a plain and cheerless room
The table sparce, an empty chair
A plate, a knife, a saucer, without spoon
One empty cup, will wait for no one there...
Ambiance of what has been,
...still lingers in the air,
as amber glows, with threats of snow,
are just a hint, instead
Lonely hours, and lonely days, and lonely shadows blend
The endless songs of yesterday, slip in from window's ledge
A meager meal will spread upon a table set for one
Where breaking bread alone without a friend
is companioned by a solitary end
The angled sun, casts shadows deep and long
A somber mood, reflects this quiet calm
Upon the walls, where gardens grew, are faded memories
where yellow blooms of yesterday, are just a step away
Where, once were two, who loved and knew their sun would rise again
There now is one who sits alone ...at the table set for one
Where hope has gone, when morning comes...
to sing a lonely song
Based on the Painting by Andrew Wyeth ... "Groundhog Day"
http://www.andrew-wyeth-prints.com/gallery_andrew-wyeth-groundhog-day.html
I have seen the "corners of the world,"
heard the songs of many languages.
I have helped bring peace from many wars,
and played with the poor children of many countries.
I have tasted the fine wines, spirits and beers,
ate the feasts fit for a king, scraps, and dry meal.
I have seen the militias of other countries,
and the destruction of towns and cities due to war.
I have experienced Many Things,
exciting, horrible, memorable and painstakingly unforgettable.
As I lay on my hospital cot,
I slip in and out of consciousness.
I think about the things I have done in my life,
and yet the things I haven't.
My family, my parents, marriage and kids.
I've made my parents proud,
became someone by raising in ranks.
I've brought safety to my country,
joy and pride to my friends and family.
But I haven't had the chance,
to watch my kids grow up and start their life.
To play baseball with my son and coach his soccer team,
to take my daughter shopping or threaten their dates.
I haven't had the chance
to live on in retirement.
To meet my grandchildren and spoil them,
with stories and watch their faces light up.
As I lay looking up at the white
Red Cross tent canvas,
I think about the regrets
that many soldiers grasp, struggle, and
try to push away,
but still continue to crave.
As a soldier goes to leave this world,
there's always those final regrets.
They could be such as the want for
one last cigarette,
one last drink,
one last song,
or even one last intament companion.
Still with different beings,
there are different regrets.
Always one last something,
tangible or not,
something to go away happy,
peaceful minded, blissed, and
pain-free.
*Note: This poem was inspired by Mr. L.A. Meyers who wrote the "Bloody Jack" Series
The Quote of Inspiration: "Trouble is, as a soldier goes to leave this world, he always
has some regrets-- he
still wants one more smoke, one more drink, one more song..." His breathing is becoming
more labored and I
know he is weakenin. "...and one more girl."
I made this to mold any military branch and both females and males.
I sing a love you song for you ,my dear.
While close my eyes I think of your face.
Let the words slip in my lips 'til you hear.
The memories of true love can't erase.
I sing you a love song 'til the sun meets the moon.
Under the meteor rain showers in the sky.
I let the wind blow so strong and carry these sounds.
'Til you hear my heart cries in the night.
I sing you a love song 'til the flowers bloom again.
Let the bees sting its nectar and be filled.
And wait for the sunrise to finish the dreams.
To wake up in your arms like 'twas yesterday.
I sing a love song... hope you'll hear it.
Then let me feel that this voice is being heard.
'Cos I'm dying every moment when I'm awake.
Knowing that you can never feel this pain.
Humidity
I called my love on the phone, to say hi!
Duplicating the moments around the sky
With not many things to say :-)
I asked about the climate per say
A nice way to converse,
Nonstop heat throughout the universe
Smiling, without many words to share
I stroked the phone, describing the hot air.
"It’s getting hot outside"
I'm just here Enjoying the sunrise."
--Smooth and slow the steam in Aspen has me beat
--Suddenly 99.9 degrees was the new rising heat
I chuckled and added, -looks like 100% chance of rain
Keeping myself inside, with a wetness calming sane
A new flash flood coming in
Reminding him how easy it is to slip in mud
I continued to talk and toke
Then he joined me with a joke.
Replying, with a tease.
"Wow!"
I feel the wetness over there
I would not mind taking a dive in THAT flood
Don't worry I know how to handle slippery mud
---from back to front.
It's looking gloomy out here without my love
Down here in Mandalay it drips a lot
Pure satisfaction when the climate in Aspen gets hot
Could you be kind in sending a picture of how wet it is down there?
I will call you back when the drizzling stops over here.
By: P.D. ( please judge the name, not the poem )
"Love doesn't spill miracles off the tongue
but lies deep in everything ever done"
Winter impatiently raps upon my door
twisting of knobs and rattling at chains
but amongst night time cover
I barely budge
warm thoughts slip in and seduce
transcending this cultivated mind
to fields where white flowers
once swayed with light of day
deft fingers transverse
across her lustrous skin of silk
eyes of persuasive intent
never lose their gaze
heated bodies live
in bounties ever true
tender kisses caress the night
cold's not getting in tonight
In the orchard of opalescence
magnificent myriads of mellows
fervently flow in fountains
breathing beguile blossoms
a forgotten fable ferments,
in haunting hollows I hear.
My heart is a restless garden
with varying pulses of penumbra
conflicts caressing cuddles
tenacious tattered thorns
singing to sumptuous serenades
where brisking bubbles burst
butterflies spread beautiful wings
bees buzzing like ballerinas
to ballads in pirouettes--
a symphony calms my anxieties
descending from azure skies
but my vineyard wilts in agony.
A bird drops a seed of hope
from a foreign land in my orchard
sprouting to strive in storms
emanating exotic effervescence
ballerinas pause their buzz
butterflies flee in fear
serenades slip in streams
out casting the stranger seed.
I touch the seed with curiosity
blissfully in my meadow
melancholy melts to melodies
auspicious aurora allures
tender bud in lavender hues
drenching my dulcet dreams
in showers of chrysanthemum whispers
draping my fears at dusk
embrace my weariness with love
Is this what I'd been awaiting
a stranger I've always known
Aphrodite in lilac curtains
blushes to unfurl the petals
my fingers touch her musings
her fragrance blooms my orchard
ensnaring my sapphire senses
sparkling in emerald dew drops
I plant her beside my window
she's my fable of felicity
vineyard reviving to life
as tendrils ascend to witness
her velvet lullabies
"Sleep my love
another garden awaits me"
July 30, 2020
Petal, buds, blossoms, bees, birds, butterflies! Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
~Winner: 1st Place
I already miss the summer grapes
so sweet and succulent to taste
chill infringes the Autumn night
bringing forth added layers
to the satin already slid on top
slip in close
where whispers beg
lay upon my warmth
holding dreams hostage
wrapped meticulously
in every crease and edge
hypnotized a desire's bred
nothing more needed said
still one with the night
comfort held ever tight
Terracotta dreams alight
in rising Roman aqueducts
slipping in twilight hours of the night
where mysterious Spanish memories are plucked;
a momentary plunge
with Hercules standing muscle-bound
from which olden images are hung
as winds rise without a sound;
a flare in dance upon the castle floors
to pray a prayer aloud
beyond grand cathedral doors
holding visions authentic to each crowd;
slip in and out the corridors of legacy
Segovia and Madrid, the old Alcazar,
where history lay in wait splendidly
and time marches on, near and far;
these are mere images that remain
to tell a story old yet true
by which history is framed
a place, a legend, a story not new;
let it rise, let it stay
mysteries laid in the past
while awe and beauty grace the day
and visions and dreams race fast.
Poems creep in like spiders, capturing me in web so fair.
Poems slip in like mice, sticky traps holding them in place.
Poems prance in like majorettes, throwing batons in the air.
Sci-Fi dances around in my muse’s brain, taking all the space.
Poems twirl around my dendrite highway, waking me up.
Poems shake me off the bed, landing me squarely on the floor.
I hear the last line, and I think “was that word buttercup?”
Poems laugh at my consternation, their humor I deplore.
Poems slide by on the wings of undiscovered pretty galaxies.
They jump into my head at restaurants when I cannot find a pin.
Poems dive bomb my bed at night, witch-like in their hex-ease.
They throw themselves at me in bathrooms; I simply cannot win.
I do the best I can though, amusing poems in ways I do not dream.
They throw down words I have never heard, and so I look them up.
Poems own me, taking me hostage in a pretty hostage stream.
Did you hear that? I have to know. Was that word buttercup?
time stops to slip in ebony night,
emotive clock freezes
eternal pathos in congealed instants,
silhouetted in the shadow of past,
smears the strata of darkness,
designed to disguise perception lattice
Winter tends the garden
with leaf piles and broken branch
nets of security and cover
refuge for all the woodland creatures
as they slip in and out the windy cold.
Within the graying skies
a purple blush blends the clouds
mixes in the light and dark
with eerie anticipation
of the bleak white snows to come.
Walking the pathways
once lined with bloom and blossom
all that remains is
browned stick remnants of summer warm
hidden beneath the grass and scattered leaves.
Beneath the earth
secured safe and protected
bulb, seed and root hold firm
renewing themselves for spring
buried deep and unseen in their winter escape.
Allow me a moment to deconstruct,,
Every wall characteristically set up.
And all the fabricated stories from corrupt
Individuals; Residuals of a past,
I broke through and shattered like sugar-glass.
Let me tell you; I'm not invincible.
My personality is not intrinsical.
My body nor mind isn't irresistible.
Sometimes my heart and my head cosmically clash,
Emotion covers my face like a rash.
I'm a disastrously lousy liar;
I can't hold piss for pounds if its worth a few pence.
In debates I can never just "sit on the fence",
I need to say my bit no matter how intense
The opposite argument may make sense.
I like to drink like most twenty year olds,
Though sometimes I drink more than my emotions hold,
And sometimes I let those emotions slip in tears
And open my heart to all my sorrows and fears.
But god forbid I should have a pained heart.
God forbid I should live a life of youth,
And drink from it all the human traits of life's juice.
When happiness and suffering go hand in hand
I still bleed love and loyalty from every gland...
...Because I believed in those sacred fruits.
Well just because I build a barricade,
And paint on a brave face to replace my true self
Don't categorically place me on that shelf;
Among alcoholics, arrogant clowns and thieves,
Who handed you the gavel to judge me?
Though all of this stuff may file under "Me",
Don't think I wouldn't move sun and earth, part the sea,
To bring to you what you hold dearest of the dear.
That I wouldn't hunt through fire-filled chasms, your fears.
Because, what is love without a few tears?
'Our Mother'
Our Mother - a sophisticated lady
Always destined for the top
You'd never see her walk on by
A top designer shop
So impeccably presented;
Amazing handbag, clothes and shoe
Even perfume richly scented
Numbered bottle gives the clue
Never more elegant a lady
Than the stylish Mrs Mannell
Surely can't be just co-incidence
That her name rhymes with Chanel?
For pleasure; Mum rode her horses
Liked playing hard and drinking gin
Slip in friends and glass of champers
And her heart you'd surely win
Of her job she could wax lyrical
And of work being her miracle
A workaholic one might say
Toiled every cent of hard earned pay
Mum frequented finest restaurants
If dined with Margaret you would discern
Whether lunching at the Ivy
Or in Paris, of course; Jules Verne
Mum once painted chairs and pottery
And boiled up fudge to taste
She made luscious chocolate mousse those days
And yoga trimmed her waist
Mum sketched and drew with creative flare
Gave her loving cats amazing care
She sung out loud never just a hum
Then taught me to be a Mum
We all knew different parts of Mum
But between us we all know
Her strength could be a barrier
"Dahhling, don't let feelings show"
No matter what we all admire in her
With love and pride we glow
At the sea of people facing her
Must not let tear drops flow
A formidable woman Margaret
Or as Peggi to many friends
Just 'Mum' to my sister and I
And where this poem almost ends
She was Grandma Peg to four granddaughters
And now a great grand-son
Who knew she stayed and fought
To become a great grand mum
So to the 'bar', let's go raise glasses
For this tough old bird please grin
She'd hate to see sad faces
No tears while drinking gin
'Our mother'
For Margaret Mannell's funeral
By Victoria Payne
I said, “No.” and I meant it.
There was a memo. You know I sent it.
No...it's not something you can deny
And I have no interest in hearing why.
Your read receipt’s right here.
And the memo’s meaning was quite clear.
Despite that memo, you failed to comply.
So, for you, I’ll further clarify.
I have faith that you will surely understand,
When I put this ‘pink slip’ in your hand.
I can't help it,
My pen stocked a bit.
Words slip in awful mind.
But no chance to say it loud.
To write each line in rhymes.
I will keep on making the same verse.
Until I find the proper way.
To witness my hands start a stroke.
'Til i fill an empty pad of poems.
I will believe in magic and forever.
I will see what eyes can't see.
I still love who I don't like.
I live the way I want to be.
Until emptiness filled with silence.
I keep eyes closed and listen,
To the sounds of rain pour in the ground.
Collate all words then give them life.
Busy days kill my existence.
But I still hold on my pen.
Spill the ink , tell what I want.
Fill each day of heavenly rhyme.