Best Sloping Poems
Sweetness
Perfume, Flowers
A Gentle Rain-Shower
Candy Kisses, Chocolate Hour
Spring Breezes, Sheltered Cover, Leafy Bower
The Sloping Curves of Your Profile
Tempting Lips that Beguile
Love's Tender Smile
Sweetness
for Chris Matt's
Favorite Songs and Lyrics Contest
“We were born before the wind”
Held by angels and given wings
To fly this world ephemeral
Every breath a miracle
“And oh, I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain”
Chased spectrums of the rainbows burst between
Held my arms around the thunder storms of lovers
Rode on river bends deep with loss and wonder
But still I’ve only ever found an aching that is you
In alpine meadows drenched with light inside the morning hue
And when the sloping sun sends golden kisses out to sea
I “shoot the moon and miss completely”
It seems I‘ve always drifted out or crashed and combed this life
A seeker gleaning meaning in the shadows left behind
Where night is sleeping softly round the lonely stars above
“Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?”
Van Morrison
James Taylor
Norah Jones
Fleetwood Mac/Dixie Chicks
Rather lost, they stare over the divide,
how best to circumnavigate this obstacle?
They can see a path gently sloping down
but it is far off to the north two days ride.
West is back from whence they had come,
east is an impassable cliff of sheer rocks.
They can not see far to the south but maybe,
they talk it over and head into the unknown.
Tumble weed rolling by pushed by the wind
as playfully it blows them into their path.
Miniscule trees dot the flat plateau
and small shrubs popping up here and there.
In a hurry they head on swiftly southwards
and soon start to descend to the valley below.
Billy is pale with anxiety as they push on
his wife Betty is due to give birth.
Sammy casts worried looks at his friend knowing
there is little he can say that will help.
At last they reach the valley and gallop on
Just another five miles will they make it in time?
Their horses now struggling, sweat pouring off them.
Billy's homestead comes into view cattle scattering
as they gallop through the herd and into the yard.
Sammy hangs back as Billy dashes in to Betty.
In full labour she screams "Where have you been?"
"The preacher is here to wed us. Did you get the ring?"
"I have it here" said Billy and without delay they were married.
And within minutes the twins arrived a boy and girl both bawling.
"Geezers you cut that close Billy" said Sammy
as they slumped on the front porch drinking beer.
"We made it in the nick of time" replied Billy
flushed with the joy and fulfilment of life.
written 17/09/2014
contest: Cowboys in the Badlands
sponsor Isaiah
Far as my eyes can see, 'till lake touches sky,
Earth beats as one; Poplar, Jack Pine & Birch all
Sing with the White Throated Sparrow, our Planet's
Love songs.
Sloping (5'canopy) an ancient Deer trail along the
Baptism River (flowing into Lake Superior) I startle a
Buck during his midday Nap. Soundlessly lifting up,
He elegantly bounces away.
From above, a dark object swoops in, Brother
Raven is curious, (always a sentinel for Hawks
And Bald Eagles). I stand motionless, willing my
Neo-Cortex to flood my aura with peace; as I
Extend my arm and gently imitate the Raven's
Welcome call, a double-beat "Caw caw"...I am
Here Raven, I am me". My heart quickens as
He alights on my arm, talons gripping my
Forearm gently, but firmly. Cocking my head,
I look deeply into his obsidian eyes to his
Soul...he imitates me, tilting his head in unison,
letting my gaze enter. Images from high race
Thru my mind...the rushing river...undulating
Tree tops...in an instant, we have become
Brothers of the wild, as I softly shake my arm
To set him free.
"I am me, Brother Raven, I am me"
05/30/15
© All Rights Reserved
Inviting and magnetic the towering awesome sight
A perspective of domineering rock and icy peaks
It challenges, dares and beckons with unfolding beauty
Stretching upwards into shades of blue and puffy clouds.
Along the winding sloping trail I make my way, the easy
Lower tract encased in green, till rough terrain appears
Then stimulation is released when steep ascent arrives.
I climb and breathe the pure fresh air, intense intoxication
It is so peaceful all around, a place for meditation.
The time goes by. I look for holds and make full use of spikes
Intent on concentration. The wind comes by and contributes
To the hazards of melting ice and hidden crevasses
The weary limbs in need of rest; a keen lookout for falling rocks
An avalanche of crumbling doubts that slows the pace...
Subdued exhilaration when the going gets too hard.
At last the top is right above. An added burst of strength
Dispels the peril of defeat. One final forward thrust
Victory is mine. The summit reached I gaze in awe
Surveying with pride my sprawling kingdom down below.
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Contest: Pinnacle
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
The good earth!...ahh! its beauty
sloping down to golden river’s bank,
where trout and dreamy summit play
their game, a contest of who looks
longest, passers by or the tickled fish
and cumly eagle in her fortress nest
Yet is there a winner, who feasts off such
delight?
The latter in leaps and bounds astounds the
cornered eye: feathered lord of all surveyed.
Then smell the scent of bracken on the wind….
the eagle’s feather and crafty trout’s scale
intertwine, for pleasure and delight…no contest
to amend.
All’s well on the good earth!
My descent was gradual, sedge meadows with wondrous pink orchid variations visited by never identified damselflies, my head starting to swim; erasing time, giving way to a dark canopied wetland of black spruce, difficult to traverse, sloping deer trails the safest path to take, avoiding quick-mud holes. These trails are popular in the forest, as signs reveal, death struggle remains, the saddest.
This is the area I saw the hairless half ape/half wolf like creature block my trail, stopping to look at me deeply, then vanishing like a ghost, without even a ruffle of plants.
Sometimes a plant, flower or insect calls to me "come closer" so I approach with caution; my hand carved heavy oak staff probing for danger, strong enough to ward off bears and badgers, snakes & insect saboteurs, intent on my demise.
With compass and topo I chart my course, knowing each time I visit these wild places in the forest off Lake Superior, it could be my last, so I bring back natural, wondrous souvenirs that fill my day-dreams, content once more, cleansed of my sins by Her Majesty, the forests off Gitchi Gumee.
Authors note...never venture into these wild places alone, always be prepared with survival equipment in your pack.
Frost carpets the fields
sloping to a crinkled sea.
The air,
cotton crisp
as spring leaps in.
Satin crows
descend from a silver sky.
Squabbling, they graze
on chilled dewdrops.
The sunrise,
a red ribbon glow
warms tall tree trunks
basking in gliding sunlight.
A flame horizon
burns a candy stripe sky
on a tangerine morning.
There is an island
In the Pacific ocean
Surrounded by blues
In various motions
The blue of the water
Reflects from the sky
Turquoise and dark
Either makes me sigh
With mountains of lush green
In sloping canvas
Varieties aplenty
Trees and grasses
Species so different
Grace this land
Where they have thrived for years
As it has never been manned
Golden beaches
Glitter her coast
Where the blue waves caress
Its where i sigh the most
Coconut palm trees
Figs, berries and roots
In glorious harvest
Natures fine fruits
Please close your eyes
And join me there
As you open your eyes
All you can do is stare
Where is this island
Do you all want to hear
Its in the Pacific Ocean
Oh how i wish i was near
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/nature-6.php
My boat rocks gently under a reddening sun,
is it wrong to wish for a Viking burial,
to ponder a last journey West
into the dying light?
Strangers have always been my friends,
they intuit
the liquid and inflammable nature
of this thing we do.
I could rest my soul here in this skiff
on this one long warm wave of evening;
let the wooded lands and sloping meadows,
the dredged, smoke-stacked barge brimming ports,
the patched up river towns slip on by
under the kindling sails of evening clouds.
I am laid out like a homeless person
bundled up in my rags and tinder,
a shadow in a small boat, drifting.
Night falls to the water
the words of strangers flame high
fire starters and their poems gleaming
as the dark rushes in.
I hitch the boat to a stump of land,
still imagining a Viking funeral,
but also resigned to a tomorrow -
yet another strange place
to play with this fire.
LOTUS FOR SLOPING KNEES
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the contentment of disheveled twigs
sitting on shoulders of humming trees,
the sunlight wafting shades on meshed nets---
it is before early morning, pale always ever,
pagan and pliant as the swoon
of winged winds. after all, while village trawlers
tug the day’s haul of buttery clams,
salmon and weeds,
the river washes its feet unobserved.
even when the hills fondle the peaks
of embossed leaves, there is no time
for human leisure on the streams, not yet. not till
compass’ hours stray too long, tedious, unabated
for folk fishermen to haul the orb ropes
and slug aquatic baits in exile, washed
from sea wine that cradles trout’s liberty…
many a time, when incandescent beam
envelopes all things gentle and sunlight drifts
on lotus flowing, rowing; as clouds hover odorless
upon sloping male knees: fishermen become
the fishes darting free, finally tranquil…
content as disheveled twigs lying
on shoulders of humming trees.
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© all rights reserved
Winter storms dropped a tiny snowflake on a towering mountain top.
'Tis bright and unique among the myriad of snowflakes that did drop.
This rhyme tells of the mighty contribution that tiny flake makes,
As it begins its odyssey to grace our rivers, ponds and lakes.
It reposes deep within the drifts and gleaming mounds of snow,
And briefly provides winter sport for folks with faces all aglow.
But soon the warmth of spring rouses it from its hibernation,
To begin its journey, meandering to its ultimate destination!
It thaws and with others of its ilk begins to form a tiny rill,
Slowly flowing among the scree and pines down a sloping hill.
The rill becomes a pristine stream carrying the flake along,
Rippling smoothly o'er ancient stones, producing a soothing song!
The stream joins a rushing river, wending its way to the sea.
The one-time snowflake providing succor for land and stately tree.
At last it reaches the ocean, spewing from the river's throat.
'Tis incredible! This once tiny flake helps keep mighty fleets afloat!
At times we may think we're insignificant, contributing nothing at all,
But each of us is unique and can help, no matter how great or small.
Each in their own way can accomplish mighty deeds if only they believe,
Ever keeping in mind that tiny snowflake and what it did achieve!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Placed No. 2 inConstance's "Horses or Snowflakes or Horses and Snowflakes" Contest
October 2010
Fingers crossed,
My mind still hoping,
Day by day,
I rest on the hill sloping.
Looking at the sun,
Mesmerized by the beauty,
Rays blinding the scene I look on.
The sun is setting,
My mind is wondering;
Although sometimes forgetting,
Though life seems like its plundering.
Birds wisp by,
Flying across the purple-pink sky.
Oceans in the distance,
Beauty beyond existence.
It’s a sunset wonder,
A masterpiece of splendor.
Exquisiteness unsurpassed,
The sky, life, and scenery coming together at long last.
Waning sunlight casts shadows across bare branched trees
whose leaves silently tumble, carpeting the ground
Autumn murmurs with gentle taps on my window
I breathe a sigh in consensual reply
acknowledging the beauty of her creation
Nimbus clouds gather in twilight skies
to brush sloping hills a shade of purple haze
I hear the lonesome call of an owl's sad lament
He sits in a loblolly pine, hoping to attract a mate
A pastoral scene being painted before my eyes
Drifting through maples
Autumn sings a hymnal song
in farewell to crimson leaves
Cloaked in gloaming mist
Fall grows weary for slumber
as Winter's approach draws nigh
October 11, 2021
Let's Mix It Up Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Poem 3 is a Choka. (5-7-7-5-7-7)
Mediums of Winter parse
translucent runes on the tines
of sloping firs basking like mallards
in March's brusk sunshine.
Arctic oracles echo on the lake's hard sapphire
with pearl crests punctuating
Spring's arrival while cat tails exclaim
nascent umber banks. As teals float
in a tarot of amulets tanagers preen,
imbuing remnant frost with scarlet omens.