Best Smoothed Poems
A coloratura rises
from the suede-edged shape
as the gnarled grande dame
comes to light.. a vision
draped in sweeping evergreen
and a pale cape of kidskin haze -
a beguiling soprano in soft-
focus fools the guileless sunrise
with a diva’s deception --
for in the vaporous golden hour
she can still be breathtaking
the age of change
is beclouded - softened
in gray’s cashmere atmosphere
where blending and bending of
over-ripened perceptions
are smoothed with a dewy smudge..
roughened boughs
and litter-fall is obscured --
unless, you get up close
harsh lines become artfully coy
in the bosom of the pearl mist;
a bedimmed dreamy blur of
Impressionism masks her reality
with the sleight of hand and a mockingbird’s aria
Susan Ashley
March 8, 2020
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: Brian Strand Contest No 1183
Sponsor: Brian Strand
N/A
Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 6
Sponsor: Mark Toney
*coloratura: runs, trills, and other florid decorations in vocal music.
A lyric soprano of high range who specializes in such music*
*aria: an elaborate melody sung solo*
Born of glaciers, rivers flow,
turquoise ice and untouched snow,
deep green valleys far below,
ancient stands of hardwoods grow.
Icy rivers running deep,
through the mountain's midnight sleep,
darkened waters crest and leap,
earthbound secrets rivers keep.
Stoically the mountains stand,
nurturing the age-old land,
born before mere time began,
when Earth was pure, devoid of man.
River rocks were once rough stone,
water-smoothed, by eons honed,
each grain of sand is sand alone,
truths unspoken lie unknown.
Listen to the waters speak,
every river, ocean, creek,
there lie answers all must seek,
flowing from the mountain's peak.
©copyright2009DanielleWhite
Stayed in the sun too long today.
My skin became like the bark of a tree.
The soul turning to brittle scars
for uncaring worlds to see.
My face is a pile of old owl bones.
Sewn into banks of midnight creeks.
Even the plump ones no longer look at me...
If their tires were flat, or oil grim reaper black.
they'd manage a water-colored smile...
So long as I could spin the jack...
So, I spin it until their potholes turn to satin.
Stayed in the sun too long today.
The mind has smoothed like pebbles in Saturn's rings.
A forgotten spice in the conversation of life.
Tomorrow I'll stay wrapped inside.
Until my skin turns back to ivory.
To an easter egg yesterday
A time of bouncing ball and spinning jack.
When the mind was a great silky nest.
The face a flowered meadow place.
Where watercolors swirled all day,
the heartworms kept at bay.
I'll stay hidden within the weeds,
till the jewels of memories soothe
every scar - every stripe.
Till the sweetened fruit reclaims the tree.
Until then only my curtains breathe...
...stayed in the sun
to long
today.
I rip and chew at my edges
Trying to eradicate
Placate
Eleviate
My pain
The anxiety
The part of me that threatens to freeze
My mental disease
The part I hope no one sees
The inner demons I wish to appease
The tattoos that your artistry
Injected
Under my skin
With invisible ink
Yet I feel it there with the words I think
As I claw and bite into my pink
I wish to be smoothed out
Cared about
As the blood appears it calms my shout
Exquisite pleasure wrapped in the pain
With it, some level of relief I attain
I tell myself
I can't
I won't
do it again
Yet with chewing
I feel my inner turmoil wane
The weaker bits
The inner head stitches
It helps me scratch, those indiscernible itches
Stopping the soul twitches
In shame I hide my hands
Fingers and things
The evidence my body sings
Strategicly placed
My problems kind of erased
In fabric bandages encased
Still desperation has a taste
Inner turmoil only temporarily chased
Was I designed for this
Some kind of inner sickness
Expressed in a serpent's kiss
As I'm hypnotized by it's hiss
I wonder
Is there a way
to fix this
I wish to be
a fully healed
Calmer witness
Perhaps this is my litmus
Another test I fail
For I'm a blind man
Who can't read braille
I'm bound by ropes
That help me cope
Evidence I can't wash away with soap
I wanted your yes
But always got your nope
Became an inner pauper
Surrounded by hope
Still deep down I feel like a dope
I know I have much to be thankful for
Greatly blessed I can't ask for more
Still I fear what might be waiting for me
An imaginary enemy
Hidden behind the next door
Threatening my hope for a peaceful shore
Still I know this inner tension is a gift
It's a wave on which, I've been given a lift
It helps me travel far and swift
As within life's currents I hear the music shift.
There is a tune I wish to sing
Above the maddening ring
A new place from which I wish to begin
Beyond tattoos
And cracked and bleeding skin.
Peaceful rivers
Flowing from within.
Please read Njeri Unjeri's poem Tattoo's, after reading her
poem I got to thinking of the tattoos that all of us wear.
For Nathan's Mental Illness contest.
Though many songs are written of angels
I must add to the empire
This small hymn to a woman, a champion of life
Nameless here, but named in all things good and pure
I'll stand beside her work, her artistry astounds the stars
And all light that is given is humbled in her presence
Every worry is smoothed away, all tears absolved
God, let me take her sadness into me and carry it for her
Until I am old, and then I'll have my chance to see her once more
I am not a religious man, but she brings the divine to me
And cradles me forever in her selfless, adoring arms
I love you mother, I love you
I will always love you
Wading through fragmented thoughts
Searching for one last poetic line
To slip around a shattered heart
Then shaped into a perfect bow
Pulsating softly like guitar strings
As they begin to play real slow
Replacing old queasy emotions
With melodic breezes that flow
Through the canyons of mind
Once found in a bottle of whiskey
That has now been left behind
Gliding in Texas two-step rhymes
To the Silver Bullet Band we bid goodnight
Our last dance becomes
A mellow tune that only Seger hums
We dance between the verses of smoothed out lines
That seem to roll endlessly through gifted minds
To be left off the page, until they shine
Eve, the mother of all mankind,
Adam found his helpmeet in her.
Old Sarah, through faith, was confined.
Rebecca, the first twins’ mother.
Shiphrah and Puah, brave midwives
Saved Hebrew children, fearing God.
Fearless Jochebed hid her child,
Because of her, Moses survives.
Rahab hid spies for she was awed
By the true God, who on her, smiled.
Like Deborah, who could you find?
Her bold judgement caused quite a stir.
Jael, Heber’s wife, was brave of mind,
She killed Sisera on a spur.
Naomi was a good mother
To her daughter-in-law named Ruth.
Ruth left her all to follow God,
Was one of Jesus’ ancestors.
Prayerful Hannah in her youth
Gave child Samuel back to God;
Intelligent Abigail soothed
King David’s wrath, became his wife.
The young maid of Israel smoothed
Naaman’s healing from leprous strife.
Daring Queen Esther without fear,
Saved the Jews from being wiped out.
What can I say of blessed Mary?
She bowed to God’s will with all cheer.
Dorcas, Lydia did not pout,
Active were they in church early.
Women from all walks of life are
Found in the Bible to teach us,
Each, in her own way, is a star,
A vessel for God, a great plus;
Rhoda, Priscilla and others,
All are equally paramount,
Only a few have I mentioned,
Sisters, daughters, wives and mothers,
There are so many, I can’t count,
Let’s learn from them as intentioned.
14th April 2022
(8 syllables per line
Rhyme Scheme: ababcdecde)
{The role played by women in Biblical history is truly great. No wonder Lord Jesus Christ revealed His resurrected self first to them}
For Beata Agustin's "Ode to Women" contest
Timeless Cave
Hidden deep out of time on a limestone cliff
its entrance for the ages concealed
paw prints of cave bears on soft clay ground
and smoke-stained walls it harbored
but deeper, still deeper, farther in time
earth’s ancient origins still beckon
for an artist his palm prints left and man’s
greatest testament of eras bygone
panthers and cave lions on smoothed surfaces
lost voices from humanity’s past
he painted in the torches light from us closing
the distance and they all outlast
on cave walls, hyenas, and horses in flight
immortalized remains vibrant echoes
ringing through the millenniums
a masterpiece there lies
in the midst of stalactites and stalagmites,
man’s original Sistine Chapel still rests in peace.
"The softness of the summer day like an ermine paw."- Anais Nin
Soft is a tissue or a cotton ball.
Soft was my old teddy bear I recall.
Soft are some foods like oatmeal and rice.
But soft crème brûlée could be twice as nice.
Soft is the butter spread on soft bread,
and soft is the pillow where I lay my head.
Soft are those fabrics so nice on my skin
like the blue velvet gown I like to dress in.
Soft is chinchilla, chenille, and mink.
Soft are the wool clothes I hope not to shrink.
Soft is my favorite pair of silk panties
and soft are those pink and blue cotton candies.
Soft are the lotions smoothed onto my face
and blankets which on winter nights I embrace.
Soft on my tongue are flakes of new snow,
and soft are spring's breezes that most gently blow.
Soft are the petals of flowers so pretty.
Soft is the fur of my precious small kitty.
Soft is a baby's cute pudgy cheeks,
and soft are the words that a kind person speaks.
Soft are the feathers of a white dove.
Soft is the smile of the one that I love.
Soft is his hair and his dark eyes so sweet
and soft are his kisses whenever we meet.
Darkness engulfed me
I struggled to adjust to the shadows
blinked when my vision brought to light—
an empty room, rumpled sheets of an unmade bed
a tear-stained pillow where I'd laid my head
There was a wooden luster on the furniture
I sniffed the unmistakable church scent of candles
six long white tapers on two candelabra
My fingertips smoothed white satin beneath me
Thoughts began to drift, sifting through... what?
I was carrying the weight of an albatross
My back bent from the burden held too long
Something was wrong
A mewling of fear formed a question
that I dared not ask
In my ear, a whispered hisssss
"Go ahead and asssk it. It'sss commonplace."
A voice without a face—
disappeared without a trace
My submissive nerves feigning bravado
I tried to rise but curdled
There was a hurdle of some sort in my way
Eyelids too heavy to open
My arms reach to set me free
but I cannot move
No words escape on my tongue
I cursed the albatross that held me down
Away from me, I wanted it flung
I searched to find courage to ask
if I was facing death or a demon's call....
In my ear, a whispered hisssss
"Go ahead and asssk it. It'sss commonplace.
Asssk the question if you dare."
That voice without a face—
disappeared without a trace
I felt a kiss upon my cheek
from trembling lips that did not speak
That pungent scent of too many flowers
should've had me suffering a headache
Had I been resting here for hours?
"If this is not a dream
then tell me...." I beseeched
But the world was out of reach
Thoughts abandoned me
I tried to feel a pulse, a heartbeat—
There was another kiss
Tears on my cheek, but not my own
I froze at the sound of another hissss
Have you heard
about the bird
Who built a nest
with zeal and zest?
With zeal and zest
with string and straw
It was the best nest
you ever saw.
She took her time
and smoothed out the creases
Then out jumped a chipmunk
who tore it to pieces.
-1968
All those years flew away
for nothing.
Then of course the headaches
started when weeping constantly
at the unfairness of my marriage.
You need to know that I didn't
love him but I cherish the family
we've created, you, my children
are the center of my life.
My hardships coping with
my authoritarian husband
drove us apart.
I started drifting away to
avoid being at his mercy .
I couldn't help myself to
get around those roadblocks
that at the time deprived me
from walking through
a new path of change.
I was stalling even in my silence,
aware of all the deceptions
that had come to characterize
my life.
I had learned the hard way
to stay calm and pretend
that I didn't sense what was
happening to me,
and let time do its magic.
I wore this mask for so long
I didn't feel safe without it
exposing my true identity,
it had to remain hidden .
I stopped blaming myself
as I was able to survive
my pain over the years.
Time has elapsed and done
everything to diminish
my anxiety and eventually
allow my soul to heal.
I cannot tolerate seeing
myself weep anymore.
I started genuinely enjoying
every thought that passed by,
ready to feed myself with knowing
I would not repeat the same mistakes.
I ended up riding this roller coaster
of emotions feeling everything.
I was able to survive the pain
when I was at the bottomless
despair.
My walks alone under the
blazing stars,
imagining and wishing I would
never see him again,
craving my marriage
to become a memory .
I started feeling that I found
my silence smoothed my inner anger,
my passion has been real despite
my original skepticism.
Walking towards my cottage
I knew there'd been
a reason for it.
Somehow though the wilderness
enhanced the beauty around my
cottage garden,
the clouds were getting thicker
and darker,
running inside towards
my refuge,
I realized that I liked being
in control of my own life.
At Last.
Therese Bacha
13 October 2014
Hell breaks loose through the trusting door
Whining its splintering, wooden hinges
Claws wrapping onto the arches beyond
Gnarled feet pressed on the threshold
Lower limbs jingling with sparky anklets
Ready to catapult and kick with spitting mouth
To shove its shine like a worthy prick
It was time for her daily purges
Peace is slapped about in her fickle hands and made ragged
Turmoil in her pedicured toes erodes the smoothed surfaces
Of the fashions’ must, into dusty rust of sick disgust
Her coral lips curve in delight
At the sight of confused and crazy creatures
Staring numbly at her hell-bent sight
She is always laughing, snarling or lying low
Waiting for the climatic blow
Bottom dwelling, blush smearer
Eyeliner runner, nail-biting binger
Her lies tease and her eyes see a perfect she will never be
As her large, curved nails glimmer
She scuttles her way like a crab in a salty delirium
She hides her hiss like a snake ready to miss for a chase
Challenging practicality,
“Dear Prudence,
Won’t you come out to play?”
But we are silent to the accursed
The wise are wary and rehearsed
We all slip right through as she intrudes an empty room
Waiting for a reaction, screwing with the lights to assert a distraction
She wreaks havoc in the dark,
“Dear Prudence!”
She screams,
As we softly walk down the path, nomads against the crabs
She doesn’t realize she is her worst fear—alone
Her mask melting and her anklets snapping
Collapsing, the tears she squeezed for her high
Were emptied, vindicated and dried
Angrily she must realize
In her twisted, stubborn way
It’s a beautiful day…
A crazy collab with my brother David Breidenthal [J.W Earnings]
Quarried, and carved from our earthen mother's skeletal
Backbone and under belly, were the Moai solid rock deities,
Stone guardians of Easter Island.
A mystical place, a harvested paradise, but nothing remains
Of the people whom built this land of living statues, except
For these harden faces, looking towards the ocean, as if in
Wait for their native worshipers to return.
Sit and listen my friend, to the whispering in the wind,
Do you hear the low humming sound, rolling across
The rocky and jagged surf.
It is the Moai, calling unto the five raw elements of the world.
Let us live again, to walk among the heavens vast
Divides, and to feel the winds breeze at our faces
Once more.
Slowly the ground shifts and moves, rumbles and
Quakes, lightening splits as thunder strikes against
The harden ground, nature itself has heard them,
And answers their wishes with life anew.
Shedding layers textures by depths degree, piece by
Piece, stone turns into gravel, rough rock is smoothed,
Hued by mystic incantations spell, brick becomes
Bone, and nature answers their wishes with life anew.
Living giants pull themselves up out of the earth,
Shaking away debris's leavings, and thus shall
Stone breaths, inhaling freedom's fresh air at last.
Behold the living god's of Stone, guardians of
An ancient culture lost unto time itself.
But at dusk's fading sunset, the spell is thus
Broken and slowly these giant figures take
Their places once again, melting as if it
Never happened, yet the humming still
Lingers echoing across the ocean.
For stone God's never forget, and waiting
On Easter Island do they so sit, monuments
To a people whom disappeared without a trace.
But their deities shall call unto them until
One day they'll return, and then maybe
Giants again shall walk this earth in
Celebration, to feast amongst their people
Once more.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Then, he knew why he must hew
old memories from marble-
emotions quarried from heart's slew-
Oblique fight with his faith's garble
Cut block unfolds Christ, enthroned
on mother's lap- death sleep supine...
Sculptor's concepts cast in stone,
art wrestles with thoughts divine.
And sorrow, stilled in her young face,
speaks truth of words kept in her heart-
mother, son, distilled in saving grace,
sacred words saved in graven art.
A pity, the piety
so few true onlookers saw...
Revealed in society-
few look on In devoted awe.
II
Now she knows why she must express
emotions whittled away, and smoothed
from quarried heart's deep distress-
The process leaves her soothed...
Such feelings are not cast in stone-
Warmly carved in reflective marble, maybe,
as he wrestled with tempestuous thoughts
burning, guiding hands that draped
unmoving drapes over motionless shapes,
shaping faith that cannot be bought.
And the tenderness on her gentle face
belies the hurt of curse's sword driven
straight through her mother heart...all trace
of ancient prophecy hidden.
Till truth, preserved, be told.
Had he not told them many times
he would return, come back to life?
And that word was kept, unfailing.
And the stone was moved, revealing...
Posted: 22nd April 2019.
Note: I am totally in awe of the stupendous sculptures produced over the centuries.
Miraculous as they are, I believe in greater miracles, the resurrection of Christ being just that.
I am also a mother of two grown up sons.
My little miracles...<3 <3
Luke 2:25-35. Luke 24:1-8