Best Sough Poems
Upon her thorny heart I bleed;
My rose I nurtured from a seed,
With blazing bloom and perfume sweet,
Who pricked me with her warm deceit,
To where I gladly bade her leave.
Her eyes and smile they did precede,
A witchly soul that did deceive,
My love to stumble with conceit;
Upon her thorny heart.
If I could pluck her to be freed,
And rip her from my soul, indeed,
My lesson thus would be complete,
Sough not a love in lusty heat.
To this my penance I accede,
Upon her thorny heart.
Six steeple towers, cold as steel, drab daggers in the sky!
Their hallowed halls no longer call when breezes wander by –
for, filled with dread to wake the dead, they've ceased to sough or sigh.
Coiled candle sticks! Their twisted wicks no longer 'lume the cracks
with dying flame, subdued and tame, mid pendant pearls of wax,
since deference to innocence dissolved in molten tracks.
Above! The dismal ditch of dusk reveals a velvet streak,
through which the winter’s wicked winds will sometimes weave and sneak,
and faraway a cable sways, a bridge clings hushed and bleak.
Thin shadows shift, like silver shafts, across the cruel moraine
reflecting white a wisp of light in ebon beads of bane
which casts a crooked smile across a faceless window pane.
Wan neon lights glow through the nights, through darkness sleek as slate,
while lanterns (hovered, high above, in lurid swinging gait),
haunt ballrooms, bars and bare bazaars, though no one's there to fete.
The souls who come with jagged tongue won't sing a silent psalm,
nor paint pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor pray for mercy, grace deferred, nor beg lethean balm,
nor yet redress the emptiness that shifting shades embalm –
they've seen, you see, life’s brevity, and face it with aplomb.
Winter Wildflower
A billion snowflakes do collect upon a wasteland of neglect
The sky frigid no sun to reflect appears a dot lonely specked
A tear does fall melting snow as the speck staggers to grow
A wildflower starts to sough as the winter winds seek to blow
***
Amidst frozen fields lost in time, a wildflower begins her climb
Awaking beauty stretches sublime with petals strutting chime
Behold the wonder you see displaying love near a wounded tree
No one bothers with her plea standing around the white debris
***
Courage keeps her alive with recluse radiant colors to survive
With a calming chill, she will thrive awaiting the storms to arrive
And dreams now blurred that the fallacious frost has spurred
Her silent screams are heard carried by the malign mockingbird
***
Standing still before the dawn alone a wildflower winging spawn
Within her will, she must go on before slumbers of her next yawn
Secluded in her salient solitude she eagerly embarks to be renewed
Now a wildflower subdued all she wishes is to be virtuously viewed.
...dedicated to my Mom, May.16.1941~Oct.24.2017...and to all the Wildflowers here at the SoupBowl...they know who they are...
Oct.22.2018
SEASONAL OR UNSEASONAL Poetry
Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues
N/A for contest
The calling gull leaves her nest
her wild magic cleaves the nimbus.
An avian aerialist suspended aloft
she sails on tapered feathers of cirrus silk,
ruffled sea breeze ironed ‘neath her lustrous wings.
A wind witch, she defies and defines the w-i-n-d…
a weaver of worlds, knotting strings of stories as one wampum belt
in union with the sea’s connection to land and air.
She steals the sough from the surf and the sigh from my sinew;
my guide to a mindful haven. This nurture-maven
glides among bouquets of pink-peony-cumulus.
She; my blue-sky-muse in celebration!
She; my compass rose, mediates my meditation.
I unfurl fresh wings, a night-to-day tern, and claim my turn with the wind
no longer a granite stone asleep on sand. I soar
from the glacial-age strand and lift through fog.. brief my tryst
with mist. Eyes blessed by the crest of a humpback’s breach.
I distill myself, my will; a droplet, tear, a sphere free of guise.
An ascendant of moon-magnet tides yet a descendant
from stratus to stratum, I settle upon the cliffs along the coast
in union with my soul’s connection to body and breath.
In the cup of my hands I hold the sun and drink its yolk,
white-cap breakers below chant a soluble sonnet.
From my inner dark, a flint-spark flares as I find what I lost.
My heart, a wild cranberry, reborn from the womb of dawn.
I inhale the moment. Red clay cliffs, lifeblood, fire-skies merge.
Windswept pitch pines croon as I grow roots for my tabernacle,
cosmic beams stream through stained-glass-eyes.
The calling gull rests. A distant, silent witness to my quest.
My pulse a psalm as I emerge; a cathedral lit by sunrise.
Night Fantasies - As moonlight blankets us in passion
Crystallized moon beams
Fractured light of endless desire
Shimmer around you as our eyes meet
Beneath a canopy of hazy luminance
Pearl buttons glisten as fingers touch
Your smile grants permission
Leaving me breathless
Serenity of the night serenades
Our hearts beat in silent yearnings
Lips find your flesh pure
Your neck sweet of perfumed nectar
A sultry sigh floats wispily to the misty heavens
As we sit entwined neath barren branch silhouettes
Exploring each other amidst swirling winds
A foggy shroud lingers silently
Desolate this rendezvous, hidden hillside
Your dark cloak drapes me, floating quietly
Mysterious against this crushed velvet sky
As beauty falls like summer rain,
Drenching my sight with you
Entering the realm of my longings
A full moon stares down
Happily enchanted by our movements
As the slumbering horizon beckons
And still I gaze upward at your charm
“I love you” I sough, feeling every pulsation of affection
Blissfully seeking the depth of the evening
You peer down through hypnotic lashes
Harmonic moans sing in a sensual duet
Echoing through tree lined shadows
Increasing in tempo, you fall to my lips
Tongues dance to the melodic rapture
Fevered vibrations rhythmically sway
Clutching my arms, arching auras lift
Your hair like chocolate ribbons flowing
A shooting star trails your breathless sighs
Euphoric fuses ignite within, exploding
Illuminating your smile, your face
I rush to meet you, simultaneous sensations
Quivering stardust ecstasy shines
Collapsing into my loving arms
As moonlight blankets us in passion
Written for the Night Fantasies poetry contest
Inspired by the top photo on the contest page
Sponsored by Mystic Rose
Good Night Soupers
Continued from Part 1
The City’s blur? A sepulcher for Christians, Muslims, Jews –
Cathedrals, Temples, vacant now, enshrine their residues,
for churches, mosques and synagogues abide without a bruise.
No cantillation, belfry bells, monastic chants inspire
and Minarets, though standing yet, host neither voice nor crier -
abodes and buildings silhouette a muted spectral choir.
A church’s Gothic ceilings guard the empty pews below
and, all alone amongst the stones, a maiden’s blue jabot.
The Saints, in crypts, though nondescript, grace halos now aglow.
Stray footsteps swarm through church no more (apostates that profane)
though echoes in the nave still din and chalice cups retain
an altar wine that tastes of brine decaying in the rain.
Coiled candle sticks, with twisted wicks, no longer 'lume the cracks -
their dying flames revealed the shame, mid pendant pearls of wax,
when deference to innocence dissolved in molten tracks.
Six steeple towers, steel though now drab daggers in the sky!
Their hallowed halls no longer call when breezes wander by –
for, filled with dread to wake the dead, they've ceased to sough or sigh.
The chapel chimes? Their clapper rope (that tongue-tied confidante)
won’t writhe to ring the carillon, alone and lean and gaunt –
its flocks of jute, now fallen mute, adorn the holy font.
No saints will come with jagged tongues to sing a silent psalm
nor bless pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor pray for mercy, grace deferred, nor beg lethean balm.
Continued in Part 3
Seeds start petal grows
Beats heart winds blows
Birth begin fresh souls
Dance elkin storm rolls
Teens dwell learn quick
Adult excel passe chick
Older comes elder bring
Lifes drums death sting
Lives reset cycle renew
Plant hopes dream adieu
Grain sough alive chose
Seeds start petal grows
December 19, 2017
Fem Bogstaver (Danish) - Poetry Contest- Rhoda Tripp
Quite pliable plump.
Makes soulful sough souffle sound.
Tonic topical unbar country funny.
Angel In A Jar
I caught an Angel from the morning sun, in a jar her wings undone
A blissful beauty a spinning spun, I will keep her with rejoice and run
I look in the jovial jar; I see an ethereal enchantment a heavenly star
I’m mesmerized by far, she smiles at me a benignant butterfly bizarre
Eyes immersed in blue light, cyan skies warmed with congenial white
I hold heaven within my sight, for I caught an Angel in her festive flight
The jar begins to shake; I feel beautiful vibes that she begins to make
A jubilee of Angels in her wake, of miraculous music a quavering quake
I decide to let her go, I see visions of love as her wings attach and glow
And now I weep and sough, for I held an Angel in her wounded woe
Let free your Angel to the sky, even if it means a cathedral crimson cry
Do we ask the question why, Angels come and go in the blink of an eye?
March.23.2018
Picture This
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Silence is a monk
in a mountain
of deep
In meditation
Of heart
Silence is a water
In drench
In dream
Silence in his talk
whispering
within sough
Silence is a monk
In crystal
secret in depose
in his heart
Thunder storms raged forth in grandeur and the rain fell splashing in torrents,
The brook water levels rose and burst their banks flooding walk ways and paths,
Drains around buildings became blocked with shifting gravel, paper and leaves,
Through the villages and county towns people with umbrella's lined the streets.
Men with bags and old coats on their shoulders to open their flooding drains,
They used fire-shovels, spades, rakes, rods almost anything that came to hand,
Where one minute all is silent profound, hot the sky, dark tinged with yellow,
Then, a few minutes the roar of streams bursts forth flooding a hundred homes
Hurrying down the declivities, glens are loud with turbid brooks and streams,
Water rushes rushes along the roads at the feet of hilly green corn pastures,
Seconds ago we walked on the dry ground then after the roar it was knee deep,
A crash of thunder on the hill tops pealing and reverberating again and again.
Rushing waters down steps in great lines of white foam over brown muddy water,
The wild sough and murmur through the whole darkened, yellow tinged, warm air,
As quick as it came, it went and the sky turned to clear watery turquoise blue,
On the telephone wire sat a Corn Bunting singing a jingling song without a tune.
I wonder how it whips the zephyrs that flee
In a churlish yet blissful den
Throttling though the gushing of glee
And seized a million mirth like a wee ben?
I wonder how the flowers bloom
In a precise moment of a single day
Glaring it's beauty to the groom
Whom she pleased all the way?
I wonder how a tyke titillating
In a shallow way of enjoyment
As nobody could cling
Even for just a moment?
And how I wonder to a damsel in distress
Who trapped into peril
But a knight in shinin' armour caress
Rescuing decisively with a thrill?
I feel the zippy breeze of cold December
Creeping up to my veins the sensation
Why thee to remember,
Yuletide season with applause fascination?
Aristocrat, oh my dearly!
Amending my appetite of love
Trampled my primitive sanctuary
And animate me like a dove?
My glistening eyes on you
Gnawing the fear deep within
My coy heart sough,
You're my inspiration in this domain.
Amid the abyss that divides us
With your finicky type,
And vile manner you showed
I grope but a love without gyp.
As a college student I'm old enough
To spill out one word as I vow
You build me authentically tough
Tossing the allurements that sow.
Murmur of my voice you listen!
Come to my dale words of word
In my studies you are my inspiration
The Romeo that dispense my world.
Around the Hills of Malvern now..Desecration takes place.'
Let me inform all how.' Where Elgars body has rested long
And Tolkien and Lewis did ramble in song.' all of these
Three historical giants, drew breath and inspiration none
Can deny it, seeds of thought in Lewis's mind grew into
Enchanted forests even braille did find it. And shared to
The world by many houses, published gems given to milions of children my imagination it rouses.' Gondor of
Middle earth from these hills Tolkien drew' its white walls
And turrets and hidden gardens shone through.' And Elgar twined the
Sough of its breeze.' The lambence of light in tones to
Please.' To refresh the spirits to inform the ears.' That grace
And beauty are to be played despite dread or fear.' In the face of
Hitler they were rehersed.' Indomitable riposte to wagners
Stuka played curse.' And now the enemy in different form
Under the cloak of green climate' snorts and paws cash
From rate payers is being put to miss-use..Same old trope
Of miss-infomation is now in use a commitie starved down
From twenty eight to six.!! Consolidating power the usual
Tricks.' Now two hundred new houses have been allowed
Concrete scars will be in situ where once fields were plowed.' Sacrilige plain in your face, ok'd by cronies yet
There is video trace.' I raise my eyes to Malverns hills I
Raise my pen, would it had quill.' I would despatch it to pierce the evil soul, of this cold committe let it be told.'
May litratures warriors get to the fire.' Email Malvern council the 'need is sore' let them know of the poets ire the
Revenge merits to be meted.' Justice must be requited.'
Earth was peaceful
In the time of remembering
Where the pasture looks so flourish
Childreen roam around the green-field
And they Cheers in an urban glory
Every where looks so beautiful in winter
Pitter-patter falls on you in the summer
There were zestfulness and lovely cool breezy
Comes the jealousy and greedy
The one that turn a blind eye
The one that eat from the pains of others
I mean the one that satisfy the Godfathers
A war range on the world
Not between continent nor race
Not even racism, a damnation on earth
There is a lot of rubbles
That comes from the oppressor
As we have seen with Palestine and Burma
As we have seen with Syria, Libya and northern Nigeria
Horrible death and some sold into slavery
Horrendous hating and severely killings
Blood splatter, metallurgy shard
Holocaust and ungodly blockades
Children famished and suffocate in a cubicle
A brimstone on the soil
Set by the powerful oppressors
Severely damages and
With brokens and burnt doors
No love again only hatred full the world
Killing in extreme colossal in the name of devil-god
The Earth sough, heaven looks so weary
The soil cry inaudibly.
Since my muse left me, I wonder how
Was a young crow born with a weird sough
Or maybe it’s fear that causes this outcry
Such unusual tones, I give a melancholy sigh
The dove's soft coo, still a gentle touch
Awakens me with the coos of hatched clutch
Morn’s promise fulfilled, a new dawn’s birth
As sun rays’ fingers, reach through cloudy mirth
Streaked skies, a canvas painted gray,
Reflecting the mood of this poet's day,
The world is awakened with a gentle start
How, oh how, could it mend my heart
That crow's weird voice, a haunting sound,
Echoes through, the morning's hallowed ground,
A reminder of what once was true,
A love that's lost, and a heart that's blue.
The dove's coo, a soothing melody,
A balm for my soul that's lost its harmony,
The sun's warm touch, a gentle breeze,
A comfort, that my heart can't seize.