Best Southward Poems
When it left the Arctic it was as a wild angry wind
that stormed its way across the ice bound Arctic ocean.
Blowing the snow clad icebergs and whipping up the ocean.
As it crossed Alaska and into Canada it had gentled
now it played games with leaves and softly kissed flowers.
Gaily it soared over the Rockies and tugged goats beards
causing them to shake their heads and stamp their feet.
In Playful mood it swept on hugging the coast awhile
then veering inland, it travels the plains and grows in strength
turning into a raging tornado causing havoc as it passes.
Moving ever southward it basks in now warm sunshine
and skips over the gulf of Mexico filling yachts sails.
Deep down in South America it turns into a wild fury that
uproots trees snapping them in half like matchsticks,
Then onward once more dancing past the Falkland islands.
Its destiny is now in sight and with triumphant roar
it rushes on over the Antarctic ocean and slides up
the icy barrier then screams its way across the tundra
yet slowly it loses its power and as it reaches the incline
this moody wind fades away until with final breath it dies.
Once driving home, I did defy
A deluge from the darkened sky.
The bluster lent a tinge of fright.
But God is good, and all is right.
When soon my house came into view,
Southward was cerulean blue.
And to the west an orb shone bright.
Oh, God is good, and all is right.
Voluminous the sun did rest
Upon a mountain gleaming lest
I look away; miss more delight!
But God is good, and all is right.
For where the azure sky met gray,
A rainbow over my house lay.
With peaks to east it did unite.
Oh, God is good, and all is right.
This finite sight I need to store
Inside my mind; when troubles pour,
I'll think on it. And so I write
My God is good, and all is right
For Giorgio Veneto's Beloved Poem Contest
By Andrea Dietrich in Rhyme form. I suppose
you could say Couplets but they are couplets
inside quatrain type stanzas, so I am just calling
it rhyme.
*This is a beloved poem of mine for the simple reason that it
was one of those rare poems truly inspired by reality. A lot
of my poems are based on pictures or challenges or things
I see in movies or simply from my playing with words. This actually
happened to me. I had just begun writing poetry in my life, and these
words were going through my head as I beheld the beautiful
rainbow that signaled the end of the frightening storm! When
I reached my home, I immediately began jotting down the words!
From far a cool wind gently blows,
There's a pleasantness in the air.
Harsh summer heat steadily slows.
The leaves of trees, new colours wear.
Autumn has come in time to cheer
From far a cool wind gently blows
The season brings everything dear
Stock in squirrel’s granary grows
Leaves fall ending their sprightly shows.
Some go fluttering in the air
From far a cool wind gently blows
Some trees are going starkly bare
Flowers begin to fade and die,
As the season’s about to close
Many birds in flock southward fly.
From far a cool wind gently blows
Where was I
when repo men invaded,
possessed,
boxed me up within his cool heart
fragrant in its distaste of warmer climates?
You know,
climates governed by love.
(Daydreaming of knights, that's where.)
Now I have only so much patience remaining
for this slapstick brain-
a nasty reminder, the heckler of my heart,
what spews sensibility
when I simply yearn to err.
And I scarcely have time to mourn
his devil's smile
leaving southward in moving vans
transporting my pieces
(all the valid ones)
with him
as I sit numbed,
next to climbing ivy poisoned by my disbelief,
broken
unpaid for.
Form:
My love, please take me back
To your sweet sugar shack
Sitting on the soft sand beach
Paradise is within reach
Rolling waves crest, so dreamy
Briny air, wafting steamy
Coconuts so full and ripe
Swaying grass skirt, my delight
Taut humid air, tan skin
Dewy lips meet, it begins
Swim southward along the coast
To the sweet realm of my host
Searching in the dark bamboo
For the mythic pink Honu
The enchantress of the sea
My soft kisses set her free
Forest of the straight smile
The fair treasures of this isle
Warm to my tropical steam
Her smiling shell does gleam
Inside her magic seas, you
Swim deeper as I please you
Within your endless ocean
Drowning, fragrant emotion
As the gentle cries go higher
Holy water turns to fire
Passion’s fruit upon your brow
My Pele, it’s our Luau
Your Tsunami drowns the flame
My rogue wave crashes the same
The relentless sea rolls back
Joy resounding in the shack
Honu=Green Sea Turtle
Pele=Hawaiian Goddess of Fire/Lava
4/30/16
© Endorphin Junkie
Sometimes, there is, between the lines,
a silence, that trembles with unspoken goodbyes
Expectant and charged, like a theater scene,
in the moments before the curtains rise.
In the dream that I'm in, I am southward bound,
so I assume it is autumn
And it resounds through the changing season
with the words never said, things never did
and with more forgiveness, and threads
of reason and understanding
....
Debris fills the gutters, and shades are drawn
Wild thorn-berries have been picked,
Trees are barren, naked, without a sound
Grief is thick, from the fog that was a cloud
And through limbs of questions never asked,
each branch has stretched with some neglect
and light of sun, still filters through
holding deep regret
Leaves are adrift, as if disturbed,
littering a speachless sky
Unfettered words we never cried
clamor up against the sky
still pleading to be heard.
Leaves are crushed and swept away,
by a bridled hesitation.
No summer arias have ever been sung,
and words to say have disappeared.
Vaporized and turned to dust
Sunlight dims, and I am thrust
into the void of too many wasted years
______________________________________________
100 In A Row Contest: #18
Sponsor PD
A woodland path in the dappled sun, hushed and quiet!
My soul is gratified as I meander midst its colorful riot!
Another glorious autumn has burst forth in all its splendor!
The Creator displays a vista no mere artist would dare render!
Gentle zephyrs stir eddies of colorful leaves along the way.
A myriad of wild flowers greet me with their brilliant display.
Trees that a short while ago offered welcome summer shade,
Now lift barren arms as if in prayer sans their leaves of jade.
Not a cloud mars the pristine blue of the Colorado sky.
A skein of geese wing southward sounding their plaintive cry.
Stately Colorado spruce 'neath which deer now gambol and browse,
Will soon have garlands of snow adorning their spreading boughs.
The shrill blare of an elk startles me from my reverie,
As he calls for a mate with his ever sovereign plea.
I pause on a nearby knoll to view yon shimmering lake,
Teeming with graceful ducks, guarded by a magnificent drake!
Foolish poets and artists have strived to portray each season.
They have tried and failed because of a very real reason.
Only He Who is the Master Artist and ruler over all,
Will ordain the beauty of the seasons, especially the exquisite fall!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Migrating southward before Autumn dies;
flocks of geese split the air with honking cries.
And snow clouds dapple Winter's ice-blue skies;
as winds kiss the trees with audible sighs.
Dawn's first light ignites an ice-cold sunrise;
long-gone are the songbirds and butterflies.
Yet, some creatures have learned to improvise,
turning food into fat, they winterize.
Hibernating bears must bulk up their size,
not gorging in the Fall would be unwise.
A long Winter could lead to their demise
should the need to wake up early arise.
Inclement weather tends to brutalize;
for nature doesn't react well to surprise.
Fighting starvation and all it implies;
some species evolved to cannibalize.
I have been in unequaled turmoil,
Overused in my personal trauma,
Drowning in tear rivers of tragedy,
Soul dipping southward trajectory,
But they do not seep from these eyes,
Nor do they follow the cries,
Just the heavy emptiness that thrives,
Within each breath hope in me dies,
But then there are those who remind me,
Why I have walked the road of words ardently,
Thank you for reigniting my linguistic dream,
I want you to know,
that you are the intrinsic thread that holds my spirit seem.
Encamped in the local IHOP patio
Doing reconnaissance on the butter pecan syrup
I discern its malicious, aggressive intentions:
To march defiantly down Mt. Stack
And wage a ruthless attack on
Defenseless over-easy eggs
Acting quickly, I wield my fork
Digging trenches in my pancakes
I flank the enemy, staving off
This unprovoked act of aggression
Victory!
Only in that moment do I lift my eyes and notice
A brood of young sparrows
heralding their hunger
The chevron of hang-gliding geese silently
sailing to destinations unknown
Majestic Monarchs flitting
stoically southward
And rival suitors:
An iridescent hummingbird and an industrious bee
Romantically pursuing myrtle blossoms
The canopy of cerulean blue
And all the life within its realm
Resolves my thoughts from war to peace
Note to self:
Don’t forget to look up
Come sit with me in the garden swing.
I must be outside, in search of spring.
Will the first robin now return,
and we observe his bob and run,
his comic search for wiggle worm?
Will crocus' cheeky eye pop skyward
through the last bit of snow
or hyacinths explode, in rich hues,
ablaze to unfold a fragrant glow?
Will the bluebird be building his lady
an intricate nest, or the early butterfly
betray the daffodil's dulcet rest?
Let us listen for the whisper of spring,
avid to uncover what she will bring.
Forsythia's soon to ignite in bloom,
shed its sunshine on winter's last gloom.
Narcissus and tulips grip with hot breath,
and beg us watch them pierce the earth.
Stroll with me down the garden path;
witness the cardinal's glad greeting
to southward friends, home at last.
Oh, don't be a sluggard, do come along;
we dare not miss spring's vernal song.
"See of Ghosts"
ghosts never leave
they watch you
while you sleep
casting dreams
of their return
they wait for you
to see
ghosts never leave
whispering their
absent stories
into your delta heart
constant in deep shadows
along the undulating waves
the rocky path to them, you walk
ghosts never leave
whispering their
gracious dreams
in you they live
through all your worst
war-walled nightmares
ghosts never leave
they set their intent
in all your torrid storms
to reach you, a compass set
before you, in all your southward stories
closer north than the distant pall
ghosts never leave
you hear them
in the undertow,
their wishful tone
of eternal wanting,
peace, and love
you hear
underneath the
incessant chatter
the white noise
of who is right
and who knows best
you listen to your heart, alone,
you hear,
a ghost
and its
constant call
ghosts never leave
they watch you
while you sleep
casting dreams
of their return
they wait for you
to wake,
to see
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Easter Sunday, Sydney, Australia
Home
gvlm
“Faith requires following the power of a whisper”
pall
https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/pall
communion.
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/communion_1007994
The Lord's Prayer - in Aramaic + English Translation - https://youtu.be/KdXFIYug9HE
(The Lord's Prayer - in Aramaic + English Translation to be
played simultaneously with primary video (set on loop) -
285Hz + 432Hz + 639Hz - Physical Healing + Aura Cleanse + Open Heart Chakra - Through the Mist (II) -
https://youtu.be/KdXFIYug9HE)
Signals were emitted from a very high tower.
Broadcasting was done with a million watts of power.
Reception reached as far north as Canada.
The waves traveled southward to Venezuela.
Birds flying too closely were roasted in flight.
Programs could be heard during both day and night.
It was possible for this powerful transmission,
because there was no communications commission.
The stations with call letters beginning with “X” we would know.
Their behemoth transmitters were located in Mexico.
*Image of Indiana History by Giphy.
Autumn Awakes
Rustling ochre, crimson leaves all daylong,
A coolness settles, shorter days advanced,
Easterlies, westerlies, tradewinds strong,
Southward birds fly, so parts summer birdsong,
Mid leaves lay spiked beech, acorn--care enhanced,
Rustling ochre, crimson leaves all daylong,
Sweetness in brambles flourished berries throng,
Black, elder, wild rasp--touched tastebuds danced,
Easterlies, westerlies, tradewinds strong,
Favored spots, here and there, all lists are long,
'Tis time hearts invent for landscape has entranced,
Rustling ochre, crimson leaves all daylong,
Deep verdant Ivy becomes, draped headlong,
Few flowers blooms hugged flown insects instanced,
Easterlies, westerlies, tradewinds strong,
Harvested tabled, prayers blessed belong,
Autumn picturesque, surroundings felt...glanced,
Rustling ochre, crimson leaves all daylong,
Easterlies, westerlies, tradewinds strong.
2020 August 21
*7th Place*
Serenity Awakened
~~Regina McIntosh: Judged 2020 August 27
*1st Place*
COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE (20)any form any theme
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2020 August 03
"...all loved things that vanish or that die;
Return to us in some sweet By and By ! (Anonymous)
When leaves grow rainbow colors all things take on a new hue;
and when the wild winds waltz and dance in the forests and my
garden,
and the grass and petals are wet with rain,
with mornings of gauzy dew and a sky sadly pensive,
when bees still buzz seeking some growing sweet thing,
and up above birds are southward bound. . . it is Fall!
I love the crimson leaves the best and in books I press,
so that on a freezing winter day when I open a book they fall,
and all the trees now blush a scarlet red flame of sun.
Fall, is God folding his hands as he pauses in his dream, of
his next summer of crystal mazes beautiful from all this
decay,
oh, quick trees put on your coats and flowers hide away.
"... all will throb again; and then the ... bee,
upon the ear will drone with drowsy glee." (Anonymous)
__________________________
September 12, 2019
Poetry/Narrative/Fall Is
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1180-466-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Fall into Fall
sponsor, Chantelle Anne Cooke
First Place