Best Specked Poems
Enroling you a worm (cumbersome and)
hairy, you- scimitar of leaves
Knows the pain ,writhing pupae
Abandoned and convicted
Constricted hanging straightjacket
Squirming like a jackrabbit
Gagged nocturnally - blindfold humility
Rejected by those mocking moths
and jealously believing left the key
Both found our grace on bended knees
..left there dangling from a tree..
Unhinge now those spinakers of glory
Pretty - flaky- flinder
Streaked in splatters paint
Dust of the fairies
Gaze at me with criss-cross eyes
Innocent beauty oh ye butterfly
Spiny antennae, stretching out transmitters
Taking flight so easily
Flitting off with no goodbyes
To a newer afternoon over there
Dashing in the sun
Kneeding and gouging all those zinnias
Joy! Slurping up the nectar
Whisky! Tequila! Brandy and Champagne!
Swops them for a chorus of pansies
Dancing blooming flowers
Crazy blessed colours
Bouncing delight.- erratic in flight
Dodging in between the bees
O enchanted mystic butterfly
Only pausing for a while
Hold me in your spell
For you walked that crooked mile
Linger in this dream
So seldom comes to see
Just as you, my timepiece too
Is coiled in spring
A dustpuff within the wind
Specked all over pollen confetti
Envied now by every moth
Suicidal circle - one kamikaze candle
Seared and singed and slowly fried
Getting what theyre vetted for
But the sun his laughing in his sky
Beseeching all the yet to open flowers
Awake !Awake!
An angel is coming by
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
Imagine a black velvet curtain
Pinholed to allow specked light
Now imagine that same curtain
Endlessly stretching out of sight
And there you have the immense
Velvet blackness of outer space
In which I hang and float seeing
That speckled velvet any way I face
I suppose I am that lucky man
To know the exact second he will die
No single second longer possible
No matter how or what I try
For the oxygen of life is finite
In my cocooned fragile suit of death
I can rest here calm and unmoving
And so harvest every single breath
Or I can thresh and move and panic
Burn up my allowance fast
Never quite sure which breath
May be the next to last
I am speaking my thoughts slowly
There is so much I want to say
And I hope oh how I hope
I will be found some day
And maybe then just maybe
Some descendant may know
How much I loved life
And how I loved her so
I am that one lucky man
Of our ship crew of five
The only one still here
The only one still alive
Routine maintenance inspection
Left me suited spaceside and in luck
The only one to survive the hit
When that unknown object struck
My thoughts are now recorded
I am reconciled and at peace
I shall open this seam soon to cold cold space
And so choose my own moment of release
Cruel fate is perhaps a considerate friend
Allowing me the when to make my own end
Imagine a black velvet curtain
Pinholed to allow specked light
Now imagine that same curtain
Endlessly stretching out of sight
There's a swing that is hung from a long oaken tree,
By a string where the young have a longing to be.
Where they fly to the sky, ever higher they go,
Till they cry, "Not so high! I shall die, don't you know?"
And they tread through the wold all around by the tree,
Where it's said ruins old can be found by a key.
How they thought many-a night how this fact could be true,
And they fought to set right while they wracked in a crew;
But they never could figure that blur in the tale,
So they clamber with vigor the fir by the trail.
They'd retrace to the place where the moss covered tree
Like a face, beamed with grace as it tossed o'er the lea.
Such a hold that tree held on their glad little selves
As they trolled songs of eld with the bad little elves;
And the song that they sing is a song specked with tears,
Of a long oaken swing cast along through the years;
Left alone by the lane, overgrown, never seen,
Ever blown by the rain, with a groan deep and keen,
Till a small little girl stopped a while on her way,
And a tall oaken burl with a smile bade her stay.
How she clove in a dive through the grove, and the tree,
How it throve, came alive in the cove, in the lea.
{Comments and critique by those knowledgeable
about consonance vastly appreciated.}
Fearless flames licking the night
as the glow flickers fire in their eyes
ah the tales round campfires light
of Sasquatch shadows and cougars demise
When sleepily those embers to ash burn down
like marshmallows slipping to the ground
lanterns cast their final shadows
In exchange for adventures awaiting tomorrow
A final gaze at a zillion stars
shinning their sign of specked hope
for a soul to know peace is only so far
as blackened woods against constellations cloak
As I lay me down to sleep
not a care in the world can persuade me
to take for granted my humble retreat
safely bunked with my horses by the creek
Sunshine flashes her brilliant stare
like diamond wings playfully fluttering
over morning rivers greeted with prayer
while wee ones still in tents lay slumbering
Until the hunger fails to quit
resisting whiffs of luscious scent
hash-browns and bacon crisp...
with flapjacks bearing the final lament
Here they come sleepy and wistful
cocoa for the kido's hair in a muddle
and coffee for the men now donning stubble
the ones bearing tissue and the O'l faithful shovel
The slightest breeze sweet smell of earth
shooting, hiking, splitting wood
traditions passed down again to preserve
laughter in a still frame subtly procured
Camping is the life, simple yet rich
meadows of wildflowers by the lake
kayak drifts near wild lavender I pick
with a wave saying thanks to the boaters wake :-(
Of all the trips money can buy
exotic lands, places to fly...
there's no place better to spend a summer
then camping where the wonder comes uncovered
couplets
Surveying green, leaves me somewhat unfazed;
‘til spring leaves appear and my eyebrows raise.
Riddle, ma riddle, ma riddle me green,
how many shades of green can be seen?
There’s teal and pine, and most common - chartreuse.
Some leaves are olive, the evergreen’s spruce.
What of mint and moss and there’s lime or jade?
Brownish-specked hazel, my least fav’rite shade.
The leaves of spring are all about green;
it’s the revival of life that we keen.
When bare trees of winter begin to grow
I go for a drive and watch nature’s show.
written 21 Mar 2015
for Francine's It's Spring, Show Me the Green contest
Feet throb – and blisters swelling –
And specked blood – on leather soles confirm
A sandaled trek beside the Thames –
Surely my highest and measureless Most –
With God and the Devil – drinking the Fullness – laugh –
And all directions people swarm –
And myriad step gives Beat to the dance –
While beneath – the whirl of Electric shuttles
And vibrations are part
Of the Perception above –
And no Omniscient can know exactly
When – What – is happening – How –
The sun feels it too – shows that it does –
Stretches out – leaving liquid shade
To swim through –
I can still feel the pumping Buzz –
From the city’s Heart through my veins –
But its brick I can’t tap under toe –
The wind it seems is staying on the ocean whipping up the sea
The waves tumbling to a smart chop on a shelly sea urchin shore
As there is no wind from the mainland but coming from the oceans side.
Trails of fresh green seagrass are left in the the tides descending echoes
Leaving lines of green froth in the outgoing tide....
Earlier at an Art class the sea poured out from the pencil onto a drawing.
The heavy paper was saturated with pencil marks of a mandarin with all its
pores lying near the detailed edge of a bamboo basket...
Fibre balls lay full and spun with fine seaweed as if waiting to hatch a creature
Seaweed reminiscent of a under-developed plastic bunch of grapes is found.
Footprints in the sand show different tread designs, some quite complex.
Hoof prints in a line , fancy sports shoe prints and tiny flower paw prints.
The grey skys now unleash a torrent of rain popping on the tall tin roof tops.
The safety and warmth of the hall's interior contrasts with the wind outside.
We are seated celebrating a Community Birthday luncheon banquet and
the Communities most Senior members are there to join for communion.
They had just finished a Yoga class and caterers were busy in the kitchen.
Celery soup with Soft music, soft honey sliced meats ,steamed veges and
strawberry mousse brings warm smiles to eyes on age-specked faces.
Outside on the beach a huge long red kite is flowing in the now clear sky.
As we approach its frilly neck, flapping arms and legs and long tail show
a wide eyed 15 metre harlequin red and pink patchwork frilly neck lizard
with a racing car parachute attached by a long cord to a jeep on the beach.
I wake up to a deserted town
"Where are the people?"
I ask myself aloud.
"Gone." answers a voice.
But no one's here...
but me.
Broken glass litters the street,
a Kristallnacht in the making.
Houses, half gone and half standing,
specked the dirt road.
I lay, pinned to the ground by a monstrous wall...
I don't know if I'll be able to move...
but I must try.
"Hello! Anyone there?"
No reply.... just what I thought.
As distress fills my heart,
I use that anger and helpless feeling to my advantage
and somehow
I managed to lift the heavy burden off my chest.
But this was a small victory in what seemed to be WW II.
ALAS! I remember.
This is WW II....
and the US had just dropped something...
something unusual on my town...
I'm surprised I'm still alive.
The explosion was enough to kill all of my native land,
Japan.
But it only stopped 2 miles from the heart of my country,
Tokyo.
But no time for reminiscing.
I must find a way out of this...
hell.
A sharp pain in my chest heaves me to the ground,
I've seen this ground so many times, face to face.
Something starts to lunge itself out of my mouth.
When I look down, I notice
that it is my own blood.
I knew I must find a hospital, quick,
but which way was which?
Was East West? Was West South?
Was North behind me? Was South ahead?
I sulked in defeat as I trudged along a snake-like road...
a road to nowhere.
I grew weary, hungry, tired
but I knew I must walk on.
Every few minutes, I'll drop to my knees
and cough up my life support,
but I couldn't let that stop me.
The sun went down,
but I didn't.
The moon rose,
I kept walking.
The sun started his day-shift,
but I was at work all night,
counting steps and listening my heart beat.
Finally, I lost the will to live,
I wanted to die,
I waited to die...
But death didn't come.
I spit up blood every few seconds now.
Life leaving me with every breath.
I close my eyes, and draw in my last breath.
Muffled sounds reach my ears.....
I try to look but my vision's blurred.
Everything blacks out.
"I will not be defeated"
My vision is back.... I see people...
Everything blacks out.
"I will not be defeated"
I see their faces now, splattered with dirt and dust
Everything blacks out.
"I WILL NOT BE DEFEATED!!!!!"
I CAN SEE!
"Are you with us?!"
A desperate cry reaches my ears.
And I reply,
"Yes. Yes I am."
Memories linger melancholy
as I approach the bridge
to the Gardens de Sol.
A picture forms in my weary mind;
Just a mere shadowed mirage,
like an old faded photograph
in a heart shaped locket
kept near my soul centre
for days, weeks and decades….
while
fall winds crooning blue zephyrs
frigid, incantations upon the
once verdant meadows
where the fawns grazed
and wild horses pranced
so breezy carefree
on fine spring days....
I whirled and twirled , a carefree dance
on patches of clover and dandelions
in the spring of my youth
Reveling joie de vivre of sun
Sol warming skin and soul pink
I remember our long, meandering walks
in a picture perfect rose garden
scented with redolent pines
and aromatic wild flowers
we conversed for hours,
my hand in yours
thrilling at your every word
infatuated by a fervent touch
You, idly picking petals off a rose;
the deep timbre of your delicious laugh
resounding joy to my acquiescent ears
as I cavorted playfully in the garden’s fountain
until lengthening shadows quilted the path
with reluctant to leave, sun beams
of a late summer afternoon
And afterwards, in twilight violet sky;
intimate moments by a blazing fire,
silent music of our hearts thrumming
a lovers sonata while
you kissed me;
gold specked brown orbs,
so pleasurable and beguiling,
warming my soul
full of tomorrows promise
and forgotten yesterdays
Now, as I picture this quixotic drama
rehearsed again and again
one solitary tear slowly trails down
and comes to rest on lines
that were not there yesterday…..
Dead cornflake leaves
crunch under my feet
as I walk the very same
bridged pathway to the garden
alone
my only audience
a solitary prickly cactus
in the autumn of my years.......
The lights at night
have much to say
a different story
than the day
They shine and glisten
here and there
in coolness of
the evening air
The street lamps glow
to light the way
as flashing neon
colors play
White ones come
and red ones go
as tiny cars
drive to and fro
Greens and yellows
reds and blues
from different houses
many hues
White beams flicker
dim to bright
from tv sets
turned on tonight
People moving
all about
as lights turn on
and then go out
In one house
a red shade glows
while further on
a blue one shows
On the distant
hills around
tiny flashing
dots abound
A dimly glowing
alleyway
night time secrets
kept from day
A lamp post lights
a walkway to
a red front door
that welcomes you
There's something special
in the sight
of cozy darkness
specked in white
Up above, the moon
does glow
and dazzling stars
put on a show
Life continues
through the night
a glittering, sparkling,
wondrous sight
In the earth
and sky above
the spectacle
I truly love
While on a hillside
looking down,
are the night lights
of my town
I plunged headfirst, my silly stilted pride
The instant I beheld your Cheshire smile
And dancing in a frame of summer blond
The gold-specked umber iris of your eyes
From first hellos until this breath I draw
Your heart has thrummed as if my very own
Despite the snares and distances ... of life.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Seven Lines Of Romantic Heaven" Poetry Contest, Silent One, Sponsor. The truly ironic thing is that I met my first true love on July 7, 1977, and the "luckiest" number for both of us was seven.
He closed his hand to make a fist,
as he stood silently behind bars,
a wisp of transparent mist
specked and sparked like stars,
defiant, and reliant,
as his freedom was just a dream,
and her life ended in a scream,
glancing upward he saw,
her ghostly image reaching out to claw,
the cloudy air,
her death was his fear,
his actions brought him here,
and her there,
forever they’ll stay,
he will remain in prison for killing the one he loved,
crime of passion, without compassion,
as he prays to God above,
her ghost flying,
and he could hear the angels crying,
as his spirit was trailing down,
Hell-bound,
underground,
where it would be found.
Twilight sparkled defying its usual gravity,
Sun followed in full riot,
Blue yonder oozed ozone,
making for full soulful breaths,
The slumbering baby in cradle,
forgot about the feed,
as he enjoyed the cool breeze,
flowing everywhere and all along,
it was so good that he wanted to sleep on,
all those walking were on trot,
energy flowed and gushed,
spreading like an infectious dream,
the green and lush carpet,
and verdant forest were turing greener,
with every passing moment,
the flowers were in more than bloom,
not just smiling but laughing all along,
a riot of colors specked the green,
it looked as if all was silk and stin,
starred like those that hung above far beyond,
the sleeping baby was in deep dreams,
incomprehensible and distorted dreams,
which had no meaning that could be understood at all,
somewhere some how a may flower branch,
swayed in spring ego and ,
casted an unwanted shadow on cradle,
branch was not meaning bad,
it had the baby in sight,
and to render its fragrance it was fighting bad,
it was doing its job quite allright,
suddenly a wind shower turned tight,
and shook may flower branch to bitter plight,
branch lost its flowering to ground,
baby was covered in a flower shower abound,
it was then it woke up and cried,
looked around and saw spring,
afterall mayflower had been baby's flower for may,
it had brought the baby the spring,
who enjoying it stopped crying,
and began to sing.
The moon's a globule
Assymetrically-specked
Freckled with moonrocks
Wolves roost and shriek off-tuned hymn-- -
Tufts of fear drip-drop elsewhere.