Best Speckle Poems
A speckle of light
appears in the dark
barely visible to eye sight
it is always there.
I think it is my grandmothers
wandering soul
here for some purpose
what for I don't know.
I can still feel her presence
like she'd never left
I can still smell her essence
still feel her warm breath.
She speaks to me at night
while I rest in bed
replaying old home movies,
memories in high def.....
I miss her so much
so much I can't bear.
I miss listening to her stories
while she brushes my hair.
She's a ghost wandering aimlessly
with unfinished business to redeem
and when her time expires,
I'll again wish her godspeed.
Jared Pickett
3/3/2010
Asavvy1
I burn in a fiery blaze of disappointment for a poor judge to see .
Swallowed by hungry tears. Shallow tears eat my cheek.
The salty substance, similar to the oceans of life.
Washed away and swept off my feet.
I am a tiny speckle left of a winning dream.
Destroyed by a poets losing dream .
A poet destroyer.
The ocean of life washing away my short winded words,
along with my poorly judged tears in this oceans lair.
Knoked by a rock, out of my rhyming socks.A poet destroyed.
Cool comforts from the moon shining in Spring
diverge from coming Summer's scorching sun.
Sweet honeysuckle lifts its trumpet string
to set swift tempo for the Springtime fun.
The peonies follow in their due time,
shout scented secrets to boisterous birds.
Hornets send buzzing timbre to sublime,
heights of rowdy rhythm in unspoken words.
Loud melodies of frogs bide time with drums
in gurgling creek beds or towering trees.
The bursting bomb of bleeding redbuds comes
to speckle color through sonorous breeze.
Spring buzzes, bleeds, gurgles, or bursts out loud
through its short months, the frenzied, shouting crowd.
A Patch of Blue
When raindrops speckle sidewalks and make the puddles gaily dance;
When highways glisten with freckles of sunshine and umbrellas dot the gloom;
When trees bow down to storm winds and rainbows dance on roofs
I embrace the earth so clean and walk beneath a patch of blue.
Nature's mines lurking
Obstacles speckle the mist
Cloaking splintered planks
Let me be clear with no fear
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Even the tiniest speckle of dust
cannot conceal the clout-
of the golden surface it rests on.
So like that golden throne,
Don’t let the tiniest of problems
Conceal your true identity.
The avalanche crashed an ax from nimbus peaks
these shrouds a pall a maul splitting my shield
this smur slurs my weakened war paint
my skin my beat my breath my breast
gray matter clouds —a pock-marked-psyche wears the ruse of ceruse
cosmos charity clouds once white like daylight once light as sea foam
blown and flown to the expanse of ether airy spirits afloat
now a iron-heart-anvil I’m horizontal
..an empty fossil-frame pressed into earth
these clouds these shrouds upon me
around me about me they cry
my lantern dampened they know why
cataract-clouds dimmed my gaze
they’ve simmered and condensed
they’ve become incensed
they drape me a caterwaul shawl
oh mamma sky your cirrus streams my suckle sweet
nourish my flourish rock me frock me your cumulus crib and fleece
from nest on high fledge me bluebird spry
freckle me starling’s starlight speckle
myself the Milky Way instead of ash-of-flame remains
constellated skin depicts our myth and marrow sagas
my mouth alive with words of the winds
iambic tranquilize of zephyrs sweeping wheat
and lyric wrath of gales aggrieved stripping leaves from trees
with barnstormer speech
cleanse my lens with see-through-rain till wet with reflection
that upends the blur and burr of clouds crashing down
— keep them mamma sky beyond where they belong
so I may return and re-emerge — reimagined
I know a river where the fish fly in the sky.
Sheltered by boundless ember morning sky,
a lull stillness, it refuses to say goodbye;
I breathe deep in submission quiver and sigh.
Drifting upriver in my small fry fishing boat
wishing for a plate of fried fish, so, I wore my lucky coat.
It's out there waiting for a moving worm afloat.
A dragonfly hover by, big bass launch into the air.
Dangling my pole over the boat there, I stare.
Speckle trout; come with me, my cupboard is bare.
I spent all day as the fish just laughed,
bait writhe at the end of the hook as they passed.
Splash! A nibble, then a take. Holy Moly, largemouth bass.
11/4/2021
Example for Contest
Emerald mountains border shaved rock facades.
Pallid clouds speckle the electric blue sky,
Remininscent of a robins egg ready to hatch.
Mounds of cotton candy trail behind the sailboats engine.
Aroma is flavored with ginger and orchids.
Fragrance spreads the island like jam on warm toast.
Dolphins jump up waving.
Sea turtles putter,skimming the ocean top for tourists leftovers.
Waterfalls spill over golf course green barrier reefs
Poverty is tucked behind this garden of Jurassic beauty.
The twisted remains
Of a broken life
The bloody stains
Speckle the killing knife
Cracked, broken, shattered bones
Crushed souls and weeping wails
Taken by bullets, blades, and stones
The wind carries the victory hails
But what victory of naught
That takes a life by force
Takes what cannot be bought
Free of guilt and all remorse
To justify your pturid lies
You convince yourself of this
When another soul dies
To sleep in eternal bliss
Your bloodsoaked soul inside
Withers, cracks, and fades
Your truths split open wide
Dragged from beneath the shades
No man can win this day
While bodies litter the streets
For all must change their way
To stem the flow of bloodstained sheets
The bloodied, broken, twisted remains
Of society crumbling to the earth
Brought to ash in the fiery flames
Rising up to a new birth
You can no longer justify
Your evil killing way
No more will they believe your lie
It is the beginning of a new day
Your hatred spewed from the bile within
Raining down like acid from the sky
Burning, scarring, deep into our skin
Your venom gave no reason why
Yet here today you stand
Judged guilty by one and all
Sentenced to leave this land
Your reign of terror now must fall
Nevermore you'll play your games
So turn and walk away from here
Racist is but one of many names
But the most hated one is fear
Taste the ink
that runs from my veins,
through my pen,
staining this page
as I set
my endarkened imprint on society,
the signature
of a melancholy soul.
I spread my mists of verse
across this parchment
to tickle the emotions
of the masses,
awakening them
from the doldrums of routine,
encroaching
their own hidden thought
like I had clawed them
out of their heads.
Those destructive intentions,
severing flesh,
splattering blood
and little morsels of meat,
creating impressionistic art
on the walls
of their safe little dwellings.
Hellonic landscapes,
reddish smoke
seeping from fissures
in a volatile ground,
twisted trees
barely seven feet tall
hanging on
like a gnarled old man
on life support
sparsely scattered
about the sandstone bluffs,
spiraling dust devils
dancing about
spitting dirt
in the air
as if it offended them,
leaving dull tan voids
in the sky
distorting the crimson hue
that clings above
the deteriorating,
jagged spikes
that scratch
at heaven’s gates,
holding back
the water laden clouds
that have been trying to cry
on this parched earth
for eons.
The instigation
of my imagination
is a mere speckle
in the nuances of the night,
a slight glitter
that my cataclysmic mind
(a)
preys upon.
These stanzas
have been developing
since time itself,
I just snatch them out of the air
like an Archer fish
launching a stream of water
to score my next meal,
laying them to bed
as I see fit,
tucking them in with punctuation
and my unexplainable determination
to release expression.
Taste what flows
from my quill,
it might entice you
to be the next scribe.
Some would call me a lost cause,
but I only see myself as lost with no cause.
We spend all this time worrying about what others think of us,
when in reality there are billions of other people thinking the same thing.
This universe is only a small speckle in the entire galaxy,
and we have the audacity to believe that we are worth something.
Now that's not a bad thing,
because all society ever tells you to do is make a difference in the world.
All we hear is "you're special in your own way" or "you really do matter",
but the matter at hand is, do we think that of ourselves?
Science says that there are 400 billions stars in the Milky Way and 7 billion people on Earth.
Both the stars and the humans each handcrafted by a supernatural being we like to call God.
Ever since I was a little girl, I was raised in the Catholic church.
And I was taught to fear God and fear The Lord.
But as my schooling went on, i learned so much more about science.
It is always emphasized in public schools not to mix science and religion.
So which one do we believe? The logic or the morals?
Science and God don't go together in my mind,
and I think that's why I'm so lost.
The time has come
to generate the retrospective
ambiguities etched in stone
perplexing to the underside
of the recriminations
sliding to the conservative right
The dance goes on
skittering and sliding
along shiny glass floors
powered by locomotive
puffing into clouds,
you gaze into space
Dreams of a more envious
pastoral speckle intuitions
of a well developed humanoid.
Beyond your wildest expectations
the illusion goes on
spitting, sputtering
in a steadfast manner
driven buy imperfections
of days gone bye.
You long for the resurrection
to circumcise possibilities
of a shaft driven turbo
turning to and fro
stifling transgressions
into a tumultuous radiance
blinding to the monstrous
aftermath of an illustrious
stiletto heal.
I was born a rock
On some nondescript plateau,
The sort of stone that just blends in
With the mountain’s scenic pose.
They taught me how to follow
What nature brings my way,
And life as a rock was boring
Because it repeated every day.
Inside my little pebble brain
I heard a daring voice,
That told me how I lead my life
Is really all my choice
It told me I had splendor
That resided deep within me,
And if only I’d discover it
I’d be a shining beauty.
I still lived with the rocks
To the world, one tiny speckle.
But in my heart of hearts
I knew that I was special.
I was living for a purpose
That one day I would discover,
For such beauty would not be bestowed
With no chance to uncover.
On the day a tall man took me
Anticipation filled my stone,
For maybe he would help me
Make my inner beauty known.
With this mindset in my head
I did not fill with fear,
When he produced a set of tools
And held me in the air.
Finally a chance to prove
What I’ve been guarding all my life!
But I let out a small gasp
When he chose his chisel knife.
A knife is sharp, the blade is cruel
How would I survive?
While he chiseled at my body,
Would I cope and stay alive?
I made a strong decision
Through this torture I would stand,
I’d be proud to see the end results
And prove it to this man.
The chiseling was painful
But I accepted without questions
For I knew this all was necessary
In my ultimate progression.
And from my little rock-self
Once just a speckle in the soil,
With carving and precision
Came a diamond for the royal.
Diamonds aren’t born
They don’t merely just grow,
They’re a product of hard work
And pain from the chisel’s blow.
There’s beauty in each one of us
A potential to unlock,
Remember that a diamond’s worth
More than a peaceful rock.