Best Spindled Poems
I kissed July's hot tangerine lips
swam in cool aquamarine eyes
basked in blond and honey rays
dreamed in mango pomegranate sunsets
of lime hillsides and marmalade roses
Years of sweet citrus passed in golden hours
One day I woke
to find translucent eyes
in burnt sienna
as trees wept leaves
in burgundy and olive
Soon the eyes
were frozen in powder
Ashen shadows blew
across barren groves
of spindled spruce
and howled
with December's lonely moon
But from my fire lit window
I hold fast to memories
of daffodils and oranges
mingled with the burn
of lemon tears
7/16/17
Categories:
spindled, fruit, imagery, lost love,
Form:
Imagism
My Childhood Home
My lovely childhood home, I miss it so...
built Eighteen Eighty-Six, so long ago.
Three floors, all rooms with mantled fireplaces;
carved woodwork, archways, spindled winding stair;
cathedral ceilings, sparkling chandelier
in dining room enjoyed on holidays.
Third floor not used but built with parkay floors
and doors that opened to small balconies.
Off the front door, a porch wrapped 'round two sides...
was like a fairy tale when I was young.
Such lovely grounds; garage with two horse stalls
and covered sleigh with velvet seats of red.
White gravel paths with gardens either side;
the rolling lawn, majestic tall pine trees
and rippling stony brook below the hill.
My childhood home fulfilled my childhood dreams–
so happy there with my dear family.
Until I married, it was home to me.
And since home now is not too far from it–
I often pass the site of my old house.
On left, before I pass under the bridge
that sprawls across the Hudson River now–
the empty view brings sadness to my heart.
To build that bridge they tore my old home down–
the only house to make this sacrifice–
The vision of my childhood home is gone.
As I ride by I feel them wave to me...
the ghosts of past, and my dear family.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Premiere Contest: Enchanted House
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Judged: 05/23/2016
~1st Place~
Contest: A Child's First Home
Sponsor: Verlena S. Walker
Judged: 10/17/2015
Note: Newburgh-Beacon Bridge was completed and opened in November 1963
New York State claimed our home via eminent domain and purchased it in 1960
Categories:
spindled, childhood, home,
Form:
Blank verse
In the stray lavender of twilight
as cactis' spindled obelisks
brush spreading lapis sky
a honeyed sun
holds tight
to desert crags
for a last glimpse
of fulgid sage
and adobe rainbow dwellings
sprawled in the valley.
I await the candle moon's
flickering smile
shining in gully water
and darts of starlight
glowing in my arid dreams.
Categories:
spindled, nature, sunset,
Form:
Ekphrasis
Written: September 20, 2024
For: Letters or Photographs Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Ink Empress
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A mound of unsent letters was under my pillow
Frozen in time, drifting through my fantasies
My rhymes are scribbled with secret poetry
some have brilliant gleams
others induce quiet cries.
I have a letter written in ink at daybreak
a liquid of warmth embraces every syllable
I saw your name and felt an immense longing!
how it gnaws on my chest as a ravenous beast.
I released my hands and let you sail
away from the solitude and heavyweight!
a spry touch from your forgotten memories
for me, a sweet delight, but oh my inner injury!
Our space is still
a shattered wand to touch my pained heart
with dryer life to perish in the shadows
the sun is setting, making it time to chat
down the soul, sipping from saturation straw.
Distant away, my desert hurts
love that will melt needles
rejecting thread for another morning stitching
with unfamiliar birds, who molt their feathers
the spindled leg has ungainly wings
Satan laughs as he burns the sand.
Prophets of haste lack words
erosion glass steeple returns home
this is the worst season ever known
Your Nimbus Breeze is limitless
burning your deed with the rust of logic
carving now in grey dust.
I can only write words that you will not foresee
gathering lost pebbles for eternity
draw up our sunken riches
these words of mirage, palm arms swaying
my black meeting reminds me
of a dream from yesterday on a forsaken planet.
Categories:
spindled, analogy, appreciation, missing,
Form:
Free verse
The Bishops bathe in Babylon
while Princes, prancing on the lawn,
watch Queen deflowered, pale and wan.
The King dares not defend her.
The Horsemen, holding broken reins
the Morning of the Hurricanes,
sigh “it’s no use, it’s all in vain,
the Saints will soon surrender”.
They wonder why they ever came,
they have No One whom they can blame,
they have no face, they have no name,
and even less, a gender.
The empty-handed Vagabonds
smoke stale cigars, stroke faded Blondes
while waiting at the walls beyond,
but kneel as Chaos enters.
They’re gazing through the window panes
in hopes that distant Hurricanes
will twist and break their iron chains
defying life’s tormentors.
The Fantom of the Opera frowns
as feeble minded Cleric-clowns
mouth hollow hurdy-gurdy sounds
when blessing doomed dissenters.
The Pirate wields a wooden leg,
with pupils dull and visage vague,
and if by chance he spreads the plague,
it really doesn’t matter.
His Princess, pale, no longer feigns,
foresees instead (down ancient lanes)
the coming of the Hurricanes -
the Stones stir, staring at her.
And Jackals scrape the river bed
as Savants soothe the underfed
and Crows, collecting scattered bread,
adorn, with crumbs, the platter.
The Jokers Wild and One Eyed Janes
weep, winding up in rundown trains
mid whispers of the Hurricanes,
and Priests refuse to christen.
They’re fleeing from the Leprechauns,
the cuckoo birds, the dying swans;
while pitching pennies into ponds
their eyes opaquely glisten.
The spectral Clocks with spindled spokes
remind the Mimes to tell the Folks
the time of day and other jokes,
yet No One looks to listen.
The Hunchbacks with contorted canes
galumph before the Hurricanes,
in melted sleet, in frozen rains,
in bruised and battered sandals.
Their Groans engulf the land of gulls,
the land of stones, the land of nulls,
and lurk between the blackened lulls,
for Nighttime brooks no candles.
Their prayers to Dogs and Nuns and Dukes,
(and other long forgotten Spooks)
are more than random crazed rebukes,
though taunting to the Vandals.
Continued in Part 2
Categories:
spindled, fantasy, morning,
Form:
Rhyme
Across America (In Tercets)
The silo stood silent and serene
its deep blue shine mirrored sun’s glow
on this bright day.
The barn spread wings to either side
yet who designed this idyllic scene
I cannot say.
The house sat high atop the rise
to cast its eyes on all who breathed
in peace below.
Its presence seemed to echo peace.
Who bequeathed this treasured dream
I think I know.
Yet ere the world beheld such ease
this earth lay wild in untamed wind
and savage stream.
Beasts who roamed this virgin land
warmed native ones’ spindled huts
within their dream.
If cows who lie in comfort now
and rest in peaceful shade to dream
chewing their cud
could comprehend the farmer’s yen
for treasured ease he leaves to them
I know they would.
Categories:
spindled, america, farm,
Form:
Rhyme
Like spindled glass,
remnants filter in timeless twine,
Peaceful moments - retrieve the silence,
Like new velvet stockings, ladders await.
Time itself fraught, with abandon abate...
Yet nestled high, marooned with intrigue,
Time still time, in search origin with trace.
Times silky sands neath craggy rocks,
every rain drop accounted?
every snowflake free?
remnants filter in timeless twine,
Time retires countless moments,
With our memoirs we agree to disagree.
We selvedge our past tenths,
The lucrative lessons we behold,
Our well worn velvet stockings,
few ladders some bereft,
This future has unfold,
remnants filter in timeless twine,
Time retires countless moments...
Time retires Time...
Categories:
spindled, art, goodbye,
Form:
Concrete
I ride by it most every day- the ghost
that once stood real upon that lovely hill,
with winding creek, a sprawling velvet lawn
and pillared, wrap-around, fine spindled-porch
with wide front doors that led inside my home.
My home, where memories still fill my heart
of special times with family, all there.
The older loved ones, now long gone, also,
my childhood home, annexed, hacked down to be
the west ramp for the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge.
d opened in November 1963.
Categories:
spindled, childhood, memory, old,
Form:
Verse
Without further ado
i offer my literary missives anew
fur ye to ponder and brew
from meister mwm of his motley crue,
whom dwells in a nada very complex edifice
which numb burr oof offspring equals deux
whereby this spouse i.e me kind of resembles an emu
whence money a edified reader considers
dis goy wit sum brain cells 2 few
chomped on by an carnivorous elder gnu
and said two female progeny sired
from one ova plus super seminal glue
swimming swiftly via viscous hue
genetic heritage comprised predominantly Jew
with one late uncle lou
who himself a milch cow and frequently did moo
which found me to rue
what comprises reality to be true
that all humans originated from the primate zoo.
*****Sapiens Sale hums lot
witnessed vicious thermal winds that blew
thick mass of cremated ashes
across rubble strewn,
and severely cratered landscape!
The devil made mince meat
as like one huge lumbering ogre
and grim reaper
rolled up into one
not so jolly green giant did slay
good will to all men,
and spat out pox with an emphatic nay
triumphing over godly salvation
using eponymous accursed pitchfork
made merry and rolled in the hay
simultaneously sneering out in delight
at wanton death and decay
whereby civilization forever mutilated
perforated said spindled
and inappropriately sensually fondled
world wide web structure
where once proud arm strong spikes radiated
now sundered in total chaotic disarray!
Categories:
spindled, analogy, creation, deep, farewell,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
I awaken with languid eyes gazing at the passing dawn.
Strange light rays hover over ancient graves
Jestering- tormenting souls
Where spindled wildweeds grow
And sway over a dull domain, and
Under clouds with nimble fingers accusing...
pointing down. They pause to sit-
Brittled, splintered, to take a breath
Waiting to sweep unbright fields
Of rye and corn.
Now standing, they float away
With the rays sighing in blustery winds,
Gusting like torrents from the north
Spilling thorns and stems
Around the livestock- propped and tall
Like sentries who do not know nor care.
Horns lowered to eat what's left
Grazing, tails swishing, numb to silverdrops
And firebolts, blazing in the background.
The old woman turns in her tomb,
Facing downward- blind to the squalor above.
A twitch of finger
A thumb
A toe
Stretching, as the worms rest in soft shells
Inside sallowed orbs. Then in a flick- a flash-
Tumbleweeds hurry to leas now stitched
In rusted cathedrals, wrestling with directions-
Scurrying to settle in barbed wire, leaving
Old bones in yellow dust.
Categories:
spindled, dark, death, destiny, grave,
Form:
Free verse
OKAY? WHAT FIEND STOLE THY BODY ELECTRIC!?
thine distorted reflection rippled
within rain maker's pool upon a midnight clear
full moonlight flooded shallow abyss,
cleaved fractal structures of silence
reverberating deathly hallow from 'ere
to infinity, whence magic wand
whipped out from whereabouts unknown
wove enchanting spell atop me shades
at more'n fifty gray hair
to fore, awakened from drunken stupor,
whence sober self
saw repulsive trouper fluid dynamic image jeer
at pot bellied, dead panned,
and ad libbed the mere
ore image lam bent, mutilated spindled
various aspects of myself a paired
which, aghast at such creepy distortion i didst rear
like a bucking bronco unclear
how this horrid, jagged, limned paragon did wear
a grotesque from heart of darkness – maybe Zaire
or Zulu-land, this soaked silhouette half bare
from the waist to head showed unmanly
sagging overly engorged breasts
plus right and left elephant sized ear
egad, THAT CANNOT BE ME,
yet upon performing self exam a glare
ring outburst ensued,
cuz thy once bronzed handsome physique
grist for a Joker to jeer
and fodder made for television series created,
directed, and executed by Norman Lear
which role might be temporary for Halloween, but near
lee every SINGLE day and night,
thy aged dusk fraught hominid jerked,
leaped, pooh poohed I ham ill prepared
to accept, roistering, rollicking,
rueing this Frankenstein scarred
complex deplorable edifice able,
ready, and willing to be tarred
rather than evince flabbiness,
gruesome homeliness, instance
Page Number Two:
when no objection would arise
to live out the remaining days of this life
as the world wide web turns, spins, rattles...
and voluntarily sign myself into a stew ward
with (at minimum ), a ghoulish, gnarly,
gummy self activated door
leading to a privet hedge row trimmed
topiary resplendent yard
cuz every cotton pickin, friggin,
fingerhut lickin portal iz barred
dated Friday the thirteenth with **** face on that card!
Categories:
spindled, allegory, bereavement, depression, evil,
Form:
Free verse
Winding path through the tawny wood
Hanging branches form a shadowy hood
Dangling vines each spindled fold lace
Slippery, svelte moss cloaks the base
The vented light peeps through fibrous trellis
Addled mind with beauty to encase
Swerving shadows creep down the swaying lattice
Each truncated step to efface
Fallen leaves weave a sprawling mat
Soft soles o'er silky fibers prat
Trodding o'er tender mushrooms, rendered scat
Listless feet trample each groove; probe each slat
Restless roots the rugged edges trace
The undergrowth crowds the shrinking space
Meandering route into sleepy hollow careens
Whittled bushes, saw grass the stillness gleans
Through the swaddled cradle padded soles calmly pace
The rhythmic lullaby of whistling wind heart doth embrace
Through stunted hollow into bracketed thicket
Spiny branches throw up a cumbersome picket
Each spiked shrub colludes to form a sticky wicket
Bristling, twining band is serenaded by singing cricket
Struggling through the gristly garden
My stinging heels bleed for reprieve, pardon
Just ahead, a carpeted, emerald meadow streams
My sodden feet dance into the velvety seams
Categories:
spindled, adventure, courage, , Lullaby,
Form:
Rhyme
Spindled Mettle
Hour upon hour she sits thoughtfully absorbed
spinning attentively conception’s fibers
while creating new textures within her mind…
As grain, by grain of living sand, erodes the weaves
exposing gently or tearing the woven seams…
following the hourglass count to maturing age
Set aside are the frivolous dolls of youthful cloths
as situations lead to realities bolder textiles…
some strands chosen, others forced upon life’s spindle
Her mettle*, though moved by spindled occurrences,
is worn quietly with the era of wisdoms’ mantle
as intertwined events live within her fabric structure
Written by: Debra Squyres 2/19/13
For: “Objectify Me”
*mettle: spirited determination, mental and emotional character unique to an individual person
Categories:
spindled, growing up, introspection, life,
Form:
Free verse
Helios, open darkened shutters Night did seal;
Nyx's opaque, drawn shades one by one peel.
With prehensile fingers grip your enlightened quill,
Selene's pale orb with luminescent lines reel.
With gilded parasol twirl your flaming wheel,
Until enjoined sparks into tinted rays congeal.
In saffron waves, blanch horizon's, window seal.
On spindled beam, spin golden threads from creel,
Sheaves of golden flax span o'er ethereal hill.
Branching, with sonic beam pearly plains drill,
Until azure streams deep reservoir does fill.
With torch, burnt-orange meringue on puffy clouds spill,
then into earth's grainy purview with vigor steal.
With tempera, egg wash the Sky's blank stencil,
then with magnified lens illumine the scenic still.
Plunging downward, into denser troughs truncated waves swill.
Onto earth's jade footstool, solemnly kneel,
Drawing from vassal's, residual til.
Amber blades with brighter finish instill,
With waxy gloss the folio cover frill.
Categories:
spindled, beautiful,
Form:
Rhyme
The sun within me reflects off the moon you hold.
Showering me with aura light and the true story told.
I must be the most powerful me
to allow you to be the most powerful you.
That is how unity shines in our harmonious flow.
Many divine elements of nature and earth,
sky and infinity,
bring us together on this present soul journey.
Beyond matter and time
we have always been of a similar kind.
Whatever body we have carried or dimension experienced,
our knowing has been vertical with spindled permanence.
Sewn and weaved through various soul needs
we meet on this earth and complete what we have agreed.
Categories:
spindled, friendship, love, nature, timeme,
Form:
Rhyme