Best Sprawls Poems
Antares' red glow bears firmly down
upon plush, chartreuse carpet
lying prone against the obsidian expanse,
blanketing sections of a remote
blue sphere, purling,
spinning helplessly
through distant time and space;
slave to routine and rotation,
never daring to break free;
to reach out.
Scorpius sprawls low
across the Autumn void;
a celestial corpse
twinkling, twitching;
inexplicably still breathing,
expelling the last
of her precious plexine light
in a final, desperate act
to awake inspiration, stir passion,
proffer wholeness and healing
to an infirmed, ungrateful planet,
for her end-of-reign recession.
Projecting dreams; visions
like swirling Akashic holograms
leaping forth from ancient pages
of ethereal records,
all but lost to time and apathy.
Twisting snakelike through the cosmos,
her broody gaze steeling
in every direction;
fierce energy bombarding;
burning across the universe.
Intense joules bursting forth;
reaching out to nurture
willing universal souls;
scorching those who reject her,
turning them to table fodder
at a divine banquet
for dark gods.
Sagittarius flickers jovially behind
as if breathless with laughter;
taunting, frustrating,
staying just out of reach
of her vengeful tail.
The rule of Scorpio wanes
upon Orion's horizontal breach
extinguishing the sting-ed cluster;
quelling her tumultuous surge
until late-spring pains
rebirth her fires,
igniting them, emerging again
from the icy chasm
of black oblivion.
Spawn of the arcane, glutted, she sprawls upon the sands
of mythos. As victims, star-crossed lovers, outcasts,
we have all seen the traces of these nether lands.
Sphinx-like, besotted, she lays among the bodies dashed.
A pixie smith has cast her silver chains, retained her
inside this mystic plane, stained her hide vintage rose.
Among the cards on the table, it is plain; she purrs.
Do you know what she knows; guess, a riddle she poses.
Protection sought from life's trials is at her command.
But, few coupled or single have journey past her grasp.
Unknown, to the unschooled, their senses unused, banned,
Christendom, the sacred fecund grail has miscast.
From Hatshepsut's visage, bound to Sekhmet she's sworn
beware, beware The Chariot's card once it is drawn.
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
Old Poem: Toes Of Rain ...4/6/2014
August spills rains
with tapped grains, like
pearl veins on roofs
Drenched in soft hue,
toes play new songs
of blue night’s croons
~than-bauk form~
................
Makeover: Flavor Of Rain 4/5/2015
Just now, the saline flavor of rain
crawls on my cheeks , drips on hands
then sprawls out unto a wet lane
tingling like a new song
in the blue of night-time, ready to waft
through the flesh of moist petals---
rows of half-sunk blooms levitate as
if their mouths hunger for salty broth
from weeks of flushed heat.
There I am, drenched in the sudden
pour of sheet willing to partake of
such welcome…yes! wake me, melt me,
inhabit me with pearl veins...
bit by bit, the same chimes flutter on my limbs
trailing in a gait of conga strut ---tunes jumping
from a droplets’ swish---couples blending
as one porcelain-like figurine, with vapor glistening
on slippery skin…
and for all the rush and moist touch
of this fluid croon, gods laugh
as if nothing mattered.
~free verse~
Roy Jerden's Makeover
~ I wanted to write a more 'edgy' poem
using the senses as my creative handle~
4/5/2015
Chaste eyes trace my limbs, in the deep of woods
swerving like a breeze moist on fields of grass,
His Latin fire, on edge of twilight moods.
Shape of curves fondled like tender morass,
the call of moaning sprawls into full grind
swerving like a breeze moist on fields of grass
Although he’s roamed my shore , gentle and kind
I still pulsate where musk scent trails. Outside,
the call of moaning sprawls into full grind
My fiery sighs reflect a wilder croon
holding breaths captive in a mesh; a glide
of movement’s tempo sing to rising moon
And kindling now our chaste eyes, they abide
love’s virtue wafts from wings of night;
to hold breaths captive in sweet flow, a glide!
Inhabiting one space where gazes meet
Chaste eyes trace my limbs, in deep of woods...
Love’s virtue blazes skin from curl of sheets
His Latin fire, on edge of twilight moods.
The simple times remembered are worthwhile.
Those memories are treasured gifts to keep.
We were innocent and lived without guile.
---------
Inspiration from Nobel Prize poet,
Pablo Neruda from Chile. Excerpts from
his poem 'Ode to Naked Beauty' follows:
Ode To A Naked Beauty
With chaste heart, and pure
eyes
I celebrate you, my beauty,
restraining my blood
so that the line
surges and follows
your contour,
and you bed yourself in my verse,
as in woodland, or wave-spume:
earth's perfume,
sea's music.
----
Terzanelle Time for Joseph May
Old poem Re-submitted 11/8/2017
I fade into shadows of loneliness,
And disappear where the darkness now falls.
Silence I seek, not from reclusiveness,
Rather a guise when the emptiness calls.
How long the prisoner of sanity?
Humbled by the still coldness of the play.
The twists and turns of its insanity.
When the dark of night took over the day.
Left in a puzzled realm of confusion.
As pieces lay broken, scattered about.
Sudden fragileness of my illusion.
When the audience of despair walked out
How quiet the hall when a play withdrawals.
This empty domain where my heart now sprawls.
Little sweet Lucy..four years..so small.
Her pink teddy bear.. and her Barbie doll.
Pushed strollers of fun. ..in traipse of malls.
Then a Topsy turvy evil.. stifles her a thrall.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Crawls a cruel connive...arrives a sudden sinister.
Wrangles her hard destiny. .lurks a doomed disaster.
Poor Child, ...Leukemia is now her master.
She collapses into the arms.. of a malevolent monster.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Wasn't Blood red. .that flowed in our veins?
Her's was a translucent black. ..
only strains..and those pains.
With her curly hair shaved. .the ugly doll sustains.
Syringe of thorns prick. .a rose.. to sick bed detains.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Crummy " Chemo" of the 'Crab '. .
creeps on the little dummy.
There's yucky throw of food...
from her aching tummy.
Fear stricken Dad.. and a tear streaked Mummy. .
Her outstretched arms.. say..
"I know you both love me"
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
The helpless girl.. gets weaker and thinner.
She longs for the table...sit together for dinner.
Forlorn she quirks.. in the MRI shiver.
Fighting with Cancer. .her spleen and liver.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Painkillers help ..seeing windows and walls.
Doctors are elves... and Fairy nurses call.
To live without dying. .she daily sprawls. ..
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
A desolate girl..she dreams. .playing with dolls.
PLACED THIRD IN SCREWED POETRY CONTEST by Rob Carnack
7th October 2018
A Poem of Reaction Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Julia Ward.
A small dark-haired boy
absorbed in the words he scrawls
at an old wood desk
has thoughts brighter than grim walls
beyond which his future sprawls
Nov. 23, 2017 for Eve Roper's Photostory Contest
Life'S About Choices 3-4-26 Suzette Richards
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spring
spring sprawls across frozen hills
to new songs of songbird trills
sweeping away ice and snow
blessings in bloom - feel the thrill
Sunlight seeps
through the blinds,
oozes into the room.
The ceiling fan sweats
from its labor.
The clock creeps
at half speed,
pendulum dragging
through syrupy air.
On the stoop,
the old cat sprawls,
soothing her arthritic joints.
7/13/2017
The Testaments
Behold, the essence of aubergine and a trail of sparkles yields the moment to radiant reds, like a breasted robin of autumns abandon legions in crumpled layers, impaled to moisten saffron petals and chartreuse fronds,
Strewn against a capricious path that points to a dusty field in white, ebbing the tides of a wintry breath, facing an arched hall of a supreme grandiose silken veiled sky,
It distributes elegance and beauty and cast it hither for its righteous placing, neath the surge of an ocher spread of sunflowers, that escort its mentored Sun,
Offering to surf a periwinkle wave, with broad sets of sprawls entertaining a receptive ivory sea of crested puffiness, wooing anointing doves to joyously immerse creation toward its pure dawning rise of scriptures souls.
2019 September 11
*1st Place*
Fall Into Fall
~~Chantelle Anne Cooke
November is late autumn's prize,
arriving with its last goodbyes,
to usher in cool, crisper days-
perhaps with flakes, or icy glaze-
as trees will shed their golden shawls
to soon don fluffy, snow-white falls.
With time to stay indoors, surmise-
a cozy fire, a book- while eyes
enjoy the autumn's vibrant blaze-
redone from summer's verdant phase-
create a patchwork quilt that sprawls,
neath whirling winds from mini squalls.
Month-end brings time to aggrandize
Thanksgiving Day! We energize
in sharing feasts, with love and praise-
as kin and friends enjoy the craze.
When days run out, next month installs
more holidays- then, New Year calls.
October 29, 2020
Contest: Lay November
Sponsor: William Kekaula
Lay Form: 6-lines per stanza, 8 syllables per line,
rhyming scheme of aabbcc per stanza.
How Many Syllables and Rhyme Zone used
"When I stare out into the sea, watching its changing moods, I see the reflection of life there and think of life's tumult and tussle on one side and its ease and peace on the other." _ By Poet
When the world begins to close in on me,
I walk to the beach, not too far away.
The sea, ever alluring and new
Yet never changing, sprawls before me.
A sight to ease my weary heart!
The chilly breeze blowing,
The jets of water, dispersing in smoky spray,
The tides rushing to cleanse the feet-
All so thrilling, offering a calm serenity to me.
Sometimes the billows break and roar,
Creating a wild mayhem
Sometimes, the sea lies quiet with no upsurge,
Producing a steady repeating and fading rhythm
When I hear the tinkling sound,
The gentle waves and wavelets produce,
I am reminded of a maiden’s anklets chiming,
As she inches ahead with steps demure
And heart pounding, to her bridal chamber
On her first nuptial night with dreams galore
At times, the tides become thuds of footsteps,
Down the long corridors of time
Tolling minutes and hours away
Thus, the waves advancing and receding,
And the sea, boisterous and brooding in turn,
Remind me of the eternal flux of life,
And the inevitable ups and downs, we all experience!
April.10.2023
~Placed First~
Writing Challenge ‘S’ Words, Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
Early morning vapors emulate a lady's veil,
diaphanous, a softly shifting secrecy;
inconstant as the tide and deathly pale,
feathering the lake in fragile mystery.
Minstrels scarce can sing with proper import
of the dawning of the day in violet haze;
e'er we hear the skylark, nature's joyous consort,
and sunshine bathes the fields with warming rays.
First light is fully fledg'd, the veil is lifting,
the surface shines, a vision sparkling bright;
day fades to dark, again the morn comes drifting,
as the mist sprawls like a spectre from the night.
Written: December 06, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Constance La France
Quote "Winter's white tapestry invites us to pause, inhale the serenity, and take shelter in snowflakes". By Poet
*******************
The shiny trail sprawls forth at my feet,
in silk spike where snow and shade meet.
The world, a quilt of gems, shone bright.
as silence snow slides spumy, a fading flight.
Each flake, a spell, captivating to the eye.
A lover's caress, gentle yet daringly nigh.
I bide in tranquility, engulfed in his shine.
Gradually, nighttime is marred in a shrine
He strokes my hair and lingers upon my cheek.
His smooches are halcyon and meek
Peace hangs in the air, a whisper of light glow
His arms wrap me in the chill of winter's snow.
His rhythm melds with mine, serene and deep.
I had a sense of sweep that I had to reap
Snow is transformed into a beautiful tune.
A bond of love that fails to endure and swoon.
She whispers back, "I love you, stay with me,"
Yet I know her gift is a pure banshee.
For soon he fades, his memory will decay,
a spirit of winter melting fast away.