Best Sprinkled Poems
Sprinkled Stardust In Her Long Flowing Hair
In bright moonlight I saw her standing there
Sprinkled stardust in her long flowing hair
She looked just like an angel to me
If only this country-boy she could see
Looking for love and a heart bold and true
And happiness, with a future with you
'neath canopy of glittering sweet stars
She would be my Venus, I her strong Mars.
Wonder what would love be without her hand
Could I truly live, could I even stand
And earth could it a greater treasure gift
Than her sight, her soft touch that so uplifts.
In bright moonlight I saw her standing there.
Sprinkled stardust in her long flowing hair.
R.J. Lindley, Nov 09 1979
Sonnet
A Carpet of Sprinkled Stars.
1.
There is solace to be found,
amongst the midnight shadows,
with,
stars embroidered on the carpet of night,
offering comfort,
to my tattered heart,
that seeks only stillness,
as cryptic day retreats.
2.
My wandering mind,
shuffles silently,
massaging the cacophony of today to rest,
while bound wings are unshackled,
and memories, hopes, aspirations,
spread their wings and take flight.
3.
A cascade of nostalgia,
bathes my jangled nerves,
hewn into the creases,
of a lifetime of crumbling hope,
perennially awash with renewed promise,
as I brace for the onslaught,
of another tomorrow.
4.
I feel my thoughts, my hopes, my dreams of love,
kicking the dust,
taking flight,
gliding high,
surfing the clouds,
in a boundless moonlit sky.
5.
Hope defying all constraints,
free,
coasting along the carpet of night,
sprinkled with stars,
breaking all restraints,
free,
of all shackles,
floating through my caged bars.
6.
Memories wash up against my being,
teasing infinite regrets out of their lair,
afloat on a waking dream,
moonbeams streaming through the midnight air.
7.
However lost my yesterdays may seem,
tomorrow offers slivers of hope,
my task is simple,
my wishes the least extravagant,
my desires plain,
wishing to banish all gaudy thoughts,
hoping to cast-off,
this lingering pain.
8.
Cleansed by the soft moonlight,
my back resting gently,
on the carpet of sprinkled stars,
knowing this to be but a dream,
I hold onto each moment of freedom,
while revelling in the soft light,
of a solitary moonbeam.
9.
My reverie is broken,
yet my dream remains true,
of holding you in my arms,
resting on a carpet,
sprinkled with stars,
for my heart no longer resides within me,
my heart has been given,
to my truest love,
my heart now rests with you.
10.
The night slowly begins to fade,
morning mere moments away,
I cling on, cradling you in my thoughts,
you give me the strength,
to endure,
another lonesome day.
The Petal-Sprinkled Path
The petal-sprinkled path
We walked together
The lip-sharing math
In the cherry weather
We walked together
Time flew with lightning speed
In the cherry weather
Witnessed by the moss and weed
Time flew in lightning speed
We knitted the tales of lips
Witnessed by the moss and weed
Through an ocean moved the ships
We knitted the tales of lips
Amidst of ancient woodland hidden there
Through an ocean moved the ships
In a quiescence of lulls spell, time wears
Amidst of ancient woodland hidden there,
Outcropping of pleasure, around, and through
In a quiescence of lulls spell, time wears
Audience veil, ardent scents, and blush dew
Outcropping of pleasure around and through
Bring forth a curtain of rare verdant trees
Audience veil, ardent scent, and blush dew
Peering out heavens trickle summer seas
Bring forth a curtain of rare verdant trees
The lip-sharing math
Peering out heavens trickle summer seas
The petal-sprinkled path
7/7/2017
COLLABORATION with Probir Gupta
Poetry Contest: COLLABORATION CONTEST
Sponsored by: JAN ALLISON
Magician Whizdo had a Vegas act
he pulled a Great Dane out of a hat.
One night the dog had the urge
he sprinkled the crowd with a surge.
Whizdo escaped town and won't be back.
The smell of green grass after rain
A silky texture was added to the moisturized air gently touching my skin
Listening to a Bossa Nova and the calming waves
Espresso with a little whipped cream
Cinnamon is sprinkled on top
My dear cat Jemima, meowed
That was her reply to my sneeze
“That music isn't your taste!
What’s the matter with you?”
Someone said over there
“Is that right? Thank you for telling me.”
He might know who I am more than me.
monsoon clouds hover
over my burdens and pains
wafting breeze lilts..."fly!"
fly to your destiny -
sprinkled hopes came with the rain
03.08.2016
Silent Memories, warn of past times...
Floating expectations, reading between the lines...
Fading slowly away, losing the prints of your newborn past...
Purple flowers of ecstasy sprinkled in...
Disguise your wrath..
Mental magic tricks...
Producing schools of emotionally blind...
Am I following You? Or are You leading?..
First I see You barely up ahead..
Then I feel You close behind..
Purple flowers sprinkled in.
Salt Sprinkled
This whole thing should come to a halt;
Finally would find reason and the fault;
Dander raised;
No one praised;
Salt had been sprinkled on top of the Alt.
James Horn
After listening to latest news about
Charlotte riot and statues.
On a nameless night, under a sky sprinkled with extinguished stars,
Thoughts trickle like oil in the engine of an old dream,
And I, a lost acrobat, sway on the thin thread of life,
Trying to grasp in my palms the essence of a world that smolders quietly.
You don't have to write to feel poetry in your veins,
It's there, in the smell of gasoline and the smoke rising to the sky,
In the eyes of the one who fills tanks with untold stories,
A poet without words, dancing among car queues and time.
I am an artist of the trapeze, not fitting into molds,
With my heart suspended between a yesterday and an uncertain tomorrow,
Each leap a long verse, each catch a moment of grace,
For between falls and flights, true poetry is born.
So, in the silence of the night, among ticking engines,
I wonder, who am I to name my art?
A trapeze artist of destiny, a dreamer in the shadow of light,
Or perhaps just a soul that knows how to breathe poetry without words.
I can hear the Peace settling on our
beloved,earthly lands.
As if sifted, and sprinkled, by God’s
own precious hands.
On peaks and valleys, its joy is most
generously spread.
As we kneel in gratitude, next to our
warm, welcoming Christmas beds.
12/23/2021
On a velvet night, under a sky sprinkled with stardust,
realism, like a broken mirror, fails to reflect the whole truth,
it diminishes reality, thins it out, falsifies it, losing its essence,
it does not take into account our fundamental truths and deep obsessions:
love, death, wonder – all lost in the shadows of reason.
Man, presented in a reduced and distant perspective,
like a vague figure in a foggy painting, loses his inner brilliance,
for truth is not found in the strict outlines of reality,
but in our dreams, in our imagination, where magic and mystery find shelter.
In a world of gray and monotony, love fades like a candle in the wind,
but in our dreams, it burns like an eternal flame, illuminating the darkness,
and death, that inevitable end, becomes just a gateway to other realms,
where our souls dance freely, like spirits of light, in the vast unknown.
Wonder, that spark of magic that opens our eyes to miracles,
is lost in the daily routine, in the cold pragmatism of realism,
but in our imagination, it blooms like a crystal tree,
in every thought, in every dream, showing us the way to infinity.
Truth, that diamond hidden in the depths of our being,
reveals itself only in moments of dreaming, when we let reality dissolve,
and we lose ourselves in fantasies, in untold stories, in worlds of magic and beauty,
where every moment is a miracle, and every breath, a symphony of life.
In the endless flow of consciousness, my thoughts float like golden clouds,
seeking hidden meanings, eternal truths, in the vastness of imagination,
and I know that only there, in those distant realms, can I find the human essence,
for only in our dreams, in our imagination, does truth come to life,
and we, like poets of our own existence, can discover
that we are more than mere shadows in the world of reality,
we are dreams of light, lost in the eternal night,
and only in those dreams, can we find our true brilliance.
My husband wants his ashes sprinkled
Right in Central Park.
He’s picked the spot and hopes that I
Find that specific mark.
Of course, I hope I predecease
So someone else will do it.
In that case, he’ll have my request
And hope that he hops to it.
For I would like the gardens near
The river to embrace
What’s left of me, for that would be
The perfect resting place.
Why not tossed into the water?
You may think I’m slightly dim
But although I’ll just be ashes,
I can barely even swim!
Pink as the sunset high above
indigo and rose sprinkles on caramel;
Now go on take a bite;
Killing with slow acting poison
sounds like the stuff of fairytales;
Placated with sugar like arsenic
rolled into the sweetness of your skin;
Ingested with every bite , a silent mark
nothing destroy dreams of happily ever after;
Kidnapped but always were willing,
led by the promise of something more;
Eating those pink sprinkled apples
dangerous dreams to the heart speak,
appetite for those that are weak;
Pretty little smiles of innocence,
plagued by no knowledge of a true villain;
Letting their heart run away with their minds
euphoria filled such precocious eyes;
Seduced by the belief in poisoned pink apples.
Taking him to a garden,
She sprinkled flowers on him.
He mistook it for child’s play!
Now, she’s someone’s wife!!
Vo dee oh doe Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues
1st place
THE BLOOD SPRINKLED ROAD
He trudged down the road with the cross that He bore,
His back had been bleeding, His body was sore.
The Romans had whipped Him with the scourge many times,
The men who had done it had not been very kind.
They wounded His body, now He bore all of the load
Of my sin as He walked down the blood sprinkled road.
He walked down the road with the lamb he would bring,
So young and so precious, an innocent thing.
He came to the temple, the lamb he did slay;
He sprinkled the blood there in front of his way.
He offered the lamb as in prayer he abode
For the sins of himself on that blood sprinkled road.
There was something quite different with these two men that day
As they each shed the blood, sprinkled there on the way:
There was one who was sprinkling the blood just ahead
From the lamb who’d been slain and which now lay there dead,
But the other, whose blood made a trail there behind,
Not a sin did He have, not a fault could they find.
And He bore all our sins to the Father, we’re told,
As the last sacrifice on the blood sprinkled road.
That one in the temple needs to come back again
With an offering for him and for his nation’s sin,
He will sprinkle the blood as before him he goes,
Pleading then that God’s mercy He will on them bestow.
But the one on the cobblestone street will no more
Have His body all beaten, so bloody and sore,
For the blood that He sprinkled God forever will hold
As my payment for sin on the blood sprinkled road.