Best Spry Poems
Grim fog, I praise the shelter of your drear,
the sundown ghost morose not grandiose,
I walk alone - but, no -- with my despair;
a bittern bids a bitter adiós.
The breakers so in agony they gnash
and gnaw the strand with thrash of foamy green,
the tempest witch brings ironfisted lash
alas, the eye-of-storm epiphany unseen.
Free, free! The tern who flies in Gemini
above beloved peak and shore and wave,
sun-painted wings, away you went -- so spry,
so fierce! Bluebird pierced and buried in your grave,
..and the stars understand; a fateful fall into the sea --
Damn the deep! It’s jostle docile.. my scream to meet the scree!
Susan Ashley
June 29, 2021
~ Fourth Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mille 11
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Contemporary Sonnet
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
*bittern: any of several tawny brown herons
*scree: an accumulation of weathered rock fragments at the foot of a cliff
*a Modern / Contemporary Sonnet is a poem of 14 lines addressing any theme of the poet's choosing. It does not need to adhere to any set rhyme scheme, syllable count or meter, nor does it need to include a volta. The only true requirement of a modern sonnet is that it consists of 14 lines*
I got a love that's never gonna die
Your love has breathed new life into me,
has filled my heart that was once empty
I got a love that's alive and spry
A fragrant violet voice has revived the old bones,
turning back the clock is a good thing
Gave me a pep in my step, a soul zing
Your love rekindled the flame that was long gone
How could you know that you would affect me so,
make me to rise up from my slumbering deep
Go walking to the garden of orchid waking dreams
A shower of kindness make the seeds of your love grow,
blossoms of smiles move my undressed heart to weep
My love for you will never die, for it has been redeemed
VIDEO DESCRIPTION
The ballad of a French artist who longs to paint the indescribable—the beautiful delicate, elusive hues of his sightless Lover’s eyes as he endeavours to describe them to her. Haunted by her eyes in the many hues of nature, he’s exasperated that his every brush stroke defies all his attempts to capture their essence. Can he ever capture the beauty of her eyes on his canvas?
How does one describe, to a sightless Lover the beautiful colour of her eyes shifting hues and paint them. It makes me realise how fortunate we sighted people are to be able to see. Though, perhaps the sightless have developed that 'Third Eye'.
The video is great to watch on your home screen also with full sound effects if you get the chance on YouTube . Thank you for your visit.
The Colour That Defies - La couleur de tes yeux.
LYRICS
I see beyond green treetops
an emerald that makes me sigh
I see beyond the cotton clouds
a cobalt that sends me high
I see beyond a storm-lit wave
a mercury gleam drift by
I see beyond the blackened dusk
an onyx peint dans le ciel
painted in the sky
But I see beyond and never find
the colour that defies
The only one I cannot paint
The one that makes me cry
I see beyond and never find
la couleur de tes yeux
the colour of your eyes
I see beyond the autumn leaves
a burnished gold I can't deny
I see beyond the twilight mist
a violet, soft yet spry
I see beyond and never find
la couleur de tes yeux
the color of your eyes
I try to shape it, trace its light
mix the shades, but they're not right
mon amour, couleur perdue
no pigments hold, what I pursue
I see beyond your sightless eyes
no hue no brush can justify
the only one I cannot name
the one that makes me cry
I see beyond and never find
la couleur de tes yeux
The colour of your eyes
Let laughter ring, for here comes Spring.
With warbling birds we gaily sing.
As wizened Winter turns and goes,
March promptly puffs her cheeks and blows!
The Old Man’s gone. . . we’re rollicking
when next comes April frolicking
behind spry March. Her visage glows.
Let laughter ring.
Then Spring a climax sweet will bring.
There at the Maypole, in a ring,
are fetching maids in pretty clothes.
And bounteous the sun now grows
as June appears; . . Spring’s had her fling.
Let laughter ring!
Jan. 4, 2014
(Here comes Spring: I know , I know, wishful thinking!!)
Jubilation filled the room and lit my mother’s face on her 80th birthday.
Everyone she loved, both friends and family, had come from near and far away.
A huge surprise, the secret was well kept by all, even by her children, all seven!
Never had she felt such joy; through tears she said,“This is how it must be in Heaven."
For Line Gauthier's 'Bite Size Poem no13' Poetry Contest
Written 3/20/2015 and dedicated to a beautifully spiritual and strong woman who raised eight children, one that died in the 80's, and who lost her husband to Alzheimer's over a decade ago. Today she lives alone in our Iowa home town and fends for herself. Spry and independent, she will be 90 next March (2022).
Please check out the slide show (see above) of the wonderful family reunion we had in 2013!
THE JESTER
Jester jingles
with madcap medusa-bells,
dressed in melodic-motley uniform.
A sea of foamy frills
frame the famed renaissance storyteller,
a creature feature
of phantasm for frightened children.
His ghost-white face
with comedic war paint.
Highly educated,
acts the fool,
preaching to the pompadour.
Folly finds the frolicking ear
of the entertained king,
even at the news of sinking ships.
The king’s delighted,
as balls lollygag around his throne room,
and pins dance before his eyes.
Mesmerized, hypnotized,
spirals spry and smiling.
Claps his cacophonous hands.
The puppet court amplifies the sound.
The buffoon’s very wise,
buried behind his makeup.
His strings
control the crown.
Royally screws the court
with tasteless remarks
and they bow over in laughter.
In the backroom formulates his investment plan.
Jester jingles,
of drama and lies,
of liberties and surprise.
8/3/2017
Kai Neumann’s Jester Contest
1st Place
Oh goldenrod how bright your blaze
though blooming sunrays bittersweet —
your tint the hint of crisper days
when dusk arrives on hastened feet
amidst the green tall grass you gleam
oh goldenrod how bright your blaze!
gold dust the stuff of Nature’s dream
rich sprays of flame the monarchs praise
a beacon’s beam in humid haze
a rocket flare in atmosphere
oh goldenrod how bright your blaze —
a torch for summer love to bear
as solstice fades no longer spry
and sun-dried skies brown manes of maize
beneath the aging daystar’s sigh
oh goldenrod how bright your blaze!
Susan Ashley
August 17, 2022
~ First Place ~
Writing Challenge - X'd Poems Second Chance Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
*N/A (X'd)
*Contest: Hint of Autumn
*Date judged: September 3, 2022
Rhymes verified: Rhymezone
Syllables verified: howmanysyllables; 8 per line
Photo: Gardenia.net
Like in a dream,
in a flowered field we lie -
my lover by my side.
Sun is sliding down behind the hills
abandoning its violet-streaked sky.
Things that make me sigh.
By my side
in a birthing room is the guy
who made the sun come down!
He holds our newborn daughter in his arms.
I notice a tear forming in his eye.
Things that make me sigh.
It’s the wedding day
of the girl whose birth made my husband cry.
He is by her side
and giving her away to the handsome groom.
I ponder how the years do fly.
Things that make me sigh.
On our porch swing -
I and my love, who once was so spry!
He takes my hand.
We watch the moon replace the sun
that used to shine up in the sky so high.
Things that make me sigh.
July 12, 2021
for the 'What Makes You Sigh...' Poetry Contest of Chantelle Anne Cooke
Now for 'A BRIAN STRAND JULY 16' Poetry Contest
My heart sings lines of poetry
Inside my head I dance carefree
The grass is cool between spry toes
Serene adrift a purple rose
How summer days so quickly flee
Astray a breezy melody
Stir charming notes of fantasy
As 'neath blue skies the river flows
My heart sings
A chickadee and honeybee
In flights of sheer frivolity
Tossing away all of my woes
As truly only heaven knows
Soul from here to eternity
My heart sings
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on August 1, 2019 for contest RONDEAU sponsored by CHARLES MESSINA - RANKED 2ND
Grandma, The Farm And The Silent Young Cat
Before soft golden rays the roses slept
Night, its slumbers had not yet bid adieu
From its barn perch the young, silent cat leapt
Upon the old farmer's empty brown shoe
And from the farmhouse, breakfast call rang out
Grandma had no time for late sleepyheads
In her sternest voice, she gave warning shout
"Up and at'em, all rascals out of bed"!
That ringing throughout the place came alive
The cat swiftly raced to the backdoor
Soon as it opened in it would dive
To chase away mice was its daily chore
Table set with coffee, eggs and pancakes
Surrounded by those hungry mouths to feed
So delicious like only grandma could make
Out we went to fed livestock and plant seeds.
Midnoon her roses glowed vibrant red
Each paid homage to life and mother sun
Decked around the porch and the old shed
Grandma watered them having such fun
That garden and her kids her pride and joy
She still agile and spry at eighty two
With sweet memories of her three young boys
Each new day she thanked the good Lord too.
Before soft golden rays the roses slept
Night, its slumbers had not yet bid adieu
From its barn perch the young, silent cat leapt
Upon the old farmer's empty brown shoe
And from the farmhouse, breakfast call rang out
Grandma had no time for late sleepyheads
In her sternest voice, she gave warning shout
"Up and at'em, all rascals out of bed"!
Robert J. Lindley, 6-29-2021
Rhyme, ( Those were the glory days of youth )
Note:
As was promised, I wrote this new poem today,
using the phrase, the silent cat leapt-as was noted
from the haiku in my new blog, title-
"The Image, The Inner Reaches Of The Mind"
Thank you, James Marshall Goff for noting it
as your favorite line of that poem….
I promised to write a poem using that phrase
and have now done so.
Sea stalked by moon tonight in site
On waters that dilate gone by—
Its apparition's bed on shore,
That moon lays on like ruby's lure—
The knees clamber from salty might.
The tinting in her frosty side
Where she was swept once by the tide;
The backwhip of the swell still roars—
Sea stalked by moon.
As the mood on the beach is spry,
Combing while I'm alone with I,
Ill hearted at the gills; spoiled for
The sand dollar spends its life chore,
All washed out suddenly before...
Sea stalked by moon.
Written: June 26, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In this vast realm of treacheries untamed,
Where existing accessories are named,
No spry remedies to heal the soul's plight.
We're left to wander through the darkest night.
But what's passed speaks through memories so true,
A reflection of the things we once knew,
Recall them as we dearth, with a twist.
Inserting our frame of mind, we insist.
Such as a kaleidoscope, time spins and turns.
Revealing the colors of all that we've learned,
Each moment is a fragment, a piece of the whole.
A tapestry woven within our souls.
The past is a canvas for us to explore.
A treasure-trove of emotions galore,
But what lens shall we exert to view it unfold?
Which perspective will we screen to behold?
Shall we adjust the lens with a gentle touch?
To focus on joy, the moments we cherish much?
Or twist it with force to magnify pain.
And wallow in sorrow again and again?
Perhaps we'll skew the lens to create a haze.
And blur the memories that our hearts cannot face.
The kaleidoscope of time holds the key.
To shape our past as we wish it to be.
So let us embrace this power we hold.
To mold our history and to be bold.
In the kaleidoscope of time,
We control the narrative and the rhyme.
Let us paint a picture of love and delight.
Of triumph and courage, shining so bright.
With each twist and turn, we can redefine
The tapestry of our lives is so divine.
giving endless supply . . .
bright sun, blue sky
beauties for the eye
bird and butterfly
fields of wild rye
in soft winds sigh
rabbits spry
and foxes sly
preying hawk's wild cry
on eye and ear sweetly lie
all of nature's works comply
until I hear you sigh
our whole walk gone awry
feet covered in cow pie
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, October 9, 2014
The sunrise paints the prairie gold,
The breeze still hums that tune of old,
Where once I’d ride with reins held tight,
Now I rock through the hush of night.
My boots sit still by the old back door,
Dusty dreams from days before.
The saddle waits on its wooden stand—
But now I hold life in my hands.
No roundup calls, no cattle cry,
Just lullabies and baby sighs.
I traded spurs for whispered songs,
And sleepless nights that stretch so long.
But oh, my heart—it rides each day,
Through love too fierce to drift away.
Though trails are quiet, and horses rest,
This little one is my newest west.
I miss the wind, the leather’s creak,
The freedom dancing on my cheek.
But I would choose this soft-eyed view
A thousand times, and all anew.
Someday soon, I’ll saddle high,
With baby watching, bright and spry.
We’ll ride again—me and the sky—
But for now, it’s lullabies.
Mom, I only talk with you by cell phone.
Our voices through the miles of air waves go.
You moved to an apartment. On your own,
you manage, though less spry than years ago.
I think about the times you read to me,
instilling love for fiction in my heart.
We didn't have a car, so through our city
we'd walk to places like the super mart.
Today I exercise, and that's for YOU!
You cooked and cleaned for us. Without a doubt,
you cheered us on in all we tried to do.
And how we loved your tales we laughed about!
Your heart, like Time, ticks on, yet Time can't steal
our memories - before life got so real!
This poem written for the “Who Do You Think I Am” Contest of Richard Lamoureux
after I read his thoughtful poem “Before and Beyond the Bed,” which he also dedicated to a mutual friend, Armand. The lines from his poem that resonated with me were these:
"What I miss most
Yes most of all is laughter
Playful exchanges -
Those times no one else existed
the moments when we were the best of us
before life became real"
Check out Richard's entire poem here: http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/before_and_beyond_the_bed_653986