Best Stained Poems
Oh, the forest whispers to me,
as stained leaves on the ground crinkle;
and birds chirp and trill in a tree,
but too soon those leaves will wrinkle.
As I walk the wind groans and moans,
oh, the forest whispers to me;
soon the branches will be bare bones,
the crows cawing is like a plea.
Squirrels chirrup running with glee,
through the leaves that swirl, twirl and dance;
oh, the forest whispers to me,
the beauty puts me in a trance.
A stream that gurgles and thunders,
and ducks still quack and float carefree;
so many sweet scenes and wonders,
oh, the forest whispers to me.
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October 16, 2021
Poetry/Quatern/ The Stained Glass Forest
Copyright Protected, ID-10-1397-695-16
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Onomatopoeia
sponsor, Emile Pinet, Judged 11/13/2021
Fourth Place
Poem of the Day October 18, 2021
At high noon mass
thru colored glass
a playful sunray dances
for blessed sunday glances
reflected stained mosaic
hardly looks archaic
when the rainbow’s set afire
by heavenly orchestrated choir
the congregation rejoices
moved by angelic voices
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on December 9, 2019 for contest STRAND SPECIAL sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 3RD
Into the timeless wood he fled, running from the night
While demons of his past gave chase beneath the pale moonlight
The man dressed in soiled rags, filth of his own making
Had spent a life unto himself, all others there forsaking.
But in the night, as shadows came, though nothing made a sound
A voice there in the dark he heard, though no one was around
Calling out to him by name, “Go… seek the blood stained bridge
Its ageless timber, dogwood made, up on yon high ridge.”
Somehow, he knew the voice he heard while running from the night
Was not from friend or foe without, but came from deep inside
So run he did through elder wood, to find the yon high ridge
The Voice there still was guiding him to reach the fabled bridge.
In agony, all power spent, found he the edge of night
His demons dogged him all the way and pressed him for a fight
The host advanced and pushed him back, back toward yon high ridge
But, when he turned to his dismay, he found no “saving” bridge.
He questioned if the voice he heard and trusted in the night
Was naught but wishful thinking; a last ditch hope-filled lie
In anguish and frustration there, he stood in fear and pain
And cursed his stubborn nature that kept him bound in shame.
Despairing for the life he’d lived, in fear of coming death
He fell there on the shifting sand and cried with his last breath
“I’m sorry for the things I’ve done and regret the life I’ve led”
He turned then to accept his fate, but there appeared the bridge instead.
The shadows all began to fade, his soul started to mend
As he took the first step ‘cross that bridge, the night came to an end
Waiting on the other side, the risen sun in brilliant light
The Voice within him beckoned, “Come,” then freed him from the night.
~Christopher Thor Britt
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She felt the cobblestones like braille beneath her worn boots' sigh,
her shadow stretched, a thin companion, 'neath the bruised-blue sky.
The spires clawed the clouds apart, stone fingers scraping light,
to catch the fractured evening sun in panes of jeweled might.
Her steps grew slow, a pilgrim's pace on faith-eroded ground,
then silence roared – that holy hush where all lost prayers are found.
The cathedral is adorned
with wonderful stained glass windows
Each piece is unique
framed in lead
They reminiscent of
countless gorgeous patterns
in a kaleidoscope
- with many different symmetries
A work of art with aesthetic value
which often tells a story
Catching rays of sunlight
in all the colors of the rainbow
Even if it rains
light shines through
Emotional me
is out from my verbose head
like a winter flower with
petals, so much like
hankies of a sleepless god,
to wave in such elegance
my charm over you,
again and again, ‘til your
smile, left to death by the strides
of your rococo
lover, is awakened and
becomes my choka poem
Stained in colours
Amongst same species, let colour not stain the souls, be it black or white.
Written March 15th, 2016
For contest "Monoku #9"
Sponsor- PD A
I am in a room,
With a brush and a broom.
Casually looking into the window,
But unable to see the rainbow.
My eyes unable to comprehend,
For the window was stained.
Clouded with colours of bleakness,
Darkened by Disappointments,
Reddened by Rejection,
Dimmed by Dejection,
Smudged by Self-doubt,
And Clouded by Criticism in and out.
My mind hovered back,
When things weren't so abstract.
The window was so clean,
That I could see future foreseen.
The rainbow was blooming bright,
As I viewed the world with great delight.
Suddenly I came back to senses,
I rose my brush as a reflex.
Maybe it just needed some cleaning,
As I thought deeming.
I looked again at the window of life,
Sure enough it needed healing all right.
27/03/23
NOTE: Inspiration taken by Book:- Attitude is everything by Jeff Keller
Stained glass child, I see your window every day
A picture of innocence, purity being portrayed
Can’t tell if happy, such an expressionless face
As my black soul passes, this once sacred place
Thy stature diminished, thy name is desecrate
This window screams at me, you abandoned faith
A symbol of times past, the masses came to pray
Forsaken by doubt, and my religion went astray
Lost without direction, I attempted another route
Trees where stripped bare, of low hanging fruit
Can anyone be sure, what dwells beyond demise
Out of reach answers, high in the canopy reside
So the stained glass window, gives nothing away
No sadness, just indifference to a divergent sway
Inscrutable indecipherable, a picture froze in glaze
Enduring illustration, of our past ecclesiastic days
Later life offered, more than reflection and prayer
Leaving surreality, stumbled upon a hedonistic lair
A craving for escapism, morphs to delusional need
I descended into oblivion, an atheist in the weeds
Now searching amongst theories, some I embrace
Seeking out some creator, in the medium of space
From quantum to infinite, amid macro micro waves
Alas reality of life, may only be found down a grave
Stained glass child, with the halo above your head
Embedded in a window, framed with softened lead
Watching you as my life, inexorability draws an end
Have I missed the point, where you my only friend
Soul Betrayal Poetry Contest
It saddens me to gaze upon the stars
I see them blinking, fighting back their tears
Reminding me our distance is so far
Their numbers are the days without you near
Assembling pieces of my scattered thoughts
An image comes to me in stained glass scenes
Subconsciously I gather shards embossed
Create a picture of you here with me
Then suddenly a sign from fate appears
A shooting star takes flight across the sky
I close my eyes and wish that you were here
To stay with me and never say goodbye
I think about the happiness love brings
Then go inside to dream my stained glass dream
an original poem by Daniel Turner
A chromatically colored specter
in flight, lands upon bluebells
in the garden; a statuesque palette
drinks the nectar from flowers;
collects pollens for crafting
her own gardens nearby.
The delight of a stained glass winged
butterfly, is ever profound;
nature’s sweet gifts of grace.
Stared into my black coffee and thought back to when he loved me an how he matched the hue of his heart. He was smooth just like hs messy sorta curly hair wrapped in a bandana. I take my coffee black because, the taste of creamer doesn't do it for my sweet tooth anymore, but at times my coffee resembles those caramel hazel eyes and the taste of his skin.
Just wanted this coffee to be him, but I don't add creamer to my coffee, but I added too much damn emotions and I couldn't find him in my coffee anymore. Now, these tears are puddles on the ground cause his image has faded out of my coffee just like the way he disappeared from my life when he found someone new.
Maybe he's the reason I take my coffee black and love it so much because, when I'm looking into caramel coffee it's like looking into his eyes. The pieces of him I've got are dying like the love affair he had with a troubled girl like me.
Contest: All that glass
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Date: 10.06.2026
Casting dappled coloured shadows
on darkened streets at night
The chapel's stained glass window glows
like a hued beacon bright
Giving out the message of hope
on a moonless night black
Watching its glints, one can then cope
with life's any attack
Shades of maroon bleed on the street
with golden yellow tints
Tinges of soft blue and green meet
to highlight subtle hints
The chapel's open at all times
Even at twelve midnight
The stained window reflects and chimes
that Jesus is The Light.
It’s drawn on the back of a stained notepad ,
On a brown worn, torn paper leaf,
It’s drawn in pencil, that’d broken in half,
Showing the pain, the trouble and grief,
Showing years of tired hurt wounds,
Pushing out from the fear,
This drawing of what she owns inside her mind,
Smudged to vague, makes it clear,
That her smile is a vending machine,
A fabricated forgery, a fake,
Sent to conceal her pain away from the robots,
It hides her dazed blind ache,
And still, she paints her lips to a smile,
She paints to hide the sad,
The sad that can only be seen when it’s drawn,
All over the back of a pad.
All That Glass 6-12-26 Nette Onclaud - Stained-Glass Window
Remembered Light is an exhibit of 25 stained glass windows made from the remnants of stained-glass windows destroyed in WWII. These remnants were gathered by a chaplain. Some of the windows were 1,000 years old. One window is a simple musical staff with three notes – glass gathered from a Catholic cathedral, a protestant church and a synagogue.
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Stained-Glass Window
Shrieking bombs left light in shattered shards,
Like bones scattered on cold marble
Where songs of Alpha and Omega
Once reflected vows and grief,
To lie impotent, devoid of their consecration.
Crushed beauty with blind eyes of debris,
Chocking on explosive dust,
Still recalls telling parables
With multi-colored puddles
In splashes of pure hues.
Consecrated hands retrieve bits of rainbows
Spilled like sacredness upon a hill
Memoirs gathered like jeweled fire
Into an unseen crucible
Rejoined into light's prisms.
A stained-glass window sings again
Of cathedral, church and synagogue
Three notes in sapphire, ruby and pearl
Resting on a new staff
In the incense of remembered light.