Best Startles Poems
Such deep, impassioned, love
startles our mortal ways.
Could we possibly have that
same eternal love?
Flowing in our souls and blood,
and being blind, make light of it?
How blessed, how young, how
fortunate,lovers they!
To refuse on this fetid earth to stay.
And of poison did imbibe and hence
dance forever in a moonlit sky.,
Willing to live in eternity, together. oh!
Not a beautiful flower, nor a stunning
sunset, no!
Could keep them here, why, on this so
controlling a place!
Be still this night and you will hear their
enchanting and bubbling laughter..
It whispers in trees, eternally, day and
night, a fortnight and foreverafter.
Poem ~1~
February 14, 2024
A woodland path in the dappled sun, hushed and quiet!
My soul is gratified as I meander midst its colorful riot!
Another glorious autumn has burst forth in all its splendor!
The Creator displays a vista no mere artist would dare render!
Gentle zephyrs stir eddies of colorful leaves along the way.
A myriad of wild flowers greet me with their brilliant display.
Trees that a short while ago offered welcome summer shade,
Now lift barren arms as if in prayer sans their leaves of jade.
Not a cloud mars the pristine blue of the Colorado sky.
A skein of geese wing southward sounding their plaintive cry.
Stately Colorado spruce 'neath which deer now gambol and browse,
Will soon have garlands of snow adorning their spreading boughs.
The shrill blare of an elk startles me from my reverie,
As he calls for a mate with his ever sovereign plea.
I pause on a nearby knoll to view yon shimmering lake,
Teeming with graceful ducks, guarded by a magnificent drake!
Foolish poets and artists have strived to portray each season.
They have tried and failed because of a very real reason.
Only He Who is the Master Artist and ruler over all,
Will ordain the beauty of the seasons, especially the exquisite fall!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
LOSS
sitting on the bus
watching shops pass by
passengers reflected exit like ghosts
she’s gone
and another and another
in the park
by a phone booth
wanting to call my love
sudden shade startles me
sun behind a cloud
Dave Austin
A CHILD’S CHRISTMAS EVE
A child’s in thought by a cozy fire
His dog stretched out at hearthside
Big sister and a friend fun-gone
On a frosty snowy sleigh ride
His kitty Miss Boots
Done chasing a mouse
Asleep on the sill
Not a sound in the house
Then in fancy enchanted child hears
Pitter pats on the roof
A jolly fat laugh
Many reindeer hooves
The blaze in the fireplace
Pops a big log
Startles the child
And up jumps his dog
Blasé kitty Boots
Starts licking her paws
Could really care less
About Santa Claus
Well the red clad saint
From a mist slow appears
Till now stands full grown
A stroking his beard
This elf’s not imposing
No no not at all
Here stands a man not 3 feet tall
Though perfectly formed unbelievably small
Child and dog stand transfixed
Eyes open wide in complete surprise
Doubting the form is really St. Nick
Greatly puzzled because of his size
At last child in haze
In a wishing fond pause
Does stammer a question
Two words “Santa Claus?”
The vision though smiling seems not to hear
But merrily ho-hoing reaches back
And in a shower of gold
He conjures a sack
The brown bag is loaded
With all sorts of toys
Colorfully wrapped and neatly bowed
Dainties for girls sport for the boys
The gifts then fly out and under the tree
This all in a wink quit magically
Then boy and dog in amazement see
Old Santa rise up the fiery chimney
The blaze in the fireplace
Again pops the log
Again startles all three
Child kitty and dog
Christmas morn child early awakes
How tangible yestereve’s happening seemed
All colored in Christmas’ red gold and green
Was Santa Claus real or part of a dream?
Dave Austin
I stand here in this abandoned
church listening to the derelict
silence of the sombre ambience.
I look out of a shattered stain-glass
window, my mind has gone blank.
The bell rings sending an eerie
chime through the dust covered
room.
My heart is racing from the
spine-chilling fear that suddenly
floods my body.
I look once more; a white
dove sits peacefully on the
window sill chirping its soft
song; tranquillity from deep
within a magical heart.
The bell rings once more,
it startles me,
I turn back to peer out of the
shattered window,
the dove was made from glass.
Waking, she inspects the color under her sweater
and sighs that vague orange is still wearing her.
Orange can’t be her friend until it reveals its core.
While white is already a friend, the floating ones
aloofly speak of odd concerns she cannot pattern.
At times, float-whites hear, but never do they listen
or cease insisting that she has dreams, NOT visions.
Blue, green, pink and white all bring truths to her:
if she finds the correct umbrella, she could fly thru
blue-white skies adorned with smeared pink pops
over green’s velvet-thick and lush laid blankets.
When she gains the doors other side, freedom
will lead her to the right, flight-ready umbrella.
Sorting and storing colors keeps her busy all day.
Her favorites - blue, green, pink and white shades,
she tenderly places in see thru plastic jars, all
other colors she discards as too bland hearted.
Daily relief is happily seized by determining
not even a kernel of purple is in her world.
Purple startles, it is pain’s chosen dispersal
that circles and circles until she curls up,
prone atop piles of her own broken pieces.
Occupied with her color heaps, she spies a white-
float fluttering in her doorway at a time too early
for the syringe of colorless assistance
that simplifies her organizational tasks.
She hears white make words but disappears
inside of all pink things with soft plumes.
“Both your parents came to visit with you.
They are waiting inside the purple room.”
When the world is fast asleep
not me, I think and think and think
how can I be more unique
more I think, and think and think
how will they remember me?
how can I change it, more differently?
how can I push and challenge me?
now that my mind is unlocked and free
the new sun rises and startles me
my trance is broken, my awakening
The new dawn rises, surprises surprises
thankful to the twin gods, Isis and Osiris
for removing all the sins of my past lies
that was bringing me down to my demise
The balance, my chalice, now undisturbed
its order is hanging by my good word
I do not wish to go unheard
but who is there to hear me
when my thoughts are stirred?
In a sense of peace
drop to my knees
look up to the heavens
they're smiling down on me
how can I repay them?
what is my creed?
I rise now awakened
revived in my belief.
Rolling hills, alive with hydrangea and thyme
O'er cavernous quarries of sapphire and lime
Darting monarchs, tiger swallowtails
Artwork on the wing, a-lighting in the dale
A tender, spotted fawn startles awake
My awkward footsteps her slumber shakes
She pirouettes away, with virtuoso leaps
Each elegant stride, mine forever to keep
July 05, 2020
Strand Completely New (5) Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
I never liked the smell of lilacs although they were always
your favorite flower.
When did you stop bringing them home? I never noticed,
Wish I had.
I always thought walking through pine-scented woods was such
a bore, kicking leaves, how foolish I thought, and didn't
hesitate to tell you so...collect them for a fall bouquet,
hell no!
Wish I had.
How my memories haunt me now; I rejected your every whim, such
little things.
You wanting to build a snowman, I complained,
'It's too cold for that', and how hurt you were when I wouldn't
wear that silly hat you bought for my birthday, from my favorite
store,
Wish I had.
I found an old letter today, stuffed deep in the pocket of your
old coat, the one I never liked, both smelling of lilacs.
The letter was penned in an unfamiliar hand.
Bits of crumbled leaves fell as I unfolded the pages of this, your private world.
Some words were faded by time and splotches of tears.
Yours?
Hers?
No matter!
Such gentle words, flowing sweet with love
like the music of a string quartet.
If only I had written those words that must have made you smile,
mellowed your mood, touched your heart, but it's been so long
since I spoke to you of love.
Wish I had.
Sitting alone, lost in a turmoil of cluttered 'might have beens',
the ring of the phone startles me; it's you, expressing your regret,
you are going to be late again.
I wanted to ask you to bring lilacs home for the table I'd just
set, but I didn't!
But oh God! I wish I had!
I was always too proud to cry until now!
I wish I had!
I wish I had!
Cynthia
I’m on a twilight stroll with my beau,
we take a route we’ve often walked before.
Mystical moonlight flickers in the trees,
“whose woods these are, I think I know”*
A hooting owl startles me, I fall and twist my knee,
I try to stand, cry out pain; I cannot walk with ease.
We can see twinkling lights in the distance,
perhaps someone’s at home who can help me.
My beau covers me with his warm coat,
He hurries away so he can get assistance.
I pray that he doesn’t have too far to go,
and that the cottage is not too remote.
He soon returns with another guy,
I know his face, oh hello Steve I cry.
I was almost certain he lived close by,
as he sells wood carvings which I buy!
Lines to Awaken your Muse Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
*Chosen line - Whose woods these are I think I know - Robert Frost
02/27/20
Life is short,
life is spry
like a crisp, little french fry
that gets stolen
if you fail to watch over it.
It's written in the name
of two moments
that hold hands and pass by.
On edges of death,
it startles those
who stay drunk on love
and those who dare to fly.
The brave have so much to do with life
while the meek simply wait to die;
the meek ones,
that like clockwork
tick their way to an eternal stillness.
Life, that we spend fretting
over death
hoping, we can accept with open arms
when faced with the end of it;
life, that we spend dying
everyday,
while trying not to get killed.
We hope, with love,
someday our tumblers will fill
and overflow;
while we quite often forget to give.
Like wild pigeons fluttering
with the morning light,
we try to run and rise.
Leaving poetries, songs
and stories behind;
damaging souls like ours
on rewind,
we crawl and scratch
our way through life.
When validations cease to matter
and you shut
the loud distinct chaotic chatter,
when you love
with all that passion
and with that roaring obsession
which burns within you
without the fear of losing
or dying in the static run;
you know you've learnt
to waltz with life,
with life that is spry
like a crisp, little french fry.
J ohn is back again on the same busy street corner
A nother year older, grayer, slower, sicker, shabbier
N ot poorer though; never had a penny in his pocket
U nder the worn cap, he still wears the familiar smile
A nd startles passers-by with the jarring, heartfelt song
R eminding them just how a man's luck can go wrong --
Y ou were gonna drop a few coins in his cup all along...
January 02, 2019
Entry in "January" (acrostic) contest
Sponsor: Michelle Faulkner
While the dawn collects its rhythm,
Quietly protecting the whispers of a new day,
Tangerine sunsets composing chrysanthemum hymns,
Risk their gentling tones in rarest glimpses,
Through the silence, into the fated feelings,
Where truth glows and kindness flows…
Shadows listen to the grace beyond the gates,
Forever rising seas, nocturnal rhythms,
Peace, in trembling pieces of heartfelt mysteries,
Blessing away the darkest storms,
Healing the moments, reassuring the stars,
Dusty breaths of kindled hope…
Arising, like the tides – ebb and flow,
Erasing the quivering seasons, burdened
By reflections of yesterday’s sins,
Neglected poetry, birthed by pain and written,
In heartfelt verses – stanzas uplifted by the soul,
Who knows the blessings of remembering…
Still as the daybreak, in flames of faith,
Awakening the heartfelt – love like a prayer,
Soothing and sentimental, yet as strong and gentle
As the most intriguing sunset, tangerines wish,
Overcome by buttery moments who believe,
Light sees beyond the winds, the trees…
Into the music that startles the dreams,
Colors, in detail, the wonder of a beautiful,
Far more alive than the dusk, the twilight,
Breathing prayers of yearning,
Enchanting, even the nocturnal, with light,
Softly tracing a silhouette of weakness, struggling…
In faith, in hope, in love – sunset’s grace seeks,
Quaint and windy echoes,
Feathery seasons, in moonlight and star strewn,
Heavens caressing the light’s flow,
Amazing us all with the night’s glow,
Flames of forever, in music that is destined…
For love, the star’s flame, seeking our pain,
Settling the darkness, the fear, the lulling rain.
2
It aches
Insanity – it is rich with light,
Ever lusher with shadows,
Dimly faded feelings, whispers
Welcoming the wars that come
To those who listen… it’s voice…
I know crazy
Crazy – it is like the wind,
Forever moving, never giving in
To sleep or silence,
Always flooded with sound,
Sound for those who listen…
It paints the heart in black memories,
Erasing the colors, the hues
Vibrant and rhythmic like a melody,
Sumptuous promises, poured out over,
The rising sun, as dewdrops tremble
On laughing petals, as the night fades
Into dawn…
I know crazy
It comes in many forms!
Crazy is the way a child loves a mother,
Who is always leaving, never loving, only going,
Never looking back…
Crazy is the way a silence forms inside the heart
Who knows the meaning of a panic,
That quietly floods the distance between faith and fear.
Crazy is the way the stars keep dancing,
Never silent despite the ghostlike darkness,
Who startles every dream…
Crazy is the way the ache inside never quiets,
The desperate yearning for a lover,
Who refuses love…
Crazy is the way a heart will break,
Even though its pulse is strong… its love is not wrong,
But the feeling has gone….
I know crazy, but I tone it down with the other thing I know.
And, I know it better than I know crazy…
God is great and God is steady.
He never allows my crazy to win over the hope,
Hope for everlasting peace,
Hope for eternal grace,
Hope for always – love that finds a way,
Even though crazy tries to wash the joy away,
Even though crazy tries to silence the amazement of this ordinary faith!
I know crazy… but I know even better,
The answer, the grace, the prayers for His embrace!
O Lord, why have you designed
for every malady a medicine,
For every wound, a balm
leaving only love incurable?
This melancholy dusk
this smothering loneliness
and my mournful heart
pining for my beloved
in this godforsaken milieu.
If not to appease my yearning heart
My love, can you but come
to soothe this moaning moon
and lo, to console these teary stars?
Oh, for heaven’s sake,
do come to enliven
this woebegone skyline.
When a gust of wind sweeps by
the rustling of the fallen leaves
startles me and I begin to wonder...
Did you just pass me by?
~09/06/18
~For John Hamilton's Best Free Verse
July 1 - Oct. 1, 2018 contest.
~Brian Strand's 115 contest