Best Steepled Poems
River Findings
The Ohio winds around hills
and streams down the hollows
passes steel mills, brick yards and scrap yards.
It carries tug boats, pushes barges, and hauls
black coal stripped from the mountainsides.
The Ohio’s littered banks
are home to train yards
filled with graffiti-covered box cars
rusting relics of the Southern Pacific
and the Norfolk and Southern railroads.
Erector set bridges span
the murky river and link Ohio
to “Wild, Wonderful, West Virginia,”
the Weirton Mill,
and Homer Laughlin China Company.
In towns called Powhaton Point,
Shadyside, Bellaire, and East Liverpool,
houses are stacked on hillsides
with an array of slate,
tin and asbestos shingled roofs.
Ball fields and corn fields,
concrete parking lots and shopping malls
are full of busy people
who fail to appreciate
the river’s charity.
There are roads with cryptic names like Goose Run,
Pinch Run, Riddles Run, and Rush Run.
There are towns named Brilliant,
Costonia and Calcutta,
each with their own secrets.
North on Route 7 bars advertise Karaoke
and all you can eat fish fries.
A plethora of car lots and gift shops,
bait stores and gun supplies
dot the countryside with
a never-ending display
of marketing profanity,
but the river rolls on
never compromising her dignity
never surrendering her boundaries.
White-steepled churches
stand like beacons of redemption,
while billboards promote“Hell Fire Fireworks,”
“Gentlemen’s” clubs, sleazy motels
and the “Forbidden Zone Exit.”
Still the river moves along
around the hills and down the hollows
proud and powerful
chanting and rippling with satisfaction
a stalwart testament to her tenacity…
Categories:
steepled, imagery, perspective, river, travel,
Form:
Free verse
Upwards you gazed, poignantly painting me
like no one had before, nor has done since.
Concentric white and yellow circles. Free
of any common bearing or pretense.
I'd seen idyllic villages before -
The steepled church in sacred echo of
the cypress, looking down in fond rapport,
as olive trees embrace the town with love.
But never have I seen hills so inflamed,
nor moon so agitated and insane,
nor indigo sky eddies so untamed;
grappling to find the answers to life's pain.
Vincent, you were art's unheralded prince,
Like no one was before, nor has been since.
(an ekphrasis of Vincent Van Gogh's "The Starry Night")
Categories:
steepled, art, depression, night, sky,
Form:
Personification
It's a quaint little street, bustling with tourists
Shops selling ice creams and coffees, sandals, and seashells...
People rushing, a bike or two in the street, a car searching for a place to park
A baby cries, and mothers wipe sticky faces....chatter, and laughter..
One small gallery, tucked descreetly, into the narrow cobblestone alley
A blinding ray of sun's reflection, catches my attention
The window display, filled with seascapes, antique sailing artifacts
And one small painting....sitting, poised, proudly on an easel...
At first the glare makes it hard to see
But I cup my hands around my eyes...
A lovely rendition of this very same village
Painted many years ago...long before tourists
Long before lattes and souvenirs...
Just a little fishing village...dated 1918
The houses wearing chalky patina,
Narrow lanes leading away from the main road,
dipping down into golden sand dunes,
A small general store and a blacksmith shop,
Seagulls gliding like angel wings against the summer blue
White steepled churches slumbering in the warm afternoon sunshine
The quietness, the peaceful nature of it....simple and serene...
And I think to myself, ...how extraordinary it would be
If I could freeze time for a day,
If I could pull it out and visit it...just once in awhile
If I could bring it back now and again....that peaceful afternoon...
Walk in warm sunshine,
Where the leaves would never fall from those ancient trees,
And the gentle slopes would never know the cruel blast of winter storms
Where tears had never fallen, where age was timeless
If time could stand still.....
I hears the tinkle of the bell, as I enter the shop...
Categories:
steepled, introspectiontime,
Form:
Narrative
A gust of icy air blasts
the cold into my bones,
tugging at my knees with
hollow, aspirating groans,
making numb my cheeks,
whirling 'round my waist;
pulling at me thither-ward
down cobbled streets in haste.
Thick snowflakes lightly flurry
soft upon my lashes,
squinting hard, I blink away
the blinding, frozen ashes.
Presently, I chance upon
a steepled, stony schloss,
whence I knew myself beyond
the bounds of Hotzestrasse.
All around me, strangers rush
to unfamiliar places;
swiftly stepping, spinning past
with stern, impatient faces.
I sidle down a sleepy street,
apart the harried crowd,
into the quiet entrance
of a quaint café I bowed.
A corner cuckoo ticks away
the time with listless ease,
whiling away the morning;
an anxious spirit to appease.
Rich and steamy mochas
warm away the frosty chill
of this melancholy trav'ler
reflecting on the wintry still.
Categories:
steepled, travel, winter,
Form:
Quatrain
My heart is in the Adirondacks
And day by day i drink the courage
captured in these mountain heights.
The trail winds across the slope where bramble
lies like Tangled Truth--Blending Berries and Briars
--Bold challenges for hungry wanderers.
The great white pine leans low in mountain wind--
but lifts its top again--the living hiding place
of antelope and bear--and little things
the birds and scurriers finding safety
in the needled limbs.
The contradictions here abound,
The breathless height amid hollow crevices,
The stillness--absence of humanity--amid
a cacophony of Nature's jumbled cries;
the barren rock 'tween rooted evergreens;
the toxic elder hiding almond scented mushrooms;
the dying elm that shades the sprouting oak;
The tumultuous roar of naked storms
Belied in the quiet tumble of mountain streams.
All these things--these contradictions
do but mirror the tortured passion
in my breast. Nor in the madding cities
or steepled churches hiding frightened people--
nor yet, in tenuous arms of would be lovers--
do i find peace. But only here--
where trembling deer dip cautiously
into the water's edge; squirrels scold
in unquiet trees, and wild turkeys
strut unfrightened across the wind-bare
rocks. Here--on a mossy bank--
where the current curves in gurgling smiles
around the jutting stones; here
in the flickering welcome of mountain shadows
the human spirit finds release.
Categories:
steepled, mountains, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Above the moon flocked, steepled pines
Eternal sky - the hallowed night
Celestial alms of grand designs
Sing silent psalms in ancient light
Categories:
steepled, night, sky,
Form:
Quatrain
At last, a welcomed light Autumn breeze,
Whistling passed steepled roofs,
Gently lifting branches of the bowing sycamore trees
Lining dull gray sidewalks still toasty warm
From the sweltering heat of the day before;
Departing summer flees threads of deep purple clouds
Leaching westward from the eastern sky,
Inky streams clawing their way into lighter shades of dusk,
The new season has cast her dye.
Categories:
steepled, autumn,
Form:
Ode
The mouth,
It enters with a crisp tongue and a spinning pendulum
Like a stick-shift on 4 pivots
Making its way through a flourishing garden
Delicious sounds wisp as smoke through pardons
Painting destructive criticism with delicate regard and
Proceeding as moth with flame, eyre in eyre
and skein in skein
Somewhere in the reigns, meaning becomes tangled in the wings
As it writes a story of friction
The diction of the beginning, end and enduring ambience
As was, is, and needn't admit
It grips the listening agents and moves to the foregrounds of their lips
Roses blush from the insatiable pits of their stomachs
Breathing new life its first sentence
From the humbling utterances of syntactic structures
Modeled as people
Steepled in last years words
Mumbled and tumbled
Before you
As
The word
Categories:
steepled, art, beauty, butterfly, children,
Form:
Narrative
I had a dog way back when
With white teeth and tail a wag
He slept so fine in steepled den
Crunched on a chicken, like a rag
With eyes of brown, and fur of black
Patrolled the farm, a canine cop
The silly cats he would attack
And barking noise should never stop
One snowy day he disappeared
Walking a road he often trod
Did not return, as I feared
Where was my dog? I asked God
Then one night, I heard him bark
My friend returned in pitch dark
Categories:
steepled, animal, dog, farm, god,
Form:
Sonnet
Still, in my pajamas, cold, ‘tis Winter.
Purple and gray wool socks, and still, cold feet.
Yet i’d walk down into the oaks, with sun’s
light be soaked, at the Summer-plumed heartbeat.
Into the glowing moss and down the hill,
like my grand, who’d make glorious foothold
into the street. Still, alone, basking in
happiness, woolen feet waltzing, toes cold,
knuckles chapping, clapping of my steepled
fingers. dry and joyful lips, arising,
Dizzy, I'd survey the amphitheater -
steam of cold-heat, underfoot apprising.
O my soul, the crooning blue signature,
expansive, inexpensive, pensive sky.
Behold God’s goodness directed my way.
Though fibbing from inside, I do not lie.
The arms of my chair, still, caring, hold me
or i’d jetty into my imagination.
There the birds stir up woozy fairyland
with tea and serenity’s coronation.
2/10/2021
Contest: All Yours (Feb 10)
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Categories:
steepled, beauty, happiness, imagery, imagination,
Form:
Quatrain
Inspired And in awe of Majestic Beauty.
.
Stagnant moss and patches of lichen
Cling to weathered uneven
Sandstone dry stone walls
Segregating lush green moorland
Surrounded by silent sisters standing
Lofty huge and tall
As wholly clouds majestically graze
On both idle pleasant and more inhospitable days
.
An unpredictable temperamental land
As seasons emerge and in an instant
Temperatures rise or plummet
A wild desolate place
A patchwork quilt of lush greens and tawny browns
Vista from tor and towering summit
.
Stretching for miles sweeping vale and steepled hill
Silence broken by raucous carrion crow
Perched upon the wiry lightening struck tree below
Carpets and thickets of purple heather
Provide home for various critter
And shelter from the harsh weather
.
Boisterous gales bellow and blow
The drifting blanket of snow
Within winters icy grasp
That bites tender flesh as if by an asp
.
The raptor stretches it’s wings and takes flight
Riding upon unsteady thermals
Hunting for pray below
That leaves a trail of footprints below
.
The dilapidated uninhabited farmhouse up yonder hill
The old windmill It’s sails now still
The wind still whistles through
With its unforgiving icy chill
.
A landscape that largely time has forgot
Mainly unchanged for countless centuries
Draw the hiker with its rugged pleasantries
And never ceases to inspire
And be admired.
.
Peter Dome©2020.
Categories:
steepled, appreciation, creation, mountains,
Form:
Verse
PATRIOTISM
Red, white and blue ribbons with stars
surrounding my head, hand over heart
Kneeling in the Catholic pew, steepled hands
point upwards to my allegiance start
Stars kneel not to pray but to belie their point
of origin, where amber grain waves part
11/3/2017
Modern Sijo
Categories:
steepled, patriotic,
Form:
Sijo
Sutherland No More – A Proclamation
Sutherland Springs from the pages of my media feed,
A story of guns, grief and the need, for no more.
Sutherland no more.
The innocent and the free sitting in their Sunday Pews,
Little thinking they would be the news, on the door.
Sutherland no more.
The white squat steepled church reaches to the sky,
The congregation and world asks why, whilst the tears pour.
Sutherland no more.
‘Fortunately somebody else had a gun’, the saying goes,
That was equalising those bullet flows, from ceiling to floor.
Sutherland no more.
Freedom to Bear, Freedom to Speak, Freedom to seek
The solution to these nightmares in our sleep.
Guns cause the rift and opinion must shift.
When you’re gone,
Will you send back a letter from America?
X.
©Keith Murphy
Categories:
steepled, community, death, eulogy, grief,
Form:
Elegy
I would love to run after the midnight sun
And visit the fjords, museums, and shops
I would take to the forests on the run
And pick berries and hike the mountain tops
Oslo Norway I saw thru the eyes of a child
And in those five years, I became a Viking
There was skiing, skating, and fishing in the wild
There was cod and cheese-all to my liking
This time I would take pictures of the city
Of the steepled roofs and nude statues
And get me a Norwegian sweater that's so pretty
To wear on my return trip on that fun cruise
12/31/22
Take Me There Poetry Contest
Sponsor-Margarita Lillico
N/A-(this is disappointing. I'm not going to lie. I can't write any
better than this.)
Categories:
steepled, adventure, beauty, travel,
Form:
Rhyme
Thanksgiving Dinner
How many more?
I asked myself, and answers
may be coming into focus with
the flimsy recollection
of that flock of chubby birds
each settling down a final time
upon audacious altars dedicated
to a gentle greed of some implied
profanity, but rubbed away by appetite
and invocational acknowledgement
of The Divine.
I hardly know them anymore, and yet
the love still circulates, (less inhibited perhaps)
though somehow bourne in artifice
by the enlightenment of youth
and shrinking globe, the breadth
of which we now may fly with ease.
One guest I do not greet
with great affection, though I know him
well enough--the creeping thread
of age advances like the moss
upon a headstone, insideous
in its meandering through time
and unobtrusive as companion
to the slow decay beneath.
It's rather like a testamonial
to all the goings on
inside the little white
faith-steepled church
that guards it, also
to its little flock of souls surviving,
for they too must gather faithfully
around the great, and toothsome bird
content to rule today in silence there
among his retinue of entrements.
I think of Grandpa,
more than 50 years ago
there at the table's head--
now I must be the patriarch
and assume his place,
and yes, perhaps his imminent demise.
(Quite suddenly I realize
that's quite all right with me)
So what is the point
of all these memories?
I think we need them
just to salvage some significance,
or worse, to craft a fleeting and illusory
impression that a history
in microscopic miniature somehow mattered
for a moment in this heavy crazy quilt
so solemnly laid down upon
a dusty speck among the stars.
~
Categories:
steepled, family,
Form:
Free verse