Best Still Life Poems
STILL LIFE WITH FRUIT
In spite of the orchard
A far white moon dominates
Its sick room presence lifts the eye
Still life with fruit –
Crescent dish with bananas, apples, pears -
A wrinkled bed spread falls off the sky
In all an angular canvas,
A drowsy cubist squint,
Imposed shapes, lines – Picasso pie
This pointed, silver vase pokes through
Its ample gift of flowers,
Destroys the view – Oh, my!
I’ve come to, limp right arm yet hangs over,
Attendant tells, “Breakfast time. You hungry?
Let’s sit up. There! Good guy.”
Dave Austin
Still life
A beautiful gardenia
in a glistening cut glass vase
Captured of a time before
when the light was perfect,
the fragrance sweet and the petals
soft as vanilla pudding ~ still life
Our love was that of dreams,
picture perfect
Captured in a photograph,
placed in a heart shaped
ornate silver frame
displayed proudly on the mantle ~ still love
Days pass and petals lie
scattered on the floor
in random patterns
wilted and curled, pale and drab,
a brown stem in stagnant water,
the vase stained, glistening no more ~ no life
Months later, shards of glass lie,
scattered on the floor
an empty broken frame rests
face down in the ashes
of the photo, torn to shreds
and burned ~ no love
6/29/17
For the “Broken” poetry contest
Sponsored by: Lewis Raynes
Take a walk with me within the forest
gravel path, laced in peach and yellow leaves.
Inhale the spirit of air it surrounds.
Listen to the crunch and shift of coarse gravel,
see the dust rise upwards beneath our shoes,
and feel the cool wind blow our hair across our faces.
Stop, view of the bank, against large white rocks
and tall green and withered sedge blades. Listen
to the hastening heartbeat resonance
of transparent aquamarine, cool river,
where it runs deep, flowing downhill.
Tree limbs full of a brilliant autumn palette
of colors sway as the breeze quickens its pace.
Take a walk with me and breathe a piece
of heaven that beckons and awakens my spirit.
10/17/2020
Waltz with me at autumn's end
where leaves of brown and red adrift ~
grandiose at the kiss of sunlight
as they return to sullen ground.
Sing with me a sweet symphony
in unison with the falls cascading~
as leaves afloat cease awhile
tickling our feet immersed therein.
Open your lips and taste the rain
as it drizzles from the crimson sky;
Whilst rainbow arcs a delicate smile
a petrichor fills our senses
with sublime savoury scents ~
for me and for you.
Those leaves, like fire before our eyes,
fell down as flames from autumn skies,
then twirled like feathers to the ground
to weave a blanket wrapped around.
Like a chameleon, fall leaves turned,
from scales of green to crimson-burned.
With brushstroke blends of orange-gold,
Bright autumn paintings did unfold.
And like Monet's bold stippled hues,
fall gifts her canvases of views.
STILL LIFE
Life – a gathering of things
Life – with warmth of movement
consciousness of being
sound color touch
aroma sight
for fun
I tap my collective unconscious
and
Nospace is filled with pebbles, pennies, nickels
dimes hammers chisels
hard stuffs
They all come clattering down on my kitchen
table
and
wanting to come together
take on a life of their own
Dave Austin
still life
in the graveyard
ebon raven caws
09/19/20
Spring is the moment of hope that embraces
The spirit with a glad, rousing devotion
Inspiration that fills the heart it graces
Summer is the time of gentle emotion
Where sunshine and raindrops capture silent hope
Waking waves of joy flowing through the ocean
Autumn is the gleam of the kaleidoscope
Brilliant hues of enthusiasm breaths belief
Serenity dripping help so we can cope
Winter is the dismal, dark whisper of grief
Longing to fill up our souls with loving skills
Wonders of kind compassion that won’t be brief
Seasons that fill our hearts, minds and souls with thrills
Sharing marvels so exciting our life stills
Oh, how we watch a town go by!
Pieces of life
wrapped against the elements,
going somewhere,
always going somewhere.
From this upper window,
my eye is a searchlight,
sweeping the streetscape.
I celebrate my stillness
by remaining still,
stiller,
and stiller still,
holding my breath,
stilling my eyes till they sting.
I will my stillness
to fill me, envelop me,
hold me still from within and without,
a force pushing out and in,
creating an equilibrium for my soul.
And still the life below
scurries, scampers,
scuttles, skitters,
fizzes, bubbles, lives,
the quick and undead,
each destined
to be still one day.
(September 2021)
A whisper hangs in the branches
The blinking sun agape
As the wind holds its breath.
Silence
In the presence
Of the artist.
John G. Lawless
©2/20/2022
Fare waits upon the table— hard and fluid kind:
three glasses filled with golden liquid, shards of ice;
another two- the amber-colored flow, defined
and clear, no ice, their smooth opacity concise.
Supported are four slices—lightly toasted bread
that stand on end, grouped, dry without a hint of spread.
Oh, such a wondrous setting—bread, the staff of life,
the basic need that fed all men since long ago,
life-giving manna all across the world, where strife
engulfs and threatens those of humankind that know
without the staff of life, their days come to an end—
without their daily bread, grim death will soon attend.
And, there along with bread, the liquid stands beside
to quench the thirst, provide as a life-sustaining mate.
Without this sacred flow to balance and subside
the dryness in the throat from bread—this would negate
the need for food—for fluid is our liquid gold,
and mixed with bread, the staff of life becomes two-fold.
April 14, 2014
Here lies my notepad, covered in scrawl, my pencil rolls on to the table
I watch as it rolls and suspect it may fall, but it stops at the edge, balanced and stable
The cloth it is on is yellow and blue, sliced into squares of three inches or so
Not every one has the same hue, but it's waterproof cloth and useful for dough
There are mats on the table roughly stacked, big ones and small ones, kind of cyan
and marbled indigo patterns are tracked, round the neatly drawn boarder of coppery tan
A stainless steel trivet spirals beside, bright in the sunshine, it's hurting my eyes
The daffodils in their blue vase abide, the sweetest aroma doth rise to the skies
I sit here on one of five chairs, all wooden and carved, and matching the table
And because my wife cares, each one has a cushion, but you'll not find a label
She made them by hand, and each one is tied, with bows in the corners to stop it from falling
To the carpet that's blue upon which they stand, with delicate swirls and flowers it's crawling
A cuckoo clock hangs on the wall by the window, it's occupant hidden and quiet for now
But when he pops out and looks just below, to one side is a painting we love and how
It shows some puppies who run round a bend, one of them trips and slides onto the frame
Beneath the picture a pipe doth wend, to a radiator that's white, they all look the same
Behind me stands our pride and joy, a dresser of magnificent proportions
top shelf holds a wind up toy, and in the back a silver platter, reflects the room with weird distortions
Here we keep our trinkets and glasses, safe from the danger of falling or dust
And as I write the morning passes, my coffee mug's empty, there are chores to do and I fear I must
PD's dare was "Can you really poet and rhyme everything around you"
With hot coffee in hand,
I am looking out my picture window.
I see the autumn leaves being blown off the trees,
beautiful leaves in colors of red, gold and orange.
Time to leave for work,
out the door I must run.
I am running over a beautiful carpet,
a carpet made from the falling autumn leaves.
Crush~crush I hear,
the falling leaves beneath my purple shoes.
Into my car I must go,
as the frisky squirrels run up a big oak tree.
Autumn when the days turn cool and beautiful,
I know winter will soon be here.
Date Written: 12/15/2022
2 Place
Still-Life Autumn Scene Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Eve Roper