Best Streams Poems
Shimmering silhouettes haunt.
Shadow stands still,
observing his soul drift towards
the tree of melancholy.
Its morbid image stands silent,
but screams inside the mind.
I could write a million pensive poems,
yet the pen could never express,
how emotions remain unexplained,
because suppressed silent theories
and words left unspoken mean
regretful raindrops fall to the
rhythm of each somber sigh.
Tears create shallow streams,
but still we remain submerged.
Eight years on and I wonder,
if we will stay here forever.
Simple Musing
Silent One
18 November 2018
In Love, Our Romance Flows In Kissing Streams,
Poets Tribute Series, fourth poet, Lord Byron
Claim I, thy wondrous heart into sweet dreams,
And in that soft glowing realm we slow dance;
In Love, our romance flows in kissing streams,
As Cupid's well-shot arrows took no chance.
From this teeming earth we dwell in pleasures,
While life lays golden bounty at our feet;
We wake to dawn's glory- its great treasures,
Finding welcome cheer in all that we meet.
Sky awards us its most heavenly blues,
Nature cries out its joy to our pairing,
Flowers parade forth their brightest of hues,
Our faithful Love is in this, our Sharing.
In our dreams we are eternally slow-dancing.
In our bedroom, eternally true-romancing.
We are bound as kind souls forever true,
As a bird pair, that in blue heavens soars;
You touched my hand and then deep Love I knew,
Triumphs beyond paradise's hidden shores.
This our great blessing, a gift preordained,
Its gleaming morns, as bright as shining dew,
May we this true bliss forever retain
Beauty, as our sweet longings we renew.
Come to me my Love- let thy hand seek mine
Allow yet again, lips that beg thy touch,
For within thy glow, I too can soft shine,
Souls at peace, cherishing life very much.
In our dreams we are eternally slow-dancing.
In our bedroom, eternally true-romancing.
Robert J. Lindley, 11-01-2019
Romanticism, ( Poet's Tribute Series, Lord Byron )
early dawn cracks the wispy air
open , wandering around viscous spaces
like fairy shadows caressing the edge
of sleep… and the days stretch longer,
taller than maple trees delicately rustling
the garnet of late Indian summer when
birds, orbits and urchins listen to
a single searching sun… when all else
is sprawled quiet, there comes this
certain fired imagination straying on
mouths of gentleness far beyond
nuptials of effervescent realms…
someone said morning becomes Electra,
that learning how to hear a pear or
grain unravel the very skin from
which it was born is allowing time to
unfurl its leaves far beyond unknowing a
heart’s need to be: the juice spills streams
waking new faces of time, bending the width
of life's rhyme through endless mystery...
a thousand times before and after, daybreak
and night twine... that in tints of all hues,
passing through fables of any season
is poetry's way of coming back to itself.
Justin Bordner's How Poetry Began Contest
by nette onclaud
Farewell, Youthful Days Of Wading In Crystal Clear Streams
Farewell, the coming dawn and its soft, golden glow
born as infant fawn, a peaceful river in flow
or a memory of life beneath crescent moon
Refreshing breeze, shade's breath, simmering in hot June.
Farewell, that dream, a glory yet to be unfurled
Predawn vision of happiness in this sad world
or true essence of love and its power to heal
Lost soul, gifted again the joy a heart can feel.
Farewell, those whispers of new promising delights
found within romantic scenes on cool moonlit nights
or lingering kiss, given within sweetest zeal
infinite treasure once found, none can ever steal.
Farewell, new discoveries of love, its powers.
Farewell, remembered gems, those passionate fine hours.
Robert J. Lindley, 3-10-2020
A new Sonnet, ( Composed as Tribute to poet, Alfred Noyes )
see my new blog on this amazing poet...
This is written in acknowledgement to the lovely sweet men and wonderful Poets on Poetry Soup who have supported and encouraged me since I first joined. PSST! I’m certain they all have a sweet-tooth.
Demetrius Trifiatis, Silent One, Paul Callus, Victor Buhagiar, Chris Green, Peter Duggan and Darren White, Robert Lindley and George V - A big thank you to all you fine Poets.
I wade to you through peppermint streams
While thoughts of sugar plums dance in my head
And when on land I mark my way
With bright colored jelly beans of green and red
There are lollipop signs with delicious swirls
Atop red and white posts like candy canes
With delectable names like Chocolate Fudge Mews
Caramel Road and Honey Dew Lanes
Sweet Avenues and Streets - a mouth-watering choice
This yellow brick road looks so like Honey comb
Oh did you tell me to turn right or left?
Might take a bit longer to get to your home!
These bushes of delicious coconut cream kisses
And lolly golly bliss bombs ever so blue
Might tarry a bit while I sample these sweet treats
Don’t mind if I do - You won’t mind if I do?
Luscious flowers on that tree just like fairy floss
Oh my! Now this I cannot resist
Just another mouthful for along the way
Then lunch at 12 - you did insist
The ginger bread house that’s just up ahead
With a sweet fence surround like licorice twists
Its then that I see you waving to me
With a large box of chocolates - Oh what bliss!!
By The Glasser Sound Orchestra - Sugar Sugar
POTD 15th June 2017
This misty river, scented sweet
From bare land you enthrall,
To quench the evening's sultry heat
Beside your cooling wall.
Low tide lends splendor to this rite
To twirl upon the dew
Then lacquers every ledge with white;
And powdered shades of blue.
Tanned cacti swoon to windy breeze
Quite mellow to the ear,
And harmony's drooled chant can seize
This desert atmosphere.
. ............ . .
Short Form Contest; Brian Strand
8/6/8/6 syl count--rhyme
"Streams of Gold, Blazing Andromedas"
Engagement came at a cost
the written word read
and worn like a purple robe
to keep out the cold
stave the hunger off,
feed the soul eveything,
Everything, is what it wants,
silky words like feathers
tickle the closed throat,
the lips open the kisses
like envelopes
eternal sweet plumbs,
like losengers
in a glass swear jar
too many now,
innumerable,
judged and fined,
selected and sucked
unreasonably
for some kind longevity,
the life, for all it's worth,
in treacherous weather,
sometimes flounders,
pauses for a while
looking upwards towards
an empty sky searching
and waiting, for far away lost gods,
then uncomfortably dressed,
the robe, loosened, like a pagan,
the written word read
and worn on the outside
like a purple cross,
the stars glittering in
reflective windows,
the view immeasurable,
the external shell
disgarded and dropped
at the feet of absent minded
causes, the reviews smile
like wolves lost, they're
missing the red hoods,
they're missing
the real treasure,
the deep buried plot
the naked pleasure
of walking away
graces a certain freedom
priceless, like rare diamonds
entwined with diamantes,
who can tell the difference now?
twinkling like blazing andromedas
at the distant edge of their worlds
Engagement locked in at a cost
fresh water pearls
au natural, nothing
false here, the
kintsugi veins glow
lux vitae
in fig leaf stories
a naked life shining,
seen running in
broken streams of gold
the missing Page left opening
marked unopened books,
walks like a lost adventurer
through stories
that arrive on leaves
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Nebulous streams, clouding my brain
hoping my thoughts will fall like rain.
Thunder and lightning mix the brew
stirring the words soon to break thru.
Pressure builds up, clouds turn dark gray
swirling and twirling, find their way,
freeing the weight of thoughts that flow
down from the clouds to grow below.
Falling to weave creative streams
nourishing thoughts into word dreams,
forming soon a landscape divine...
rainbow of poems that are mine.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Premiere Contest: What Was I Thinking?
Sponsor: Daniel Turner
Rules: Choose one line from sponsor's poem below
and write a poem. I chose his first line.
Judged: 12/19/2016
Between The Lines, by Daniel Turner
Nebulous streams, clouding my brain
Vapor trail dreams, from paper airplanes
Cherry red glow, watch with no chain
Ribbons and bows, tied to the flames
Anchors on strings, hanging from sails
Bells that don't ring, throw down the pail
Falling through cracks, greased by the sale
Hearts made of wax, sent through the mail
Waterfall wishes on stars with no swings
Broken blue dishes stuck to the king
Photos with glitches on invisible wings
Temptation itches on all living things
Violet
star stream
flowing
across
the
soullessness
of
mundane dream...
Whispering "everything's alright.
She's thriving like a spring fed rose in saintly gardens.
An angel brightly glowing.
...of this dream.
I staggered along a ragged path.
Through a battlefield of metal devils-called "quartered living.
Faith folding and unfolding.
Garnished with ogres slinging burning orbs of fire.
Halos of insanity...
This is when violet star sashayed in.
Soothing me
Shielding me
Her weeping rosary telling me.
That she loved and missed my heart.
Re-fastened our very being with a satin dream kiss.
That had tattered in the talon of time...
lifted me across the bloody broken battered fields.
...into the arms of forever
where the beat of pristinely only flies.
So fly my love, fly ever so softly into me.
If dreams mean anything
I know it won't be long.
till we dance the dance of butterflies.
Over green sprigs and lacy things in a warm summer wind.
In the heart pond of gilded tomorrows.
We'll gently drift about.
Make origami sunflower love.
High upon a gilded glade...
If dreams mean anything
death is just a splash
of black pebbles
in a violet starry stream....
If dreams mean anything,
Strolling by flowing streams I pause,
Pause as waters buff ancient stones,
Stones o'er which water plays its hymns,
Hymns that console my troubled soul!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 7 June 2015 All Rights Reserved
Entry for nette onclaud's "Four Lines Only" Contest (Visual 2)
Tied for No. 1 in the contest.
Meandering rivers, streams and burns
Zig zagging, flowing in contour turns
Sparkling waters as pure as can be
Flow through the glens and down to the seas
Much life is found in these translucent waters
Species of fish, and delightful otters
Along these rivers, streams and burns
Grow many grasses, trees and ferns
Varieties of greens in wonderment bloom
A most beautiful sight is natures front room
Her seasons dictate, the rise and the fall
The pictures she paints, delightfully enthrals
These graceful rivers, streams and burns
Lured us to settle, for beside the seas we yearned
Villages turned into towns, and towns into cities
For the lure of these waters, some murky some pretty
For all around the world, the patterns the same
These are just a few, the Thames, Ness and the Seine
Look after all waters as they are all our concern
Our meandering rivers, streams and burns
" My entry into Brian's contest Flow, River, Flow "
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-4.php
Shallow ,transient
fearfully blue
ingnorant eyes
images untrue.
Trouble,torment
a different hue
stains that shame
dull yet new.
It's a daydream,awake
a nightmare asleep
It's not as it seems
what does it mean?
Brooding,pensive
selfless sincere
a meaningless pursuit
clothes inner fear.
This troubled mind
symmetrical haze
transient thoughts
an everlasting maze.
It's a daydream,awake
a nightmare asleep
It's not as it seems
what does it mean?
Fears unsaid
effort stillborn
clarify contracts
notions forlorn.
A sensory vision
impromptu,unbidden
nowhere to hide
nothing now hidden.
It's a daydream,awake
a nightmare asleep
It's not as it seems
what does it mean?
Wading In Coolest Streams Of Subconscious Delights
Often I wish my life had been a lost feather,
blowing up high within a sea swept moaning gale.
Lost but quite content in such furious weather
spirit justly weighted upon a cosmic scale.
Often this young heart seeks even greater release
wading in coolest streams of subconscious delights.
Seeking love and joy greater than a golden fleece
rapture, tender arms of my lover winter nights.
R.J. Lindley
Simple Rhymes from (Words From My Muse)
Private Journal
June 24th, 1972
Note: Written many, many centuries ago it now seems..
Forty-five years have now flown by as if a fleeting summer breeze.
Drink Thee, Cool Water From Hope's Bright, Clear Streams
( Hold True, Hope Shall Reward Thee )
Hope soars so far above earth's highest peak
miracles given the strong and the weak.
Rest thy weary soul in Hope's dear reprieves
not in man's vanity that so deceives.
In Love and Mercy's realms, Hope's truth resides
maintain thee faith to make colossal strides.
Obey thy heart, hold true to thy sweet dreams
drink thee, cool water from Hope's bright, clear streams.
Look forward in that O' so brilliant Light
walk thee not in blindness of despair's night.
In heart's deep desire, rests Hope's great treasure
by deep faith, receive thy fullest measure.
With candle lit, fear not night and dark pain.
On that true path, Hope will always remain.
Robert J. Lindley, 5-11-2017
Sonnet(10,10,10,10)
Part Four- of Hope and its greatest treasures.
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Words: 110
Note: This the fourth of the five to be written, was extremely hard for me to compose. I hope it has not disappointed and has maintained the high standard
of this 5 part composition on the great treasures Hope so often rewards the faithful.
Panes of dirty glass conceal the past
where futures were tied to land and soil.
And pa fingers a hand full of dirt
reflecting on years of pain and toil.
A rusty sun bronzes a foil star
ma hung in the window for good luck.
And a small candle awaits a match
to defend against the dark when struck.
Hunger gnaws at our empty stomachs,
everything we plant is doomed to die.
And yet, ma slips me and pa a smile,
showing us where her loyalties lie.
Looking up to a burnt almond sky,
she searches for clouds other than dust.
And scans for life in neighboring homes
long ago left to decay and rust.
Abandoning a dream lost to time,
ma loses hope and accepts defeat.
And I can see the pain in pa's eyes,
the trickling tears mocking his conceit.
California calls in shades of green,
with lush pastures and clear mountain streams.
And common sense says that we must move
far from this dust bowl of dying dreams.
(Quatrain)
9/23/2017