Best Stubbled Poems
A view of the ragged woodland from
The window:-
Slender branched trees that shed
From high above to low below;
The faint, mauven peaks
Smattered with barely visible
Scatterings of drifted snow;
Across the matted undergrowth
A bronzed carpet of copper coloured
Leaves
Whose rusting hue,
Momentarily ignited by stray
Sunbeams weakly smouldering,
Briefly refurbished -
Deceives with all the colours of a
Rainbow...
From vibrant red through to shy
Hints of indigo;
Those vague outlines indicating
Receding hills;
Here, arising, long ago, every waking
Dawning,
The creaking structures
Of groaning and imposing mills;
Soon a slow thawing that quickly
Spills
Into the trickling replenishments
Of many gushing and silvery little
Rills.
Enchantment gripped me!
And I found myself wistfully
Thinking...
Maybe, perhaps, maybe, somewhere,
Just behind where the great
Flattening Orb
Is now rapidly shrinking,
That I might, by perchance, find,
If I did so hope to bravely dare,
To happen upon a hidden and
Sedentary way of life up there?
That, forgotten, has turned its
Back on the social conflicts
Plagued by the curses of ingrained
Vice;
Encumbering a soul with its petty
Squabblings,
Imposing upon with demands and
Avarice...
When placing unnecessary burdens
On a honest bodies daily call
Of grinding toil and wearisome
Strife!
And still stood,
With hands outstretched upon the
Painted sill,
At the waist half-bent,
Now troubled by quiet mutterings
In an inexplicable sorts
Of self-imposed discontent,
My staid consciousness almost
Unawares,
As, momentarily distracted,
I hesitated, and, unseeing,
Inattentively stared...
Until...
A ragged chapter of cawing Daws,
Loudly jabbering overhead,
Suddenly wheeled -
And upwardly soared!
Whereupon, in murderous haste,
Awkwardly fled
When laboriously stealing away
Back inside the stubbled fields...
Thus causing me to slowly straighten;
Whilst, with a singular heartfelt pang,
Liken a moorland mist slowly rolling
Over
That indivisibly conceals...
Drew shut the sullen curtains, which,
Heavily embroidered with indeterminate
finality,
Dejectedly hang...
Each draped aside of the cold
Reveals.
Categories:
stubbled, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Posting early on a dozing suburban
hill
Mays warming morning rises and
Gently wakes.
The dewy hares move through the
Earthy till,
Small dry twigs the nesting pigeons
take.
Blue-high sky clear as an Ocean
Layers the heat upon red brick
streets;
Roads built over stubbled tracts
Deeply rutted from the ploughs
devotion,
Where once great fields of swaying
wheat.
Covered by neat gardens of square
disproportion
where blackbirds scold and tumble
Between the breeze;
Rushing madly through the tangled,
Variegated fauna,
Dashing around lines of neatly
Planted trees.
Quietly strolling the waking hour
Comes brightly,
Tripping like the splashing, pebble
Washed stream:
Wistfully recalling the woodsman,
Elk, and otter,
As it flows away,
Forever lost in dreams.
Categories:
stubbled, may,
Form:
Rhyme
A storm blew in when I peered into those dark eyes
Fearing lightning would strike in bolts of midnight fire
Wanting his touch, though it might lead to my demise
Then full lips swept over mine, igniting desire
Thunder roared in my head with each deepening kiss
I heard it drumming in warm breaths against my ear
Fingertips danced lightly over naked skin. This
serenade sings in my heart each time he draws near
Desperate urges and needs filled my torrid mind
I murmured in soft sighs against his stubbled cheek
whispers of hunger I'd never before defined
He sated desires I'd never thought I should seek
Love was a passionate storm at my husband's side
Where we floated on waves higher than at flood tide
Categories:
stubbled, desire,
Form:
Sonnet
I smile at you but you can't see
My back is resting 'gainst your chest
Without this harness I'm so free
Your back's my favourite place to rest
You hold me up in your strong grip
My afro hair's tickling your face
I giggle when you sneeze, and slip
A kiss on your full lips, and trace
A finger along your stubbled jaw
Before I gaze in your brown eyes
Where all I needed I just saw:
A love so deep, without disguise.
***
January 23, 2017
Categories:
stubbled, boy, boyfriend, love, men,
Form:
Quatrain
Feeling Whole
Here I lay, my head
upon your chest
Not long ago we
gave each our best
Head rides with
every fall and rise
Escapes from my lips
a few soft sighs
Feel the steady thumping
of your heart
From this place I wish
to never part
Reaching up to stroke
your stubbled cheek
Handsome face fits
your fine physique
I trace your mouth
with my fingertips
What joy was brought
from those lips
Soft hot lips left
a burning trail
Over my body like
they read braille
Stubbled cheek my
skin it would burn
As your lips made my
body again yearn
The secrets your
lips told my flesh
Had my passion
burning fresh
When they taste my
moist wet passion
Made my back arc
up with its reaction
Your lips seemed to
touch my soul
Leaving my body
shaking feeling whole
Categories:
stubbled, longing, love,
Form:
Rhyme
A poem should be a candle
that brings human feelings to light;
moving like a stubbled shadow
across the face of tomorrow.
And its rhythm should be inviting,
soliciting raw emotions
from within the depths of your soul;
where both Angels and Demons dwell.
Its language should be conversant,
conveying the writer's message
in a relatable fashion;
emotional and personal.
And it should be free of the lies
that ignorance perpetuates;
freeing feelings with wizened words
that cut deeper than any blade.
Categories:
stubbled, feelings, how i feel,
Form:
Blank verse
Warning - Mature.
Sweet night, a blanket made from scented space - holds this would-be poet in its arms.
Tightly - yet with care. Caring - yet with passion. Smiles her heart. Trembles her dreams. Hides them silverine in moments indescribable. Night caresses her spirit with unspoken thoughts, echoing from places foreign to her understanding.
From time taken by liberties, he waits, stubbled chin resting in broad cupped palm. He longs for her. Needs in the flame of passion's roar to fly that time long laid in stone.
Clouds drift. Days flee. Eons wreak weather to endless confusion. Creatures fall within time. Fossils lie crushed in their past. Ocean drowns land. Land erupts from water. Breathing rents the air. One step. A second. Knees buckle. She waits in her wondering why and what.
Hidden within cloud where the highest mountains touch the sky, the man sits. Alone, he is, wrapped in silence. He groans, wanting. Weeps. Prays to the gods, calls to the elements. Weeps more.
A sound, gentle, soft said, drifts space. Man hears. Wonders. Frowns. Understands. Wanting becomes pain. He groans. He moans. He laughs! Somewhere, she sleeps!
A rippled breath gasps my palm,
floats 'tween fingers flexed,
darts space behind my ear, laughs my neck
caressing thoughts I've not yet dreamed..
what language now,
what meanings, what delight,
pray tell?
you touch me with a hint of
honeyed power -
oh sybarite -
wrap me in heat so high I sizzle in my sleep..
look me.. sheet rushed aside I wait,
I moan, I sigh
to float 'tween fingers formed too much,
intentions still unsure but now.. oh now..
you lean forward
closer..
closer..
inhaling deeply..
sensing my gender
sighing -
sighing yet more
until..
temptation dared
and passion flared
I soar, I fly,
thereby -
thereby
however perceived
evol becomes reality
turned inside out upon its cap of what you will
emotions motion..
tumble in
turn and
turnabout,
spinning words, knitting language into shape..
explorers of such subjects
binding heart to hope and - yes
exotic inamorati all,
lie bed or floor or chair or shore
let loose that secret word
that spell - that lost civility
from A past where and when
when
one word
once found
once felt
once shared
was is forever..
love
Categories:
stubbled, love, passion,
Form:
Free verse
Silver
glistens on bark,
cloud mountains fill the sky-
long shadows paint the stubbled earth
yellow.
Categories:
stubbled, autumn, seasons,
Form:
Cinquain
Just 30 little days in which to turn around
A whole new season, new school year
The cooled breeze scented with academia,
apples and the most tenacious of roses
Spiders invading bathtubs, lazy bees
Stubbled fields, the grass now yellow
where emerald blades once flourished
6 Sept 2011
Categories:
stubbled, nature, seasons,
Form:
Free verse
I make no apologies
I am natures child
Risen from the dust
Only to return when I die
I make no apologies
That I sauntered when you tried
But I lauded the accomplishments you derived
I make no apologies
That from the spring of my youth
I have grown old, learning the truth
I make no apologies
Though tears I cry
Of a fading love about to die
I rode your waves,I explored your oceans
But I was sunk with loveless emotions
I make no apologies
For taking flight
Leaving the darkness
Seeking the light
I make no apologies
For the colour of my skin
My big brown eyes, my stubbled chin
So formed and blessed with African ways
Glowing brighter on sunny days.
Categories:
stubbled, parody,
Form:
Free verse
SANTA'S SURPRISE
Santa Claus stripped off his beard and red suit
And left the show in the officers’ mess
Pulling the last tiny pieces of cotton wool from his stubbled chin
As he ran to his position
At the end of the starboard bow catapult of the Carl Vinson
Eighty feet above the stormy grey Arabian Sea
He watched as far off down the flight deck
The final touches manoeuvred the F22 into the cradle
Its ordnance today a hundred kilogram fragmentation device
For a rebel bunker in Afghanistan an hour’s flying time away
A surprise delivery for them;
The salt wind whipped the last cotton from his face.
Then his thumb pressed the green all-clear button
Engine screamed to maximum and the catapult released
The flying load into the grey sky. Another successful delivery.
He checked his area of the mechanism after the aircraft blurred past
And hurried back inside to finish his Christmas dinner
Merry Christmas Santa, they all yelled as he came in again.
Categories:
stubbled, war, christmas, christmas, flying,
Form:
Prose Poetry
My eyes are watching you, your eyes are watching me
But all the thoughts you’ve gathered, could never ever see
The memories lying, dying here inside of me
It was a cold hard wind that blew, through the frozen fields of corn
Where I would run and hide alone, from children's evil scorn
And the vision of it all, is like a bad dream ripped and torn
But not yet dead in my sharp and crystal mind
But that was many years ago, a sad and painful place in time
Tonight I’m here with Sarah, at the musty Saturn Bar
Her hand caressing slowly, across my shiny new guitar
Her tired eyes were closing, while I sang my favorite song
But not because of pleasure, but of her several drinks so strong
The expression that she wore, said she wants to hear no more
For her the music died, as my guitar so gently cried
I want no kiss goodbye, the passion in me died
I walked her to the door, while she stubbled ‘cross the floor
And in time she left my sight, on this cold and windy night
Now I play my sweet guitar, at the musty Saturn Bar
Categories:
stubbled, girlfriend,
Form:
Rhyme
AUDIO: Vienna Boys Choir, 'Pachelbel's Canon in D Major'
Trees II By Alfred Joyce Kilmer's Admirer
Methinks thus I
shalt naught e'er see,
A poem lovely
as this here tree,
Doth sun thus shine
its countenance,
Gift tree whose loft,
spreads its expanse,
Its girth above,
neath midst remained,
Flicks of light burst,
like windows stained,
The trunk weighs down,
the cradled youth,
Internal weave
exploits the root,
Limbed tree who hath,
purged forth hugged vein,
Thereon, ventures
long with its frame,
Styled tree stabled
in wonderment,
Our learned life begs
our testament,
The tree tilled naught,
nor didst we toil,
Providence hath,
sprung from the soil,
God giveth life,
sips and savors,
Graced from seed thus,
tree He favors,
Seasons race on,
timely fashion,
The Divine hath
shewn compassion,
A poet writes
in praise of trees,
Songs made of these
sweet melodies,
'Tis well-rehearse
endowed in verse,
Fool cool's elbows
and stubbled toes,
A quill at ease
a chapter seize,
Joyce 'Trees' as goes
only He knows.
2020 December 23
Categories:
stubbled, tree,
Form:
Rhyme
Into Young Womanhood
this glorious role, sans
helping beget and nurture thine first born
three day shy of Christmas 1996,
fills thy being
with joie de vivre and doth add dorn
more resplendent than any horn
of plenty, and aye can only imagine
more precious than fine spun gold
ah...how this papa doth recall,
when he didst hold
and/or swaddle his edenic bundle of joy
and taking stock,
how she (christened
Eden Liat) didst mold
herself into an autonomous offspring,
rarely receiving a scold
cuz, she most times seemed well mannered
and infrequently told,
and thus said benevolent prized progeny
required no special programming nor app
even when a child, adolescent or,
latte (sipping) teen,
this genetic bounty evinced
laser like thinking
with a custom made thinking cap
although...yes, (there erupted a verbal flap
toward the missus or me,
(the latter and former
markedly differed asper child rearing,
which unseen rift
engendered a figurative gap
mollycoddling, holding, consoling,
et cetera distraught daughter on me lap
which cradling, fas incubating, rocking...,
which oft found
this biomedically cherished baby taking her nap
twas at such poignant bonding moments,
aye DID NOT decry the parent trap,
thus now, special "gifts"
with bittersweet motions bespeak
as tears (viz - ode to joy)
stream down each stubbled cheek
this middle aged grown man,
doth recollect with embarrassment
how as a teen thyself as classic "geek"
whereat mine demeanor extremely meek
AND let NO chanced avail
for one to take a peak
and now...unstoppable
grievousness awoke,
oh no...nothing un speak
or print able did occur only a human weak
ness, when thine voice
un-necessarily raised yet,
blink back moistened
slightly crowsfeet darkened eyes set
tills within this intelligent
well read and let
hard bloke accepts the "circle game of life"
...listening to thee
beautiful, charming, exemplary dulcet
an em ma nant treasured
valuable accouterment tummy life...
YOU BET!
Categories:
stubbled, 12th grade, absence, daughter,
Form:
Elegy
...that builds its scaffolding within
neuro-rivulets
brain tidy
or caught in random whims
to form a sense of self
memory, where it resides
with packed up boxes of old photos
sometimes in mistakes made
that rub me the wrong way
like the gray torn threads of frozen seams
no microscope needed
recalling
a spring of sprawling promises
in a stubbled field where lovers once cooed
memory tousled like skipping ropes abandoned
or in your grandmother's hands craddling tea
fitting thoughts of tip-toed dancing
or childhood blips of snatching snowflakes
on tongues and lashes
sometimes the shoes it wears are boots in war song blues
or slippers that breeze through rosebud dreams
sleighs down hills
and sugar apples at Halloween
beyond the frame of what has ceased
memories like rock yokes about our necks
or the morning bread on which to feast
Categories:
stubbled, childhood, growing up, humanity,
Form:
Free verse