Best Syrupy Poems
punctuation walks
on eggshells
when
words like
water
falls
flow into nothingness,
soaked in syrupy syllables
behind veiled vowels
assonance is the twin of
consonance as
a e i o u
are an
unfinished bridge
without connection
of consonants
weaved together
in visible
unspoken actions
woven without words
just like rhythmic meter
of thunder with lightning
like a lost refrain in a poem
assembled with enjambment
metaphorical reflections of a
reflective metaphor portray a
m i r a g e less sincere than silence
value blossoms
when the body adopts
a gospel language
where speech
is unnecessary
unless expressed
through true
dialects of conduct
without the use of
lyrical accessories.
Categories:
syrupy, analogy, words,
Form:
Verse
Within Passion's Dream
A Collaboration with Michael P. Clarke (Vladislav Raven)
Within Passion's Dream I hold you close beside the Ocean of Love.
I behold God's heavenly stars and they hold not the beauty of your temple.
You are the glory in my every thought and dream,
let me taste of your divine lips and love shall flow.
Come dance with me through love's divinity;
oh beauty of my heaven your love does sing.
You are all my tomorrows wrapped in a beauteous dream,
come my beloved in the love we share Within Passion's Dream.
Within Passion’s Dream, you are eternally mine,
as we nestle in the ardent arms of an orange-adorned full moon.
Let me enrapture you with the warmth of my legs and breasts,
entwining you in my vines, drinking deeply from the goblet of love.
Electrified by your sensuous caresses that awaken all my senses,
my beloved, your essence seeps into the pores of my very soul.
Whirling in ecstasy from the sweetness of honeydew kisses,
we twinkle through a star-studded Milky Way Within Passion’s Dream.
Within Passion's Dream I am enraptured by our love,
your temple joining with mine in a passion primal in its bearing.
Let stardust caress us as in love's magic we dwell,
your lips on mine and divinity's song is sung.
I lose myself in the eyes of an angel's face,
swimming deep within memories vision.
One heart, one soul, paradise our aim,
I find your eternal beauty ever before me Within Passion's Dream.
Within Passion’s Dream, I behold the wonder that is you,
sprinkling sunbeams and moonbeams showering me with your love.
Bodies and souls merging, we waltz to melodies
of a celestial symphony divinely orchestrated.
Like juicy golden grapes on a ripened vine,
unabashedly spurting their syrupy sweet wine,
tender tendrils of our love do gently unfold and
our hearts chime in rhapsodic harmony Within Passion’s Dream.
01-18-2017
Poem of the Day - 01-20-2017
Note: Mike wrote the 1st and 3rd stanzas, while I wrote the 2nd and 4th stanzas.
Thank you my friend, Mike for inviting me to collaborate with you on this piece, for your wonderful inspiration, and making it easy for me!
Categories:
syrupy, love, romance,
Form:
Romanticism
"Bonjour, in the cocktail woods"
I see the waffled leaves of teal trees painting pink moon,
With diamond dahlia arcs, flowering an orchid boon
Sprinkling love of french perfumed spells and cocoa mystique,
Flickering in neon scented star seeds of rose-glossed antique
For, I'm the fragrant fluorescence of pure peace lilies,
Floating amidst dancing dove's glowing daisies
In a redolent riverbank, loving life like the sweet butter-sun,
Wandering in black forests, enveloping magic in red ribbons
Defrosting my white chocolate heart peeking through tinkles,
Singing beyond the glass petals of peony and snowdrop marvels;
Perhaps, plush strawberries too have starry scars,
On their silken ganache skin, bleached with calendula and mars
And my luscious butterscotch lips tremble at the blurry squeaks,
Ruffled by minty chills in my cherry-blushed cheeks
I search for addictive caffeine in gold-glazed dawns that bask,
Pouring nectarine reveries in lavender litchi hearts
Life's a bittersweet syrupy sea, coated with tangy rainbow hues,
Forlorn, this forbidden folklore is shaded with sycamore's adieus
They say, mocha pupils and vanilla haze of iris,
Can carve a melon hued watercolor portrait alive,
But I believe that the purest is never a sweet dessert survived,
In this delusional donut-shaped globe and tangerine beehive;
So, I shove my identity in Van Gogh's abstractly bejeweled canvas,
And let my caramel brown hair, gleam in golden hymns of aqua
Waving walnut "goodbyes" to velvet ochre sands and sapphire skies,
Forevermore, fluttering hummingbird's dreams in oscillating flamingo galaxies.
Categories:
syrupy, angel, deep, fantasy, imagery,
Form:
Rhyme
Childhood Days
I’d heap spoonfuls of sugar in my tea
I wouldn’t drink it without it you see
That sweet syrupy drink
Wasn’t poured down the sink
Every single drop was supped up by me!
Adulthood
Dad’s diabetes made me think -
Did I need to sweeten my drink
So I cut sugar out
And I don’t have a doubt
I’m slimmer and I’m in the pink
Contest: Two Lenses
Sponsor Sara Kendrick
02~20~16
Categories:
syrupy, father daughter, health, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
The Butterfly Flutters By
On a steamy, sun-drenched, summer Sunday,
tree leaves delightfully dancing to the tune of
a warm, welcoming, wandering breeze blowing,
metamorphosis now complete,
no memory of being yesterday’s creeping caterpillar,
the butterfly flutters by.
Blatantly, brazenly, boastfully,
showing off beautiful, brilliant, blue-black and brown wings,
gracefully gliding through a breathtaking, glorious garden,
the butterfly shyly pitches from blushing,
boldly-colored, buds to fragrant flowers,
cunningly outmaneuvering a competing, hovering hummingbird.
Slyly snatching a satisfying taste of tantalizing, syrupy sweet nectar
from attention-craving, Golden Flame Honeysuckle vines,
the butterfly flutters by
cheerfully and completely satiated -
perhaps, already dreaming about
tomorrow’s anticipated sugary feast!
05-25-2014
Contest: Highest Views (08-30-2015)
Sponsor: Casarah Nance
Placement: 10th
Contest: My Last Contest (02-17-2015)
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Placement: 4th
Contest: The Butterfly Flutters By (06-03-2014)
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Placement: 3rd
Categories:
syrupy, beauty, butterfly, garden, nature,
Form:
Alliteration
It ain't the pork, it ain't the beans
It ain't the mustard on saltines
It ain't the redneck social scenes
I love about the south
It ain't the ice cold sweet southern tea
It ain't the way that we say please
It ain't the way we lemon squeeze
I love about the south
It ain't the perfect slice of pecan pie
It ain't the wink in the bullfrog's eyes
It ain't the fireflies that light the night
I love about the south
It ain't the way we say yes ma'am
When you visit Alabam
It ain't the attitude of yes we can
I love about the south
It ain't the way that we say ya'll
With the syrupy sweet southern draw
No it ain't none of that at all
I love about the south
It's the crisp clear starry nights
Through the shifting shadows of the loblolly pine
As I stand here with your hand in mine
I love about the south
Just the fact that you are here
And that I can hold you near
As I hear you call me dear
I love about the south
I actually love everything about the South.....
Categories:
syrupy, humor, love,
Form:
Free verse
Winter’s cold chill cuts through my chin.
Within its bleak and brazen embrace,
My brisk days are turned brief and barren.
They are lengthened into sordid sepulchral insomniac nights.
I slither and slip and am hurled into hibernation.
Once I stood with you immune to wanton winter’s wild whiplash.
You wrapped me warm from the wrath of winter’s whirlwind.
Our life moved in homogeneous harmony.
With one glaring glance from you, my heart hummed halcyon tunes.
I danced blissfully in tandem to your sweet soulful songs.
Your luminous, lambent light shone brightly,
Blazing the dark and desolate caves and crevices within me.
Now I stand and stay rooted like the trunk of a leafless tree,
Giving no shelter or shade to anyone.
With despondent dread and disappointment,
I watch the sap and serum in me going dry,
And the feathers on my wings wilt and wither like dead leaves.
With the flaming fire put out, winter has brashly barged into my life.
My lips once so eloquent now have fallen still and silent.
All the words I have carefully gleaned and garnered,
Have slipped and slid into a bottomless abyss, never to be heard again.
My lulling lyrics are replaced with the reverberating refrains of a lament.
An icy crystallization is speedily spreading,
Through my sentient soul like an ache, I have never known.
Grey cumulus clouds of pain have rolled into steal,
All light, luster and luminosity from my bright sky.
Now my world has cracked and crumbled into a bleak void of grey.
I twitch and tremble in cold as you have withdrawn your warmth.
A late realization has now daringly dawned outside my door.
I am not to perish and putrefy in this cold,
But be dauntless and dashing to fight, thaw and tread my way,
Battle the intense cold in flaming, flaring fires.
After every frosty and freezing winter, other seasons will arrive .
Summer is an inviolable and unassailable power within,
And in its warmth I can vanquish the chilling cold.
I shall wake up with a syrupy sweet song in my lips
And find myself in the luminous light of a dawning day!
Categories:
syrupy, depression, fate, hope, love,
Form:
Alliteration
They start thick—
not the polite kind you stir into tea
not the mild drizzle on breakfast toast
but the kind that runs hot
slow
dangerous
coating your tongue before you grasp
the price of its pleasure.
They start golden—
dripping off the comb
sun pressed into their marrow
too rich, too syrupy—
gumming up the gears of your schemes
too luminous for hands that flinch from light
too wild for walls meant to contain them.
You want squeeze-bottle love.
Clean.
No bees.
No stingers.
No buzz.
But they ferment in kitchens
where no one thanks them—
same way their grandmothers did
spooning fire into each serving
stinging their own tongues
just to stay sharp—
drizzling down your better judgment staining
Sunday shirts
unraveling wedding vows
spilling past boundaries
no one asked them to obey.
They get called—
too much.
too loud.
too open.
too shut—
like they were born to fit into your grip
instead of slipping right through it.
You try to jar them.
Slap on barcodes:
Best before.
Handle with care.
Discount if damaged
for quick sale.
But wild honey won’t kneel—
it contradicts logic
defies preservation
reason
perfumes the air
wrecks your thirst for tradition.
You mistook raw for reckless
Reckless for ruin
Ruin for something to fear.
You laughed when they wept—
like grief was a spectacle
like tenderness was weak
like softness
was a defect to be filtered out.
But by the time you realize
she’s the rarest thing
you ever tasted—
she’s already sweetening
the hands that never swatted her
And now,
we sit here—
jars without lids,
spoons still sticky—
trying to remember
what it meant to taste something
that never begged to be caged.
Maybe—
the glass wasn’t meant to hold her.
Maybe—
it was meant to shatter—
to let something wild
and feral
flood in
and leave you
pleading
for ruin.
—it’s a reckoning,
unapologetic,
untamed,
final.
Categories:
syrupy, extended metaphor, fire, freedom,
Form:
Lyric
Back home, I ponder long on life.
Death is so final, no return.
I sit alone on my sheltered cosy porch,
And think of spring forget-me-nots,
Of roses dark as festive damask,
And swaying poppies red and gold.
Of summer figs and yellow gourds,
Of sweet delicious melons,
And mouth-watering peaches
Syrupy and luscious and juicy,
While sunsets turned to red
And moons shone on my love.
So I will not bid her goodbye.
Others may wail, lament and cry.
I shall live on, unattended
And relive the happy endless days,
The haunting lullabies of my love.
Categories:
syrupy, death of a friend,
Form:
Free verse
The moon ripe as a Georgia peach,
plopped itself upon the blue-blackened,
scalloped edge of the deciduous forest,
topping the syrupy squiggle of horizon
as it bled into the blue velvet night.
Categories:
syrupy, nature
Form:
Free verse
Love's Like Sugar Cane
Tender tendrils
of the same vine,
we entwine
with hearts a fluttering,
beating ecstatically as one,
floating on wings
of iridescent butterflies,
satisfyingly satiated by
love juices squeezed from an
orange, bright summer day.
Cherry blossom kisses
from pink juicy lips,
sprouting silky petals
that pucker and quiver,
anticipating warm, tropical,
sugar cane, sweet licks.
Blissfully drunk with love,
we sip and dip
into the golden syrupy
ocean of us.
07-24-2015
Contest: The Poet's Fire (12-07-2017)
Sponsor: Gregory R Barden
Placement: 1st
Contest: A Sexy Surreal (06-11-2017)
Sponsor: Lewis Raynes
Plaement: 3rd
Contest: One of your Best (01-07-2016)
Sponsor: Rob Carmack
Placement: 4th
Contest: Shweet Free Verse (07-29-2015)
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Placement: 3rd
Categories:
syrupy, love, romance, sensual, sexy,
Form:
Free verse
The ladder backed pecker,
like a prison uniform.
Caught-up in exposing
the truth beneath the bark,
of the poet's apple tree.
We prefer ourself in spring;
with tiny little flowers,
and the fruit of possibility.
Yet, if not for the woodpecker,
tapping holes into poems,
we might not ever see
the flesh and blood of raw meat.
I will climb that ladder back,
escape pre-decreed standards.
Tap into that syrupy mixture
and suck-out truth from hard wood.
Yes, lessons from a jail bird.
A pest in the Avian Kingdom.
Wisdom from the little rebel,
beat-out of a tree.
Categories:
syrupy, angst, animals, imagination, inspirational,
Form:
Ode
Ode to a Persimmon
Ahhh!
Ripe, juicy, pulpy persimmon…
plump berry, mini orange sun.
Syrupy sweet delicious delight
dangling golden in day’s bright light,
on blue-green leafy branch up high,
glossy under a summer sky.
Fleshy ambrosial enchantress,
nectar of Pomona, fruit goddess.
Like a bee to honey I’m drawn;
your flavor incites me to fawn.
My greedy taste buds you excite,
tempting me to come take a bite.
Dangling golden in day’s bright light,
syrupy sweet delicious delight.
Tempting me to come take a bite,
my greedy taste buds you excite.
Plump berry, mini orange sun…
ripe, juicy, pulpy persimmon.
Ahhh!
08-02-2018
Categories:
syrupy, fruit, tribute,
Form:
Ode
He's a WORD Casanova
He butters them up
Gives sips from his cup
words syrupy sweet
a tasty love treat
makes the girls swoon
to his sensual croon
The Word Casanova
His words are his charm
they dismantle alarm
“sugar and spice”
and they gush..."OH…SO... NICE!"
Demanding submission
to his domination
He metes out a rule
and watches them drool
The Word Casanova
The thing that's obscene
In his plan, in his scheme
He plays and he preys
as his trap there he lays
he wants every one
each heart must be won
Not content to befriend
Wants much more in the end...
The Word Casanova
So he hurts and he maims
And they writhe as he blames...
Ladies….LADIES!!
It's just a game...a GAME
What a shame!
The Word Casanova
This is a poem I wrote some time ago but deleted when I was considering leaving this place. I'm slowly reposting my deleted poems. I'm fully aware that a woman can play this role as well....a Casanovette! It is not gender specific
Categories:
syrupy, words, writing,
Form:
Rhyme
Halloween - Jeepers Creepers
Zany zombies lumber and stumble on streets,
as vain vampires stalk for bloody treats.
Syrupy blood oozes from water faucets,
and gory goonies crawl out of cob-webbed closets.
Best time of year for the terrifying undead,
with menacing monsters lurk under every child's bed.
Ghastly ghouls and fearsome ghosts appear,
while ominous shadows with red eyes hover and glare.
Wily witches with dark demons gleefully gloat,
and sorrowful souls suffer in purgatory and float.
Too late for confession -
no chance for absolution.
No one can hear your soundless screams,
for this is much worse than your worst nightmarish dreams.
There’s no escape from this unholy hell.
This is where eternal dread dwell!
Categories:
syrupy, halloween, horror,
Form:
Rhyme