Best Tarp Poems
This Aphrodite rose
slowly unfurls
pink ombre balms
of sun-kissed
springfalls,
as the luminous
lake of tears
cascade in
exotic wreaths
of honey-soaked
velvety sepals,
there succulent seeds
of zestful dawns adorned
our silken sheets
across luscious meadows
sprinkled with
glistening cosmic dust.
Yet neon streaks
of longing unveiled;
romanticized rainbows
engrossed within
fire opal clouds,
awaiting to drizzle
pleasing odes,
amalgamated with
drops of opium
meant to reveal
skeletons and secrets,
sculptured as
sultry souvenirs
of seasonal streams.
But ripples of reminiscences
reflect how
you and I
weathered howling winds
through unseelie storms
of oppressed lovers,
gliding in sync
to the echoes
of midnight screams,
rising from
sumptuous seas.
So, tonight, as curtains
fall in
hues of dusky dews,
cover me in sunrise
when the bleeding heart,
of blue-laced estuaries,
rhymes with
sangria vesper time,
where tomorrow’s
ocean ferries
purge prose
that never denies.
Let fervent
pearls pulverize
my colossal tarp
as the morning glows;
I ponder,
do mourning petals show,
the folly of
moonlit melancholy?
For you’ve devoured
the alluring depths
of campfire stories,
burning
untouched edges
within our twin souls,
whilst
cosmos
trembled
and sighed
in poetic ecstasy ~
we seized our
unsung melody…
For this
remains
as an
untold version
of our
dangerous glory~
etched on cupid’s
amethyst arrow.
Categories:
tarp, feelings,
Form:
Free verse
The dank petrichor of grainy night,
meters stand like gravestones,
the obsidian avenue slick as a sapphire,
windowed granite rising in sharp cut shadows,
wind gusting, tumbleweed clouds somersaulting
in a moonless ghost town.
I jingle keys with atonal sky
and listen to my footsteps on concrete
ticking like a clock.
There are places to be.
I hasten my step as rain drops resume,
one by one mounting into a riotous crowd.
Umbrella-less, I am soon sopping,
hair a wet carpet, suit a gray saturated tarp,
the briefcase and tote onyx boulders.
My car is still a block away,
but eventually I reach it
like a leaf washing down stream.
The tote slips off my shoulder
as I stoop to retrieve fallen keys
lying in a shallow puddle like a shattered talisman.
Suddenly I begin laughing,
dropping everything in the street,
my face skyward, arms splayed like a crucifix.
Now there is no tomorrow,
only the farce of my predicament,
standing like a drowned coyote howling
at the moon as though it would be there forever.
Categories:
tarp, imagery, night, rain,
Form:
Carpe Diem
The chartreuse pearls hung on the pregnant vine
as whispered jade of leaves in autumn breeze.
The necklaces of trellis did entwine
like clefs of absinthe notes in verdant keys.
Limes envied grapes reflecting fervent sun,
bright clusters for musicians then to splay
in shamrock fields with fables to be spun
of emeralds and pears in harvest play.
Cerulean spread 'cross effulgent sky
when came the time for plucking of the harp.
Lithe fingers did each picker then apply
and place with grace refrains upon the tarp.
In peridot the countryside rejoiced
while to reprise fruition gave a voice.
Categories:
tarp, autumn, color, imagery, metaphor,
Form:
Sonnet
`
Love, to you
nothing more than washed away graffiti,
once dripping along the
mismatched bricks of this worn facade
where tattoos mean forever . . .
even when they fade
A clutched lamppost,
scarred and dented, a fake shade of green
meant only for leaning
and illuminating handbills advertising
high rent in the slums,
supports me
As I look beyond the littered gutters
needing a good rain to wash away the past
where you left me standing again,
uncovered, exposed . . .
winter called and thinking it was you,
(it had the same chill affect) I answered
I thought you were it, that thing that I needed,
not a leaking roof draped in a blue tarp,
but the east to my west
when my direction pointed north
until you ran south
taking it all with you
Beyond my control,
you laughed at love, (cackled)
thought you knew better,
cut holes in my umbrella
and then prayed for rain,
while my life was already drowning
You gave it and took it
and with my happiness in tow
on that one way street
where “No Vacancy” signs were misspelled,
drove away, drove away from me,
tail lamps and your heart . . . never braking
11/12/19
Written for the Pale Shelter Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Categories:
tarp, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
Tufted white-tops
on pale beige staggered-stalks,
the coneflowers crowns
dressed the perennial bed;
leaning precariously against
the conical mushroomesque birdbath.
Snow, soft and wet wrapped the grape arbor like ermine;
making trellises reminiscent of Kanji on a blank page.
Fragile, frozen, flowers hung decoratively,
from frail clematis twined about cedar posts.
Brittle brown maple leaves, left behind by autumn;
drag branches draped,
as in bridal lace to the frosted tarp;
defying winter to do what fall could not.
Conifers cried under the weighty white down.
Their limbs straining not to crack, surrender,
snapping to attention as the day warms.
The snow plops pleasantly to the ground.
Winter waits patiently as the garden dreams.
Categories:
tarp, seasons
Form:
Free verse
My poems are not for leisure
They are guns
Aim at imperial anatomy
Notes slipped to a teller’s eyes
For easy withdrawal
Of ancestral deposits
My poems are not for leisure
They are flowers for graves
Of dead theories and foolish warriors
Who slave for vanity
Flowers cover well the rot
Of lovers’ insanity.
My poems are not for leisure
They are for children
Who have heard the piper’s call
After the elevation of the rats
Who put banks on crutches
Of tarp funds, bailing out
On mortgages where homeless
Families wander
In insensitive arguments of the street
My poems will never be silent
Against Godless lies
And crooks impenitent
In Congress or Parliaments
Striking from the dark of consciences
Bleeding alone in teary trenches
Gasping the green gas
Of laws muting its militant lines
I give you my poem – not anesthesia
Just wine.
Categories:
tarp, hope, on writing and
Form:
Free verse
I walked by the old cafe on Rue De Sienne and heard an angel playing harp
a cherub an ethereal mome bewitching me and playing softly with my heart
she wore a halo made of gold, a soul that laddered up beyond the tarp
and as the fluent clouds rain-teared upon her alabaster tunic.... Art !
Each star a studded light inside her angel eyes of blue. Each note
commemorating, unfastening, abducting, a copious symphony of one
The buckling breeze became her muse I, a kite released in far remote
a Mystic with no malice in sight stringing up the moon and jealous sun.
June 20, 2018
Categories:
tarp, angel, mystery,
Form:
Quatrain
Skeletal treetops rake a Wagnerian sky.
like fingertips, chasing Valkyrie’s,
through cirrus clouds;
conducting the winter wind,
across the cerulean blue tarp
of early evening.
Bare beds, a mass of fallen leafs, shiver;
above bulbs of tulips and daffodils
which rest like skulls in a grave.
The sullen light of late December dusk,
pierces the scene with shadows,
sharpening the edges of brick walks
to bloody wayward knees
frost crusts, scabbing over the vacant
graves of long lost pets as
the day ends.
Categories:
tarp, death, depression, seasons, daffodils,
Form:
Free verse
an old ripped tarp argues with the wind
the NO TRESPASSING sign trembles
an underdressed scare crow ‘crazy dances”
mocking a city dweller manically hailing a cab
the warmth of the red barn lies to the field mice
offers only the emptiness of progress
sad hollow hope of grain-less silos
silent feathers watch as hunger preys
upon the return of every sunrise
an old ripped tarp argues with the wind
©1/20/2019
Categories:
tarp, life, winter,
Form:
Free verse
You look sideways at me
I look straight on at you
You glance towards me
I stare at you
memorize the stiches of your coat
they are uneven
it must have been handmade
You look up at the sky
I look at your shoes
They are slim and obviously Italian
You've been traveling in Europe
I look at your cheekbones
You stare off at a tree
It is a beautiful tree
though I cant see why it has captured you
I' look at your hands
they're nice hands
expressive hands
strong enough
big enough but not too big
kind hands
You turn to the left to look out over the gray blank sea
I know we're not going to see each other again
Even the stark greyness of the Cape in late November is more compelling to you in this moment than I am
I am dancing colors
I am a fragrance
of clean smells
I am sauce and sassiness and ideas and concepts
and wants
God how I want you
But you would rather look at greyness
I will never see you again
Thank you for the kiss on the dock
Thank you for the dinner and the dance
Thank you for the moment in the library when you looked into my eyes for one very long minute and I felt alive
Just before you asked me to the dinner dance
But you seem to have lost your moorings
You are like a boat
A buoy
or a wooden raft
floating
you don't know North from South
East from West
Now your sails are not catching the wind
You are sort of flapping
carelessly
aimlessly
I watch you like watching a crab scuttle up the beach
Fascinated
I will never lose my way
( That's a lie)
Tonight
You were simply a dock
that I pulled up to ...tied off
Tomorrow the sun will rise
and I will feel full and excited
I'll move on fast
throw off your bow
You were like the wild north wind for me tonight
for about 5 minutes
The wind is fickle
When the wind changes I tact
While you were in my sails I did love you
Like any sailor is impassioned by the beautiful wind
that suddenly drives him forward
the exquisite unbelievable .... unspeakable
tarp full sail pulling hard
I will miss you
But only like I always miss the wind when it dies
No more and no less
my sails will be full and my beautiful ship will be headed out to God knows where
But you my questioning friend will not know enough to follow
You will be still looking left and seeing only the gray of Cape Cod in Winter and
Categories:
tarp, love,
Form:
Free verse
A dull-looking scuffed up ebony toolbox full of pure happiness,
Sat in the back of Charley’s old green Chevy pick-up truck,
Waiting for him to drink his three cups of coffee.
“Another adventure!” the wrench said to the clamps.
The tools knew that Charley would be using them today for sure.
He had thrown a tarp, some paint cans, and his can of nails in last night.
They were eager to get started, happy to see what they would be building.
“Here he comes!” the hammer said. “Silence!” There was instant compliance.
The tools shook with exuberance, feeling today’s adventure.
Would they be building a window seat, porch, deck? Someone’s park bench?
“SHHHH!” the pliers cautioned them. “He is getting in!”
Charley had no idea they were aware he was lifting souls
One project at a time. A simple carpenter, with a good soul…
Categories:
tarp, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Personification
Watching the clouds at dusk
and the deer in flight. . .
I wait for these beauties to cross.
The hue of the sky
morphs from ebony ~ scores navy blue;
headrests of angels tucked away.
Camry headlights illuminate
the warm-green of oak and moss;
unsettled as the shadows shift.
The floodlights hover
over the blue mountain poly-tarp
with potential nightlife.
Exciting the thrill
of heightened landscape — friends
of the sun, strangers at midnight.
Diversely the ho hum
of security, under the lamplight. . .
in front of the smart t.v.
nevertheless
August trance of romance
the images framed —
God of fame, gifted them.
8/7/2019
Categories:
tarp, nature,
Form:
Verse
Pushing back the snow,
the barn door slowly opens
against the drifts.
Inside smells are rich and warm.
Hay and straw and animals mix
sparking memories of a long ago stable.
The tarp is heavy,
but uncovers a shiny red sleigh.
Runners honed to a keen shushing edge.
Sounding of hooves on wooden floor
Snorting his readiness to go.
Harness tight, bells in place
Isinglass heater under a buffalo robe,
cuddling close,
let’s go!
We disappeared into plumes of snow off galloping hooves,
with mane flying in the breath of nostrils flaring.
Sleigh bells singing their song in rhythm of beating hooves,
crisp air and joyful hearts cuddle under robes of excitement
racing, racing
Caps pulled down over ears,
cheeks chapping, hands clasping,
hearts racing,
faster ... faster ... faster ...
Categories:
tarp, happiness, life, love, nostalgia,
Form:
Free verse
Yellow pieces of weed eater line..
Red tattered piece of old shop rag..
Blue traces of a worn out old tarp..
White shredded remnants of a plastic bag..
I watched you from the early spring,
doing your ritual gathering,
of unwanted things, just laying around
but, to you they were treasures, surely found
Among dry meadow grass and scattered twigs,
you poked and pulled and tugged and weaved.
Then you tucked bits here and there,
of stuffing you sneaked from my old lawn chair.
Creating your masterpiece before my eyes,
the fanciest bird nest around.
You flew back and forth a million times,
while chirpping and singing away..
never complaining you worked all day.
Then babies came, all fuzzy and small,
you worked so hard to feed them all,
until they grew their beautiful wings.
and began singing their own song
And when they left you one by one..
you sang to me once again
then simply flew away.
Your wonderful nest built with such care
with colorful decorations added for flair
now rests in a basket, by my chair.....
©Donna Jones
Seeing Beauty In Imperfection
12-3-2013
Categories:
tarp, bird, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Sleeping Porch
Light bulbs strung like stars made their way from the camp house down to the dock. We had two old boats tied up down there at the ready. One was made of metal an old Johnboat and the other was a bateau we had pulled from the depths and brought back to life. They were both painted monkey **** brown and could be used for fishing or covered with a tarp and double as duck blinds. My brother and I found many other uses for them over the years that weren’t quite so conventional but nevertheless practical. We lived at that camp house every weekend and my parents took their yearly vacations there every other year. On the off years we would go to New Mexico and visit their friends who had lived next door when my father was stationed at Sandia Base in Albuquerque. And they in turn would come out to the camp the years we spent there in Louisiana.
Don and Elsie loved fishing and hunting as my father did. I think my mother being British just learned to put up with it and enjoyed the company. My brother and I were just along for the ride. He enjoyed the outdoors much more than I and wallowed in the times. I couldn’t say that I didn’t have fun but I would have been happier reading a book or playing my drums. Somehow these things just came to pass and we all lived in these times as one happy clan.
There was nothing fancy about the fishing camp. It was an L-shaped house with a fireplace, kitchen, one bathroom, and three double beds. No privacy. The best thing about it was the sleeping porch.
The sleeping porch was the best and was where I spent all my time especially at night. There was and old attic fan that add been converted and turned side ways to blow down the porch. I would crank that up and listen to the frogs and fall asleep in swamp land every night. No worries in the world. A perfect crib for a fifteen year old with no choices.
Categories:
tarp, emotions,
Form:
Narrative