Best Textured Poems
The Blaze of Autumn.
.
She stood there like womanly Venus
Among the mild autumns
Blaze of rustic blaze of copper and hues of gold
Shards of filtered sunlight
Shone upon her soft textured silken tresses
And with beguiling eyes so full of beauty and wonder
Filling my heart with warm rapture and sweet delight
.
The whole world suddenly disappeared around me
Transfixed I watched the diamond stars
Twinkle in her smiling shining eyes
And as I melted like ice
I felt butterflies flutter inside
.
My thirst for her sumptuous lips was such
And my loving fingers
Yearned to softly touch
The warmest blissful breeze
Swept through my soul
As at last she gave herself for me to hold
,
Hungered sugar kisses
Turned into a feast of frenzy
Becoming intoxicated
By loves addictive heady wine
With shallow rapid breath and urgency
As we kissed the hours goodbye
Losing all sense of thought and time
.
Suddenly the sun shone brighter
As the pretty flower bloomed
The bee did linger
Morning dew bathed the garden
As shooting stars flew across the moon
Two kindred hearts aflame
Upon their honeymoon.
,
Peter Dome©2020.
The art was most masterful on the dark canvas,
portraying an artist's mind when feeling anxious.
His palette compiled of pastels in shades of grey,
weaved brushstrokes in symphonies pain can play.
His eyes consumed in obsidian thoughts untold,
he splashed secrets he was once afraid to unfold.
Emotions bled as his mind reflected midnight's trance,
but each stroke was a shield against a demon's advance.
Hues of onyx were now replaced by vibrant tones,
as shadows slowly drowned out ignorant moans.
He created a masterpiece of soft yellow moonlight,
as his artistry portrayed bright sapphire daylight.
An avant-garde maestro flowing in textured motion,
painting stars like diamonds in his inky ocean.
Rainbows and sunshine now reside in his realm,
where his abstract art crafts a harmonious helm.
When midnight flames flicker aesthetic reveries,
releasing ashes of rainbow petals,
upon the canvas of undressed seasons,
I delve into blue blurs of butterflies,
framed in floating colors of nostalgia,
aching for dried dyes to home this scraped heart~
hanging loose, within smoky imagery,
as if every pigment will sprout from lilies of longing.
But can memories thaw frozen zeal,
illustrating steamy sunsets with liquefied rubies,
to unveil a timeless era, retouched and restored,
from the dust of dusks composed in surrealism?
And I, the splattering of an ink-blot,
persist as a dramatized kiss of tongue-stroked silence,
like a portrait, isolated in artistic utopia,
as love is more than a metaphor that speaks to the moon;
a pastel palette textured with melted roses~
saturated stars can interpret…
Tentative Dancer
Do I choose to join, this Poetic Dance
To reveal my soul, to take this chance
I am left to wonder, who will care
If my life is charmed, or full of despair
I release my emotions, to the page
The good the sad, the parts with rage
The pen gets started, revealing each part
A stitched together, healed broken heart
Like many a writer, I am a bleeder
Revealing my secrets, to you the reader
My only hope, is that you have time
To see yourself, in the words I rhyme
Because without you, there is no dance
You are the reason, I take this chance
A dance with a stranger, one two three
Perhaps at the end, you will know me
Confident Dancer
I'm glad I chose to join you in Poetic dance
Thank you for giving my clumsy a chance
No longer will I wonder if you truly care
You share your beauty and masterful flare
Together we do our Rumba on a spotless page
For the textured surface is inspiration's stage
As we move in unison I feel your wonderous heart
Thanks for being at one with me within our art
We move together lost in rhyme and meter
Not wanting to leave anything from our reader
If they explore long enough perhaps within time
We will all be joined in this dance so sublime
Yes it can be scary taking a chance
Yet what would life be without the dance
No longer stranger, ink drips one two three
By knowing you, I have come to know me!
Dawn's rays burst through gray clouds
Though evening's bitterness lingers
She struggles to shake free of tear-stained, satin shrouds
Each morning, so much effort just to rise
But lips part to flash a much-needed smile
When she opens the door and ventures outside
A sparrow had nested in her hanging flowers
High-pitch chirps alert the world life has renewed
And gladly does she acknowledge nature's powers
A wee, brown owl is perched upon the sprawling oak
He's forgotten to take refuge as the night receded
Then a tiny tree frog begins his pond-side croak
She sees his motley, textured body and begins to laugh
For nature's creatures have learned to live carefree
As he does daily, the frog hops to board a lily-pad raft
The tension has eased as nature's chorus serenades
Such joy and harmony their songs evoke
She saunters through the woodland, joins their parade
Her heart is now light; she has mastered their technique
Overcome with gratitude, she skips along the path
Knowing that wallowing in sadness is never unique
For the blues will strike again as night covers the land
And she will face her personal demons once again
But for now she revels in these gifts from nature's hand
And to find relief the next morn, she will simply open a door
Step into the refreshing flow of a passing breeze
And find her way to happiness once more
For Farah Chamma's "My Favorite Things" challenge.
Paint With Fire
Paint flies freely from his brush
As he paints he sees her blush
In both their eyes passion burns
Naked she poses her body turns
Temptation irresistible for her he yearns
With his brush he paints her red
In all her glory there on his bed
Textured skin a canvas extreme
Heaving, writhing, an artist's dream
Fire flows from his finger tips
In all her curves, his passion drips
Transformed into a work of art
Eternal pleasures, light and dark
For Andrea's Acrostic Contest.
I also used the first word in each stanza to spell out the title.
Parched and dry, this barren field stretches,
I wander, head hung low,
staring at the emptiness eclipsing my thoughts
Brittle blades of grass disappear beneath
my worn out sneakers,
black and white crushing beige
in slow fashioned footprints of blistered dust
“My sanity for some cool water”
When upon my shoulders, reddened by solar intensity,
wet from exerted energy, comes a breeze
as if Autumn has come to claim her colors,
to gather her brown and sepia landscape,
pull the lifeless trees, with little leaf
from the chalk textured ground taking it
where it would suit another, for this is my luck
"Take my shade I beg not, for it is merely a branch”
Like fingers of a silken web’s reach,
a soft caress of skin is not understood, though very pleasant
Nature finds me a shiver, a small comfort in this arid place
once crawling with snakes of assorted length, now
green as if lush has just been defined
with sweet air and pomegranate skies featuring a glow,
pristine shades of which I’ve never seen, heavenly
“To whom might I thank for such a gift?”
When before me stands, my eyes saturated and lost
slowly focus on beauty, winged loveliness now smiling within my own
personal oasis, which quickly forms in my heart
An angel, a goddess, extends a hand to me?
My cracked and weathered palm touches, smooth, gentle
her hand as she lifts me, I am weightless, floating
to her, my breath leaves me as I wonder, is this my end?
“If this beauty shall be my final curtain, let it be dropped slowly”
A voice of velvet speaks, as I fade in and out of reality,
now steadied by her touch and the sweet scent of lavender and lime
“I have come to you as a verse, for poetry is thy keeper,
thy words have been heard,” lyrical this voice sings
melodic and harmonious, a rhythm to the beat of my heart,
the race of my pulse, the love of my life, my muse, my all
“Eternal to you I shall write, for your beauty fuels my pen”
*I feel this poem speaks of poetry, the reason we are all here. To find and share our muse, to be inspired and grow together in poetry. It also was a step out of my comfort zone for me as this was an early write of mine where I tried a few new ideas.
Come hither, Mister Delicious Sir.
Satiate my craving for saturating kisses.
Read these ready lips like romance fiction.
Practice your best parched desert depiction.
Slurp up this mist smorgasbord to savor
cherry chapstick and cinnamon disk's flavor.
Caress love's breath, pressed against companion lips.
Twist with saliva's textured slides and slips.
Play tongue tag like young ones chasing.
Stencil silent speech, each moment embracing.
Sip freely from the flowing fountain of Venus.
Spin to the rhythm of the heartbeat between us.
CENSORSHIP
There is a language I spoke and I knew.
It fluently told it's stories in dance.
Graceful chaînes that turned our spirits out
and razor sissones to cut with candor.
There is a light song I willingly played.
My fingers glissade, ran, courir, en croix,
rapidly crossing the tired yellow keys.
There is a bleached canvas white with nothing!
The brush has eyes. It's clever at seeing,
tout va bien, and always without me.
It tells me what is beneath the linen,
a textured story in shape and color.
There are no jagged edges in assemblé.
The poetry, un mot, could keep the time
on paper. It knew dimensions, of four,
in every breath. It saw the frozen rose.
It sprinkled stories of death or exploded
in dimples of joy. It holds my hand and tells on me.
A firefly in bourrée is silenced from the play.
By Edlynn Nau
October 8, 2016
How many emotional tears have we so cried, us the unperfected,
The Barbie generational rejected, or Ken doll unrealistic Idol worship.
Cursed by society’s vision of ultimate beauty, wake up world
For are we all not human, and subject to fragilities faults of reality.
Oh to remove the textured veils of the masked disguised,
To reveal the inner face of grace hidden within the soul itself.
For true beauty lies inside the heart of innocence,
Or underneath the timeless wrinkles of ages experience,
One must just remove the blinders of ignorance, to see it
In clarities truth sight line of view.
Where are these mythical people of perfections achievement?
From where do they dwell, or come from these visions of
Illusionary beings, which we so strive to be like?
Nay do suffer the youth of the future to measure up,
To an irrational delusion, a mirages camouflage of lies
Deceit.
Dreaming child of occult fiction, this is deadly ground
From which you tread upon, for reality vision is obscured
By plastic surgeries faults hoods of realism.
Vintage are the mirrors in this fun house of lies,
Let us cover these soul suffocating devices,
Or shatter the glass of reflected illusions.
Then shall we embrace our differences, allowing the next
Generation to breathe a long sigh, of relief at last.
To accept and express their own individuality without
Social oppression, or misconceptions of beauty,
Then enriching the world with glorious infusions
Of unguarded inspirational promise.
What a wondrous planet of enlightment this would
Be if utopia really could exist, unfettered by mankind’s
Unclouded mind of perfection.
Forever after all is short time in the eyes of humanity,
Let us hold our children high and nurturing them with love
And respect, no matter what, not judging them by their
Beauty marks of imperfections,
Instead allowing them to shine in the glow of inspiration
Eternal.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Hark,
Listen,
Summer has arrived,
you can hear it in the pulsing air.
Watch it
as insects busily work.
Rushing to collect and pollinate
knowing time ticks on relentlessly.
See it
in the burst of colour.
Drink in the heady scents
of blankets of rampant flowers.
Feel it
as you gently touch blossoms
feeling grasses brush against your legs.
Hold and hug the gnarled old oak
with it's rough textured bark.
Taste it
in the Summer berries
that burst with flavour as you eat them.
In salads and tomato's and plump peas.
Savour
Summer's bounties
soak up the hot rays and bask in them
whilst surrounded by sweet Summer scent.
Apricot marmalade wispy clouds upon the blue
canvas, swiftly changing sunrise reveals a surprise_
charcoal gray, a textured smoke billowing askew
across the eastern sky, Suddenly diamond dew
drops fall upon grasses, Everything expressed anew
as the sun rises, the moon bidded
adieu, this day will pass; tomorrow, too
Apricot marmalade wispy clouds upon the blue
Sponsor: Rick Parise
Contest: Enjambment
I know it doesn't make any sense...
Written October 19, 2014
He was a connoisseur of beauty
But not of the usual kind
He could see the beauty within
Which all the others could not find
When he gazed upon a woman
He saw the sparkle of her soul
With his sweet and knowing smile
All her virtues he would extol
His eyes drank in the loveliness
That she'd cloistered within her heart
with words dipped in affirmation
he painted her: a work of art
He saw the aura of beauty
That shone brightly around her face
In each line of her full body
Sheer luxuriance he could trace
The connoisseur was an expert
At making her feel divine
In her ear he gently whispered
what made her exquisite, fine
When he had drunk in her beauty
He held on to the shapely glass
In his mouth her textured fullness
His rating? Certainly, first class!
The bottle that she had come in
was now trembling in his grip
And craving just a little more
Tilted the bottle to his lip
He licked the luscious last drop
Inebriated by her taste
A connoisseur of real beauty
he would let nothing go to waste
And so once more she was poured out
To the connoisseur of her soul
She gave him what he desired
the wine of love had made them whole
For Chase's the Connoisseur Contest
When morning dew holds moonlight’s shine
It’s glistened blush as night declines
Unveiled by daybreaks grand display
As breeze blows soft, a shimmered sway
Clear lunar nights are brushed sublime
When morning dew holds moonlight’s shine
All objects basking in its glow
Gleam with a textured, raised plateau
From deep within the moon’s soft beam
A gentle kiss to daylight’s stream
When morning dew holds moonlight’s shine
It sings like night and day combined
That sparkled glint on morning’s brow
A diamond’s hue the moon’s endowed
Can reach your heart when eyes inclined
When morning dew holds moonlight’s shine
Do the immortals cry, what happens to divinities
Tears, crystal shards of frozen miracles, cascading
From the heavens above, swallowed whole by
Mother earth.
In the abyss of darkness, within caverns dark and deep,
Lies a hidden chamber, of wondrous creations.
Glittering stone shingles, that hang from cave ceilings,
Crystal chandeliers of opulence's brilliance, shining on high.
Diamond cylinders, made from the weeping heart, of a divine
Spirit himself, a stone garden of sorrows tears.
Exposed to reflected light's illumination, oh so do they
Shimmer and sparkle, rainbow prisms of color, frozen
Molecules held prisoner in status freeze.
Nay water is life itself, a living element of nature,
Creations clarity, a universe within a universe.
Oh in such magnificent beauty, lies this sacred
Vision, of this the almighty’s most secret garden.
Seeping mists of moisture rise, enveloping the
Flickering rays of lamp light, adding an eerie
Obedience to this textured display, in this
Almost blackened realm, hidden beneath the
Earth in fathoms deepest depth, the artistic hand
Of God can be truly felt.
Ricocheting light randomly strikes against variations points of
Color, setting aglow from the blue hews, to purples
Fuchsia, a palettes splashed array, bursting forth
This underground aurora borealis.
In granite's cathedral of stone, split by the elemental,
Giving birth to fusion, exposing natures raw force of power.
A blending between spiritualism, and science takes place,
To create this grandest of masterpieces, that I call the stone garden.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN