Best Thickening Poems
Long gone are the golden
Dusty days!
Where once, like Blazons
On Armorial Shields,
The gathered bronze sheaths
stood -
Cut through at the stalk...
Raised from time honoured
swathes.
Burnished like brushed copper
By high summers slanted rays:
That were sliced so thinly
From the thickening air,
As they brightly
Caught the hot glare,
From the grass mowers blades.
For the singing scythes,
Once wielded so ably
By strong, capable arms,
Are standing abandoned and
Forsaken:
Blunted, left rusting,
Languishing alone
In damp, dilapidated barns.
Now their songs are forgotten -
Lost within a woeful winds
lament!
Blown far out
From the green meadows;
Separated from their verses
Once sung so heartily
With purposeful,
Lusty, well practiced intent.
So think you all well,
Next time you pause
Your drawn eye,
Upon Englands rich harvests
Of ripened barley,
Yellow wheat, and stiff rye...
To dwell on the lost seasons
With melancholy tears...
And think of the old reaper
Who cuts back at the years!
Photo by Rhonda Pearson Smith
Thickening fog hung beneath the willow tree
consumes dreams of your lost poetry.
From sandalwood-scented sleep,
I kiss you and weep.
Love songs will
keep,
lustrous still.
Silver lyrics creep
to gold dust dawn from the deep
creases of clouded sleep, where I free
thickening fog hung beneath the willow tree.
Written 7/13/20
Contest - Andaree - 11 Lines Poetry
Sponsor - Joseph May
yogi comes first
my old companion burr-backed hearth-warmed
his peat-dark spring fur shedding summer’s presence
he lies on the fireplace rug squirrel-dream naps
muzzle silvered as a frost-split hickory post
a soft whine mute devotion
shadowing me keeping a keen watch
honest kind sportive soul
glued to my side even in sickness
another briar-choked ridge
to crest
hunter and chocolate lab
and then gurty
sovereign aloof moon-milk calico-born riddle
velvet paws and stealthy grace
a small Athenian goddess of the numinous
who appears vanishes wistful-eyed
moon fragment star-salt morning breeze
she prowls each rooms edge dust-mice
soft-footed serene indifferent
granting affection, rationing light
withheld offered only the queen knows
a small sheathed killer
making the world right
by choosing not to strike
between them household diplomacy
two philosophies sharing sunbeams
a duet of difference
two cultures thickening smoothing
yogi with his fawning tail-drunk joy
gurty with her vigilance her whisker-quiver
reading each moment for oneness
he presses close
she circles observing rubbing
a synthesis of presence
unconditional
i have seen her groom herself
in the soft ritual of sandy-tongue washing
and him pause trustful patient
her calm steadying him
i have watched them soften
the sandpaper-and-silk
collision
become friends family belonging
where the good life abides
night settles
they lie in parallel lives at my feet
yogi breathing his gentle snore
gurty a moon fragment curled in thought
and i smile loosen breathe
mercy can curl or bound
love a dog’s warm flank-heat
a cats purring sovereign gaze
and the small miracle
of both choosing the same rug
in the same
deepening hour
sweet yo-gurt
An inner earthquake rattles him again
as the fiery sun dips in the horizon
Can he too, hide his halo as such?
Closing his eyes as he folds in his wings,
wishing he could take it off
He trembles...must he embrace darkness to know of love?
Sun breaks over the mountain range,
her obsidian skin absorbing the light.
If her body is like a canvas of night,
could she reach within herself,
beyond the horns and hooves
and find her own hidden sunrise, deep inside?
The darkness is more reassuring
than he could have ever imagined-
something to truly weigh his goodness against,
in a finely-tuned balancing act.
And as the stars can help guide a lost soul,
he too possesses a true north within.
Oddly enough, she welcomes the radiance,
such a stark contrast to what she has been used to-
rays drip into her like ink diffuses in water,
a momentary burst of chaotic brilliance,
followed by an even stillness.
She cannot escape it, becoming a part of her.
The rooster crows for the third time,
so he opens his eyes to this daybreak,
emerald mountains shimmering in the morning light.
Through abysmal depths, he arises and now realizes
Darkness comes as the light falls, it is inevitable...
yet Light also takes over that darkness.
With the thickening dusk,
clouds turn into amethyst ribbons.
The day's warmth thawed a part of her
that was kept frozen and dead for eons.
Now, she would do everything in her power
to keep it pulsing--to keep it alive.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Upon watching them, sheer fascination takes over....
Even though these two are on different paths,
they had both achieved a similar transformation,
as if neither was an agent for one side, or the other.
Not any longer.
And how their auras shone
....in perfect equilibrium.
**082011**
Opposites: angel/daemon; sunrise/sunset :)
I stood as though reborn on mounded dirt,
which seemed so moist it strangely could assuage
the ache from bowels that howled from so much hurt.
Would ground then be my cure or a mirage?
Enticed, I deeply pressed each foot through soil
till they took root and fixed me to a spot.
My ever-thickening trunk served well to foil
the plots of those who’d cut me. . . . they could not!
My limbs, though mighty branches, could not bend;
stubbornly I fought my transplantation.
I weathered storms that God or man might send,
sightless, living long in desolation.
Self preservation did this much for me-
old loved ones passed and I remained a tree.
Through thickening haze,
I hear your voice call my name,
encouraging me, words beating
with my heart, guiding me home
as I stumble and crawl…
lost in a winding maze,
blinded by a smokescreen haze.
My life falls off-course; a sudden struggle,
I am suffocated by my own thoughts,
by perfectly manicured hedges,
by a world of betrayal…a world of deceit.
Yet, I live every moment with hope –
I see filtered rays of light,
feel their warmth on my skin,
a reminder of Heaven when I shiver within.
As I climb my leafy-green, prison walls,
my courage creates new heightened paths.
Like English Ivy weaving
through a garden lattice,
I grow taller, plan my escape,
hear your unwavering voice
drape over me with love and strength…
Your hand, outstretched,
seems just within my reach.
I focus on a life without walls,
a place I can learn and teach,
an open field of tomorrows…
vibrant, full, free.
Every singular cell, every breath I draw,
every soulful feeling…all of me,
with all of my flaws,
reaches out to all of you.
With a touch, I am saved…
I am found.
A new dawn breaks just within my reach.
When evening dusk falls from the edge of night
like a loosened taffeta from bridal halls
the wrist pulse slows as the stars align
their talisman to keyon thoughts of you
She dances to the steps of light
like a wild specimen heralding dark graphite
tuning herself into the rocking motion
of a philanthropic ocean;
She is your clair de lune, your telling rune
beneath the velvet cloak of a thickening eve
she sends you dreams of love and fantasies
that reign as easily as gliding rain
into your hungry heart....
July 29, 2018
"We're going to need a bigger fig leaf."
Proclaimed the teacher to her staring class
As the model removed the last of his attire.
A collective, almost silent gasp
and the clatter of a fallen brush on parquet floor
confirmed this to be true.
Among the downcast eyes of most
was an accusing glance from pink-faced girl
to blushing secret lover.
Others scanned the body top to toe;
some fixed their gaze;
not all upon the model's eyes.
The over-fondling of a brush,
the squeezing squirting of thick paint from tube
A pencil slowly rotated in a mouth;
gestures, lost of innocence,
in steamy, thickening room.
A closeted sigh.
A wistful moan.
The heavy silence broke;
"As you may have guessed," the teacher coughed
"The subject for your sketch today is Adam."
This or That, Vol 11 Poetry Contest Fig Leaf, placed 3rd
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Date wrote: 31st March 2022
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the bridge isn't stone.
not iron latticework humming with trains.
not even that splintered wood plank
across the creek just beyond my childhood home.
It's quieter~
a slant of afternoon sun catching dust motes
in the attic of my mind.
I climb the stairs~
why did I say that?
why didn't I go?
if only...
each step groans with the weight of *what if*~
the handrail feels slick with polished regret.
halfway across, I pause.
below, the river churns with versions of myself:
the one who stayed,
the one who left too soon,
the one clutching certainty like a fraying rope.
the far shore gleams clear, impossibly calm.
I know what waits there~
wisdom, smooth as river stone.
but the bridge only goes one way.
I can't carry today's shoes back to yesterday's mud.
can't shout warnings through the thickening fog
of memory.
so I stand, breathing the damp air
of almost-understanding.
I watch the current swirl the past into patterns
that almost make sense.
Almost.
the bridge remains aching and empty
leading only to the place where I finally see
the shape of the hole my choices left behind.
The light to my life is flickering;
It shone bright for many years.
The fog around me is thickening,
But, please, spare me the tears.
I am fortunate to outlive the fears,
As long as I can lie here next to you
I’ll remember our fondest years -
As I bid you a final adieu.
The curtain falls on my final scene;
Confined to bed these last two years.
Giving plenty of time to reflect on things,
Realizing I have “Thank you’s” left in arrears.
I hope I haven’t underappreciated you, Dear;
I hope deep inside that you always knew
That I respected and loved having you so near -
As I bid you a final adieu.
I believe this is my last evening,
As I go to join my long passed peers.
I hope to be fitted with angel wings
And look down on you from way up there.
And late at night in dreams I’ll appear
To help chase away your blues.
I’ll do my best to keep your skies clear -
As I bid you a final adieu.
So, a little longer hold back the tears,
Until my last breath has finally passed through;
Hold my hand so I know you’re near -
As I bid you a final adieu.
The young men sat, planted under the overhang
like the pansies and geraniums that surrounded them in boxes,
as the rain pelted the terra-cotta terrace.
The mountain air was sharp with the taste of lightening.
Having bid farewell to the arched shard of a rainbow across the valley,
they sat tensely watching the celestial bombardment of Katmandu.
The lightening stoked the day’s heat,
thickening the early evening sky like the yogurt they’d eaten for lunch.
A home-made rice wine poured freely over their tongues
from an innocent looking water bottle.
Their eyes turned garnet with the harshness of it.
The bottle sat with its tattered label, upon the arm of the white chair.
The wine within tasted faintly of the gasoline,
yet, they reveled in it, and the freedom from deep seeded societal traits,
it freed them from.
Overhead, the sky was draped in a bridal veil of stars;
as I emerged from the room to sit beside them.
For Silent One's - Mamma Poetry Contest
Where is the love, Mamma?
Through broken Louvre blinds, you're ever watching
Rosary beads clicking prayers on repeat mode, uttering
Your plethora of Faith keeps me steadily striving
Though, frustrated when peace will be arriving.
Under cover of the midnight moon, hookers seducing
Shady men with illicit wares aggressively peddling
Of changing our situation, I'm forever idealizing.
Enduring every day's trauma, just surviving.
Seeking direction from above, when is enough enough?
Tell me, Mamma ~ Where is the love?
Collective immorality still existing.
A ticking clock morality meekly resisting
Corruption, greed, and deceit still abounding
This life where goodness seems to be drowning.
A depraved degradation of insanity still insisting,
Death, broken hearts, crime persisting
In the chaos, qualms never ceasing.
lawlessness above the muck and mire rising
At the kerbside, a holy man piously preaching
Should I turn my cheek, still beseeching
Amidst their plundering and their leeching?
NO !!
Enough is Enough ~ Where is the Love?
Beyond-repair abhorrence, I'm escaping.
Fervently, I'm hoping and praying.
Please God, Mamma, be safe while I'm gone
I'll be back for you before long
In the eerie darkness, emotions imploding
Sirens blaring, with the sound of guns exploding
My shallow breath quickening, turning back with throat thickening
All the while, I'm screaming
Where is the love?
Back through this hellhole, I'm rapidly racing
All through the panic, still hoping and praying
Please God, Mamma ~ Be Safe, Be Safe, Be Safe
Neon blue-red lights flickering and flashing.
Through my open front door, I'm madly dashing.
Looming through the haze, I hear them saying.
'Sorry, Miss, yet another random shooting
Your Mamma just got caught in the cross-firing.'
The last thing I hear is my own voice crying.
MAMMA ~ THERE IS NO LOVE! THERE IS NO LOVE!
Under a trellis of vines, quite evergreen
This elegant, old lady sits on a wooden porch,
Her veined fingers twist in graceful motion
Kneading hued threads from silken yarn;
As weaves of cross-stitch unfurl through dusk :
How in gentle calm, a floral pattern expands
Thickening its pattern through intricate craftwork ...
I watch grandmother extend those elbows
To connect the dots while loops of artistry
Begin to take shape, her eyes glimmering
Upon moonlit wind: I cuddle this kerchief, now
A prized token of her bridal gift...my heirloom.
.....................
~ New Poem ~ 2/28/2019
Cross Contest of Carolyn Devonshire
My name is Peter the Pelican
I'm nothing special at all
I fly around as I'm supposed to
But this day I was close to a fall
Every day when I take to the skies
They are blue and sometimes grey
But this day I never imagined
That my bluey seas would decay
Oozing from metal giants
Now appearing after millions of years
Mans honey as they seem to be happy
Every find I hear all their cheers
One day their tears turned to shouts
For much of it was getting away
My blue was turning to a distasteful mix
In the place where I always played
One day without a care in the world
As I dived for a meal one morn
On surfacing I struggled to respond
Splashing I became so worn
My feathers were not responding
I'm drifting close to the shore
Amid a sea of thickening black
I sense the closing of my pores
What little strength I have left
As I lie in decaying kelp
I flap my wings and hope in my heart
Someone hears a cry for help
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/nature-12.php
Sometimes we slice through the past
in our thoughts, as though we are surgeons.
We carefully cut through its blubber,
avoiding hurts and pain spilling all over.
Sometimes we're so obsessed with the slicing,
that we forget there are other important
things in life;
things that we cannot buy,
if they get lodged into the past.
We also forget that the blubber keeps on thickening
every second, in our every heartbeat.
Often we focus on our eye's journey into the past,
that we find ourselves slowly being swallowed by it's blubber.
If there's no one to hold us back,
we become part of the past.......