Best Threaded Poems
Hills come alive with sweet sounds of birds whistling tunes
Filled with harmonious peace, you sail within time
Gentle whispering winds through branches of trees call
When you dare to take the first step forward
Everything feels so easy embracing such beauty
Mixing voices of nature talk deeply flowering
Thrown into the unknown life is truly magical
A universe inside feelings explode in one gift
The soul eclipsing delight warmed with sunshine rays
Like a virgin being on guard of the tiger claws, lions, bears and snakes
Only when your starlight kisses clouds evaporate
Time continues and the butterfly waltzes freely once more
Crossing paths in this journey new beginnings grow
Small wild strawberries threaded upon a stem beg to taste
Opening one gateway within thoughts
Setting sail into another world beyond
With you salt of the ocean waves rise and fall
Upon rocks kissing pillar of strength
A cool breeze says goodbye upon your cheek
Loving spices land this boat on paradise sands where gold sparkles warm beams
When we meet at Heaven's gate batting lashes close entering a doorway into a dream
Written by L. Mcdaid & A-L Andresen :) 05.09.2015
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Categories:
threaded, beauty, deep, journey, life,
Form:
Free verse
I thought I had forgotten
the end of summertime,
I thought I stopped remembering
that last night you were mine.
Moments side by side
before fresh petals dried.
But like an autumn sun in skies of blue,
Low I sink in you.
Recalling our slow dance
far from crowds and friends,
My fleeting light through leaves,
through thoughts and quiet love
in cobbled narrow streets.
To first October rain
pit-pattering in streams
Flowing,slowly falling
like early threaded dreams.
Swaying,gently playing
sad fluting melodies.
But like an autumn sun in skies of blue,
Low I sink in you.
Suddenly I think,I think of you.
Upon your tired shoulders
I set my orange hue.
Categories:
threaded, desire, dream,
Form:
Lyric
Watching a sway of a Chinese lantern
in colors the shade of your smile,
paper laced dreams in curvature shapes
suspended by silver threads
Ripples of koi pond whispers
slowly beckon in moonlit gestures,
as we sit counting fireflies,
hypnotized by our beating hearts
Cascading serenade,
enchanting the evening divertimento
Lotus blossom fingertips softly
caress parted lips…smooth
As I drink in your fragrance,
tasting the flavors, your moistened lips
simmering upon each breath…
warm, offering a honeyed embrace
Gazing longingly upon porcelain skin,
a tempting star shine glow…
we melt as one, mouths entwined
drenched in serenity
while deep within our silence we speak,
not of voice…but of love
Categories:
threaded, beauty, love,
Form:
Free verse
T’was flair from the cobbles that drove the loom
with forced hardy sweat they laboured till eve
a family tradition from the womb
with threaded shuttle and reed hook they weave.
The warp the weft that nurtured the blending
the clatter the din the need of lip sync
a marriage of yarns a pattern pending
the huff and the puff with no time to blink.
This place the cornerstone belonged one’s life
town mill chimneys stretching into the clouds
the smog the fog to cut through with a knife
one pence to pay if late due to the crowds.
While in the countryside the manor house
no longer ‘His Grace’ but master with nous.
© Harry J Horsman 2018
Categories:
threaded, nostalgia,
Form:
Sonnet
Old Zack Adams sits a slouch’n so sloppy drunk on a bar-room stool,
Wear’n his cheap-threaded cowboy suit and a stained satin shirt.
All the while a peek’n and a leer’n at women like an old poor fool,
But think’n man tonight—Oh Boy, I’m really gonna hit the pay dirt!
Old Zack in this small Texas town is reputed to be quite a lecherous hoot,
As he raucously and recklessly rolls old worn quarters into the slot
Of the old bar-room Wurlitzer while snicker’n and smil’n to boot,
And plays his tearful and twangy jerk-water music while smil’n a lot!
Old Zack is this town’s “Jukebox Gigolo,” a real lover boy—Oh Boy!
He wears his patched cowboy hat and his scuffed silver-studded boots,
Meant to impress young girls and bar-fly floozies who have the Joy!
Of being with this bewildering, withered, weathered man and his boots.
Old Zack has a fad’n recollection of events and a silver mane of hair,
With a cigarette in his hand and cuss’n like a nasty little stable boy,
He downs whiskey shots and tequila seconds like no tomorrow on a dare,
While chas’n whiskey glass ice cubes and the tequila worm—being so coy.
Old Zack while a swigg’n down his whiskey mucho fast and direct,
He has now that blind courage to fight or to love—whichever is first,
While the old Wurlitzer resonates a rueful hick song for a teary effect,
But Old Zack can’t move now for this song has him sobb’n the very worst.
Old Zack with his nicotine-whiskey breath and his pockmarked face,
Personifies the image of an ideal loser of a man—with problems all,
While fight’n, scream’n, and punch’n others to gain some precious space,
He’s a showcas’n his reservoir of manly prowess—with problems all.
Old Zack was young once and not so wild, withered, weathered like now,
And he thought he was a really smart dude—all right moves and all,
But was really a man act’n far above his funny fake smart brow,
And now a cry’n on his bar-room stool and act’n like a fool before a fall.
Old Zack Adams—alcoholic as he truly is and sly and slick as a Texas fox,
Is not really so good with his women friends nowadays—for his real talent
Is in roll’n those old worn quarters pieces one-by-one into the old Jukebox,
Sing’n—“I’m the Jukebox Gigolo”—“a Drunk and a Delight,” that’s real talent!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (October 7, 2014)
(Rhymed Quatrain)
Categories:
threaded, abuse, addiction, allegory, emotions,
Form:
Quatrain
My Beloved,
If the Mediterranean waves, could carry me to your arms,
I'd wake up, to your whispers,enchanted by your charms.
If the Wafting Wind could breeze me to the your bed,
Our longing lips would kiss and hiss,In hungry emotions wed.
If this love i feel, could linger in your Heart,If we could live
our dulcet dreams,escape from fantasies,and never be apart.
If "I "could be with "You",and "You" could be with" Me"
We'd watch the the Stars at night twinkling tranquility,
Sparkling in secret splendor,shining Our blissful destiny.
If we could be together,till the day,"Forever",I'd hold on
to your hand,be your sufficient other,the dedicated lover
and even your bestfriend.I'd be your daily listener,your passion,
your romance,I'd love you to infinity,till the Universal ends.
If We could lie together on Gossamer mattressed lands,
on threaded silken sheets made by cobwebs' perfect hands,
If We could walk,laugh and embrace on gold warm Honeyed Sands.
If we could hear the sweetest sound of shells and pebbles play,
If I could call your name and hear your husky voice in answer
everday,If I could turn around to find you,looking my way,
If I could be with you,and live "the promise" of today,
Tomorrow I'd still be there,a Lavender in your grey.
"Not for the contest,but tnks Andrea..for your inspiration, with your contest blog"
Words used-(Fragrant,Wafting,dulcet,Splendor,Gossamer.tranquility,Blissful from bliss,lavender)
Charma
Categories:
threaded, devotion, happiness, life, love,
Form:
Lyric
Blue-checkered curtains are faded and drawn,..
after the years since she made them from gunny-sack cloth
The Singer, long idle, now gathers more dust,
with its needle still threaded and the treadle at rest
As I clear out the room, I think of long hours
of foot-peddled power, and strength in her soul.
She would unroll the fabric of roses and flowers,
with determined resilience in dark circled eyes.
But prudence, endurance, would salvage a way
Abandoned and left in a sea of lost dreams
She picked up the pieces, of patterns and hems
Making a living, and raising her kin,
didn't come easy, but she had to win
A life left unraveled, she must sew up again.
Working past midnight. Spindles would spin. Somehow rekindled
to live once again.
Making ends meet. Selvedge edges and hems
Sowing her heart, sowing her skill, and sowing her soul
Sewn together again
______________________________________________________
4/20/18
Categories:
threaded, courage, endurance, family, nostalgia,
Form:
Free verse
Inside such dreams of never lasting days
We traversed such wanting thoughts in emotional astray
On that December night, to our cottage on the hill
Where on many a moonlit walk, we allowed our thoughts to spill
Our footprints of life we took in threaded tread we walked
When one was about to talk, in confusion abound, we baulked
Snowflakes we often talked about, turned to emotional rain
Drowning your wisps of auburn, natures moistness becomes our drain
Such memories of our past, where the rains graced your clover
And I your beloved, once graced your body over
No longer shall I sense your breath so warm against my chest
As you delightfully grace my lobes, my internal heart now stressed
Your kisses I still feel, their once touch of tender brush
Like tumble-weed they now drift, my lips in different crush
On warm white sheets we used to lay, we called them our clouds of heaven
No longer shall crease, not one day out of seven
No longer shall our fingers dance over undulations of we
Or will our torso's mingle, like the ivy graces the tree
The losing of you is massive, our peripheral declares it a shame
Beloved to each other we're not, it's life, no ones to blame.....
Categories:
threaded, lost, relationship,
Form:
Couplet
I met her once in a house with no laughter,
where the wallpaper peeled like old regrets,
where the air tasted of dust and waiting.
She sat on the staircase, small knees to her chest,
counting the footsteps that never came back.
She spoke in the language of careful silences,
in the hush of a door never opening,
in the crack of a voice that forgot how to ask.
Her hands held nothing but air and absence,
and yet, they trembled as if they knew loss too well.
She was the kind of child no one looks for,
the one who learned to fold herself quiet,
who made herself smaller than the spaces between words,
who mastered the art of not being a burden.
And I, I did not save her.
No one did.
Instead, she wove herself into my bones,
threaded her sorrow into my skin.
Now, she walks when I walk,
sits beside me in empty rooms,
tucks herself into the corners of my reflection.
Some nights, I feel her fingers in my own,
pulling me back to a childhood I do not visit.
She still stands in doorways, waiting.
She still listens for voices that will never call her name.
And I, older, taller, louder,
am no better than the ghosts who left her there.
I tell her she matters,
but I do not let her speak.
I tell her she is safe,
but I never stay long enough to prove it.
She watches me with something like knowing,
something like pity,
something like an apology.
As if to say;
You are the one who left me now.
And I do not answer.
Categories:
threaded, angst, childhood, children,
Form:
Free verse
Who am I is a question,
That baffles and confuses me.
Aren’t I a stranger to myself,
When in me angels and demons cohabit,
Dwelling side by side.
Sometimes I am mired in confusion.
Sometimes I feel I am a moth caught fast in the fire,
And about to be burnt, when drawn to light
Mindless of the great peril looming.
Sometimes I feel I am sidelined and ignored,
And left out from the mainstream of life,
Like a book stacked away on a rusty shelf
In a dark corner, never touched or dusted.
After a wave of rising energy
I fall into a state when I feel so inert and dull.
At times, feel that I am a lifeboat without oars.
But soon I alight on the lighthouse of joy.
As the cycle of seasons keeps changing
The pendulum of my life swings from joy to sorrow
And hope and despair are threaded,
Into the tapestry of life as warp and woof
Essentially kind and compassionate,
I am moved to tears whenever I see,
An instance of human suffering
And tears of joy well my eyes
When I witness human excellence and pride over it.
Time has mellowed me, and wisdom has taught me,
To see the inner light shining in me.
Even when dark clouds creep into my night sky
Beneath the façade of my aching torso,
I see a soul eternal and indestructible.
At best, I like to think that I am a child of God,
And I strive to be led by that inner light.
Even when I swim in the doldrum of life,
I pray to release the infinitesimal quantum of energy,
That keeps the fire in me ever-blazing,
To add my lustre even to the stars.
To love and be loved is my credo,
For “even if I speak
in the language of angels and have no love
I am only a noisy, empty gong”.
There is a spark of heavenly fire in each one of us
Though it may lie dormant in broad daylight
It kindles up, beams, and blazes
In the dark hours of adversity.
So, frolic in the Living water and dance on the cliff
An edifice constructed through years of hard labor
May be destroyed overnight but keep building anyway!
Categories:
threaded, i am, life, light,
Form:
Free verse
Indigenous woman—rarely accompanied by their
white sisters—or their men enter
through the side door
of St. Peter’s Church.
Here they are boxed in cool stucco,
and stained-glass. A flock of Mexican
Madonna’s shift today to encompass
their fairer sister:
Dios te salve, Maria. Llena eres de gracia: El Señor es contigo.
Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres. Y bendito es
el fruto de tu vientre:,Jesús.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is
the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros,
pecadores, ahora y en la hora ...
drones on—and on—and on
within the heavenly heights of gilded frescos—bleeding—
rainbows prism the room in false light, kaleidoscoping upon
the walls—murals of brocade, gold-threaded catch random rays.
Woman anchor the pews with their desires—
Pliant and pleading these mothers beseech Mary to intercede:
for first class citizenship (inside and outside the Church)
for work, for health, for a better life for their children.
Voices of the lamb bleating; dinner for the wolves, they pray.
SHORT SHRIFT-little or no attention or consideration
Categories:
threaded, devotion, discrimination,
Form:
Free verse
...... Part 3 ......
The old wolf creeps, the old wolf leaps
on prey he’s been a’ trackin’ –
a deer adorned with branchin’ horns
is torn by beasts attackin’.
The morning quakes, a shadow shakes,
tined antlers left a’ lyin’,
and spattered spots and scarlet clots
repaint the point o’ dyin’.
A magpie flies with frightened eyes
(on ebon wings a’ wavin’),
spies wolfin’ jaws and sated maws
of wolves no longer cravin’.
The snowdrift clears, a cool wind veers,
a dying breath, moreover –
a wraith appears, with shaggy ears,
(one droopin’ down, hung over).
Dawn’s sunbeams crowd, ignite a cloud,
its threaded strands a’ weavin’.
The pack awakes and twists and shakes,
for soon it’s time for leavin’;
it’s bleak, it chills on shallow hills,
as she-wolfs come a’ nuzzlin’,
but north winds scold, the wolf lies cold,
the pack stands back a’ puzzlin’.
On crimson snows neath perchin’ crows,
the pack abides a’ guardin’;
while nights are tight with Harpy kites,
the she-wolves wait an’ harden,
until a groanin’ blizzard stones
the barren forest stowin’
his shaggy ears beneath the weirs,
with icy hails ’a blowin’.
The storm abates and terminates,
the glacial wind’s subsidin’;
the past is past or passin’ fast
and life goes on abidin’.
The herds, today, roam far away,
not thinkin’ of the dyin’;
the pack’ll stray from day to day,
’a stalkin’ hard and tryin’.
As spring sneaks forth upon the north,
they’re lean without their leader.
A she-wolf (bound with belly round)
strains neath a budding cedar.
Upon the morn a whelp is born
(the future forest drover)
in new frontiers, with shaggy ears
(one droopin’ down, hung over).
......End......
Categories:
threaded, nature, old,
Form:
Rhyme
Trees ablaze in glory before they shed
Their coat of autumn colours that ignite
Nature’s palette of orange, yellow, red
A harvest to reap what is sown and spread
Bountiful crop of ripe fruit to delight
Trees ablaze in glory before they shed
Acorns, chestnuts, berries, fall where you tread
Leaves of threaded colour drop from a height
Nature’s palette of orange, yellow, red
Migrating birds called farewell as they fled
A shorter day becomes a longer night
Trees ablaze in glory before they shed
Sweet smell of cinnamon and gingerbread
Amber bonfires light up a crisp, dark night
Nature’s palette of orange, yellow, red
Autumn falls with all her splendour to spread
Last burst of colour before winters blight
Trees ablaze in glory before they shed
Nature’s palette of orange, yellow, red
Categories:
threaded, autumn,
Form:
Villanelle
My beloved Drino,
Take me to the memory
a neverlasting dream
which lived in yester yesterday
long before destiny took its toll
and footprints marked separate paths
Take me back to that December night
where we ran holding hands
to the cottage down the hill
by fields of evergreen
I am there, You are too
Kissing snowflakes from my lips
as melting moistness falls
upon silk wisps of auburn hair
How can I not remember
your palms' gentle rub
brushing raindrops
which trickled ever so slow
across the inner of my thigh
Ahh !I can still smell the scent
of your warm breath upon my neck's nape
~Honey and lemon
I can still hear that hush hushed whisper
beneath the tender of my ear
Still live the feeling,of your fading kiss
upon each flutter of my lash
My beloved Drino
Carry me back to those sheets
which still know the voice
and the colour of your eyes
Let me travel to the cradle
of those arms and perfumed wine
Let me travel to that smile
within the blossom of your heart
Threaded petals on a cheek
where scarlet velvets never sleep
Let my slippery fingers slide
to the soft hairs of your back
as you unbutton my last piece of innocence
As the corners of your mouth fulfill with juices
from the ripeness of pink peaches
As i open up to fire and you enter in flames
My beloved Drino,
take me to that night
where i tickled your wilderness
where you sank in my deep
Take me to the moment
where our sins were so sacred
and lust carried no shame
Not for the
contest..
But tnks
Cyndi
Macmillan
for your
'Spice box'
adult content contest
had been an
inspiration.
Ps..I had to delete
some spices after
i posted it
Hope its still liked
: )
Categories:
threaded, boyfriend, me, me, travel,
Form:
Free verse
Suspended improbably on shoulders
Hunched by years of glacial attrition
And threaded through a forest of boulders:
The path that holds the key to my mission
I speak allegorically, because
This tortured path has ne’er been seen before
And every rock is a problem that was
And every chasm is an open sore
Each footstep will demand its pound of pain
The raven keeps score of the promises
But I will endure until I unchain
The bright drops from the dark cloud’s surfaces
And refract the light from the Sun, to send
To the Heart of Gold at the Rainbow’s end ~
Categories:
threaded, friendship, hope, life, love
Form:
Sonnet