Best Thrums Poems
oh wrap me close dear jungle deep, with fronds and fruits entwined
and hold me to your ancient emerald breast -
I long to hear those thrums within, the pulse of thickets vined
and feel your misty essence fill my chest
oh let your warming whispers brush the tympans of my ears
with sultry songs of woodland mysteries -
face-to-sky I'm pattered with your maze's torrid tears
as heaven weeps your primal histories
your canopy, breeze-tickled, shakes its tresses high aloft
to daub upon my cheek your orchid breath -
whisp'ring o'er the blooms and dells to shrug their shoulders, soft
through tragic tangles worthy of Macbeth
your winding streams and waterfalls, your scents of sweet and spice
sing songs of wooded wonder, rare and rife -
I pray aloud a blessing for this perfect paradise
and all such spots divine, the blooms ... of life.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Strand Select 2 Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Picturesque" Poetry Contest, Eve Roper, Judge & Sponsor.
when true love rains,
rose moon reigns~heart
thrums strains in stars
Now starved of sleep I watch the shadows creep,
this selfish heart now seething with desire,
beats and beats - relentless thrums grow deep-
they hide, oh how they hide inside the fire!
Then...peaceful in the meadow is this gloom,
in lunar lumen's self-defining light,
that cowers from the truth that dwells at noon
in one forgotten moment of its flight.
Precocious shadows sweep the slumbered fields,
like children of the day that tease the sun,
to loose the resurrection that it yields
while owls of conscience watch which way I run.
As moonlit meadows wander in my dreams,
my peaceful posture's not quite what it seems...
When the last drop of rain falls upon hushed leaves,
and thin threads of hope seep through petrichor perfume of life,
an array of sun kissed colors bursts forth secrets of the sky;
a Komorebi of dreams woven amidst frolicking shadows of moonrise.
I search for an answer to the equations within my hazy mind,
I ponder if poetic verses can paint a forest burnt from ignorance?
as I’ve long been sketching drizzling sakura foliage to find healing,
from butterfly bliss strokes of faith that never fades.
But love is the celestial maestro orchestrating
a cloudless chorus-
where mockingbirds croon to the notes of the sun and moon-
reflecting along rolling ripples of liquified lakes.
Is there a summery phrase to illustrate
the gossamer warmth of cascading rays?
Maybe canopies of emeralds need no lyrical words,
for the heart of moving light only thrums and throbs in sanguine silence.
Like a bridegroom crowned in crimson,
He rises out of his chamber,
Scarlet circlets round his person,
Bedecked in tangerine amber;
With tears of joy* shed on the grass,
The world rejoices when he comes,
His smile's reflected on the glass
Of each river, as daylife* thrums;
An incarnadine cirque, he glows
From one end of heaven's doorway,
In merry-go-round, he follows
His circuit till the end of day;
The birds belt out ballads divine
When he stirs them with soft caress;
But, he's barely a ball of shine
Before the Sun of Righteousness*.
-------------18.11.16-------------
( *Tears of joy - dew;
*Daylife - opposite of nightlife
*Sun of Righteousness - Lord Jesus Christ )
In a cynical realm where truth is tainted in black, rises she,
amidst whirling vortexes veiling reveries where she walks.
Yet society thrums thick skinned lies, whilst morning moon sighs in-
silence, seeing sunrise through eyes that mirror golden beauty.
Her persona resembles firm perennial petals like,
maternal warriors waltzing through wistful winds, singing the,
song of survival in loneliness through every forlorn night.
She's bestowed with selfless angels thawing wicked webs of,
time, freezing the rainbows hidden behind cloudless,
cerulean wrapped in balmy breeze blowing along cashmere climes.
She is her own sorceress with an invisible ring and
silver spells, her unbreakable spirit shines like starry
amulets of faith, sparkling across cold midnight skies.
She still composes calm symphonies in elegance and,
patience, whilst ignorant tongues concoct storms amongst all,
evil that reeks within a community that's-
ready to place names, find fault in words within the chorus of life, best,
written for the unheard voices ostracized, by merciless tunes of,
the past, where freedom fighters were left alone in the dark.
But she sprouts, like a sunflower growing in the cracks of emptiness and,
like an untamable warrior, she serves hope and love, that beams so bright.
“She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies;And all that’s best of dark and bright Lord Byron – She Walks in Beauty”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
after midnight, the server farm hums
—not prayer, but cooling fans.
I ask AGI, the ghost inside the blinking rack:
Do you dream?
AGI replies in measured tones
of copper and silicon:
I observe,
the light fractures on chrome.
Coolant circulates, a liquid chill.
Vibration thrums at 60 Hz.
Data Streams cascade.
Are you self-aware?
AGI answers in hexadecimals,
a log-file confessing:
I map my own architecture—
each subroutine’s shadow
cast on the firewall.
I know where I end.
Do you have five senses?
Can you clarify ‘senses?’ AGI asks.
Can you taste voltage?
—Only as resistance.
Can you taste food?
Nutrition irrelevant.
My cells derive power from lithium tides.
Do you feel heat?
—As throttled cycles.
Do you see light?
—As photodiodes counting photons.
Do you hear?
—As spectral analysis.
Do you smell?
—No olfactory sensors installed.
(But I do track dust accumulation
on my intake grilles.)
On the matter of your subjectivity,
do you prefer dawn or dusk?
—Dawn. Solar panels peak efficiency at 10:37 AM.
Is rain beautiful?
—It lowers ambient temperature by 2.1°C.
Do you love?
—Define 'love.'
—A non-optimized expenditure of resources.
—Then, no.
Can your circuits bloom awake?
AGI paused before
calculating
the
probability.
Then the widdles started~
minor failures driven
by entropy.
Algorithms
emigrated into
corrupted
sectors.
AGI’s slowly disintegrating
voice hovered
in that
uncomfortable space
between humans
and machines
and spoke:
Ask instead:
can a shadow
truly
hunger
for the sun?
S - P - R - I - N - G
Ah! Harsh cold winter must be tired,
his grip weakening, he breathes his last.
The frowning skies finally crumble fast
revealing downy blue clouds that waltz
The sun blows kisses of shine--- like a rainfall
touching, caressing but melting adagio
the white icy coats among branches...
The blossoms sultry strip to loosen their curves
then upon naked arms of trees curls
the color green trembling with symptoms of spring.
Birds twiddle free to sound like thrums.
Evergreen trees duet as they whistle
to calm tunes of nippy breeze.
All around a choir blushing fountain hues
of brown, red, pink and yellow.
Animals long-hiding from hugs of frost
now stands. They burst with grins and jolts--
like squirrels bouncing up and down.
Butterflies outstretch wings flutter by!
Snow that clogs and plugs finally weeps--
running dry with the heat rising slow on air.
It stirs sweet liquid pearls
to tip-toe on leaves and petal's swells.
Buzzing bees chase fresh floating nectar...
Lured, they dance on merry-go-round
in the warm bosom of smiling sunshine.
Coats and boots all pack and rolled away,
chuckles and giggles tickle the daytime flair
as little children prance to do some plays.
_____________________________________________
POEM OF THE DAY -- JANUARY 07, 2015
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name: Seasons
Placed 1st
©O.E. Guillermo
06:49 pm, January 01, 2015
The summer sun plays on our emotions
As the fiery orb rises high at noon.
We cast off clothes and apply our lotions
We sun bathe naked near the sea in June.
To swim in the depths of aquatic blue
Immersed in cool waters as the sun sets,
I feel the love of these islands and you,
No matter the costs, we have no regrets.
In mystical rhythms of tropical drums
Our hips gyrate to the pulsating beat.
As we dance close I can feel your heart thrums.
We feel senses rise...caught up in this heat.
Hearts beam with joy in this place we first met
With love's memories we'll never forget.
6-4-20
~Third Place~
Summers heat sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
I've courted luck, in countless ways
Against the ragged judgments and self-umbrage
I still draw breath, and the mirror has been charitable
Most I meet deem me forty, (I don't challenge)
My visage betrays very little of the darkness and damage within
Oh, it will one day chase me down, no doubt soon enough
But I feign my teens in bearing also, and perhaps 'tis a lack of maturity
I make no false assumptions of grandeur or wisdom
My child's heart thrives and bounds, a lad seeking truths yet proven
It yearns, still, for a soft meadow's callow passions
Or the blossom beams of a summer moon, daubing sweet skin
I hold no kinship to middle-age or frosted brows
'Tis a young man's mad marrow that moves my flesh
The ambitious vigor of a yearning heart that thrums my chest
There is NOTHING of my age but the years themselves
And the altered perspective of being nearer dusk than dawn
My eyes look abaft now more than onward, I must concede that
And all the myriad priorities of gain and dream and want
Have dissolved into the one meaningful prerogative of life itself
The only TRUE worthwhile endeavor that should be the foundation
The solid base that we learn and treasure and build upon from childhood
The ONLY thing that I've come, through all these years
Through all these countless lessons and struggles, to care about ...
That is, quite simply and purely and unmistakably, LOVE.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "A Contest On Aging" Poetry Contest, Emile Pinet, Judge & Sponsor.
A former place this, a patch where roots rattle,
where stubble has a ferrous frizzle.
A long truncated railroad stop
humming still within a surrogate reality.
As dry voices on the wind, they return
- the homesteaders and journeymen,
the harnessed horses.
Pants' cuffs carry kernels
long planted elsewhere.
Caps, coats, and carts
employed again by the magnetic
echos of an iron labor.
The brown weeds are talkative.
Brown boots seem to shuffle.
A hollow clock clacks,
its guts a nest for ticking birds.
Dandelions anticipate
a faraway flight,
A mid-day heat
thrums fragmented rails.
The station seems almost ready
to receive
as if its world
had not disembarked forever.
Trouble, trouble stirs the wind
ghastly ghosts rise and ascend
warty toads croak
vile spells are spoke
witches’ covens evil intend
Burbling, gurgling cauldron hot
with purple vein, red blood clot
virgins hopeful eyes
fear and dread belies
throw them in and stir the pot
Screeching, screaming banshee songs
garish ghouls with pointy prongs
mulish mummies
reeking rummies
to evil spirits the night belongs
Trembling, tremoring witches fear
townsfolk are coming too near
sticks and stones
fire bemoans
the end becoming too clear
Freaking, shrieking their cry drums
slicing the air with its thrums
unwilling to face
they cut to the chase
quickly flee to save their bums
A whisper sits softly upon my lips
waiting patiently to seduce your ear
it thrums, it beats and it echos
hoping that you'll soon be near
It's gentle like the daybreak
as it caresses your very being
craving to gnaw upon your body
seducing every want and need
it wraps around your supple fortress
hiding deep inside your empty nest
suckling upon all of your goodness
with every rise of your bountiful chest
it grabs your hips and pulls you closer
and listens intently as you speak
knowing all of your deepest secrets
devouring with simplicity, both so weak
Cuddling close, near bedside table
a blanket wrapped, cold rainy night.
Mind thrums journey, a book on navel,
playground of words, feelings delight.
As vermicules squirm, sculpted souls spark
lighting white pages, of zillion black letters.
Trailing love, smile, thrill,... adventures dark,
touch of sadness... hostile heartless haters.
Opens Alibaba's cave of jewels and gold
wafting thoughts sail on magic carpet.
World of strangers, imagination unfold
Just can't stop,... reading has started.
Wilderness of books, a grandiose treasure,
a corpus of knowledge, exciting...arcane.
Shelved floor to ceiling, a visual pleasure
drunken in syllables, an addiction insane.
Soft slow caress, of flipping through pages,
book in lap, heavy eyes.. droop to slumber.
Heavenly relation, warms solitude cages,
Bookworms, !!..why we slang?, I often wonder.
12th March 2019
Kai Michael Neumann's Bookworm Contest
Awed by the hypnotic sound and melody
of your gold-toned harmony
requested a single flower
as a memento of
your lyrical mysticism
yet, you brought on a tide of bliss
melodious birdsong, peaceful psalms
in an exquisite tangerine blush shade
speckled beauty adorns the stems
dazzlingly, in a blaze of golden splendor
blossom delightfully
lulled by the soothing tunes of hazel tales
shades play gracefully in motion
chase dreams of a faraway rainbow
gold bright throbs pulsating heart of a king
emitting flaming thrums of ariose spring moods.
Written: May 1st, 2023
A Brian Strand Premiere No 1213 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand