Best Tiptoed Poems
Fall Tiptoed In
Softly, last night it tiptoed in--
that wisp of crispness in the air!
I grab a quilt made way back when
and watch the sunrise from my chair.
The cinnamon breeze monarchs ride—
softly, last night it tiptoed in
and brought me thoughts of days gone by,
of marshmallows and campfire friends.
Can it be, summer’s at an end,
and fall has quietly begun?
Softly, last night it tiptoed in,
to avoid notice of the sun.
Just yesterday the summer heat
made me wistful for fall, and then,
while I’m in bed and fast asleep,
softly, last night it tiptoed in!
8/26/2022
Hint of Autumn
Regina McIntosh, sponsor
Categories:
tiptoed, autumn,
Form:
Quatern
The old screen door still welcomes me, a familiar song I've heard before..
But oddly now, it's out of tune. It has a wail of some despair
After this,...who'll pass this way?
Will they use the rug and wipe their feet, erase away the grime or sleet?
Or will they even care?
I feel my pulse and lungs collide, then take a breath and step inside
I've been asked to come, to clear the house
To organize, and set it right…
But it all seems wrong….
To trespass on the throne of life
that was softly lived, behind a gate where thirsty roses bloom and wait…
I hesitate….
to disturb the lace on drop-leaf tables…
Disgrace the quiet of the gloom
To open drawers, snoop and sort, ….a pruning,
of the good, the used, from worn and torn
My hands are able, but my heart declines..
what isn’t mine, to toss, to find, to mark, and label…
She had lived alone, the last to go,
one somber dawn, in the old brownstone.
Without a hint her time was near
But silently, without fanfare, death tiptoed in and closed the door,
beyond the path that brought me here
Echoes of her old straw broom
swept years away from every room
The dust motes in the window light
now spark and light each memory…
Soft treadle sounds from sewing hems, are recalled by the August wind,
that rattle windows, shaking blooms, in this waning afternoon
There are questions I would like to ask,
but I can’t recall just what they were
No matter now….with no one here
I must keep focused on my task…
Keep sorting, tagging, tossing, clearing…
How strange it is, how odd it seems,
the last thing found, brown paper bound
was tucked away, and gently loved.
Her china cup, her favorite one, so lovely in my hand,
would last beyond her grave, intact
Long shadows have closed the afternoon.
A letting go, and a fading sun
My task is done. And I must go
I'll keep the cup, and hold it close
It's a witness to a world unknown
Some fragile things are never gone
Categories:
tiptoed, death, friendship, loss, love,
Form:
Free verse
l.
Opening the closet of narra doors, I sweep through
organza skirts and gemmed ringlets; my hair
ruffling aimlessly upon scalloped kerchiefs
smelling decade - old hyacinth, Mom’s favorite
ambrosia: she would lift her anklets
in tiptoed hums, ”night and day, you are the one..”
Evenings touched her candle hands; hands
that soothed wounded knees from jackstone fights;
her fingers caressing a pony -tailed girl’s wrath
with piano keys rippling into a gentle moan;
“night and day you are the one…”
And i am delivered from my tempestuous rants.
ll.
From nowhere, the porcelain mirror gazed at me;
her rhythm of silence billows, cradling my nights
with each veil of her almond eyes
that enter into my irises: a serene sight
too close, much too tight I clung to her unspoken word.
Through years, I grew like a bamboo shoot: her quiet smiles
and music walked me through reality’s maze.
And how I would wail bearing the grim of hard study,
coughing late, late hours of reading toil…yet,
she stayed like a moth with charm flushed
in a wind of calm gaze, ebbing .
lll.
And only Mom could melt my temper
when my raging soul paused to wonder
at her light’s glow: oh, her feminine beat illumined
more lamplights dancing inside this rebellious head…
and now, she hovers around me.
I become her eyes, chanting, “night and day,
you are the one” ; never balking at my surreal conquests.
She is gone bequeathing warmth into my torched flights
without question; with much love dripping
from her graceful movement, straying all through
these my breaths: “night and day, you are the one…”
Best Sad Poem Ever Contest of Laura Loo
Resubmitted 8/28/2016
Categories:
tiptoed, longing, mother daughter,
Form:
Prose Poetry
"For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed." - beautifulnow.is
Autumn tiptoed in after summer.
I reminisce of the silent kiss
she left as droplets on the delicate florets
of one beautiful, bright chrysanthemum.
Her early morning tryst went undetected
until the evidence of it glistened
in the light of a sweet September dawn.
I spotted that lovely mum blushing pink
from the visit Autumn made just before King Sun peeked down
from his throne of gold on high in the brilliant sky
when he caught the goddess bidding a fond farewell
to the flower she had been deliciously romancing.
Too many times to count has Autumn visited
other flowers, leaving her fleeting touch of love
which puts a glow on their pretty petaled faces,
but each of her kisses is evanescent.
In that moment I recall, one chrysanthemum
glowed most gloriously from the silent kiss.
Categories:
tiptoed, autumn, kiss,
Form:
Personification
I bent over to touch my toes
and the ground tore open like a backbone.
I tried to feed myself the sky;
to splice my tearducts into the universe
so that, when the pavement cried, it would mean something to me.
My fingernails punctured that slimy membrane
congealed with stars,
and I brought a slice of it to my lips,
hot and slippery like a jellyfish.
Peach juice, chalky-sweet, flowed,
fleshy particles snagged in my teeth,
and the colors erupted within my mouth.
Synthesia took over my lungs.
The hollows between my knuckles flooded with synovia
and all the ectoplasm threatened to separate from my cells
with a sound like thunder.
Diphthong tasted rusty like leukoplakia as it tiptoed across my tongue.
Tomorrow rose like the skeletons of trees,
groping for a feeling similar to catharsis
[catharsis tender as the broken wings of doves,
crunching underfoot like shattered glass.]
The clouds opened their thunderous maws
- teeth snicker-snacking, lamplight-eyes flaming the color of E#'s -
and consumed me.
I felt my skin turn to something other than skin:
thick and rough with scales,
my fingerprints melting into something waxen, smooth and opaque,
like pomegranate kisses on coffee mugs.
A feeling ignited deep in my structure;
cedillas blossoming like lilies from my lips,
fragmented sentences stretching taut as guitar strings
between my thumb and forefingers.
A flutter gentle and demonic as Calcifer erupted from my system
- splattering hot and frothing into my hand -
and fluid rushed in.
I dared to taste oblivion,
and the sky swallowed me.
My lungs failed to be lungs.
They flooded with caustic matter,
and I coughed up reflections sharp as fiberglass;
fighting with organs phthisical and sore.
I struggled to find a way to describe it:
the feeling of consuming something greater than yourself,
of opening your eyes and tasting the sound of rain.
It was like swimming,
but inside out.
I bent over to touch my toes,
and my spine tore open;
the loose laces unraveling, veterbrae poking out
like the tines of forks.
I tried to contort myself into the beginning,
but I only found where I end.
Categories:
tiptoed, allegory, confusion, depression, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
Here is to those who tiptoed out of my life
Without explaining what I did wrong
In order for me to do it better next time
Here is to those who thought they knew me
Who judged; without getting to know me
Here is to those who lied their way into my life
Assuming that my eyes would never see the truth
Here is to those I loved and lost
Who taught me unconditional love
In spite of the challenges it brings
Here is to those I treasure
That took the time to see the cracks
That looked beyond the mistakes, beyond the flaws
Who still said 'you are worth it'
In our lives we grow with people or we grow apart
It doesn't mean that you failed in a relationship
It means that you needed that person in that particular space
On this journey you meet people and you let go of people
Then you get those that give you reasons to want to hold on
Treasure the experiences
Remember the lessons
Never allow it to steal the memories you can create today
So I am lifting a glass to those I had to let go
And to those that gave me reasons to hold on
Thank you for the inspiration
Thank you for dwelling in my space
©134229042015
Categories:
tiptoed, growth, life,
Form:
Free verse
He walked amid the woodlands muted morn.
The scents of earth were wafting on the breeze.
For dawn had moistened yet another day.
And silence dripped beneath the autumn trees.
A rustle in dry leaves, he caught a glimpse.
His gun caressed the warmth of flannel sleeves.
The silent hunter, stalking, tiptoed near.
A golden-red meandered through the leaves.
The sun began to rise above the knoll.
It shone upon dark eyes; the gun rose high.
The pheasant flickered leaves; then, heard a crunch.
He recognized the scent; the man walked nigh.
Red feathers, brightly accented with gold,
Were ruffled as he took his fighting pose.
The cockerel next to man had no defense.
So, high above the trees the pheasant rose!
His hungry children waited back at home.
He rushed along the trail up to the crest.
The pheasant lost from view; his stomach growled.
The hunter and his gun had done their best.
At noon, the hunter rested on a log.
The water in his canteen, nearly dry,
No morsel did he eat as day grew long.
The stealthy man could hear his children’s cry.
December 1, 2014
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Structured forms - Iambic verse - Sketch a fictitious character - (Top Gun Poetry) - Poetry Contest
Sponsor Giorgio A. V.
Categories:
tiptoed, angst, animal, autumn, food,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
Attempting to await St. Nick, small Ted
lay trembling with excitement in his bed,
one Christmas Eve while all his siblings slept
(their promise to stay up with him unkept).
Like smoke that rose above his house that night
and drifted to the moon, his thoughts took flight.
He wondered (and he couldn't comprehend)
how dear old Santa ever could descend
the chimney to his house when at its base
were sparks that sputtered in the fireplace.
So as he pondered what St. Nick might do,
he left his room just as the clock struck two.
He tiptoed to the stairs where he could see
a figure on the rug nearby the tree. . .
Midst wrapping paper, boxes and a tangle
of ribbons knelt his mother. At an angle,
the firelight warmly touched her face. Her hair
showed flecks of sugar. Ted stooped on a stair
transfixed. . . The sugar looked like angel's dust!
And then he understood how long she must
have worked because the scent of cooking pies
was proof of it. Ted suddenly felt wise. . .
He realized how sweet pies could appear
like magic every Christmas. All was clear!
A single mom, this angel in his sight
began to hum the tune to "Silent Night."
Unseen, Ted lingered on the stair, content
in knowing his St. Nick was heaven sent.
(not sure if this is the "epic" you had in mind, Leonora.
but this is my submission for your contest! Merry Christmas)
Categories:
tiptoed, christmas, house,
Form:
Rhyme
Seven days and lonely at night
Was a Princess called Snow White
On her doorstep there was
Little guy dwarves
All different to view from sight
So on Monday night she did walk
To Dopey's bedroom for a talk
The conversation was slow
Up sticks did she go
At her topless body he did gawk
When Tuesday evening came around
She tiptoed without a sound
Beside Bashful she sat
Blimey, not again, no chat
His eyes on me will never abound
Oh my! it's Wednesday again
Am I beautiful or just plain Jane
I better go to the Doc
Do I look good in this frock
Am I letting my shapely shapes wane
It's Thursday and I better nurse Sneezy
Whose chest has become rather wheezy
To him I won't kiss
No matter his wish
I have no desire to become queasy
Thankfully Friday has been reached
It's the weekend long lies are now preached
For Sleepy I'll never wake
No booty will he shake
My cheeks he'll never see peached
Saturday has finally come along
Even Grumpy now sings the same song
With a song and a cheer
Shared over a few beers
No chance you'll get into my thong
Have I saved Sunday to be the best
Is Happy better than the rest
His smile tells me so
For more than his cheeks glow
At last a loving grin at my breasts
Oh I need to be loved ever since
Like the weeks I had with my Prince
For many many nights
He knew to love me right
When I walked, you could see my legs wince
.
.
Categories:
tiptoed, humor,
Form:
Limerick
She asked him, "Why are you drinking
Before it's 9 am"?
He told her not to worry
She said, "Damn! You're drunk again".
She said that she was tired
Of him sleeping on the couch
She told him forty seven ways
He acted like a slouch
"Get up and fix the plumbing
Go outside and mow the lawn
Close your mouth you stupid ass
Don't let me see you yawn".
"Comb your hair and shave your beard
Look more like a man".
He rubbed his face and shook his head
And said, "How's that again"?
She stomped her feet in fury
As her fist shook back and forth
"I'm going back to mommas
If you don't get up and work".
So he staggered to his feet
And grabbed his britches by the waist
He pulled them up and stumbled off
To find a quiet place
He said that he was going
To the store to by some bread
But never made it further
Than his broke down pick-up bed
Thirty minutes later
He was wakened from his sleep
She took the backyard garden hose
And sprayed him head to feet
He jumped and ran to save himself
And find some place to hide
He heard her cackling like a hen
As she went back inside
He hid behind the bushes
Till he thought the coast was clear
He had to find a way inside
To get another beer
He crept up to the screen door
Looking in to take a peek
He slowly pulled it open
So as not to make it squeak
He slipped inside and closed it
Then he tiptoed 'cross the floor
Quietly he reached out
For refrigerator door
But something caught his eye
And he looked over toward the sink
That dadgum woman took his beer
And poured out all his drink
His head was bent in sorrow
At the tragedy he saw
A dozen soldiers down in flames
And bound by Sundays law
There was nothing left to do
But go and take his seat
Beside his wife of twenty years
Who made his life complete
He loved her 'cause she loved him
It was paradise in hell
He whispered that into her ear
And she said, "Damn you smell".
"Get off me with your drunken breath
Go sit over there".
And so he went and slouched down in
His worn out easy chair
Quietly they watch tv
Into the dark of night
Then went to bed with word unsaid
And turned out all the lights
The end
Rockman :-)
Categories:
tiptoed, funnyme,
Form:
Rhyme
As quiet blackness deepened
I lay awake my heart in check,
The cool night wind blew
And welcome silence grew…
_______
Unanticipated music exploded
Roused me from bed rest,
I tiptoed to its source:
Dark sounds from downstairs,
Nearer, higher, and louder
Till it reached the hallway.
He grasped my hand,
Whirled it to turn me twice,
Held me close, went on trotting steps
Slow, quick, quick; slow, quick, quick;
Slow, slow, quick, quick...
He never gets tired, he liked the dance.
He led; I followed - his greatest joy;
In perfect timing to his bidding,
I swayed wherever he flung me,
His steps were full of variation –
He liked it that way;
While I only had one reaction –
Receive his urgings.
Perfect dance he'd always say because
It is with such ease when partner is open
That controlled movement is played.
Ungraceful dance I never liked,
But all this time it kept me alive:
His music and diverse steps I sought
And to it I humbly swayed.
Tonight I let him led again,
Just like the other days and nights.
The darkness of the night was strained,
It was only the curtains that were swaying,
To the night breeze with grace,
Stark of light peeped out from the room,
My hands and feet went frozen like ice,
I heard a different tune within, sad, weary,
But slowly roused with excitement
And anger underneath... Heated me up
Ablaze, my eyes red-stained -
He held me closer to him, and I -
Pulled myself too tight to him
He was pleased I saw it in his sated eyes
As I meekly submitted… for the last time.
We did slow, quick, quick steps for a two
Or more and then he let me go; I trotted
Far away from him then back to him
Without his behest, and out of rhythm
His steps were outside our dance floor…
Down the stairs...In open position he lay there,
In his face I saw his dance - the macabre
dance - I never liked at all. His eyes dazed –
He had his final dance with me after all.
_____
The night was cold, yet I felt warm, and the music gone,
The curtains stopped swaying at the night winds’ prodding.
-maria
8/11/14
Categories:
tiptoed, abuse, dance, dark, discrimination,
Form:
Free verse
When awakened by a golden sunrise call
and birds announcing spring upon my sill...
I'm thrilled to see the night has left a shawl
of green enchantment, dressing every hill !
It painted twigs of every leaf and bough
and tiptoed in while I was soundly sleeping
Spreading news that spring is here, and now
is how a world renews our spirits, sinking
Green has roused the meadows from their soggy beds
and dried the willow's tears, from sadly, weeping
She kissed the leaves before the summer's red
And urged my muse to do some gallant leaping !
Awakened by the bugle's morning thrill
of green that dresses keen on every hill
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
For "It's Spring, Show Me The Green" Contest: 3/21/15
Sponsor: Francine Roberts
Categories:
tiptoed, beautiful, beauty, green,
Form:
Sonnet
, , , , , , ,
We took no notice of a sky turned gray
And the change of brooding gloom
The autumn rain had tiptoed in
We almost missed it's coming, but for leaves
That murmured quick surprise along the eaves
And tapped excitement on the window-pane
But having heard, we left our cozy place
And stepped outdoors to smell the air
To feel the slope of rain upon the face
And could even hear the rustling trees
Dripping wet with sheer delight
Gratefully welcoming tap-dance songs
Of raindrops in the night
Categories:
tiptoed, naturerain, autumn, rain,
Form:
Free verse
I turned your way to talk to you,
then I remembered you were gone.
Tiptoed at night in softest shoe,
I looked for you but saw no one.
Sometimes I think I see you there--
a whisper, shadow, at nightfall.
Among the trees, a rush of air,
a song to me within bird's call.
As time went by, I lost your face,
but your fine wit stays in my midst.
We'll meet again--a special place
where all is love, and hope exists.
You stopped by once to say goodbye.
I couldn't say these words that day.
Time gave me strength, no longer shy
I feel you need be on your way.
Farewell my love, enjoy your flight.
with stars and moon beckoning nigh.
I'll search each day and moonlit night
for you, when it's my time to fly.
July 8, 2022
Rhyme
for Farewell Theme contest
by Lisa YY
Second Place
Categories:
tiptoed, flying, goodbye, i miss
Form:
Rhyme
Tom was such a naughty kitty cat,
when he saw spike asleep on the mat,
came up with a plan, ever so sly,
he thought he'd sneak in and eat his pie,
Tom began to plot his little scheme,
tiptoed inside, hoping not to be seen,
but then he felt a sudden shock,
when closing the gate, he dropped the lock!
Hit poor Spike on top of his big paw,
so on Tom's tail he began to gnaw!
Off he ran, as he began to weep.
Next time he won't disturb Spike's sleep!
Categories:
tiptoed, fun,
Form:
Rhyme