Best Tremulously Poems
Aster 'Blue Autumn,' summer wanes.
The shining sky of dusk is drenched in splendor.
Tremulously, I watch shadows that arrive
all to soon-to purloin sun's last rays.
Aster 'Blue Autumn,' Virgo aches,
and you're re-birthed from star dust that she cries-
to bloom beneath blue skies until the fatal time
when breath is snatched . . . Pensively I wait.
Inspired by the Aster flower named Blue Autumn
November comes down gliding on filmy wings,
Bringing cool and dank days on her way
Sweet it is to watch the spectacular changes she brings
In a medley of colors, plants and trees proudly stay
Earth puts on a finery no other season can beat
In glinting flashes, the land and sky look so bright
The delectable pumpkin pie is the season’s favorite treat
As the day advances sunbeams fall in sparks of light
.
Early mornings come covered in snowy mist
Soon leaves nose dive and mournfully weep
The fallen leaves tremulously cry under our feet
As their last goodbye before they finally fall asleep
Evenings turn colorful with sinking sunlight, bleeding red
Squirrels chatter noisily as they gather nuts in the wild
As autumn tightens its grip, men retire early to bed
Wind blows all through the month with a temper mild
Soon the air turns chilly with blizzards coming in a row
And winter waits impatient for its icy-cold embrace.
The land will then be covered in a maze of snow.
Even the last flower shall fall and fade from earth’s face
The fallen dead leaves lying in piles and rotting away
And the sound of wind whistling the dirge of November
Bring to me the thought that we must all take leave one day
Down on earth, fall and rot, thus be fodder for new life ever!
Nov.13.2022
~ Placed First~
November or December Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Caren Krutsinger
Winds of a Frozen Wasteland
Winds blowing down the mountain silver capped so cold,
Howling fiercely with a herculean ferocity rarely ever seen.
A cold snap cuts straight and deep now to one’s very bones,
As one’s body trembles tremulously teetering toward a fall.
Beloved baby black crows roost inside their snug warm nest,
As a hail-driven breath spits its hardened bullets piercing now.
On this frozen wasteland of one’s soul—a lone rooster crows,
Seeing, feeling soft sunlight rays stroking his proud chest pure.
He’s puffed up now breathing boldly the brisk cold morning air;
Singing with wondrous conviction true of daylight’s awakening.
This lone rooster knows the gifts of nature’s frozen wasteland,
As the warm sun’s ebullient eyes flash bright inside dark jewels.
A crystal fountain baptized with Heaven’s own purest light,
Appears as the sun warms a land frozen nightly by the winds.
Dewdrops cometh forth as those teardrops of life growing anew,
With brightest beginnings for God’s hallowed frozen wasteland!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid, A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – May 1, 2016
(Unrhymed Couplet)
Winds blowing down the mountain silver capped so cold,
Howling fiercely with a herculean ferocity rarely ever seen.
A cold snap cuts straight and deep now to one’s very bones,
As one’s body trembles tremulously teetering toward a fall.
Beloved baby black crows roost inside their snug warm nest,
As a hail-driven breath spits its hardened bullets piercing now.
On this frozen wasteland of one’s soul—a lone rooster crows,
Seeing, feeling soft sunlight rays stroking his proud chest pure.
He’s puffed up now breathing boldly the brisk cold morning air;
Singing with wondrous conviction true of daylight’s awakening.
This lone rooster knows the gifts of nature’s frozen wasteland,
As the warm sun’s ebullient eyes flash bright inside dark jewels.
A crystal fountain baptized with Heaven’s own purest light,
Appears as the sun warms a land frozen nightly by the winds.
Dewdrops cometh forth as those teardrops of life growing anew,
With brightest beginnings for God’s hallowed frozen wasteland!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid, A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – May 1, 2016
(Unrhymed Couplet)
Aster of September, summer wanes.
The shining sky of dusk is drenched in splendor.
Tremulously, I watch shadows that arrive.
Too soon, they purloin sun’s last rays.
Aster of September, Virgo aches.
You bloom till your breath is snatched away.
Lethargic verbs coax sleepy nouns
along verses of poetry
in the wee hours of the night.
A flickering fluorescent Light
tremulously glows its paleness
above the weary poets head,
each tremor depriving him sleep.
The first rays of sunlight shine through
the rooms window, devouring
the artificial annoyance
while his tired head slowly descends
onto his outstretched left forearm;
the pen still resting in his hand
while his dreams devise completion.
Crisp cool chardonnay drenches their lips,
it's flavour running rivulets over their tongues
eyes widen over the candlelit table,
and he thinks about giving her sons
Rich sticky risotto slowly prised from bowls
mouthfuls devoured in anticipation
he wipes his mouth with emphasised lust
and she thinks about sensual elation
Chargrilled sardines stare eyes from their plates
she plucks them away, eats them whole one by one
his leg quivers tremulously under the table
her sweetness burning like african suns
Creamy crem brulee drips from their spoons
slips down their throats, placating their hunger
he presses his appetite firmly to hers
her thighs draw him in to taste erotic thunder
- By Olongapoet
Are those dragon scales, your reason’s hides?
That I’d need St.George’s lance to pierce thru.
Need I look for angry Odin’s lost eye?
To see through thy cynicism’s Stygian depths?
Why does the sweet ambrosia of my offerings,
Seem mediocre for your Asgardian gratitude?
I’m not too far away in this Olympian plane,
For mine eyes be blind to thy splenetic attitude.
There is no Trojan Horse in all that I bring,
And thou art no Helen my lovely dear.
Thou won’t launch mere thousands of ships,
It would be as countless as stars yet unnamed.
Why couldn’t my Persian barrage of gaiety,
Wither your Spartan recalcitrance away,
In this Thermopylean joust of wits,
And humourless tragic Greek play?
Is this task in all means Sisyphean,
The taming of your boulder heart,
That I couldn’t bring to a pedestal mount,
For oft it runs back to the ground?
Would it take a persuasion of Homeric scale,
To convince you of my pure intentions?
Am I an eternal Pygmalion whose efforts,
Means nothing to a Galatea forever a stone?
Even Apollo’s chariot is dimmed and tempered,
When I squint my eyes in perplexity and sweat,
In untying thy senses’ Gordian knot,
And slaying thy labyrinthine mind’s Minotaur.
I don’t have Midas’ touch to turn golden,
That stony and cold disposition.
Nor I in a siren’s voice soothe and calm,
The deadening intensity of thy inquisition.
gods damn it…
I only need thee to brace thyself,
And wait for all love’s arrow to fly true,
To quiver tremulously, finally,
Upon thy hard chest.
So thou might look up,
And see upon mine bloodied hands,
a worn bow.
While Cupid long after my relief,
Of his draining, Herculean task,
lies jaded,
Wheezing upon the ground…
Form:
Ho’oponopono
forgiveness a virtue
virtue an attribute
requiring identity
needing healing
thus choosing
forgiveness
as a tool
no matter
Ho’oponopono forgiveness prayer
has four seemingly easy steps
softening attention in silence
first of all we say ‘I am sorry’
ouch!
many stuck at the first step
conceding we have erred
making hearts asunder
for what matters the truth
if love itself stands abandoned
we pause
reflecting that we are all one
the one we love is in anguish
leap out! reach out in embrace
brooking not for an instant, delay
say, say, please say, ‘I am sorry’
load lightens
our heart begins to tremulously smile
vibrationally, we draw near our love
‘please forgive me, my dear heart’
simply know this: ‘I love you!’
then, the quietus
having stepped forward into the mist
suffused with God’s love vibrations
in gratitude we say ‘thank you!’
lingering for eternity thus
time dissolves
the void of oneness alone remains
pulsating with omnipotent power
our lower ego mind vaporises
we accept all as they are
transcending the need
to forgive, because
there is no one
here within
save love
02-May-2021
You were an alcoholic, my mother says,
Fixing me with her timid tear-watered gaze –
You lived in paradise, on the wings of angels,
And you were an alcoholic…
So we had to take you away
Like Eve with her apple we had to remove you,
From the temptation – from your final graceless fall
We did it to save your life
She says it, tremulously, and I make no rebuke,
Offer no sharp retort
But she knows, and I know, that tearing me from Paradise did no good
That I am still an alcoholic; always will be
For though the booze was cheap in Paradise, the thirst is in my soul
And wherever I am, it comes along too
A dehydrated demon, crouched in my belly,
A baby screaming for milk – laced with your finest vodka
I crave the drink, I cherish the drink…I hoard it like Gollum with his precious ring
And whenever I can, wherever I am, I thirst and I swallow
And I fly into the air on tenuous wings,
Unshackled from sobriety for a brief tempestuous time
But the hills skimming below me are bleak,
There are no angels with me, and my heart is a cold lump of lead
I am consumed by bitterness
For though the alcohol remains, the landscape is not the same
And all is now black where it used to be shades of grey
And oh God, how the memories haunt me now,
Memories of when I used to live in Paradise, and drink…
How I soared above those Utopian beaches of golden sand,
Over those glossy jungle-garmented hills
They were my salvation, my succor during my drunken despair
But I was cruelly torn away from my precious Eden not so long ago,
And sent to purgatory to repent, still nursing the thirst, deep inside
And now here I sit, on the banks of the Styx, still thirsty – still drinking
Still an alcoholic, swallowing acrid mouthfuls of angst and self pity
But there is no Paradise now to comfort me, no angels with gossamer wings
No one to wipe the whisky tears that stream down my ashen cheeks
I am an alcoholic still, with nothing left to live for and nowhere left to go
So when my mother says she wanted to save my life – to save me from myself
I look at her in sullen silence and wonder;
How the loss of Eden could ever have taken away my alcoholic shades
When the mutinous eyes that stare through them belong, solely, to me?
Snow falling softly o’er the meadow
Banking against the old rail fence,
It creates a magnificent afterglow,
I haven’t seen like it before, or since
This display formed by the recent snow.
Ice crystals forming on dried stalks
Creating a wonderland of fairy castles,
Shining like bubbling neon on a jukebox
Tall gray goldenrods becoming tassels,
Glistening droplets on the dried phlox.
With the waxing sun, it shimmers
Tremulously as the wafting breeze pants
I recall in summer the meadow simmers
Full of vibrant, living warm weather plants
But now the meadow only icily glimmers.
Written December 1, 2022
May 8th 2009
take a moment
—to look at me
just one final moment
what do you see?
when you look into my pain-filled eyes
is there darkness?
a sliver of light?
excruciating affliction crashes over me,
do you not see?
is there nothing?
only a blank, impassive face
no significance, no sign
of guilt that smolders inside of me
deadening my sweltered heart
oh how these eyes pour acid rain
incessant dripping in the night
eyelids red and swollen
too miserable to endure
on and on that wretched rain will pour
until there’s nothing anymore
and our cruel silence, that vermin
crawling about awkwardly, unyielding
invading me
dwelling within these withering eyes
that you lackadaisically look upon
in hatred perhaps
or sheer pity
gouge them out of their sockets
they mean nothing
for even the darkness will not blind my heart
my love grows on as my expression dies
time is our enemy now
see how he flies!
look at me
and don’t utter a syllable
simply look
it’s the only way it will cease
a mere gaze
a moment’s peace
be the one to clear the clouds
the filth…
and if you can’t repair my world
replenish the damage
then by your presence
by your life
it will blow the toxic waste away
and clean up the developed grime
that you cannot see
i alone have caused my acid rain
and without you I am nothing
my guilt may devour me
but say nothing and only stare
gaze in wonder
intimately, unfailingly
the dripping is already less heavy
no longer weighing me down
your sun will shine
although you’ll never be mine
i give in…
i accept
my eyes glaze over
in dreariness,
in weariness…
they forlornly droop
tremulously close
stillness overflows
—and my heart slowly…
with much effort
opens
at last
The Rain Has Stopped
Rest, stirring heart,
Narrow-minded in your fears, courage close awaits
Though bold your words be,
Your lack of action gives you away and despairs you
I am amused by your imaginings,
For simple these worries be,
And strange is your heightened sorrows,
A sadness fit for the about-to-die children,
Begging the snares to let them go...
And yet you have that sorrow...and lovely and safe you be...
Rest your head not on man's shoulder
Instead, lay upon the golden cushions of My word-
Where rains of treasures and fruits gently fall,
Laced with peace-garnished with happiness...
Your brothers share deeply in your concerns,
Alone you never are,
For look! -out upon the beads of leaves,
How they rustle playfully and sway with the breeze
My breath gives them life-
How much than shall I give thee?
This I tell you, daughter,
Each lonely soul shall find true love,
In between the rests and silences,
On the very off-beat... on the tip of quietude,
True music tremulously trills,
Flattening all mountains and hills,
Kissing their lowered heads and wiping their glacier tears-
Long-patiented love insatiated
The darkness in the night.
A true terror to behold .
Sneaks up on you like,
A pack of ravenous wolves .
Gnashing it's teeth .
Thick, coarse black fur,
to ward off the cold .
Razor sharp teeth,
to rip out your soul .
Its fierce black eyes,
tremulously unclosed .
Sending shivers
down your spine .
It's tremendous jaws,
unclench with a snap .
It's stealthy attack,
comes to fast to react .
There's no moon, no light.
Just the darkness in the night .
Bite, bite . . .
As I am blood, bone, marrow, passion, and feeling
And having got exceedingly drunk today
I write this poem with my head reeling
My words shine not on this poet’s page
Nor can I find any words in this present age
To explicitly explain what I want to say
Because I’ve drank more than my share this day
This is the usual method but surely not mine
Tis not the regularity of my wordy design
My friends read my works and try to control my affairs
While I care not about my own domestic cares
The arts, at least all such as could be said
Are gently written today by my tremulously
Frail hands!