Best Tributaries Poems
“and the birds twitter like whispering violins”
Quote by – Constance La France
Whiffs of fragrant breeze propagate tranquility
Kissing delicate roses, blushing amber beauty,
Rustling leaves of willows, as if tenor of music,
Swaying blades of grass shimmying moods of winds,
Sounding lyrics esoteric echoing voice of spring;
Humming softly to rhythms of dancing daffodils,
Quivering golden rays peeking through trees,
Burbling on rivers, rippling giggling tributaries,
Fluttering in glee, whispering to sunlit prairies,
Swinging tender revelry lilting in shadows,
Thrilling meadows budding through wintry throes,
Reviving weary realms, thriving withered knolls;
Grinning from mountains, atop lush valleys,
From shores of Pacific to shores of Atlantic,
Through the mighty Rockies, across Great Plains,
Lyrical, jubilant, exuding aura of happiness,
Enchanted by sweet ballad of robins’ daydreams
Strumming melodies of mellifluous spring.
May 16, 2023
Placed 2nd: Writing Challenge A quotes – Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Placed 8th: Brian Strand Premier Contest
Smile, O spring, smile, upon crimson arc of morning
Grinning through willows filtering golden sunbeams,
Sparkling from eyes of dew, glinting realms pristine,
Reveling through prairies, giggling tenor of streams,
Glistening core of purple-iris, soul of flaxen-pansies.
Waltz, O spring, waltz, shimmying blushing peonies,
Meandering with butterflies chasing nectar carefree,
Bouncing moods of bees from tree to flowering tree,
Elated strumming rhythms fluttering woody-foothills,
Grooving with meadows, humming lyrics of winds.
Sail, O spring, sail, rowing glee of seas-undulating,
Buoyant on spirits rushing from rivers, tributaries,
Traversing through terrains, once frigid, decaying,
Zealous now to venture, to rollicking side of being,
Surfing waves questing summer of sandy beaches.
Dream, O spring, dream, of mythical northern lights,
Glimpsed from garden of sumptuous white gardenias,
Through womb of dawn, hued in lavender of lilacs,
Preening beauty of flora, scintillating dawning aura,
As yonder of skies shimmers motifs of green aurora.
Take me there, where the daffodils dance,
Preening with joy, flaunting nature’s art,
Where birds have assembled to watch
Sitting atop, prancing from tips of treetops,
Tuning lyrics of cherry blossom prompts,
Strumming rhythms of spring sonata
As crimson tulips, with lilies purple waltz,
To music of willows breezing with dawn
When sun breaks through haze of clouds;
Traversing over the mountains and valleys,
Over green prairies, burbling tributaries,
Besides garden of multicolored pansies,
Amid bell-shaped bluebells, red hyacinth,
Frolicking on meadows of wild blue Iris,
Rejoicing pink blossoms of magnolia trees,
Glistening verdant knolls, lush foothills.
Take me there, where rivers meet oceans,
Merging the passions of fiery emotions
Riding with tides of romantic notions
Vying allure of love, emblazoning now;
Love that sustained in summer storms,
Love that survived through wintry wrath,
Love our souls extol, in spring’s warmth;
When I decipher your esoteric response
Where verses tender stem from my heart,
As day retreats humming nightingale’s song,
And eve’s dreams blush on magenta arc;
Take me there, my dear, where you are,
On the apex of love, on cusp of romance.
Nestling in my realm, as you host a daydream,
Reveling in breeze of my splendor evergreen,
I welcome you to my domain of rhythmic trills
Where roam the blue jays, robins, and crossbills
Feeding on berries, frolicking with hatchlings,
Singing gaily, serenading benevolent sanctuary
Amid bears’ huff, growl, and foxes’ feral-howl
Sheltered amicably from dry heat and rainfall;
Where trees reduce pollution, boost air quality,
Emit oxygen you breathe, by photosynthesis,
Bear flowers, fruits, nurturing your well-being
Temper climate cheerily, swaying with winds,
Hold soil in place, reducing runoff to streams
Protecting elixir of life in rivers and tributaries;
While you find balance in sanctity and peace,
Enlightened by whispers rustling in harmony,
That warn of deforestation ruining ecosystem,
And callousness that torches wildlife and trees;
Yet, I rise from ashes sprouting earth’s tranquility
For I am the forest of goodwill and sublimity,
Adorning every season, standing for you firmly,
Hosting you as you rejoice in salutary daydream.
May 22, 2022
Poem of the day on May 24, 2022
Placed 1st: Wisdom From Trees Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Her persona is like
a portrait
of picturesque perfection,
embalmed in
bittersweet lavender,
unseen within depths
of tributaries of elixir.
If only they knew
the chaos that flows,
constrained in
a confined
gallery of grief.
Not everyone is
a master painter.
Some brush with brutal
bruised strokes,
provoking timeless
streams of
implicit secrets,
from crimson stains
on ivory satin,
where scents of juniper
evoke phases of
unpredicted phenomenons,
oblivious to chronicles
of forsaken tales,
which hide
beneath barriers,
many have struggled
to venture within.
But there is an artist
with a
pastel on his palette,
that can correct
her disfigured pigment.
He holds cryptic
calligraphic engravings,
veiled behind the inflamed
chamber of her heart.
He understands that her
spirit drowns when
winds are forceful.
How her
delicateness has
been sleeping
on withered roses,
wilted by
cruelest rays of a
summer
mourning
morning star,
Where bedtime stories
were puppeteered
by hurricanes
feeding on
fenceless vulnerabilities.
yet when
sleepless silence sings,
it can disturb
in reverberating
heavy metal screams.
So she echoes her trauma
through hurtful hisses,
poisoning with
vicious venom.
Her aura alters in
acrimonious attitudes
from serene sunshine
to furious gales.
She remains without
a grip on untamable
seasons of
unholy torture,
Only he knows the poem
in her eyes is the
last train home,
so he calms her
tempest temperament,
enabling hidden rainbows
in her mind to reappear.
He is a soothing
gemini night-flower,
even with outcries
of midnight thunder,
his patience resembles
raining jasmine water,
purifying
her murky waters,
into a crystallised milky-way
of kyanite desires,
guiding her
to swirl and swoon
into
whirlwinds of closure.
“Of time you would make a stream upon whose
bank you would sit and watch its flowing…”
From On Time, by Kahlil Gibran
If you could imagine time as a beauteous spring
Blossoming your life, charming euphoric dreams
I am sure you will regret not having enough of it
Reveling fondly, vibrantly, on prairies, tributaries
Bouncing blue-tides gaily, buoying cerulean seas
Traversing through seasons without ever ceasing
Yet, it lengthens or shortens much to our chagrin
Depending on whether in happiness, or in grief,
Reminiscing in love, or despising pensive memories
Days of yesteryears, though long gone and spent
Seeds that were sown then, now produce harvests
Either wailing in laments, or lauding of goodness
Time yet to come may find~ a tomorrow elusive
So invest it on today, elevating it to exhilarating
When your song is playing, opt to waltz and sing
Paint time immortal on portrait of angelic deeds
Hang on the walls of future your timeless legacy
Be the finite world priceless, that ticks to infinity
Let your time accumulate to meaningful centuries,
Don’t watch it pass you by, decaying in unworthy,
Offer time an inspiration to build your own destiny
November 7, 2021
Placed 1st: “T” Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme: Time
Often I harken back
to a very wise poet,
how “life is but a stage”
of tender moments
splashed and splattered
by fierce jabs of passionate
heated rage
such opera the workings of
fallible human hearts~ such a
masterful organ still an infant
unwinding with tyrannic-like
stops and starts
Where would poetry be
without feeling words
and colorful flourishes?
Where? Without reckless splashes
on canvas wall and trampled over
floor – saturated flamboyant
brushes ever mixing and dabbing
seeking and grabbing smoothing and
rubbing out fillings satisfying
while definitions left
spatially wanting
for the poet draws as he writes
from wells deeper tributaries distant
less regulated winding streams of uncoagulated self
seeing one's soul somewhere between ignorance
and all knowing ever greater for its never finding
ever seeking ever flowing
Indeed “life is but a stage,”
every breath a potential scripted
unscripted page every exhale a new dissolve
for the air to take hold of and fly with
Never cheat ambient emotion
of heights and potential lows
Never set passion wastefully adrift
let the spirit give full body a heartfelt
push into uncharted always somewhat
perilous yet marvelous revealing lift–
The sun cries for us, its heat fades away
snowflakes sprinkle round its orbit, yet go unmelted
it feels like evening, but its yet noon
time never changes its pace but now runs from a rifle
daylight sadly pretends, just to soften night's mockery.
Blood has substituted the rains
death has defined our borders
humanity is rendered homeless
and politics, given the borrowed authority of a landlord.
Life is cheaper than wine
tribal dominance exhibited in a show glass
for love to become an expired product.
Unity is deprived of its oxygen
from a gang of beasts, spare headed by religion.
Genocide celebrated, killers protected
understanding and cooperation, required from the affected
silence and denial, demanded from the afflicted
marginalization defended and grievances rejected.
The edge of the cutlass strikes harder than racism
Indigenes in their own homes hit worse than xenophobia
hope is lost, drowned in the sea of Impunity
faith is locked up in a cage underneath evil's valley
decades of cries to the heavens
the tears flow down to meet more affliction.
The sun rises, but presents in dark red
setting hours later to the notice of no one
a people bounded on falsehood
a large home of smaller fenced habitations
as everyone needs protection from everyone
and where space becomes too small for the stars;
but when distinguished into different galaxies,
it beams brighter to be a better decoration.
An unbearable course too small for the river to flow
makes nature justify its split into tributaries.
Enemies can no longer be in one home,
so live and let's leave, or leave and let's live
is the only policy left for us all
and the survival anthem for this beautiful garden
no more suitable for community germination.
Reflection of a cherry blossom tree,
mirrored upon a calm river by pale moonlight.
Its fragile buds falling with the light breeze,
float away with the flow of tributaries.
Just like memories that slowly slip away,
time ticks calmly counting down the days.
Innocently it stands with serene beauty
as lovers gather to admire its peaceful nature.
Many beloveds have shared a passionate kiss,
while intoxicated by its seductive aroma.
From Vietnam to Japan, to the shores across the pond,
many a love story has began under fragile pink blossoms.
Oh my beloved,
how I long to embrace you beneath its glory,
so our love story can be forever cherished.
Under pale moonlight that glistens for you
our lips will delicately touch for the first time.
Cherry blossom buds shower our heads,
as they shelter our love.,
The Silent One
Originally written 3 October 2015
Posted 5 January 2018
There's a river winding gently through the pastures on the flats,
collecting tributaries of little creeks that the lower ground attracts.
'Tis the river that the angler seeks - the stream where pools run deep and slow.
I net the crayfish just for fun and there I let them go.
star-swept with
soft blushing blooms ...
this slow sink ,
swathes my henna heart
with deep mauve hues ...
as I fall into the frostbitten lake
mispronouncing ~
the marmoris of metaphors
that were meant
to burn with magic ,
where the soulmate of poetry
breaks within the tears of sunset ~
sipping sighs of sorrow
from the crystal sky ,
that leaks loneliness
through the cracks of
liquid lilacs and lavender light ,
because there seems to be
no translation for the
language of love
that weaves woes
from warm wisteria
instead of blossoming
in coffee-scented chiffons
moulded into origami orchids ~
without any creases
and I wear no name
in the absence
of your ablaze august ashes …
read me swiftly
orchestrating in
the blackcurrant tattoos
breathing ... in tributaries
stretching to
the silent traces of trauma ,
twinkling with
turquoise and turpentine
for, I am not alive ~
but the seas still crash
the swollen shadows in my ribs ,
kissing the fallen sun …
that ebbs and flows …
through violets
of vaporising violas
like an incensed inferno ,
uncensored with ultraviolence
escaping the delirious doom
within driftwood dreams …
I want you ~
to not speak to me
so in affection
in this sparkling satanic siesta,
because poetry
has forevermore been
my saviour and my slaughterer ~
that leaves me …
drifting with the flow ,
in exile … evermore …
chained with
moonstone cobwebs
of confused consciousness
and conversing cryptics ~
befogged with gaslit goldens
laced with forest greens,
where verses wander
like a villain ,
withering
in emeralds …
listen, O velvet ink,
longing to be
r e
s c u
e d …
I Am The River…
I am the river;
poured out
of God’s
celestial pitcher:
a full river;
swollen with His tears.
I am the river;
my banks hold
the flow
of a nation:
denied, crucified, died,
resurrected and sanctified.
I am the river;
my tributaries flow
wide and deep—
outward, inward, upward,
downward and back
to the source.
I am the river;
The flowing essence
Of a mother’s womb—come
Wade in my history
And let the wetness of ourstory
bathe away all your delusions.
I am the river;
the river
of your birth:
come and swim in me.
I leave my mountain home with Winter’s thaw
as childlike, I babble. I'm a stream,
but cutting through the valleys, I grow wide
and draw more power as I gather steam.
I meet my sister tributaries, and
grow deeper, now a river, and I roll!
At time, when Rain pours down, I overflow,
but on I run, course set, with fervent soul!
I'm surging onward to my destiny!
What more for me to crave as I run south
(toward Delta's bosom and my love, the Sea)
than his consuming kiss upon my mouth?
For Barbara Gorelick's "A River Runs Through It"
And now for the 15 contest of Casarah
"He who looks outside, dreams. He who looks inside, awakens."
Carl Gustave Jung
Be not manacled, bound or tightly tethered
to a paradigm that appears to be status quo
Being mired in quicksand made of torpor
will observe you drowning in an undertow
Look inside yourself to become a flowing river
willing to accept waters of many tributaries
those that offer new elements of enrichment
Awaken your mind to the 'what ifs' of estuaries
Don't wallow or flounder about in muck and silt
Widen your banks until they expand without edge
Let your thoughts become ripples on your surface
then follow them to seek wisdom and knowledge
Do battle with the stagnation of complacency
It's a human fault we often label, "satisfaction"
but if truth be told, it should be called "passivity"
Always push one step further by taking action
Escape from entrapment in dungeons of darkness
Brush away the leaden clouds from your vision
that may be guilty of having obscured your insight
Make a breakthrough by creating a simple revision
Delusions and blurred illusions will soon fade away
You don't have to leap building of soaring height
You're not Super Man, but don't allow your apathy
and laidback demeanor to become your kryptonite
Two drops of water fell from heaven
Unlike any other, they were in love
Holding each other they stayed together
Dreaming of river and deep blue ocean.
It wasn't easy to skip the flower-garden
And ignore appeal of a thirsty fountain,
But they persevered rushing down street
Being trampled by traffic and splashy feet.
Bouncing, giggling, reaching tributaries
Riding gleefully, foaming, and sprinkling
Jumping in delight, riding wavy vibes
Sensing river was near, rushing with joy.
Panic set in when they got separated
Holding essence of a shattering dream.
Feeling like being abandoned midstream
One drop teared, the other saw cheer.
Drop that teared soon learned to cope
But as the ocean neared, it lost all hope.
Little did it know as it fell into the ocean
Other drop waited to catch it with elation.
March 4, 2018