Best Trims Poems
Oceana
Oceana flings her sequined petticoats
Upon the sands as if to toss the seaweed
From the swirling edges
While she dances with the wind
With each turn she swings her skirts
In thunder
As she passes – faster, faster -
Until her laughter foams upon the waves
And in the early midnight dawns
She turns to cover up
Her turquoise evening gown
With capes of fog so thick
The soaring gulls seem to carry
This her summer train
To quickly change into a dress of silver satin,
Bound with trims of frothy sprays,
Rising and swelling,
When morning reaches for windy afternoons,
She teases sudden lightning outbursts
Leaving behind upon the outstretched strands
A foaming lace of pearls
That decorate her new rippling dress
Of brilliant sapphire blue
Drawing it around the world in flowing currents
To follow, ever follow, the lilting music
Of her lover moon,
Softly singing enchanted melodies,
Ever beckoning his earthbound bride unto himself
To watch her gaily waltz upon the rolling seas
Circling to his rune.
8-22-25
3rd - Rob Carmack Premiere VIII
6-29-22 - N/A
Contest: Marathon Mile Five
Sponsor: Mark Toney
8-13-22 -
5th - Poetry Marathon Mile 12
Sponsor: Mark Toney
6/20/19
On Top 100 All Time Poems list
1st - Trophy Win - Juliet Lingon
1st - Julia Ward 11/29/20
1st - Brian Strand 1/14/20
Featured Poem 5/2/21
Included in Poetry Soup Anthology #2 - It's Still Poetry
Included in CWC Anthology - First Prize Winner Independent Publishers Award
Indie Press Awards
Categories:
trims, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse
Silent, she slips from her stronghold’s security,
safely tucked high on the cliff in her nest.
Cautious, she stays in the shadows afforded her,
sorrowful, hesitant, missing the rest.
Her parents and siblings had sought out the sunshine,
flying the open air, learning their craft.
Soaring and diving, they basked in the currents;
she, feeling poorly, by chance, had stayed back.
Sounds like a cannon had rung out above her;
shrieking and screaming, she watched the first fall.
Caught in the open with no chance for cover,
savagely, swiftly, death came for them all.
Hugging the hillside, she used the thick foliage,
bobbing and weaving, avoiding the limbs,
calling on instincts she knew not inside her,
fine-tuned adjustments through flexes and trims.
Cover was ending; the ocean awaited her.
Her heart was racing, her mind strangely clear.
Mother had taught her to seek out the currents;
a warm water pocket meant updrafts were near.
Tucking, she dove as she flew in the open,
a bullet herself, towards shiny blue glass.
Braking so subtly, just at the last moment,
she shot across wave tops, dizzily fast.
There! A small change in the water beneath her.
Pulling up hard, she flapped skyward and soared.
Where she was headed lay unknown before her,
on past the sunset to some distant shore.
Categories:
trims, flying,
Form:
Quatrain
I used to mow the lawn with joy.
And trim up all the trees.
Prune the hedges, tend the garden.
Way down upon my knees.
Shoot the bull with good time friends.
Now, most of them are gone.
And, I know my day is coming.
I guess it wont be long.
BUT NOW......
I sit in shade, with tea in hand,
And wave out to the guy,
Who mows the lawn and trims the trees,
While I just sit and sigh.
I dream about the friends I've had.
We always sang life's song.
And, I know my day is coming.
I guess it won't be long.
AND SO......
I've made some new friends here and there.
It's hard to be alone.
Have shared some stories, had some fun.
A few more friends have flown.
Created some new memories.
When memories are strong.
And, I know my day is coming.
I guess it won't be long
WELL......
I wrote those verses years ago.
But, I'm still going strong.
And, I know my day is coming.
I guess it won't be long.
Categories:
trims, friendship, journey, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Jim starts the day with good intention
Jobs need doing that require his attention.
The garden needs a good sprucing up
His vegetation 'triffids' are running amok.
He mows the lawn, trims the hedges,
Creates those nice, neat lined edges.
Weeds the borders, deadheads the flowers,
Feeds the plants their nutritional powers.
The hard soil is dug, ready and prepped
To sow the seeds for home grown veg.
Must not forget to prune back the tree
A labour of love is what it can be.
Hours of work that seemed never ending
His body and limbs, stretching and bending.
Sun burnt skin, his head now aches
Back is killing him, so takes a break.
Joints and muscles moan and groan
Weeds now gone are finally dethroned.
Jim's bones applaud with clicks and cracks
His badge was the sting when a wasp attacked.
Admiring his garden that he has served
His body felt it carried every ache in the world.
The thing Jim will remember and quickly did learn
To wear factor fifty to avoid the sunburn.
29.08.24
Categories:
trims, garden, sunshine,
Form:
Rhyme
Written: October 30, 2023, For Brian Strand Contest
______________________________________________
as
gloominess
drops to the ground
the lamplighter performs his
rounds. Equipped with his
ladders, wick trimmer
matches, long pole
and backup fuel
positions the
ladders on
the post,
He opens the lock and trims the wick
and strikes a match to ignite the flame
locking up
the door
he steps
towards
his next
Sentinel.
Through
evening
he steps
his path
merrily
friendly
to those
he sees.
His task
will take
him out
in wind
and rain
the whole
year round.
curious children
watch as each
torch comes to
life with a glow.
In the morning
the lamplighter
is back at work
smothering the
flaring wick set
alight the night
before. As dusk
falls once more
the lamplighter
lights the torches
Categories:
trims, analogy, history, light,
Form:
Shape
Jesus is the Master Potter
By Franklin Price
09/14/2023
Jesus, is the master potter
We, the followers His Clay
He molds us into shining lamps
Reconstructing day by day
He lays His hands upon us
Kneads and shapes us 'til we're done
He is the Master Potter
Who recreates us, He's the one
As cracks appear, remolds us,
Provides our structure with relief
Then fuels us, and lights us
To be His lamps that shine belief
He trims our wicks when needed
To even light the darkest hour
Leading others to salvation
His lamp has given us that power
He adds a globe of glass or crystal
To let the light burn in the wind
To guide lost souls to heaven
For since the garden, all have sinned
He cleans our globes when they have darkened
And our lamps are not as bright
And we doubt that we are able
To shine out believing light
If Jesus had not died for us
On that cross upon the hill
Would be no need to have our lamps
For other's nights, our lights, to fill
Categories:
trims, celebration, christian, inspiration, jesus,
Form:
Rhyme
Beneath my bark is a whisper stilled in silence,
Scrolled within my rings of age, is a wish waiting
To be answered.
A timeless spark, infused engrain's of wooden pulp,
Legacies promise sense before my birth’s germination,
My special reason for existence.
Warmed by the sun’s rays, cradled by Mother Nature’s
Loving embrace, I’ve grown in the shadows of my elders,
My brethren of the forest wilds.
Tenderly a sprout grew forth, within me a secret kept
Unto myself alone, happily watching the world passes
Ideally by, as seasons changed from spring, to summer,
Yielding unto fall, then covered beneath
Blankets of chilling white.
I fear not the slicing of the human ax, or mourn
For having to leave thy native soil rich and warm,
For my life’s secret is coming true you see,
Mine inner Gift is to be a Christmas tree.
Blazing chains of sparkling lights shall grace
My branches of evergreen, as trims silvery tinsel
Hangs from my strong timbered limbs, that
Shine in the glowing warmth of this magical
Holiday called Christmas.
Crowning from above, admiration's highest branch
Lies a sacred symbol of ages eon’s long ago passed
A brilliant star of opulence, twinkling in the twilight’s
After glow of this special season.
Its eternal light weaves its mystical rays through my
Thick branches of pine, casting a shining upon the
Manjor hidden underneath, behold the greatest gift
Ever given, a simple child of the everlasting spirit.
Beneath my bark is a whisper stilled in silence,
Scrolled within my rings of age, is a wish waiting
To be answered.
A timeless spark, infused engrain's of wooden pulp,
Legacies promise sense before my birth’s germination,
My special reason for existence.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
trims, america, christmas, faith, holiday,
Form:
Free verse
The yuletide is here, with all its trappings,
And I'll count my blessings to finally see
My favorite package, in all her wrappings ...
You, My Love, 'neath our Christmas tree ...
I'm impatient as kids, goodness knows,
Swooning to savor those holiday sweets,
But Santa has managed with trims and bows
To hide all the best of your tastiest treats ...
I know our last tousle was fits and stalls,
So let's make amends by the fire with care ...
I'll do my darnedest to deck all your halls,
Weaving the garland to streak your hair ...
Oh, how divine, the grabs and grapples,
Our kindled pursuit of a Christmas truce,
Your thighs, firmly shaped for squeezing apples,
But devoted, as I, to that sparkling juice ...
And should we yet dare to imbibe that cider,
Attending our wassails long through the night,
I'm sure that your hearth will be warming wider,
So keeping our passions AND holidays ... bright!
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Cool Writes And Imagination" Poetry Contest, Kim Rodrigues, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
trims, analogy, christmas, love, metaphor,
Form:
Rhyme
Christmas tree so bright,
blinking in the darkest night.
Garland trims the tree.
Categories:
trims, children, holiday, teen, visionary
Form:
Haiku
Line my quilt with the heaven's sunset
Of baked apples and golden trims
For tonight I will dream
Of such things to come
Categories:
trims, imagination
Form:
Free verse
Ideas conveyed in trails of semantics
Or moving over horse and bars in gymnastics
Tumbling, rolling, scribbling phonetics
Reeling, shrilling, scorching like ballistics
Quibbling over ideas and reams of whims
Rattling odd stories of soul's whines and trims
Yours is the power over lines and grims
Absolution or redemption atop one's dreamed
old gym hymns
Categories:
trims, funny, sad, words, writing,
Form:
Rhyme
Lies, glamour, gossip and Earl Grey tea,
Turbulent tales boiling in china cups.
Elegant sacraments of blue-haired ladies,
pinkies stuck in the air, hiding their anger
or boredom or feeling their own
despair.
Crimson glass roses, feathers and jewels
crowned with wide-brim hats… trims of
gloves, lace fans and perhaps some pearls
are appealing to these extravagant, fast
and proper old girls…
The guild does not approve of:
cola,
tortilla chips or
piercings of the tongue.
Invitation is by Tea Bag Only merely
a device to project the status of a
stunning, affluent wife. Shaved legs,
polished nails and GiGi’s Brazilian
waxing, will enliven you as a part
of the crowd but may seem
a little bit taxing.
Categories:
trims, funny,
Form:
Free verse
Amid the flowers ever blooming, ever fragrant,
Amid the stone pathways edged with brick,
Amid the gravel I peacefully walk over,
Hearing the slight crunch beneath my feet,
Here lies color upon color of hanging baskets and garden trims.
Here lie bushes of color to draw me in.
Cooler air and peaceful, beauty surrounds me like a cocoon.
And amid this a fountain of gentle beauty I do not wish to leave soon.
A fountain that totally greets my senses.
The running of water, the bubbling and tumbling over stone.
I feel the peaceful sounds deep and close inside.
A bench begs me- “Stop. Rest your weary soul. Feel the peaceful sound.”
Here the songs of birds do greet me as they eat from feeders above and
Drink from the fountains below.
Their colored plumage and delicate flight adding to the beauty bestowed.
Other fountains with gurgling water entice me from place to place.
What beautiful shapes and designs do I anticipate to be next?
Beside what peaceful flow of water will I next seek my rest?
I linger and forget my travails as I mentally rest.
In this shadowed and cool garden I linger to hear sounds and see sights
Never to forget.
As I continue the journey an occasional bench begs my senses- to stop again.
Feel the peace. See what is here.
Some fountains have hidden treasures to espy.
Statuary nymphs and frogs peak quietly from gentle foliage nearby.
I beg to know what animals traverse here in peace within this world.
My mind begs me to write words to describe such delights.
I am enveloped in a feast before, behind, and surrounding my senses.
A trellis begs my attention in lush smells sent to my nose.
A trellis of color and unusual design to add to my prose.
A water sprite beckons my indulgence to notice her again.
Finally the tumbling of water sends me forward to a new treat,
Begging of my senses the new treasures for to eat.
Each a joy to behold. Each adding to my wish to never leave.
Eventually the world will again bend me to my knees.
But a moment I have gained of beauty to behold.
A memory to take in my sojourn, as my life unfolds.
Memories that can bring me back to this peaceful place in my mind.
Though only a moment, I have gained something precious to behold.
I now carry within a pocket of my mind- a memory to bring me back to
The Fountain Garden.
CSEastman
Categories:
trims, beauty, garden, happiness, inspirational,
Form:
Free verse
Millions of lives and souls untold
And to account it all
Words, lines, films
Imagination trims
A sliver of soft, scarlet ribbon
Hollywood rounds
Quills deliver
Writers flare with passion so strong
Filling minds with fantasies, reveries, histories
Tragedies
We consume it all like freshly baked bread
We feed until we are engorged and fed
A viral, universal mess
Ideas and unmade memories
Nothing more or less
My eyes remain glued to the screen
Living it all out
Tears dare to flow—to doubt
I should have thought of that
Can I truly let myself believe,
Someone else lived that!
Pound away your directors, script-writers, fighters
For miles and miles of stories remain unread
While the unknown remain in the grounds of humble malnourishment
Dead
Careers for the mind with a twist of the fable
Left us savage for the meal and the crumbs under the table
I can never let the raw truth rest
Naked, bare and empty—soothed
Nothing more or less
I cringed for originality
Observed the world through the unedited scripts
The very act, the poetry pact
The wild animal drooling in the back
I was slapped in the face by my boss who had cracked
As the reviews bloated less and less
They wanted something awful, something flaw-ful—something new
And this empty brain in agony—HISSED
I have lived in no epic battle of account
Of the collateral sufferings of my brothers
The stories the red carpet smothers
And still I ache to create
Before the other ones discover
I returned with ‘‘oh me’s’ and ‘oh my’s’’
With a work of pure genius—a storybook of lies
Nothing more or less
Little have I lacked to dream
Of contortioned pulls and dramatic fire
Stories that rarely brittle or tire
I fiddled with precious glass on edge
Foully eager for self-damage
As if it would trigger some legitimate spark
Searching for creatures and features in the dark
No one unlocked the passage that night
For the starving idea-parched malice of right
But all welcomed with open arms
A pale mannequin filled with jewels and charms
Consuming, fuming dooming
All ghosts hoping, screaming, looming
Hoping that one day they would find themselves on the big screen
Their legacy real as it can possibly get
Nothing more or less
Categories:
trims, absence, abuse, addiction, adventure,
Form:
Rhyme
Trust travel truce
Opt odd offer
Urge unfolds use
Ripe rides refer
Trail troubles team
Observe options
Unleash upstream
Raise real reasons
Thrust tender test
Outcome observe
Urgent unrest
Reach rich reserve
Touch tender trim
Ointment oils oomph
Use urge umpteen
Rest rowdy room
Travel trims tale
Open odd oar
User unveils
Rapture rides roar
Tribal tension
Obey only
Undo union
Rescue richly
Tour times trade
Offers onslaught
Upstage unsaid
Reap rich rewards
Leon Enriquez
21 May 2014
Jisiang, China
Yunnan Province
Categories:
trims, allusion,
Form:
Alliteration