Best Twill Poems
I'm leaving now, but here is a reminder
'Twill bring to you the days we walked through rain
So when you wish to feel my hand in yours
Or stroke your dripping hair-- Then kiss the rain
Though leaving now, I wish I could be with you
So when you feel o'erwhelmed with grief or pain
And long for my caress upon your face,
The rain will touch instead-- So kiss the rain
Whenever you have tho'ts of this sad parting
And salty tears your lovely cheeks do stain
To feel the tears for you I'll surely have
Do this, and I will too-- Go kiss the rain
Whenever you are longing for my presence
And times that we went strolling down the lane
I'll whisper soft endearments on the breeze
So heed the sighing wind-- And kiss the rain
If ever you should pine to hear me speaking
The thunder might burst forth with glorious main*
While drops that fall are sure to be my tears,
To feel them wet your skin-- Just kiss the rain
* Power or Force
I stand upon the pier
Watching the roaring waves
Crash on the hard dark rocks below.
The sky is overcast
Electricity is in the air
And rain is not far away.
Still I feel there's magic
Around me as the day
Dies a slow lingering death.
I feel anticipation
For soon you'll be with me,
It's such a wonderful feeling
I'm sure it’s infinite.
Let nature wreck its havoc,
Let night descend in darkness
And blot out all the stars.
I see only one light, my dear,
That which shines in your eyes.
You come into my caress sweet,
We share our gentle kisses
Sweet nectar from flowers dear.
We move silently together
Our hands touching in bliss
To shelter in our little home
Away from everything.
It is a magical evening
Together we make love
And know 'twill be forever
Just you and me.... just us.
Spring sneaks through our path in the wake of
hints still left from winter. Snow white pillows have been shoved
and scattered. Timeless treasures of floral engagement blooms,
earthy perfume plants still entering into our world.
Twill nightfall's and an ocean of abstract wildlife
settle for the night or feed under the moonlight.
The early starlet sun rises with hints of scarlet blush
and the pop warmth of tangerine glowing gloss.
I crawled out of my warm sleeping bag and small tent
reborn from a good night's sleep; into a picturesque
cool, and crisp morning on the craters rim
to a view of the cobalt blue lake and hot spring.
12/26/2018
I saw them dance the Second Waltz, so lovely, so fine,
Oh my Lord, how my jealous heart did despair and pine.
On the terrace, in the dark of night, moonbeams shone bright.
Curse them, a perfect couple that evoked a great sight.
One, two three and a twirl, oh what a delicate dance
I stood, looking in envy, mesmerised in a trance.
Would that magic music finally pause and take her
To a comfy seat and I would take her as my fleurr.
Hold her ever tight, and face to face, we would engage
In a soft whisper, kiss her soft ear, 'twill be our stage.
But no, they danced on, oblivious of my green face
The terrace was their dominion, it was their birthplace.
Jealous I slinked home, abandoning her forever.
I will not see her again, neither now or ever.
Placed 1st.
Perpetual Love
True love is an eternal flame that glows,
igniting special hearts forevermore;
despite all odds, this fiery passion grows.
A bright beacon shining through darkest night,
’twas gift-wrapped by angels weaving moonlight.
Surpassing the test of time ‘twill endure;
a tower of strength when adversity sows.
Infused with stardust's blaze from inner space,
and forged in sacred fire by divine design,
we’re spellbound in love’s warm honeyed embrace.
Though bodies die, love always will survive…
pure mystical life force infinitely alive.
A rare flower, when love blooms it’s a sign
of God’s heav'nly-blessed, perpetual grace.
08-11-2018
Contest: Rhyme Time 6 - Verses of Metaphors
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Placement: 1st
‘Come bring my bow of English yew and raise me from this bed
And let me look upon the wood where once I lay my head’
With fading sight and wearied limb through window rose he gazed
With summoned strength and trembling arm his mighty bow was raised
Sinews drawn to fullest test he let the arrow fly
And sinking back upon his bed he breathed a heavy sigh
‘Follow yonder willow shaft through forests darkened keep
For flighted by the angels, twill appoint where I shall sleep’
The stalwart oak tree caught the shaft, appointed by Gods grace
Beside a brook, in bluebell’d wood, there marked his resting place
In tunic Gold and Lincoln green, his sword upon his breast
Beneath the trees of Sherwood green was Robyn laid to rest
That mighty heart, its labour done, when stilled its Valliant quest
All England mourned its stalwart son who bore the Locksley crest
And through the silent forest, soft April showers wept
To wash that place from hearts and minds, a secret ever kept
One maid, one Friar, with little John, in sombre vigil stood
In silent witness mourning, the passing of the Hood
On England’s green and pleasant land was played a Hero’s part
And Never more on sceptre’d isle will beat a truer heart
I've been musing lately about things that really make a home complete.
One thing for sure - a happy home is one with laughter and love replete!
'Twill be a place with affectionate parents who dearly love each other,
And blessed by a couple of kids - a little sister and her big brother!
A home ain't a home unless you have a faithful dog and inscrutable cat,
And a stoop on which to greet folks whereon lies a welcoming mat!
A grandfather clock to intone the inexorable march of time is needed,
And a fireplace with a cozy fire by which to reminisce unimpeded!
There'll be a library of classic tales with yellowed and dog-eared pages,
And a Bible that is read, having been handed down through the ages!
Displayed on the fireplace mantel will be pictures of folks from the past -
Folks from the family tree who set standards for honor unsurpassed!
There'll be a white picket fence and a trellis with climbing yellow roses,
And a huge front porch with a swing on which to enjoy pleasant dozes!
At the kitchen table, the family dines, discusses the day and grace is said.
Later the kids say nightly prayers before being tucked in their featherbed!
Marks to measure the kid's height mar the wall nigh the kitchen door.
Happy holidays and birthdays are celebrated that will add to family lore!
Though the dog and kids may create havoc as about the house they roam,
If I may quote Edgar Guest, "It takes a heap o' livin' to make a house a home!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
within Zieglerville, pennsylvania
genuine snow white hair
upon her noggin doth adorn,
perhaps she will divulge to me (in private)
after i croon (to said lass),
the melody of Jimmy Crack Corn
hmm...or, maybe this mission
perchance twill be doomed from the start,
and hence finding me forlorn
thenceforth, a backup contingency measure,
would warrant me to don my thinking cap,
and for extra ordinary reinforcement unfold
each Taj Mahal shaped ear flap
plus (for reinforced ironic steeliness),
aye also resort to buttress
any aural "stormy Dani yelling)
via walled in interlap,
which accouterment functions
as a double agent i.e. (or,
to be rather crude),
an audiological jockstrap
to vet or figuratively kneecap
any unwanted infiltrating leaping lap
ping "FAKE" distracting news
inducing madcap
mass media circus
driving this generic teetotaler
to pour himself a nightcap
essentially providing wig gull room
with very little margin of ear err, or overlap
against bigwigs to trumpet pap
pill low ma rendered free and clear
asper insidious (mama mia) paparazzi
charting imp pea ching fear
bringing out bare arms
most likely something internuclear
simply to discover visa vis authenticity
if cute employee
(sporting hair
white as the virgin snow),
which doth simmer and glare
blindingly, thus necessitating sunglasses
(I choose the Ray-Ban brand)
as recommended by cited
all time favorite pharmacist
who unwittingly (or simply because
my myopic eyes didst stare)
fixedly - drawn to such a darling (doll ling)
explaining any reason to go THERE
to CVS - that tis where.
Golden oak, the banister gleams,
its clean waxed surface lightly
touched by her soft, soft hand as she
descends the green carpeted stair,
tossing her lustrous, long blonde hair.
She is modishly dressed, in a casual way
(a green twill frock) and she is
eating an intense red, crisp apple,
which she carries aloft in her left hand,
left elbow resting on left hip.
The apple aroma precedes her to the door
and out, into the bright gold light.
She closes the door, engages the lock,
firmly bites into the crisp apple flesh,
flashing her strong white teeth;
her pink tongue licks a dribble
of juice from the left corner
of her red, red mouth. She shakes her head,
gold in the golden light, and she tosses
the half-eaten apple to the lush green lawn,
laughs at a soaring greenjay, passes (unnoticed)
a flight of fluttering golden butterflies,
and blithely continues on her determined way
to her beauty appointment, her club luncheon,
and the rest of her busy, busy day.
Our world be amiss, is without love’s kiss
love’s way is narrow, hard for mind to find
sacred heart is bliss, has narrow’s love’s kiss
pray the world will awake, from the mind’s fake…
Love is absolute, the mind gives not a toot
says let us prop it up, lets us lust sup
authoritatively assumes love’s loom
like a night Loon whistling it’s gooney tune…
You say what’s the answer to world’s problem
it is caused by concepts of mind’s cobbling
ever you listen, when love offers kissing
am I brother’s keeper, precept deeper…
Concepts assuming love precept’s power
this be world’s problem, `tis the mind’s goblin.
Life system is love, must come from above
and by the sacred heart, love must depart…
Precept is absolute, `tis mind’s keeper
keeper of imaginations weaker!
Where shall it end, at precept love’s begin!
Many be of the world, death’s reverse swirl…
Mind’s concepts bestow the worldly logic
sacred hearts bestow Spirit love’s logic
when mind assumes paranormal project
mind still tries to use it’s worldly logic…
First connect the mind to the heart, then start
paranormal armor, your love’s karma
love the absolute, mind is a lust coot
cares not for moral, loves strife of quarrels…
My answer to world’s problem is simple
concepts have become festering pimples
are separate and apart from love’s kind
mind’s problems of love would align in time…
Keep our concepts, all those devils in line
or our concept devils will forever whine
accusing our brothers of sins intertwine
brothers are fine, it’s our concepts that’s lyin…
God bless our darling hearts and inept minds
let us search within reigns of sacred hearts
bringing the two together, birds of feather
let precept love reign, twill end concept’s pain!!
The first flame will always be its own.
None can ever mirror it.
A second flame born of the same candle
may be coaxed to life;
but 'twill ne'er be the first.
Go ahead, grab the matches, grab the candles,
everything you need to start that fire.
Light that first flame.
Revel in its fervor, enjoy it while it lasts;
don't be too sad when it burns itself out.
Try to light that same candle, a second time;
if indeed it can be lit at all,
it won't thrill you the same.
Yes, it's still fire; it still mesmerizes,
still creates that heat, and still burns.
But 'twill ne'er be the first.
Now, take a second candle, and put
flint and tinder to that one instead.
Watch it, live with it, savor it -
and when that one too eventually dies down,
riddle me this one question.
That first flame is oft times the fan favorite,
but which, in the end, is truly more precious -
an attempt and mayhap success, at a second,
imitation flame,
or a fresh first, with a different candle?
Make no mistake, on rare occasion that second flame
of a first candle may even be better than the first.
Yet, even were it more ardent than the last,
every single fire is unique -
and some small part of you will always remember that first flame.
Any others may be
more wonderful and fierce,
may be slovenly mimicry,
or may be raw magic in their own right -
but 'twill ne'er be the first.
Here lie the remains of Ethel Brown
A circus clown from County Down
She’s buried wearing her red plastic nose
‘Twill be the last of Ethel to decompose!
An Epitaph to Make Us Laugh 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Jesse Rowe
4/12/19
People will come,
and, people will go.
Blossoms in Spring,
In Winter 'twill snow.
The in and out
of every breath,
The twilight of birth
and mourning of death.
This orbital life,
on a linear course,
sometimes spins at dizzying speeds.
The joy is the mystery,
with each revolution,
of not knowing where
the next turn leads.
Majesty of color, so rich, my words are still
I gaze upon their beauty, their promise to fulfill
To elevate the senses, to make one lose the will
To forfeit captivation by the violets on the hill
In regal blue and purple vein, to echo lover’s thrill
The whites and pinks of innocence in symbiotic drill
In scarlet reds, a theatre of nature’s palette, twill
I think I'll know forever, the violets on the hill
My shadow dances to the rhythm
of a lonely tune.
It dances gracefully and with love
though in a sad mood.
Tell me, my friend, how does she sway?
Is it slow and true?
Or exuberant and wild?
Does he love you as I loved you?
Does he care as I cared for you?
Does your shadow dance too, my love?
Look at my exciting dance,
do you see it in your dreams?
Does it give your conscience twirls?
Does its tune hum in your head?
'Twill be all in vain, my dear,
for now, my shadow has learned
to dance all by herself.
Now it's but a ghostly shadow
which you cannot attain.
It matters not for me
if your shadow dances in regret.
Go on and dance the dance of youth.
Let not your bones buckle under the strain.
I wish you peace and happiness,
but my shadow will continue
in the glimmer of moonlit nights,
to dance alone.