Best Uncovering Poems
A tease on the wings of summer's breeze
A tickle in the touch of whispering winds
A glimpse at the art of museum paintings
A stare in the eyes of flowering spring--
A poem is a song of my innermost feelings.
When I'm lost in confines of my thoughts
Solace I seek from brilliant cosmic stars
Prodding for answers to question marks
Uncovering truth in words of a paradox,
As the beat of poetry reignites my heart.
Verses I compose in fragrance of Jasmines
Linger merrily around blossoms of roses
Listening to voices of fluttering tree leaves
Soliciting rhymes from elate vocabulary,
Evoking the cadence of rhythmic melodies.
A giggle in a stream, a smile in my morning
A romantic kiss in the splendor of evening
An aesthetic dream in my night's revelry
A lonesome tear of my un-consoled grief--
My poetry's the answer to call of my musings.
February 23, 2019
Poem of the day on February 25, 2019
Placed first: Contest #570 by Brian Strand
Placed first: Poetry and me contest by Silent One
A sweet ray of sun on an autumn breeze
Nestled amongst arms in nature's way
Dreaming dreams and living scenes
Right in front of our very eyes
Etching out lasting memories
And uncovering endless possibilities
Happy birthday Andrea!!
You are truly a gift to us.
Finally, as afternoon sun splayed
through the picture window
onto wood floor and last pieces of furniture,
I packed that summer on the lake
into a box, mitering indigo corners
between squares of bubble wrap,
ripples appliqued with lilac jacaranda blooms
blown on the water.
Kids would leave for college and grandparents died,
but that year bees hovered in marigolds and violet alyssum.
The moon's marshmallow singed umber, impaled on a hanger
over golden flames. Dawn's opalescence would flicker
in pale aquamarine, receding shadows uncovering
beads of cerulean icing and pink lemonade shimmering
on shamrock and juniper.
Tiers of skinned knees and runny noses now framed
by cardboard and plastic were stacked like red velvet cake
atop a knotty pine picnic table as terns called in the distance,
then sealed with oak and concrete of our final day as we cannon-balled
off dock's end like it was the last thing we'd ever do.
Stop crucifying the truth
How many times will you try to conquer this truth,
born to a people who are held to a truce,
of a lie?
Compromises and deceptions are running wild,
uncovering truth but no where to hide,
Now you must abide.
With a bridle in your mouth and with compromise holding tight,
you must fight, for truth to be saved
or die to the grave
Real truth is on the manifest,
put me to the test.
I will stand with my sword in my hand
and truth will rise again
Truth reveals your past, present, and destiny,
can you see the reality?
Stop crucifying the truth; with your hair, colors, nails, clothes
and most of with the words you pose.
Reveal your self through truth
and don’t turn away,
the creator is watching, listening and taking note,
of a people who has the truth,
but wear a fake coat.
Stop crucifying the truth
Conformed, complacent, criticized, clueless
and don’t realize,
your demise
Truth is life
and you must fight
all the lies insight
Until truth prevail
from this dark ass hell,
of reality
Truth (the messiah)
will rise again
and become a friend
It’s the time of the year to make a steaming hot soup
To remember some of the best in our poetry group*
When I make soup I throw in everything I have in stock
My hot poetry soup will consist of many from our flock.
I will begin with a large piece of prepared Cunningham
Into the pot, to which I’ll add broth of Balasubramanian
Next, I’ll add spices of Ellison, Allison, and Krutsinger
Cooking for awhile at a medium to hot temperature.
I toss in helpings of sweet McIntosh, Rodriguez, Canerdy,
Buehler, Weiss, Proxenos, and lots of bold Choudhury.
I let the soup come to a boil, adding Logan and Dietrich
Turning it down to simmer soon after adding Kendrick
I cover it over with Gentile, mixing in Flood and Pinet
I let it bubble gently, perhaps, for the entire day
By now, my soup has grown and I am feeling rashly
Because I failed to add in some La France and Ashley!
Uncovering, I’ll add them both to the wonderful fixings,
Quickly tossing Wolf, Jacob, and MRR into the mixings.
The “sweet smell of success” makes me break into song
For its perfectly clear with Poetry Soup, I can’t go Wong.
#39 on Top 100 Poems of the Month
Poetry Soup, November 3, 2021
written November 1, 2021
[*My sincerest apologies to the many
marvelous poets I could not fit into my soup!
Please forgive me!]
My heart is overflowing
With a love that just keeps growing
Lighting the path toward hope
Leaving me weightless, like a feather
More alive because we’re together
My mind is filled with joy
Laughter and love, amazing power
Whispered to the heavens
On the rays of lemon sunlight
Reflected in the stars
As they twinkle through the night
Exciting the sapphire skies
My thoughts are flooded with
Joy, feelings that simply destroy
The shadows that might harm
That sinking feeling of wrong
The darkness in the storm
Your presence is like a promise
Assuring me of the happiness
That flows through my veins
Uncovering the whisper of grace
My dreams are sometimes alive
With the brilliance of intimate skies
Filled with hope and faith
Colored in hues of silent prayers
Awakening the soul to its praise
To a Father who brings out the way
Toward freedom, redemption
Salvation and the second chance
That comes from giving in to His wisdom
And leaning on the word, the One
Who guides our hearts toward home
My heart is bursting with radiance
Vibrant twists and turns
Of laughter, joy and truth
Brought alive by the sounds of goodness
Discovered on the wings of mercy
Brought to life inside where I know
There is only this hope, this belief
That God is alive and He brings peace
Beyond understanding, a shining
Example of His love, His kindness,
His wisdom and strength
The reason He gives us all
A second chance
He is a God of second chances
A God of light and laughter
A God of redemption – filled with
The zeal that will thrill spirits
Send tingles of fulfillment
Wake up the sleeping soul and kindle
A reason for living on the edge
Of a sincerity, a serenity – a faith
That gives from the depths of its place
Amid the worries and sorrows and reasons
To let go of this opportunity
To share God’s deliverance with those
Who need, most of all, to hear of Him!
Jesus is the reason for every thought
Every feeling on the heart
Every desire from the soul
The rich and brilliant hope that flows
Through veins that are alive with
Sensations of sweet faith
Salvation comes – not to those who wait
But to those who repent and praise
Those who know Jesus brings a second chance!
Homes so recently abandoned
for Sunday swims and picnics
have become indoor respites
from the restless chill of change.
Secure, still days have vanished,
with hazy meadows humming.
Fireflies have met their end,
replaced with jack-o'-lanterns.
Now forewarning breezes,
stealthy, crisp, and vibrant,
pierce preoccupations,
uncovering reckless impulses.
Now uncanny images,
voices of chance and charm,
bide their ghostly time
to tease mortals hitherto content.
Darts and dashes of circumstance,
figures of flitting moments,
are creatures mysteriously born,
skipping towards certain death.
So what, if the end is approaching;
the witches' brew is bubbling--
the whispers of all moans and laughs,
the collage of dreams and desires.
Now is the ecstasy of flinging
one's fate to the unrefined choir--
the discordant sounds and initiatives
of many spirits and springs.
Grinning gourds and goblins
bless the annual surprise--
this primal burst of forces
that refuse once more to be quenched.
The vibes we ride
the highs, the lows
conversations with
conclusive innuendos
Hypotheticals and
experiments
we engage in
acrobatics of
noun and verb duels
Your en garde
I fall hard
Butter knife
tongues
Eucharistic bread
the uncovering
of your body
unravels my
mentality
Intoxicatingly
sipping your
Lord have mercies
Amen and Amen
My verse has been chosen as Poem of the Month at Sherborne Abbey!
The curious offerings of sacristans
Are given in obscure humility
The symbol of the cupping of the hands
Enshrines the essence of this mystery
The dawn unlocked; the turning of a key
The mystic world behind the little door
The mourning weepers, watching, silently
The quiet foot upon uneven floor
The layered shadowed centuries; the pass
Of long dead worshippers before the throne
Slow shifts of coloured pools of stains of glass
Soft drift of latticed light on pillar stone
The empty candle, thirsting for new oil
Unscrewed and filled, screwed up again and lit
The hidden corners, carved by masons’ toil
In which a wary flickered flame may flit
The covering, uncovering; each fold
Of linen and of altar cloth an art
Within the starch of white, on marble cold
The space to hold His living, beating heart
Here, understated wafers wait in line
For blessing, as an unblessed congregation
Here silver, water, light, and red wine shine
Anticipating sacred consecration
Here eye, and hand, and mind, seek symmetry
In objects placed, in psychic ebbs and flows
Seek that perfection only God can see
In right angle and scented mystic rose
When all are done and gone, her hands will shake
The fragments of His flesh on holy ground
Shed drops upon the earth its thirst to slake
Pour water through the light without a sound
When all are gone, all blessed with wine and bread
There, in the East, where better men have trod
She kneels and presses to the step her head
And, lost in awe, she speaks these words to God
I am that ancient soul you always knew
A part of you, from when time first began
The I am that I am, the that in you
That serves thee, as I will, while still I can
I come to you as Christian, Muslim, Jew
Agnostic, Gnostic, Druid, Angel, Man
The cupping of my hands I give to you
The curious offering of a sacristan
© Gail Foster 2016
You left the garden in a mess.
Strange thing for a gardener.
But they say those with trades
leave their own home last on the list.
I remember rolling up my sleeves.
On my knees rolling like a carpet
the grass covered paths.
Between six raised beds.
And the shed full of discarded things.
Paint boxes, boat engines,
strimmer cord, trailing ivy
and electrical items that
no longer carried a spark.
In the dark of my broken dreams
it seems the garden wanted to heal.
I toiled and sweated in a blissful state.
Pulling weeds as if in prayer.
Uncovering tree roots along giant rocks.
The resulting bounty now
reflect those tears I shed.
In their center they carry
the memory of my hurt.
Their beauty bringing a smile.
06/05/2019
pine cones drop like tears
from a weeping willow's bough
autumn's gentle grief
burnt orange cake spread
on the bottom of our shoes
amber hues take hold
gales of wind gust strong
over beds of crimson rust
uncovering seeds
You say that you want me but I don't believe
as I sit in your silence uncovering me
over thinking that you would even seldom think
my tumultuous waters were worth a small drink
I'm busted and broken and all sorts of wrong
living a sentence of the same fateful song
I've stolen and shaken and I'm truly mistaken
fearful of losing of what's been foresaken
Not worthy of much except this hand that's been dealt
where feelings were erected but are no longer felt
It's strange but not strange, as life leaves me behind
with two swollen eyes and a congenial mind
Always adapting, acceptingly backing
to a man, not attacking
this song has been sung
and sung and sung
her brown skinned
body laying atop a
table top covered
by a white table
cloth but she is
naked yet dressed
as a buffet with
delights to eat
placed like plates
for to be self served
my finger tips imitate
chop sticks to take
the taste of her now
noodle hair with
seaweed eye brows
following further down
her cuisine figurine
fingering disoriented
flavors and spices
sipping the saki shot
puddling her bellybutton
pairing with her pear
hips where sit not fig
greens but the earthy
shiso leaves that by
uncovering these find
two slices of raw tuna
sashimi dripping blow
fish soup the deadly
delicacy i immediately
drink licking her bowl
clean liking her sticky
rice inner thighs i
find no longer fingers
but my tongue turning
over the table now
able to smell pickled
ginger and inhaling
the heat of
wasabi
I close my eyes and listen to the river flowing
The water is low and the rocks are showing
Revealing my soul, while uncovering peace
I stand and I listen while I release…
Turbulent feelings that are caught like a stick
In the flowing river, here’s to thoughts I kick…
And with each kick, freedom finds me here
On the shore of the river, that is so near
Heidi Sands
6/14/22
Did I stray or am I suppose to walk into?
This one road that was led too far...
A path if perhaps was once so cool
To know if once more, who we are...
Do you regret walking down this road?
I must say I do not because I am today who I am
Maturing upon this questionable approach
I'm vastly becoming more then simply a new man
We all do things we needed to every time
And we never fail to never realize mistakes until...
We are lucky when aged if we even do find
What of an entire life to be ignorant to feel
I am not becoming better I know that now
I'm simply wiser to keep at bay
And it wasn't because I've ultimately found
It was because... I have strayed
My unknown path I'm walking into
I am uncovering as I dare stray along
A distant road walking as a wiser fool
I be the youngest oldie where the oldest youth belong
.........................