Best Undertone Poems
The whispers of diamonds and moonstone,
Starlight’s infusion of butterfly wings.
Flutter of lady’s eyelashes in Spring.
Lullaby murmuring - Jane’s not alone.
Sweet puff of air, rustle of lilting voice.
The whispers of diamonds and moonstone,
Shuffle from ear to ear, play telephone.
Host’s sunrise hair - the inkling day’s rejoice.
Sotto voce of floating flutes. Daydream
Of droplets barely spritzing window-zone.
The whispers of diamonds and moonstone,
Reflection of lone eyes, glimmering stream.
Undertone of Autumnal leaves, strewn, sown.
Olive, lemon, plum - radiant and hushed.
Silent lips of a second chance, not rushed -
The whispers of diamonds and moonstone,
7/17/2021
Whispers
Sponsor: John Lawless
*HMS used - 10 syllables per line with two exceptions -
diamonds (2 syllables instead of my variant 3 syllables)
Sotto Voce (3 syllables. Should be 4)
Beside the sea I stand alone
The water speaks in undertone
There’s in the air melancholy
I stand alone beside the sea.
The sky is veiled in shades of grey
My frame of mind in disarray
This train of thoughts has been derailed
In shades of grey the sky is veiled.
This time of year I think of you
Your presence missed, and then on cue
Emotions spill with every tear
I think of you this time of year.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
© 26th June 2020
He espied her all alone
In the open by the lake
Sighed in lustful undertone
And her body craved to take.
Golden orange, rusty brown
What a beauty! Flaming hot!
She looked awesome in her gown
He seduced her on the spot.
He embraced her in his arms
Stripped her naked to the skin
Without feeling any qualms
He took pleasure in his sin.
She succumbed to the ordeal
The abuse went on at length
There was nothing else to feel
But the fury of his strength.
When the frenzy came to nought
Overcome by need for haste
Trembling wind an exit sought
And the tree was left to waste.
------------------------------------------
Contest: My Last Contest (Jan 2015)
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Placing: 1st
(14th July 2014)
Contest: Not Just Any Old Quatrain
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Placing: 2nd
Melancholy me, since Kelly's gone away
Far beyond the sea, and gone from everyday
Stage by stage I've wept, but finally, I see
What I must now accept; a melancholy me
It follows and it looms, a threat to my clear sky
Though never quite consumes, insists that I comply
She's not for me to find, no path for me to track
So rain, I will not mind, if I can't have her back
Now happiness and joy, are never felt alone
The grief did not destroy, but left an undertone
It’s useless to contest, what lingers underneath
I'm trying, at my best, to walk beside the grief
And maybe I am jaded, but I am past denial
The anger has since faded; I've learned again to smile
I steady more each day, but walk the tightest rope
And mind my every sway, through threats by wind, I cope
Relentless my implore, and pointless it would seem
She went, she is no more, to see her is to dream
I begged her not leave, yet still, she did not stay
forever, now I'll grieve, my melancholy way
I'll live despite her death, as long as I embrace
What’s come of her last breath, and breathing in her place
Because it's mine to keep, it's just my cross to bear
I'll bury it down deep, but always, it is there
And though I did not choose, it's what I would prefer
For I can't bear to lose, my memory of her
The pain is in my heart, means Kelly too, shall be...
Because she’s just a part, of melancholy me.
A night in Venice (in sotto voce)
Moonlight shimmers over the Adriatic sea
Stars dancing on the waves in perfect symmetry
We talk of ancient adventure and gallantry
Masquerading dancers begin to fill the street
Smiling as they parade by, shuffling their feet
Unconsciously, we both are swaying to the beat
Inside the trattoria*, the music man plays
Vivaldi's concerto #4, in piano forte
We whisper murmurs of love in sotto voce*
As Casanova visions keep flooding my mind
Vivaldi's music syncopates in double time
Decoding my glances, your eyes begin to shine
We took a water taxi, back to the Hotel
We kiss under the Rialto bridge, passion swells
What we did the rest of the night, I'll never tell
Our night in Venice was a passionate affair
Put on your black dress and pearls, and take me back there.
*trattoria small dining establishment not a full menu like a restaurant
* sotto voce in an undertone, literally low voice (pronounced vo chee)
December 14,2016
Is it simply just a wooden music box?
Charming the human soul, with its melodic undertone,
What a hypnotic melody it so plays, enticing the listener
With its delicate waltz' sweetly strumming, exposing it's
Mystical quality of the supernatural
By its spiritual essence attractant, I'm thus so memorized,
A ballerina dancing in step, with the spell cast upon me,
Thus do so I spin, on this stationary pedestal, unable to move
On my own volitional power of chose and free will,
I've be consumed utterly,
By the haunting tune, compelling me do its evil bidding.
The notes grow slower, unwinding until perfectly still,
But I'm not in a daydreams nightmare, I suddenly realize
This absurdity is reality, has become real.
I'm that tiny figure within a child's musical box,
Frozen in stances freeze, unable to cry
Out for help, for made of wax am I now.
Then the lid is gently shut upon me, and in the
Darkness a sadistic voice, heckles and mocks
Me, speaking in musical notes it sings a deadly
Lullaby, rest eternal my beauty for you belong
To me now.
I've become a play thing to be tormented,
Languishing within this jewelry box.
Caught in this land of giants, whom wind
These musical chimes, to join me as a
Prisoner's collection, of a thief called music.
Whom orchestrates this symphony of the demonic?
I dare not ask, for the voices anger would
Ravish what little is left of my humanity,
So I smile, and I dance at its pleasures
Whim, but within my soul a flickering
Ray does burn still, and it is called hope.
The music screams in terror's disbelief,
For the giants house has caught in flames,
And now he is the prisoner captured
Within a wooden tinder box.
I do so smile as I myself melt away,
Listening to the voice begging for help,
But no one comes to aid such evil as he.
But I am free at last, and except death
As a comforting friend's reprieve,
From the beast, is it just a simple?
Wooden music box.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
As a river flows into the sun, may a spirit flow
Its appalling morality, the divisions it has created
The mind knows without it sacred
We take life in your painting us
Even drawing out of oblivion fades
Assures incessant sorrow
Tied in a single garment of destiny
Disobedience to the messenger, an undertone form
Deepest place in our soul
If only I had wings like a dove
Lift up the stone, and you will find me anew
He utters a vote, the terrain moves
Garish should be the undertone
so say the ones who hold the line
desiring only that mutes explain
the breadth of life beyond the pale
until the souls who dare to dream
demand expression beyond the veil
with vibrancy of color’s swatch
and actions stated to justly shock
these statements exclaimed without regard
for sensibilities in fashion’s realm
instead the giants are thrown down
by admiration of damning jests
extracting praise for substitutes
the flagrant over the sadly tamed
a mystery that gods disdain
while beauty fills the latitudes.
At eventide,
Under the roseate glow
Of the receding evening sun
I sauntered down the road
To where my beloved dwell
Not far-off from my own abode
Fast by his threshold
A low moan issued from his room
I made open the unlocked door
And so I happened upon him
Mightily taking his mistress
My eyes grew wide in shock
I made as if to storm,
But then stopped
Loosed upon me, an exquisite pain
Felt with every fibre of my being
Soundlessly, I turned around
Post-haste, homeward bound
In great dolour, I walked onward
Carrying my enfeebled feet
Heedless of the lowering clouds
Lightning flashing, thunder pealing
Yet I walk onward
And so the heaven opened
Pouring, the rain
The entire me suffused with it
Thus I quiver in frost, yet
I walked my leaden leg in the drenching rain
And so the inky blackness of the night cast over me
The evanescent rain went home
Afterwards , I gained my shelter
All rain-drenched
I laid, inert in my bed
With an unblinking stare,
My eyes cast into the void
Benightedly, I fell in the arms of Morpheus
And I saw the door opened with a groan
Came in, my inconstant lover
He drew nearer and sat fast by me
I couldn't cast a look at him
For scalding tears welled up in my eyes
He pillowed my head on his chest
And nursed me in his arms
Touched his lips to my locks
Now patting, now caressing
My shoulder, my tresses
His heart beating pitter-patter
He held the nape of my neck
And with an undertone voice
Whispered to my ear
Forgive my failings, my Inamorata
You're a vision of beauty,
And you're my true love.
I harkened to the honeyed words
Falling from his silver tongue
My heart leapt
Thus, hungrily,
I bathed his lips with sensuous kisses
And I melted into his embrace.
I arouse from my slumber, behold!
E'en the murky darkness of the night
Has passed away
And the sun, smiling in the heavens
But my heart, still heavy with pain
Alas! Who to bring solace to my lugubrious tear-stained visage
The lines on my hand are baby-like soft, and pink with an almost
Imperceptible blue undertone.
there are bracelets of x’s around my wrist.
I stare at them fascinated.
It is said that the closer the lines are the same on both hands,
The more apt you are to living the life you had planned
Before you arrived.
Most of us have three deep lines in our palms.
The top Is the head line.
The length does not matter.
Is it deep? That is the important part.
The middle line is the heart line.
Does it branch off? It usually does. There are marriage lines
And relationship lines, less noticeable, but
There if you know where to look.
The line that makes a half moon around your thumb is your life line.
Oh, my gosh, yours is short? No worries.
It does not mean what you thought for a second.
If you really want to be fascinated by your hand lines, check out a palmistry book.
Circles, whorls, loops, and x’s mean different things.
The length of your fingers, and the relationship of one to another mean something too.
I have no idea how accurate the study of palmistry is, but it is fun to study,
And if you lose your hands in a pile of hands,
It will be a lot easier to identify them.
A winter's night is different
snow's mantle o'er the ground
Noises muffled, birds unheard
few folks out on the town
This quiet creeps inside my home
steals into my bones
Instills a soothing peace in me
grateful calm its undertone
It was in my younger years
That you took away my heart
Just looking for a conquest
You tore it all part
You. put yourself so far above me
No mercy to be found
Playing as the victim
Finding joy in putting me down
You reveled in the glory
Tried to make me feel the shame
Playing oh so righteous
While using me to blame
The innocence that you portrayed
The lies, the undertone
Well baby take a look at me now
I’m standing on my own
I’ll never hold ill feelings
But my bridges will be burned
Chalking up the time I’ve wasted
To experience and lessons learned
You’re the one who started the fire
Searching for a moment of fame
Now you’ve become the lost one
And I’ve become the flame.
While you set out alone
Keep your eyes on that blue sky
My wings have been released
And now I’m going to fly
There will come a time when you look back
And contemplate the cost
Just know that my star will be shining
Because you’re the one who lost.
I will dance and I will sing
I’ll mount that horse and ride
I can walk through the fires of hell
Without you by my side.
He painted with emotions from a palette of words
Found himself in a forest of light green foliage
Threw his colours and ink pots high into the air
Waited for streams of consciousness to settle
Until sentiments found sentences on their own
The prism of clouds condensed into sun light
A bold font trickled from the pen’s fountain
Near a spring of love healing and innocence
Above an eagle circled above smudges of tears
Imagined that he was part of the poet’s plot
A flying aerial daredevil screeched his giggles
Undertone of freedom and ambience of spirit
Sound of the wilderness and narration of prey
A reminder and prayer of letting go of the past
Charisma found pages of unequivocal surrender
The scribe had been a hunter a few blue moon ago
Had once sharpened his quill with a razor of anger
Before twilight dawned on meaning and conscience
Planting seeds in an undergrowth of a restless mind
The bird’s wisdom dispersed the protagonist’s agony
Gently eased his kind claws and compassionate beak
Meanwhile the writer’s soul dispersed shadows of doubt
Fluorescent vibrations flirted around a layer of light
As the character witness unshackled anxiety’s trap
Relieved from permanence a new aura reflected his mood
The theme for the poem is ‘Aura’
12th January 2020
So shy I was but I asked you if you would have lunch with me
Yes, was the answer with a giggling undertone?
I will never forget that day we had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
I could not stop looking at you your smile sent me goose bumps
From that day forward I walked you to and from school
Never a day did I miss I still have your school picture from years ago
Our memories will never be forgotten we were, best friends
But one day I went to pick you up from school I was devastated
My heart stopped pumping for your house was empty
When I went to school I had heard you had moved away
I still have the Valentine that you left for me
The cover: Be My Valentine
Inside: You will always be mine
Searches
appear for
some final answer
to the make-up of
the universe
to what makes me tick~
A wish for a
finality wiping out
all further queries~
Stories are squeezed
for their hidden
treasures~
There may be
whispers
of futility with an
undertone of
freedom~~