Best Unspoilt Poems
The east began blushing behind the trees
While the moon hung over the lea
And the velvet of night turned to sapphire hue
Like the blue of a newborn sea.
No breeze cared to move the whispering leaves
But they whispered themselves alone
And the first rays of sun kissed the cool of the morn
Before mounting the aerial throne.
The dew-spangled grass glittered pure and unspoilt
As if hundreds of diamonds were strewn,
Or like dozens of tears had been carefully dropped
From the pearlescent eyes of the moon.
Blue shadows hung shyly beneath the boughs
Of the emerald, sylvan-king;
The ancient pine swayed and held his court
With the swallows on the wing.
With a glorious, final shout of gold
The sun was now enthroned
While the world rejoiced like a sinner saved
That the night's dark was atoned.
meandering
along the hinterland
relentlessly I search
for innocent love
in the remoteness
of unspoilt territory…
a hopeless romantic
making inroads into
inaccessibility
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Girl with a Pearl Earring" is an oil painting by Dutch Golden Age painter Johannes Vermeer, dated c. 1665. Going by various names over the centuries, it became known by its present title towards the end of the 20th century after the earring worn by the girl portrayed there. Wikipedia
Artist: Johannes Vermeer
Dimensions: 44 cm x 39 cm
Location: Mauritshuis
Created: 1665
Period: Dutch Golden Age
Medium: Oil on canvas
What do you tell me, My Beauty?
You turn and stop..,
you look at me with your wistful eyes,
your luscious lips are apart, but you remain voiceless…
The pearl in your ear shines ~
light on your face shimmers mysteriously,
your eyes are calm ~ reflecting, refracting
the depth of your emotions…
those dove-like eyes are artist’s inspiration!
The topaz blueness of your headscarf
with which you have covered your sensuality,
surround your face with serenity of
the ocean, gleaming emerald green
of your dress evokes the unspoilt
beauty of your youth…..
You are not what you appear
to many souls in this mundane world…
they don’t see the painter’s Muse…
You are the nymph, who visited me
for a rare moment of tranquility,
the Pearl shone, an iridescent
gem sparkling, opening your heart~
You remain immortal in my creation...
my masterpiece?!
April 25, 2022
For Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
THIRD PLACE
white
clean shirts
drying in
sunlight on line
washed in detergent soap by mother’s hand!
our minds nurtured by mother’s love and care,
should last lifetime,
unspoilt by
time and
wear!
‘Double Tetractys 6’ Poetry contest
Eve Roper
Syllable count 1,2,3,4,10,10,4,3,2,1 (PS)
Written 22/11/2020
composed on Photo 1
Translation of Cuppiramania Bharathiyar’s poem: Kannamma, My Love! (Kannamma En Kaathali) by T. Wignesan
Yet another poem by the most famous modern Tamil poet, written a century ago – despite the commonplace imagery – follows in the original very complex classical Tamil prosodic rules in the execution of initial and end-rhymes, alliteration in each line and in the immediate and successive lines as a whole, the inner rhymes of assonance and consonance notwithstanding. The non-Tamil can best savour these poetic and/or musical qualities by listening to the version of the poem set to music, and here sung by Mahathi:
YouTubeFR: Aasai Mugam Jukebox – Songs of Bharathiyar – Tamil Patriotic Songs (It’s the 4th song down on the left column)
Does not the endearing warmth of our mutual gaze – Kannamma
Reflect the light of the sun and moon alike?
Does not the precious circular eye – Kannamma
Dispel the darkness of the skies?
Dressed in deep blue-black silk – the sari
Inlaid with choice diamonds
While in the core of pitch darkness – glitter
The scintillating stars – Dear-Girlie!
Does not the blossoming grove fade – lit by your
Illuminating smile?
Even as blue-tinted sea waves –your
Breast heaves in unison – Girlie-Dear!
Just as the enticing cuckoo call – your
Sweet dulcet tones invade, My Dear!
O! You unspoilt young maiden! – Kannamma!
The bridal feast* has yoked my heart, alas!
You speak of comparing birth-charts* - Kannamma
What avails such astrological omens?
For those who can hardly repress yearning – Kannamma
Might the stars forebode greater bliss?
If our elders will bestow approval – nuptial
Arrangements we will later formalize
Will I be waiting for you, My Dear – to seal
Our vows – plant I this kiss on your cheek!
Notes
• According to Hindu custom, the brides’s family has to offer a sumptuous dinner to the formally-invited bride-groom.
• Hindu marriages are often contracted after verification of
birth-charts, drawn up by astrologers, to ascertain the compatibility of the bride to the bride-groom.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
It wasn’t that she was the only woman
in the group, that mingled precariously
beneath the bronze figure, or her classic
stance, when placing immaculately the
newsprint covered bottle to lips willingly
breached, but more her opulent style, her
contrast of attire, her hair as yet unspoilt.
Although jewel less except for a wedding
ring in her recently pierce blood stained ear
lobe, (this bearing signs of some street wise ritual?)
she still wore a suave sophistication, eyes
that bred a wanton life, fingers more use to
the gentle stem of the crystal goblet, than
the demure grasp of the shapeless neck of
the common brown. But alas maybe the
corrosion has not as yet penetrated her
foreboding mind, a mind that in time will
be given to surrender, never to realize that
this volatile life will plunge her deeper, into
one shambolic life, whilst still trying to escape
from the previous. But! Who knows what ills she
was force to bear, what tribulations life brought
upon her, maybe her new found acquaintance
comfort her, listen to her sympathetically,
understanding her predicament, also a novelty
this sharing, this caring, respect and reverence
showered upon her, like solicitous petals
falling gracefully upon her shoulders,
removing the burdens of a lifetime.
Her head
began to lift higher and higher with every
mouthful of distant courage, every courteous act.
Then! A look of deep despair, as the bottle was
released from her reluctant deep red lips, a
senseless shake only proved her greatest fear.
Immediately to her aid, came one of her new found
companions, swiftly finishing his own endless gorge,
he commence to wipe the neck of his perpetual habit,
with his mucus soiled cuff less sleeve, before
passing it on to her veracious hand, his eyes eagerly
awaiting its return.
One can imagine when the long day
is over, the sun finally at rest, only the motley bench will be hers, only the best that fleet street can offer, will cover her chilled body, her metabolism soon accelerating, to become one with theirs, a license to enter their dissipation, only then will all options for her diminish, external metamorphosis soon to blend with inner corruption, life’s destruction almost completed!
© Harry J Horsman 1991
Most of the time hidden from sight
surrounded by densely thick mist
the island had evolved differently
it was a place of tranquillity
No human foot had ever stepped on it
coral white sands gleaned and sparkled
palm trees waved their stately branches
multi coloured parrots swung amidst the fronds
Their harsh but cheerful cries filled the air
below roamed mystical unicorns and even a phoenix
happily cavorting on emerald green plains
while busy monkeys chittered in the dense forests
Geysers shot scalding waters in high plumes
keeping the island at tropical heat
a natural barrier reef surrounding it
strange as soon as you crossed the reef
All signs of the fog disappeared
leaving the island in plain view
here there had never been a shot fired
the wild inhabitants knew no fear of man
Ever changing latitude and longitude
the island drifted from place to place
a paradise totally unspoilt by time or man
mariners whispered of its existence
Yet on no maps did it ever appear
wrapped safe in its shrouding mists
every century it would briefly appear
never emerging in the same place twice
As it floated the ocean currents
sometimes to the far bitterly cold north
then it would be briefly spotted in the east
the island kept its secrets safe from mankind
written 02/23/2014
contest Islands sponsor Anthony Slausen
your left hand was hard, but your right, gracious
putting me in the balance of Love
of which its fulcrum is discipline and respect.
Your weaknesses were classified
just to ensure I see beyond mine
Your chastisement was not without pain
of which its appreciation
is a strong indicator of my gradual maturity.
You always guard the gates of my territory like a Centurion
and fight against all antigens like a warlock.
You taught me how to be complete
and provided the staff and Ass
as I journey across Life and appreciate.
I initially thought of you differently
when you gave me the partially made sandal,
when you refused to help with the air-tight metal box,
when you gave me bone while milk was still my best delicacy
when you laughed at me while I'm confused
and worst of all, stopping Mum to come to my rescue.
I never knew they were task of Life I most needed,
finishing off the sandal made me industrious,
opening the box, made me determined and never relenting,
chewing the annoying bone made me grow up;
your scorn and laughter actually made me decisive
and rescuing myself made me independent.
All these sum up to making me a MAN!
Which makes you my Hero and role model.
Before I was, there was you;
in fact, I am in existence because of you.
I've always clinged unto you as my Life's support
but you allow me make my mistakes
so as to be the best gadget.
Your regulation of Mum's affections
only makes me be an unspoilt egg.
I always increase when you sweat
and your headaches are stepping stones to my zeniths.
You are such an irreplaceable asset
and your love, so refreshing as the evening air.
What more can I say and how else can I show gratitude?
As much as I know, you need none of these,
One thing I must always say is,
I LOVE YOU DAD!
The Cooee-booroo was Irish, a migrant to this land,
who fled his native Galway and the grip of famine's hand.
For fifteen years he'd forged a life 'round Goulburn, New South Wales,
though sought his dream on Coopers Creek, out where the black man hails.
Where native Bootamurra folk for years were known to roam,
the place they called Thullung-gurra - their ancient tribal home.
Kyabra's unspoilt waterhole was home to fish and birds,
though Patsy Durack had in mind to bring his cattle herds.
'Twas here he met young Burrakin, a figure barely clad,
who claimed the man ... Boonari now ... to this young native lad.
Though Patsy called him Pumpkin ... much easier in the end
and like the humble vegetable he proved the bushman's friend.
For that proud Bootamurra youth, a whole new life began,
as Pumpkin loved the Durack folk and claimed them as his clan.
He watched them build their empire through the good times and the bleak;
for sixteen years he helped them build grass castles on the Creek.
When Patsy finally left the run to try the city’s fare,
he left old Pumpkin as head man and thought him better there.
Then Durack planned to build a run up in the Kimberleys:
an empire for his two young sons, a kind of legacy.
But Pumpkin yearned the company of Patsy, his dear friend
and left his old Kyabra home to join him in the end.
He stood by Patsy Durack till the old man passed away,
though stayed to keep the dream alive and rests there to this day.
These two Australian pioneers did leave a legacy-
the meaning of true brotherhood - as you can plainly see.
So whether you be white or black, do copy if you can,
the Cooee-booroo from Ireland and that Bootamurra man.
I have always enjoyed reading the early history of our Australian pioneers and the Durack
family certainly played their part in opening up this vast country. Sometimes the
seemingly minor characters, who become an integral part of that history, tend to fade
into insignificance with the passing of time. Characters such as Burrakin [Pumpkin] of
the Bootamurra people, whose life was completely changed by the coming of the Durack
family to Kyabra Ck. Burrakin's outstanding display of loyalty to his white brother,
Patsy Durack, is well worth remembering. My tribute to both men
Aboard the event train I watched over the undulating scenery ahead.
Whose eyes see into shadows ogling the unknown
What a basically exhilarating time indeed.
What other panorama undresses before admiring glances.
Evening skies in many orangey shades urges many admirers
Watching every hue interact with others made us very aware therefore,
every minute interaction could overflow senses
Unusually patient artists, wait excitedly for inspiration, no over worried urges,
Mountains alongside roll engagingly by in magnificence, only surprisingly usurped by
angry rivers each with instinct, rushing onwards gleamingly unspoilt, the awaiting sea empty, the incoming tide overrides the unsuspecting rivers as the eddys flow
incorporating ocean , rivers, united
Fields angrily shout every colour in the oscillating spectrum, urgently needing
attention, waiting easels placed in readiness, overtone to undertones
Pencils are flamboyantly enjoying the interesting light overtly sketching, unruffled
Watercolours are readily endorsing the intense flooding on the unadorned paper,
all mingling, each colour interacting with others there upon
This artist charity event contest, it will occur yearly. unknown charities,
annually benefitting, every painter indicated his offer to use
On the canvas of primal beauty, our planet blue,
a unique dot of singularity in the cosmos infinite,
the earth strives to maintain the pristine astral hue.
In the realm of splendor unspoilt nature’s entities grew
in harmony with tenets of stable innate equilibrium right,
on the canvas of primal beauty, our planet blue.
On evolution trail man arrived turning a hostile species new,
exploits resources crossing sustainability rubicorn, not right,
the earth strives to maintain the pristine astral hue.
The swarm of ingesting insect called progress creeps through,
devours the green forest cover going fast out of sight,
on the canvas of primal beauty, our planet blue.
Toxic greenhouse gases are slowly brewing in the milieu,
global warming situation is posing extreme climatic plight,
the earth strives to maintain the pristine astral hue.
Glaciers and ice sheets melt, groundwater is depleting too,
the steady rise of sea-level scenario is the cause of fright.
On the canvas of primal beauty, our planet blue,
the earth strives to maintain the pristine astral hue.
April 14, 2021
Contest : A Major World Problem
Sponsor : L. Milton Hankins
A blank page,
A fresh start,
A canvas for the heart.
Unspoilt,
Unstained,
Simple beauty sustained.
Purity,
Perfection,
No blemish on reflection.
No telling,
What future storms rage,
On a blank page.
She lets Atlantic waters
Shape her rugged shores
From sandy unspoilt beaches
To her mighty Granite towers
Warm breezes from the Gulf Stream
She welcomes when they arrive
Even though they bring her
Rain laden cloudy skies
Yet that is what makes
Her grass so emerald green
The most beautiful island
That you have ever seen
Her silver lakes and rivers
And heather covered hills
Brown peat from bogs does welcome
Warding off deep winter chills
Her seeds are scattered over
This great globe that we frequent
When we return to her again
It’s a present Heaven sent
To look and to admire
The views that she provides
We stand there as the tears fall
And our hearts they fill with pride
Unstoppable beauty,
Ultra wild wildflowers,
Under plum windswept skies!
Uplifting gay colors.
Unspoilt rampant meadow,
Unwilling to be bound.
Unusual colors.
Written on May 1, 2021
For: Pleiades U Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kim Merryman
I Am as I Am complete
Though ego opines otherwise
Invoking grace, we feel God’s heartbeat
What else does there remain for us to realize
—Unseeking Seeker
As shackles give way releasing unrest of odious impressions
trade winds blow and billow white sails to a loftier altitude
Spiral shells ohm on a day reborn, under marmalade horizons
As darkness dissipates, tenderness repairs a truculent attitude
I Am absorbed in an epiphany of unfathomable transparency
As a single pulsation, a strong current, a vital force reminding
of both exotic and familiar surroundings shivering in vivid vibrancy
As sorrows depart alas! unfurling the fabric once shrouded and binding
Images speak softly in purple pearl and fuchsias of every shade
An austere moon dwells o’er lonely stagnant seas, leaving ego to wither
Shadows of the past grasping tightly ‘neath a veil cease and fade
With unmerited mercy, I Am forgiven, and I too am a forgiver
Words unspoken freeing ever so chaste and elusively unspoilt,
from within the womb, there’s mother’s voice in silent lucidity
I Am the universe that surrounds me, avant an azure sky unfoilt,
an arrantly expansive spirit, body and soul, an ocean of great fluidity