Best Utters Poems
Tenderness exudes from him as he takes the hand
Of the woman, sick and frail; he’s a gifted man.
Uncommonly calm, he utters, “God has a plan.”
Consoling her, he is guided to soothe her soul and
Heal her body, for God’s spirit tells him he can.
Categories:
utters, spiritual,
Form:
Acrostic
Oh I love the sound of the rain
a softly spoken spiraling sustain,
marathon runners against the grain
all soon lost within their drain...
One slows down near my eye
a staring contest with a somber sigh,
could it be a suspicious spy?
as my tears match their coasting cry...
It then speeds up again
leaving satiated sorrows within its stain,
for it utters no words to complain
only the remnants of its strain...
Avoiding languishing lanes to leap
where whispering wallows weep,
formless in its kaleidoscope keep
racing down the window to sweep...
Longing lugubrious raindrops skewing
victimized amidst my viewing,
each one in a ponderous pursuing
a dismal deluge in their renewing...
A jaded journey of their repeating
sharing thoughts upon our meeting,
all is dry after their completing
memories once shared now fleeting.
Aug.09.2019
Writing Challenge 1,
August 2019 - Just Write
Sponsored by: Dear Heart
Musical background...
Signs of Nature
Rain Sounds
Stormy Skies
Female Virtual Voice
Placed 2'nd...Thank You
Categories:
utters, fate, november, rain,
Form:
Rhyme
Sitting upon the shore
time seems to move so slow.
Watching waves I adore
as reflecting stars glow
Tonight this night is mine
just me and the mute moon.
Tepid breeze feels so fine,
as birds sing their sweet tune.
Mind begins to ponder,
why life sometimes goes wrong.
Thoughts begin to wander,
fed up of being strong.
Sad eyes gaze into space,
tongue utters a deep sigh.
Rain drops caress my face,
masking tears, I can't cry.
Life's questions defeat me
answers I'll never find.
Waves rush in from the sea,
tide surge plays with my mind.
Their call sounds so violent,
soul yearns to drown in them.
Heart tells mind: be silent!
Sweet songs it starts to strum.
Thoughts tame, turning tranquil,
sunshine brightens dark skies.
Rainbow smile brings goodwill,
as phoenix spirits rise.
Silent One
21 January 2018
Experimenting with 6 syllables per line.
Categories:
utters, angst, introspection, pain, sad,
Form:
Rhyme
It is hard to really tell you
The beauty of this man
For many simply find it
Too hard to understand
They laugh, they smile, and tease
As I describe his every being
They just can’t fully see
The splendor that I’m seeing
Though he is just a character
I really can care less
He is real in this crazy heart of mine
So give your teasing a rest!
His hair is black as ebony
His voice as smooth as milk
It reminds me of dark chocolate sliding across oiled silk
His face is pale and serious
With black eyes that pierce your own
His grimness makes me envious
In this world he is alone
His nose is hooked—but not too much!
And his rare smiles are divine
His black robes add a vicarious touch
I wish he could be mine!
As far as personality goes,
I say, he’s quite the charmer!
Dexterously shielded by a past of foes
Beneath his shame of honor
Sometimes he’s angry, but mostly glum
Rarely is he content
He lost his love, cold and lonesome
Sarcasm is his lament!
Alone he lingers in the dark
Torn and set apart
No one knows he has left a mark
Right smack-dab on my heart!
I stared intently at book and screen
When they first came on
Every word he utters is like a dream
And then again—he’s gone!
Nevertheless he leaves me
With a feeling so grand
At loss of words from the awe he gives me
A joy that no one understands
Can I help but swoon and gape,
At the great professor Severus Snape?
*Note: Although Alan Rickman is a contributing factor to my obsession,
I’m seriously just in love with the character…and that is my confession!
Categories:
utters, dedication, love, me,
Form:
Ode
While snowflakes continue to fall,
upon a night pale as ghostly winter
I falter from my own distraught pause--
the hazy moon watches my young girl
a serene angel laying in starshine, on a bed
frigid cold with her tiny body
wrapped in fine linen and pink bonnet:
I could still recall her pupils tightening,
while through glimpses silent, my own mouth
utters, ' fight, my dear one, fight!'
Yet, her last gasp escapes a frozen outline,
those eyes blinking restlessly up high
as my fallen gazes droop at her gaunt form --
How this heart cleaves till screams rack
my own body with convulsive, inconsolable
anguish: this route to a thievish doom
makes me seethe, slam, screech at life
for my child's unborn dreams ...never to fly, ever.
It rains and a mantle of tears drown
upon her skin, my face in endless whys--
as I howl with night birds for the villainy of time.
Verses of Metaphors 3- RHYME OR FREE VERSE ONLY
Sponsor: Lu Loo
04.26.2019
Categories:
utters, mother daughter, pain,
Form:
Free verse
There is a song amongst the heavens
From days so long ago.
It's words are played amongst the stars
So soft and very slow.
They sing about the One above
Who made them all to shine.
They sing about His awesome deeds
He's done throughout all time
His works they are so very great
That even nature shows.
How there must be someone above
To make each thing to grow.
Now you can hear this song at night
If you are very still.
About the one that died for us
Upon that lonely hill
But He is not there anymore
Nor will He ever be.
For while He lives above the stars
He also lives in me.
Just ask Him in your life right now
If you don't know Him yet.
He'll take away all sins decay
Erasing all sins debt.
There is a song amongst the stars
From days so long ago
Each word declares the majesty
Of Jesus Christ I know.
Inspired by Psalm 19: 1-3
1 The heavens declare the glory of God;
And the firmament shows His handiwork.
2 Day unto day utters speech,
Night unto night reveals knowledge.
3 There is no speech or language
Where their voice is not heard.
Categories:
utters, bible, devotion, faith, love,
Form:
Rhyme
They Speak of You
Hey beautiful,
How often
have I called you softly
by that name?
Your voice is a warm whisper
more soothing
than a gentle rain.
You are lovely in so many ways,
I could spend eighty-eight days
times eighty-eight ways,
just writing poems and plays.
Dedicated to just how beautiful you are...
From your head to your toes
to your near perfect nose
and all your girly parts in between.
...
You have only to look in the mirror
to see what I mean.
You are the beauty
of a single sunflower
in the middle of a desert oasis,
as twilight sets fire
to the sun baked sands.
You were created by the hand of God
and wanted by every man.
You are the beauty
of a cool glass of water
on a world where summer is eternal,
and no one has had a drink
in a thousand years.
What I believe to be true,
the word beautiful
was invented for you.
So, when anyone,
anywhere, at any time
utters the word beautiful,
they speak of you.
Perfect in all your imperfections
you've been beautiful all your life.
And if it hasn't happened already,
one day some lucky young man,
is gonna beg you
to be his wife.
For your a natural beauty,
that kind of beauty
where make up makes no sense.
You’re the answer to the question...
Why mess with perfection?
Categories:
utters, beautiful, care, extended metaphor,
Form:
Romanticism
it is cold and the flowers are dying
becoming withered memories
leaves are drifting and rain is falling
and the river flows like a stream of glass
the grass is fading
and birds are flying away
and the forest is taking on a sombre hue
and storms shake the ocean of my sleep
where my hair is soft as a spider web
and my filmy dress a paling green
and I stand still in this decay as a tree
with my arms outstretched to the sky
oh, the fine thread of summer is a fading thought
yet, there is a hazy beauty all around me
and within the crumbling fragile leaves soar
oh, the splendor of the whirling burnt orange
and red leaves spinning
like weeping blood red raindrops
oh, listen to the sweet chiming
of falling leaves
that I will hold like a blanket of memory
while the wind utters low wails like a hundred violins
and hidden birds sing
a beautiful symphony just for me
Categories:
utters, dream, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Written: October 10, 2023
Night Bewitches Sponsored by: Shadow Hamilton
A dream is a microscope through which we look at the hidden occurrences in our souls. Erich Fromm
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the placidity of the night's embrace,
bewitched the cosmos with an arcane grace.
The moon, a silver orb, may induce its rise.
Oozing its ethereal aurora over the skies
Whispers of worm words waft on wafture wear,
As the stars spangle, their nexus is spare.
The night wiles with its vestigial spell,
Drawing us in, under a talisman dwell.
Penumbras plaster pegs poltergeists of trees,
The twilight augury decry casts souls at ease.
Geezers of nightgown awaken from slumber,
Suing solace in the Cimmerian shade to clamber
The eventide sky overawes with a cosmic array.
Stars bedazzle and coxswain us on our way.
Moonlight sumptuous aura in a gentle glow,
Steer us through the shadow as the nexus flows.
Ebony necromancy decry a glamorous sight.
Drawing us close to the serendipity of the night.
In this cosmic wee hour, dreams bear flight.
Our souls are raised, and our hearts blight.
So let us indulge in this nocturnal delight,
As dusk vamps, squirting a glamor of delight.
Let us wander in the moonlit haze,
As sableness susurrous surreptitious sprays
Wee crepuscule twiddles, a plum night symphony
Where conceit phantasm and verity shed sympathy
Allotting an awareness acumen ariose and aureate
Upon ubiquitous utters uncanny unsophisticate.
Categories:
utters, analogy, appreciation, dream, night,
Form:
Rhyme
Trees stand silently and bare
Yet in their silence dwells the hope of spring
Though winter keeps them in its icy glare
Desolate landscapes bare the scars of winter's sting
And hardly a creature utters a sound
Yet in their silence dwells the hope of spring
Days are bleak with gray skies all around
While icicles hang from window sills
And hardly a creature utters a sound
As life stands still in winter's chill
Those sunny days are hard to find
While icicles hang from window sills
Cold winds blow with storms that blind
But the hope of spring does not decline
Though sunny days are hard to find
As weary creatures look for a sign
Trees stand silently and bare
But the hope of spring does not decline
Though winter keeps them in its icy glare
~~
Written on: 11/11/ 2012
Contest Judged On: 4/30/16
Categories:
utters, hope, spring, strength, winter,
Form:
Terzanelle
Adorable QuiQui
A green-feathered, yellow head beauty,
that’s my prized pet parakeet, QuiQui.
Even when she’s often crabby and snappy,
she succeeds in making me extremely happy.
QuiQui loves dipping and diving into her bird bath,
and hanging from a perch in her cage, like an expert acrobat.
She also enjoys shaking water from her wet wings,
gazing impishly into her toy mirror wildly shrieking.
Relishing her seeds and red strawberry millet treats,
nonchalantly she ignores my sweet endearments and tweets.
But she shows off her long, elegant, tapered blue tail,
Sitting silently and contentedly unloading quite a poop trail.
And even though QuiQui never utters a single word,
I know she secretly loves me too, my little prima donna bird.
11-11-2014
Contest: Pets
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Placement: 6th
Categories:
utters, beautiful, bird, happiness, pets,
Form:
Sonnet
Misleading, minacious maze now thwarted,
eschews stealth as sandal-clad steps resound.
Determined and dour, destiny draws near;
completing this quest: forever renowned.
Stygian sky grants a much-welcomed boon:
conformable clouds cast curtain aside.
A radiant pearl suspended aloft,
reveals route to where foul fiend does reside.
Mouthing prayers to a personal angel;
supplication: salient and silent.
Head held high, eyes fixed firmly on heaven;
bless these dark deeds, bloody and violent.
Sharpened silvern sword raised proudly aloft;
unblemished blade mirrors midnight’s moon-light.
Utters an oath sworn at parents’ graveside;
tonight sees the zenith of a birthright.
Shrieks fill the air, inhuman and hungry;
hero’s hammering heart reaches its peak.
Fear is just fleeting, for foe has arrived;
savage beast attacks with claw and with beak.
Garden’s guardian inflicts ghastly gash;
‘tis nary a scratch for warrior’s might.
Unyielding weapon wielded with such flair
finally - fatally - settles the fight.
Chimera confronted, cowed and conquered;
tales of this victory regaled forthwith.
A marble mosaic marvel beckons
and once-true events pass straight into myth.
-------------------------------------------------
February 2017
An apology for any students (or masters) of classical mythology. I’ve used a fair bit of poetic licence with the events leading to the death of the Chimera... but I was raised on a diet of Ray Harryhausen and this was my homage to his creature features!
-------------------------------------------------
Written for the “Chimera World” contest sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron - Eighth Place. The following restrictions applied:
“1 original poem that uses the following words: mosaic, maze, moon, guardian, garden, angel, heaven, heart, midnight and clouds.”
Categories:
utters, angel, fantasy, hero, moon,
Form:
Rhyme
My Muse, I So Abuse
My muse crying loudly, please write this way
I replied laughing, that will be the day
She storms off in a most indignant huff
I shouting at her, damn isn't that tough?
No fear, she always runs as she returns
she my heart so loves, as my mind she burns
I, that often sit on cold bed of stones
She, poetic judge that often breaks bones!
Dead of night she cuddles up to me near
utters words, sweet nothings and a cold fear
I inquire, but my heart you love so dear
She shouts, that was a folly from last year!
My muse and I play wicked cat and mouse
She may be the roof but I am the House!
Robert J. Lindley, 08-26- 2014
note: My muse is a vindictive little tramp
she makes me kneel humbly before she lights the lamp!
Categories:
utters, best friend, blessing, caregiving,
Form:
Sonnet
My old friend Gettysburg came to visit me tonight.
He indicated that he has been troubled about many things.
He begins without hesitation to speak to me with passionate expressions. He said that he was feeling both patriotism and pride but also consternation. He thought about how different '4th of July' celebrations might be this year.
He is whispering to me about both freedom and sovereignty.
He is shouting to me in tears about divisiveness and unity.
He tells me of his being ripped apart in every section and direction.
His north is pulling; his south is pushing; his east and west are frozen.
His total being is being disconnected; his pain is unbearably excruciating.
He ponders the complexity of such beauty being on the brink of destruction.
He remembers the Mayflower, Plymouth Rock, and the Boston Tea Party.
Presently, when thinking about Lincoln's Gettysburg Address, he weeps.
He locks his eyes to mine and questions, "Whatever happened to the love of life, love of family, love of neighbor, love of the church, love of country?"
Gettysburg believes in America and thinks we will find our way forward.
He reflects on the Declaration of Independence and the many sacrifices.
The Preamble to the Constitution is weighing heavily on his confused mind.
He prays that the dream doesn't die, and he rejects any nightmarish thoughts.
Gettysburg believes in God, and that He will turn the tides and calm the sea.
He utters his last words to me by quoting the Preamble to the Constitution of the USA. "We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of ...
061520PS
Categories:
utters, abortion, america, july,
Form:
Personification
The first weakening of night
picks out telephone lines,
black against sky.
The eyelid of a garage door
lurches laboriously up.
A car coughs blue breath.
With aerosols and plastic scrapers
clandestine delights of frostwebs
are raked to chemical sludge.
Starter motors whine.
Windscreens cloud with pain.
Gears grind teeth.
An electric train
gingerly
utters inarticulate from the sheds,
groaning over cold joints.
Thinking grimly
of tunnels ahead,
it flares with ill-humor
crossing the points.
On unworked land beside the track,
a fox is heading home.
Gliding through
beneath the "keep out" sign,
he grins at the engine,
which just judders along,
headlights trained
on parallel lines
which glint ahead,
reflecting lurid signal red,
extending out, but never meeting,
towards the vanishing point.
Categories:
utters, society,
Form:
Free verse