Best Vanes Poems
Where have the years gone-
like soft feathers, they soon fly,
floating in the breeze of life,
fragile, wispy thoughts
to gather in, one by one;
to stroke each with loving care,
smoothing the edges
ruffled in their years of flight;
feathers of our memory.
They fly much faster
as we age; it seems to us
that time has learned a new step
that spins us around
to fast-forward those feathers
that we just held yesterday;
grasped from us so quick
before we could comprehend
their designs and bright colors.
Relish each moment
lest the thief of time stops by
and those feathers fly no more.
Spend time with each one.
Caress the silky texture;
smooth the separated vanes
to flawless beauty
before they are whisked away
with memories- or the soul.
Categories:
vanes, appreciation, journey, life, memory,
Form:
Choka
When the morning light,squeaks through the vanes;
of wooden casements and windowpanes.
When eyes glued shut,from night time fears,
are opened wanly to mornings clear.
That’s when in the corners of my mind,
thoughts of you rush forth to find;
Soft smiles, open arms and a warm heart,
You know I’ve loved you from the start.
Categories:
vanes, hope
Form:
Couplet
Within a catcher, dreams do scream
feathers redeem
man's sullied soul
sweet dreams the goal
Within their vanes they transfix
each demon lick
each channeling's
imaginings
Within the web they flutter, curs
nightmare mutters
beaded offerings
each feather sings
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Contest: Just a Minute!
Date 10/20/12
*It is believed that the origin of the Native American dream catcher (or Indian dream catchers) is from the Ojibwa Chippewa tribe.
Categories:
vanes, native american, dream, dream,
Form:
Rhyme
Summer season was my childhood’s greatest fun time,
We played with toys out of a coconut tree which is a tree of life,
We built little houses beautifully and so high as we climbed
Like a flying trapeze on its leaves, we swung so high.
We played with toys made of coconut trees, the tree of life,
My playmates joined me in building little houses using a dull knife,
Out of its leaves and midribs, we made walls, roofs and doors,
Pretended as good cooks with its coconut shells and fruits.
My playmates joined me in building little houses using a dull knife
Pretended to live together as families with husband and wife,
I took the role of an elder sister in our little comfortable house
I combed the hair of a younger sibling with a coco midrib brush.
Pretended to live together as families with a husband and wife
Just like small neighborhood or community along the riverside
We chose one of the eldest playmates to be the group captain,
The leader of unity and cooperation in building more tents.
Just like small neighborhood or community along the riverside
We helped one another as piles of coco leaves we made as rides,
We made unique toys out of leaves and roots as much as we could
Like trumpets when blown, we covered our ears for its loud sound.
We helped one another as piles of coco leaves we made as a ride
We webbed balls, insects and other toys for a surprise to hide,
When the captain signaled to show who's the most had a reward
Then ran with our wind vanes to the beach and marched forward.
We webbed balls, insects and other toys for a surprise to hide
We played with toys out of a coconut tree which is a tree of life,
When the captain signaled us to show the most had a reward
A wonderful summer memory from a Tree of Life I've ever had!
Sept. 11,2012
Note: The coconut trees are considered the “Trees of Life”. They can provide almost all the things we need like shelter, clothing, foods and others. So, let us preserve coconut trees! They are very helpful but be careful because they are also risky during typhoons, LOL. There are many coconut trees in our backyard especially along the riverside connecting to the beach. These trees had added so much joy on summer time during my childhood years/graders.
Categories:
vanes, adventure, childhood, community, friendship,
Form:
Pantoum
On the Mother Moon
Between the lipatospace and terrloid of two techtronic plates, great fountains of terrasawl pour from a captured dormant lake,
Crimsondands of cluster clouds, and seep oily resin amidst, smoking craterlike angulated compact pressing fleeing corralmist.
Giants shift as if anger was a pledge, where anglights spear trogalights in a nightmares purple wedge,
Hematite between two gifted globe’s, motionless she slips, dombing underpasses amide horologic cliffs.
Crippled vanes compressed afar across and gaping cheels of light, scream tearing peaks encounter triapoks silent ghostly nights..
Uneven acropolis’s acrylic tombs conceive, monumental infinity in calculating reprieve.
Formulated gas clouds envelope acrid crystal mists,
Amidst aggregated life forms recriminated, encrotelamented correlated twists...
Electro formations spiral tide, escaping eraptulites risk,
Riding seahoppers that do collide, encapsulating risk.
Ruthless. And Immortal diseased micro iridescences float away, on mirrored purple sky lops corroded into apparel, Where mammoth tuskers flounder and sing alongside the screaming whale...life breathes toxic gasses in a criptalonic lung bored in senapods underbelly slung.. On this moon now encapsulating life,
Grotesque forms of female genital the size of giant hands, like tortured rubber bands, Lay naked here on tectonic plates on volcanic ancient sands.
Categories:
vanes, allusion,
Form:
Romanticism
Like silent sentries in a row
the pylon docks await my arrival.
It is low tide as I step
onto the gangway.
Crusty barnacles cling tenaciously
to the pylons, as salt water
laps the rocky shoreline.
A lanky blue heron
carefully picks it's way
between the fingers
of the dock slips.
A cool breeze picks up
and the boats respond
bobbing to and fro.
Halyard lines clang
against the masts of sailboats
as weather vanes turn
toward the prevailing
northwest winds.
The pungent smell of sea salt air
and the cool mist against my face
evoke thoughts of escape
and high sea adventures.
How I long to sail away
without a care
and maybe never to return.
The glories of the ocean breeze
waft gently over my face
while prism rays draw me
toward the lapping shoreline
and I feel young and free.
This place is where I am truly me
where my spirit is released
and as I breathe in
the salt sea air
I give myself over
to the sea.
Written by Laura Leiser
4/19/2007
Categories:
vanes, adventure, boat, inspiration,
Form:
Free verse
Thumping with a life, blood flowing through veins
Beauty composes the view, weather vanes
Brown, red, yellow, orange are all present
Dormancy floods tree seeming heaven sent
But death nears as time bears its dreary end
The limbs are all crooked and surely bend
Beds are filled with leaves old and decrepit
With rain falling cold, causing me to sit
Old, the feeling of the spot before me
Ancient is the sure timeless century
Seeping the sap oozes from open sores
Hitting me deep within my heart and core
Life of the tree surely lives just for us
Holding strong even through massive digress
Russell Sivey
Categories:
vanes, tree,
Form:
Sonnet
In the endless void of night,
Giant shadows take the fight
Into the realm of intuition,
Setting wrecks of reason free,
Drugs and dreams, no guarantee
To shrink the risk of retribution.
And as the fog of dawn descends,
It seeds nocturnal odds and ends
With fatigue, the all pervasive
Early morning wrapping paper,
Shoebox lovers, home escapers,
Weathered vanes become evasive.
Artists rescue broken crosses,
Resurrecting heartfelt losses,
Carried in the undertow
Of tidal force, the giver takers,
Guided to the hands of nature,
Repairers of the ebb and flow,
Morning walkers, wolves and crows,
The stillness of their yoga pose,
All belong and have connection,
We know it, but it surely must,
Go around and return with trust,
The iconic cross of imperfection.
Categories:
vanes, religion, drug,
Form:
Verse
The Parallel Extinction
Parallel mirrors hold my reflection; hundreds of them circle around my vessel some of
them laughing, others are steadily watching me, concentrating on the seed that allows me
to think.
These disfigured porous projections, needing a little light for protection, but the shine
keeps shrinking the beam.
I know their talking to one another, whispering schemes of terror and suffering. Their
waiting for the time my mind will go extinct.
I see them draw their insanity swords; I stand in the middle to face the blows. Within
the second I feel their cuts on my knees. Time stops for a moment as I stand on the floor.
Looking down at my pool of energy as it flows and it grows.
I have a faceless reaction; I knew my death would come despite these distractions.
Nevertheless I always fought against the extraction of my seed.
These illusions are my creations; hundreds of them are my adaptions. Seems they have
found my keys to animate their feet. Now they have seen the weakness in their creator.
They now watch me bleed the force that made them.
They are surprised, that in the end I have no motion in this emotional crime.
Now the draining is almost done. The few, who laugh, stop to watch my skin become, more
faded than they have ever seen.
I’m the only pale one, here among them. They all look so vivid, as they stand above me.
Knowing what they’ve done here, they all turn around and look away.
Just as they start to walk away. The energy on the ground begins to shift and move in the
direction of my blue vanes.
Thousands of broken silver objections, reform the walls. Making a new prison of mirrors
replacing the one my creations destroyed to harness my mind.
They realized they can’t kill their maker.
What was once was has now become out of anger.
They all turn around to see a new being, their mouths drop and they can’t speak.
Because they see now he parallels with what they thought could never be mine.
Categories:
vanes, imagination, introspection, visionarytime,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
When the 21st century stepped into its third decade, the major tone of the world sharply switched. Internecine confrontation, cartelism and calumniation snaffled the high pitch, while comprehension, cooperation and cosmopolitanism, like ill-adapting burdens and nuisances, are inexorably pitched out of the era's finickier and finickier register.
The last 4 years, principally accountable for the bend toward such trend, has a clear pattern.
Since the moment that pussy-grabber grabbed the oval office through foreign fix, everything seemed to have been predetermined.
Needless to argue: just as a train steering along its normal route suddenly swerved into an appalling aberration under multiple symptoms of systematic failure, poped up a chain of bizzare behaviors: a row of willful withdrawals from multiple international organizations and treaties, barefaced dunning over allies for protection fees, capricious veer of trade vanes highlighting haphasard jitters of tariff rates toward countries of utterly different natures and qualities, pussyfooting pace toward putin and patronizing pose before pals as well as other unpredictable hitches and glitches in the making and implementation of policies or even nondescript whimsical whistles that had perplexed many politicians, publicists and observers who believe U.S to have relapsed into isolationism, that is, paying more attentions to or becoming exclusively occupied in its own business with less or without interventions or concerns upon external matters. Many uttered criticism over this phlegmatic position, pointing out it was the isolationism that had connived at the fascist aggrandizement and caused the inadequacy of vigilance in the pearl harbor incident before it finally gave way to requisite engagement. But I have to say the wording of isolationism is simply unfitting nowadays. One can prove this by drawing a comparison between the degree of globalization of recent times and that before world war 2. As we take a glimpse back to the period around 1940, we can find that oversea entities and links were relatively meagre and the corresponding influence and leverage upon other countries relatively negligible. At that time, pursuing isolationism was more or less of a certain venial aspect.
Categories:
vanes, america, international, introspection, political,
Form:
Prose
Staring out of my window panes
at open fields and weather vanes
on my tractor seat, a woman's glove?
and I'm thinking about
the web we weave for love
Freshly tilled garden and the smell of dirt
Somewhere a farm girl that wants to flirt
and a pigeon soars or is it a dove?
and I'm thinking about
the web we weave for love
Tapping the glass makes a shepherd alert
and he's roaming around my field of dirt
only he knows what I'm dreaming of
and that I'm thinking about
the web we weave for love
Things I don't know, but one thing's for sure
a bed of roses I've grown for her
Outside a flag is waving above
and I'm thinking about
the web we weave for love
Through the window pane a windmill turns
and inside my heart a fire burns
Somewhere a girl that I'm dreaming of
and that I'm thinking about
the web we will weave for love
She and I will weave that web
Categories:
vanes, dream, farm, lonely, longing,
Form:
Lyric
Your branches like arms
you suck me
growth in my breast
Your roots merge in vanes
your hair blows with winds
and play in my laps
You beat me when you get hurt
I fell into lamentation
And I think of you my baby
Categories:
vanes, child,
Form:
Verse
I've never known a fixed address. I love the home we've made for three years in our rental house so I'm sad that it's now up for sale. Last night, I sat in the sunroom thinking of how much I'll miss the joy I feel while in that room.
two walls are all window, one an eastern exposure
the other walls, floor and ceiling are old red, knotty wood
the brick fireplace has a beautifully carved, simple mantel
approximately twenty houseplants on antique stools thrive
on the floor among the plants is a life-sized, carved, wooden swan
many mobiles of either angels or hearts hang from the ceiling
on the mantel sits my collection of antique weather vanes
there are five, mismatched chairs in a semicircle
two spindle leg tables sit among the five chairs
on one table is an imitation antique radio tuned to light rock
in a corner, on a stand we built, is an electric keyboard
on one wall in a case we built, there is a dartboard
and everywhere in the room are memories of good, fulfilling times spent
... CayCay
August 6, 2019
Categories:
vanes, beauty, environment, fun, games,
Form:
List
The wind leans in sideways to drink every word,
Just as sailors must tack sideways to go upwind.
It's only with angles we know the wind's wrangles.
Its riddles, scattered among willy-nilly answers,
Whispered as secrets, spilling to shake the leaves.
When gales blow hard; many tumble quaking in fear,
Others stand up to harness its power and steer,
Watching their vanes to predict omens ahead,
Hoping for kind winds to come their way soon,
In the wily wandering ways of the gusts and whims.
The wind is an oracle, chanting psalms on wing.
It carries the chorus of birds calling at dawn.
The rumble of thunder in an approaching storm.
The calls from a distance; bells whoops and cooee's
But it's no secret its gathers can ever stay still—
For all sounds are bent to the command of its will.
For sound needs winds in the air to transmit downhill.
Only falling silent; when wind's becalmed and still.
For with no wind, all is just silence, dressed to kill.
Categories:
vanes, wind,
Form:
Lyric
Big Breakers.
Frothing, the colour of spring leaf, a mountain top of ocean
intent on drowning you it is not like crossing a road and just
have time to jump clear of a car.
No, you are totally helpless and your salvation is down to
luck not maritime ability. The beast has gone mad something
we said down in the mess-hall when playing card?
Not to forget the good moment when the sea is flattening out
flecked by light blue. Our promises of not drink and smoke
and to be kind to our mothers vanes.
There is something mesmerizing about it, will the ship be able
to shudder and get up from the tons of water? Are we ghosts
from a past that never was?
I Kingston we drank rum & coke and never spoke about our
inner thoughts, we had survived and lived in the moment.
But what can you expect of a simple seaman when landlubbers
can’t even remember last year’s war.
Categories:
vanes, beauty, blessing,
Form:
Blank verse