Best Velour Poems
if flowers write about love storms
and the moon obeys the heart’s blaze
would you, O Dawn’s King
become my forever flame ~
the wild-blue fire,
finger-locking our besotted souls…
aching obsessively to taste
the sacred warmth
from the Asclepius arms
of Cephisesus’ spring river
ricocheting and reflecting
the burning desire we breathe…
and I listen ~ in amatory silence,
to your voiced whispers
the slow, soft velour laughter
as you caress my sky
with poetic phrases ~
igniting this ink to release
blooms spooned with fervent sighs
lines linear against
the hysterical history
of hurt without healing…
but if only the petals
floating and
frolicking in the wind
could empathize
with how my lips thirst
with flares of jealous heat ~
wanting desperately
to be the trembling skin
the only zephyr
that touches your smooth silk fever…
O pursuer of pressed passion
my reason to remain alive
relinquish into the orchard
of rooted, clandestine utopia,
where I savor the luscious liqueur
spilling from the titillating tips
of scribbled Shizuka ~
kiss me when the sun sleeps
feel me when the Venus stars awake
dress me in dancing darkness.
I will be the violet spark
to your electromagnetic light…
take me beyond time
eviscerate the
evil threads of illusion
unchain the steel of
our imprisoned pages,
let the words flow as one..
for my heartbeat now
is the sober mirror to your pulse
nevermore remembering
the final glimpse
of an irreversible ending…
** inspired by the artwork The birth of Venus, Sandro Botticelli ~
Scarlett thought she was promised permanent security.
Satchels of resilience bound her fragile wrists.
Woodland deities hailed her.
Underworld demons feared her.
The curious townsfolk simply stood in contemplation -
Inviting epee's gleamed in their eyes
as the garden shears, in their hands, smiled.
Scarlett oft pretended she was Joan of Arc.
Threads of meshed titanium webbed her sheltered heart.
Sour Grimm moppets heralded her.
Skeptical fairy godmothers chastised her.
The relentless wheel of innocence spun without interruption.
Persnickety rogues sashayed in dumbed silence -
permitting their sordid counterparts unwelcomed invitations
into a void where reverend satchels are tragically punctured.
Scarlett donned spiked eye patches in her latter years.
Protective velour swatches masking mass and the masses.
Myths and urban legends empathized with her.
Gods and martyrs appropriately buried her.
The dumbfounded spirits circle Scarlett's broken window with raised eyebrows.
Quizzically staring at rotting barrels littered with skeins if shredded satchels -
yards if tainted fibers being hopelessly spun into yet another
dark, forgotten midnight.
Ashamed to avow my sins,
A burden mine alone to bear,
Broken beyond repair,
Baptized in gold to fill the cracks,
Restless nights, Velour gowns turning to sacks
No amount of gold brings relief,
Debased by lies and deceit,
Beg for forgiveness,
And you shall be forgiven,
He, who knows all, saw underneath my veneer,
A pain, a woe played for deaf ears,
I beseech my lord to forgive my misdeeds abhorred,
Let my midnight scribble turn into beautiful word.
Sublimity ...
Bandit of my breath
Summer blond tresses, pure
Splashed with amber bands, aglow
Slowly twisting down to soft, stretchy curls
Bouncing on your shoulders with heavenly mirth
Like a child bouncing her bed Christmas morn
Exquisite texture, as combed Turkish velour
Meant for the delve of only tender hands
Loving fingers that honor privilege
Every touch savored, adored
Each strand a rarity
A golden thread
Ephemeral.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Choice 9 Any Theme Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
The lamp outside my lodgings cut through fog of dirty grey,
I donned my coat and hat ready to start another day.
The sound of hooves on cobbles meant my transport was at hand
I stepped onto the pavement as it pulled up at the stand.
Quick turn of the brass handle, creaky door swung open wide,
a short leap to the footplate and I clambered up inside.
The bench seat buttoned velour, colours fading, rather frayed,
long scratches on the rosewood round the Marquetry inlaid.
We bounced and swung on straps and springs and galloped through the streets,
Side window broken in one corner, letting out the heat.
Outside the Quad I paid my fare and stepped into the cold,
and thought 'how many other Derby cabs are quite that old?'
Inspired by an article in today's local paper regarding the age
and appalling state of some of our local Taxi cabs.
Velour petals of ruby red
scent of perfume upon the air;
visions swim inside my head
a cascading vine of roses fair.
Imbued with grace of angels
defense against wilder strangers;
Blossom of heaven’s honey-dew
smoother than the finest fondue.
A plethora of colors bold
live within La Rosas fold;
breath of ambrosia, heaven sent
frees the path to contentment.
3-13-2021
Flower or Flowers in Imagism Form - Poetry Contest
Constance La France
The twinkling stars light up the Night,
creating a magical sight.
And a rising moon starts to glow,
against the black backdrop of space.
Held in Night's ebony embrace,
Luna's light gilds the clouds below.
Visible to the naked eye,
shooting stars zip through the Night sky.
And spinning perceptively slow,
the Milky Way seems surreal;
a spiraling galactic wheel
superimposed on Night's shadow.
The twinkling stars light up the Night,
light-years away, and yet still bright.
Quasars and pulsars, twirling fast,
appear to flicker as they spin.
And once these spinning lights begin
rotating, they are unsurpassed.
The universe is God's domain:
something we can't, as yet, explain.
And we don't know how long it'll last;
for it may expand forever.
We see no end, whatsoever,
for it appears immensely vast.
Look up and behold the grandeur
of a jewel-encrusted sky,
swaddled in velvety velour.
I love mornings that start out simply like this
filling me with tidings of rambling walking bliss
searching the path for sea glass, rocks and shell
listening to the many stories the beach has to tell
murmurs of seagulls and the egrets dancing glance
the scurry of crabs across sands of happenstance
then the sight of a sparkling green gem does appear
to elicit a delighted sigh and sometimes a big cheer
watching the pulse of waves roll upon the soft shore
the downy foam as it swirls to kiss my feet like velour
as above comes the morning canvas of sunrise soft hues
against the cerulean kept dew from the night’s navy blues
it’s time to return home from my early wander-lust walk
amid the squawking and flapping of the ocean-side talk
my pockets are all full of my wonderful found treasures
that keep me attuned to my homes many pleasures
10-6-2020
Brian's Choice 22
Honorable Mention
VERSE I
she brushed across my shoulders
the bedroom light broke
a breasted scimitar—dancing thoracic throat
what I once outran—now presses my lips
she carried no black-wing omen
yet every breath drew near
purple velvet summons
Murdering me with Cashmere.
PRE-CHORUS I
kiss drawn, the walls slant inward
and rouge, the dark-root took shape—
as if her inborne blackwork
could make the night a colourless drape.
CHORUS I
Murdering me with Cashmere
tugging at my countless heartbeats
stripping me down to bare nerve
Murdering me with Cashmere
touch that lifted a ceiling curve
a birthright that denied me standing
VERSE II
the air lost a beat near her
piano shuttered its strings
her keratin ruled its hidden kingdoms
where songs outlived clipped-wings
one quick brush of softness
could tilt the atmosphere—
an unquestionable sovereign reign
Murdering me with Cashmere.
PRE-CHORUS II
marrow-sapped, my bones bleached white
and oooh, my will to power grew thin
her presence pressed antique velour
against my browning-paper skin
a blue-litracution mocked my manly core
CHORUS II
Murdering me with Cashmere
negating my defenses
melting my deep fear
Murdering me—only Cashmere
mist that would not recede
a spell that outlasted me
BRIDGE
she stood there—the verdict given
queen without a crown
her secrets a crashing thunder
hinged to pin me down
and I—
climbed, she was higher
and her hemlock closed in—too near
I fell into her ghast-lit shadow
Murdered soft by Cashmere.
FINAL CHORUS
Murdering me with Cashmere
kindness with a strangler’s grip
a calm that finished the work
Murdering me in Cashmere
queen in vestment of highness—
Lady Caledonia Blue— cyanotic.
OUTRO
she brushed across my shoulders
the world skipped a breath to grieve
softness that occluded on my lungs and stayed
refused to let me leave
her after-mint lodged in my vertebral mind
thorn in every flowing tear—
the night she claimed my arrhythmic heartbeat
Murdering me with Cashmere.
She flows, flows while petals spread their vibrant blooms
On April's mural , those lips dare to tease...
Her contours trailing with velour costumes
Wildly ablaze, to ride on spring’s trapeze.
This ambrosial drift which shines ,which glows
From heaven’s mold granting dahlia's trance
Enchanting a whirl, my shade of yellows...
Like me, she curls into a floral dance!
Flower Contest:Brian Strand
Disjointed beings beg the questions – still
an ashen horse delivers what is owed.
Decisions kneel before compassion’s will,
to stop and help a turtle cross the road.
To comfort one another, brings them home,
confides the mornings, bedtimes now alone.
Concentric dreams preserve the lost to roam
among the ash and fields of sculptured stone.
From every foolish quest, those wasted years,
of mercy - time denies the rich and poor.
Whatever left, upon regrets and tears,
behind the coffins, curtains of velour.
Receive his blood the only way across,
eternal rock we trust in Savior’s Cross.
-----------------------------------------------------
Contest: Death
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Written: 10.20.17
Form: English Sonnet
"Come closer, you kids, let me tell you a story:
now you all see that there morning glory? Well
that was the blue of this little boy's eyes, born
right in this village; they named him Eli."
"Those eyes had lashes so black and so thick,
it sure was enough to make all us girls sick!
And his skin, do Jesus, was flawless and pure,
and smooth as this ole couch is, what's made of velour."
"Lord, he was held, he was never put down.
We girls took to totin' him all around town.
His hair was as black as a raven's wing,
and if that weren't enough, good God he could sing!"
"He just opened his mouth and out this voice came,
a voice that could put God's angels to shame."
"Now, y'all know how much fun little kittens can be?
But then they grow up, just filled with ennui.
Well, just like them kittens, Eli grew up, but he
was conceited and downright stuck-up!"
"Well, our village, we raised him, and we saw our mistake,
but by that time, humph, it was far too late.
He decided to grace the wide world with his presence,
get away from the village and all of us peasants."
"When he hit the big city, he was shocked and perturbed:
No one fell at his feet, no one praised him with words!
Perplexed and confused, he stared at his face:
his eyes were still blue, his complexion still chaste."
"His hair was still shiny and black as the night,
and his teeth were still even and perfect and white."
"What's wrong with these people?" he wondered out loud,
"Why isn't my beauty drawing a crowd?"
"Yes, he was still just as handsome, he touched his smooth chin,
not knowing true beauty lies under the skin."
"Well, what happened to him?" the children all asked,
"Did he come crawling back home, sad and downcast?"
"Naw, he actually did make it, he became quite a star,
he had the big houses, the money, the cars.
And girls flocked to him, but didn't stay long,
and he never did figure what always went wrong."
"So he died old and bitter, in his penthouse above:
childless and joyless, still filled with self-love."
©Danielle White
Valentine butterflies, they are unlike any other butterfly you ever did see.
Assembled in your soul, they only come out to play when you fall in
Love. They flutter free of their own accord. Red velour wings as large as
Elephant ears. They are soft to the touch and they tickle gently for they are
Naturally inclined to be mellow to sweeten your disposition. They say
That love is a promise best kept forever but these butterflies truly have no
Idea, how long they will coexhist in your bosom.
Never take them for granted for they are volatile and will cease to exist if
Enbezzeled with indifference.
Butterflies in your stomach means love in your eyes
Undiluted adoration leads to existential inspiration
Trust love and it will take you down the rose petal path
Trust love and it will lead you home to familiar ground
Every heart deserves affection, maybe this year its you !
Receive them with grace and share in their affection. Let them feel
Free to roam inside you. These butterflies are happy wingsies.
Love, it flutters free of its own accord. So be sure to
Invite it in, along with those sweet little floating beauties. Somehow
Each year they migrate to Cupid's chamber, where they are arrowed into
Souls that turn to Lovers. Well done Cupid, well done butterflies.
Sponsor Mark Toney
Contest Name 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 26
January 29, 2023
Clouded mist,as slender fingertips
descend in it's haze and blaze of colours,
with multiple sparkles,as rainbow streams dipped
lifted upward to a carousel soft as velour,
earlier prepared for this match at the hip
joined by the heart in this lofty hour,
tasting such love in slow deliberate sips
from branches of special fruit and flowers...
Golden meadows opened with a golden key,
as the heavenly chamber is where we want... to be
*
Ooo there’s the Blue one!
Or the Orange and that Red!
Or the Yellow like the sun!
And the one under my bed..
Each waiting to be cracked
and melt in my mouth
For a second of pleasure,
Then be gone for forever-
But still a Green who’s a queen
And reminds me of meadows,
Or that sweet Brown sheen
Blending in with Gardetto’s.
Let my tongue melt through the color and give in to the crunch-
One not so satisfying, but perhaps in a bunch.
A flood of velour, now looking for more,
When it was all in the core, and now just a score.