Best Verdigris Poems
As mist descended far and low,
dark storm clouds stirred the sea.
Upon the rocks a maiden lay,
weep by the tide did she.
Fair English rose, her skin so pure,
awash with salty dew.
Now tarnished, long cascading hair
once glowed a golden hue.
A sailor's charm did claim her heart
when first he stepped ashore.
He courted her, imbibed her love,
then told he'd stay no more.
His soul betrothed to ocean's breeze,
firm land was not for he.
Horizon-bound, his ship set sail
o'er black and verdigris.
As tempest ragings galled the waves
beneath the moonless skies,
a haunting sorrow chased the wind,
midst echoes from her sighs.
'cross briny depths she cried her vow
to wait eternally.
Forever on those rocks she lay,
weep by the tide did she.
Glowing orange, cloud coals burn
reflections into low tide evening surf,
slap lapping against scattered shells,
ripe fruits for hungry sea tramp's picking.
Itinerant thoughts, aimless as seaweed drift,
scatter like bands of sandpiper strays
on endless quest for burrowing crabs.
Peace rolling off the water, a liquid aura,
brings surcease to the day's anxious plight.
Cavorting light rays pirouette in prismatic play,
unfettered children of earth's weary sun
who slips to rest upon night's graying breast.
Carefree scenes surround, seashore treats,
delectable as holiday sweets displayed on Christmas Eve:
ribbon candy colored cabanas,
verdigris beach poles rope garlanded,
soft stained seashell ornament display.
Almost as good as Christmas, this evening on the beach,
stretched out upon the sand
my back against bleached driftwood band.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, January 31, 2016
A rhapsodic delight in a carmine feathered coat,
a cardinal sits amid the verdigris limbs;
with breast puffed out
he croons lovely tones as
vibrations of harmony
to my ears;
Ah, nature is bliss!
Nature's
verdigris face
beams at waterfalls touch
evergreens drink a hearty fill
moss is abundant upon the limestone;
I sit dangling my feet in the
cool aqua-watching swans
glide lazily
along.
a taste
of springtime peace
invades my spirit with
its' lure in this place every year;
mother earth is a sweet nurturer, soft
of caress to the soul who needs
an escape from the grind;
tranquility
wondrous!
In Memoriam Quietly Always Close
Are they whispers, then, settling
So gently upon that slightest breeze wending
Over the granite crosses and statues of cradling angels,
Which stand in their long cemetary rows?
Stating each name of the one passed on with
There-on etched, too, the noting of time alive
And telling of the beloved, who hum there their slow laments;
Who send up colorful balloons to celebrate their love and
Take far their silent greetings in the sky.
Are they lullaby heartsongs, which
Rise on sprigs of heaven-bound light,
So tunefully sweet for love’s addressed, aided
By a league of angellic composers
In their lyrical rounds from above our earthly sphere?
Are these the places of our hushed sympathies?
The places we lay over our dear ones
All the broken pieces of the grieving heart’s still longing
To stay in some way forever near, and, so, we linger thoughtfully
Criss-crossing the undulating final verdigris
Landscape, which embraces the last remains ~
Resting on in heaven’s wait for that further journey going on.
Are these faint mists surrounding
So many hours of our own remaining days —
Which are spent summoning back the stories, the touches,
The eyes that happily cast their glance into our own —
Not truly our tears
Being turned to magnifying memories,
Prayerfully appearing with each
Dusk’s close of day and placid rise of the radiant moon?
Do see that the soundless falling is our aching?
Is a furor — burst of pure, white snow:
A flash of a blizzard, looking nearly weightless,
Landing in silence, but
Incongruously, falling heavily down, into those forming crystalline layers
To dress a seeming lace-like çover over all the stone markers
With a luminous beauty, revealing a metaphor, ineffable
~ Blessed markers of life itself set here before us
Within reach of meeting the Divine.
—————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 6/5/2023
(Written for Jennifer Wilson & Maggie Hopkins in loving
Memory of James Hopkins, spouse, father, & friend) Also written with the inspiring power of images of the 9,000 marking gravestone crosses in Normandy, France, and sights of Arlington Cemetary, Washington, D.C.
Written to unaccompanied cello Suite 1 in G major, perfomer Yo Yo Ma
Thanks be to God…
Uplift the scent of stars from nightshade.
Sprinkle moondust upon unearthly skies.
Portals light up
And smile within.
Welcome to the garden of breathless night.
Swings the cedar from the country porch.
Chiming butterflies verdigris flight.
Charmed in calico dress,
Summer flirts with the best.
Nearby birdhouse-chapel whitewashed with light.
The wicker basket and hallowed bells of bicycle mourn.
The lovers depart at the winsome gate of Winterborne.
Two wheels spin,
With goodbye grin.
The clinging vine, in sorrow, slow waits until morrow.
3/29/2018
I have a passion to hold a lamp aloft,
to capture one acre of starshine
before the sun writes a new dawn.
Rusting Chevys bloom in the half-light.
Nightjars depart on shadow wings.
Shimmering’s walk toward my window
on silver slippers.
A native mildness calls me out
to the green hollows
where poppies cling to secrets.
I’ve a yen to lean like a greening barn
that’s honeycombed with sky.
The dew bathes, hills run with deer.
The woods hold aloft their nocturnal dreams
while the sky turns those to mist
I am invited to be kin,
to the verdigris of millstones,
to the mist and blood
of feuding legends,
to the weather-worn
secluded places
where dirt roads end
and life proclaims
its right to be free.
A transcendental splendor in sepia hues,
spreads it’s woody arms across a nomadic river;
leaves of cinnamon and amber dog the landscape,
as long spectral limbs stretch to golden beams.
Here lay serenity, a breath of neutrality;
tranquility in verdigris-amber glow.
A spark of Gaia’s soul in copper caress
reflects upon the significance of its’ existence.
The river’s constitutional seems unending;
it bends and winds its’ way among tall sentinels.
It generously bestows life to passers-by
offering up itself copiously.
A supernal entity is the woodland.
3-19-2021
ALL YOURS (Mar 20) Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
Purple plumes dangle amid the verdigris
the sweet-scented Wisteria Kapitan
a footbridge of Feng Shui dreams
enraptures my inner child's spirit.
2-21-2023
PREMIER CHOICE no 1190 Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
Wisteria bridge spans the traveling river
in vibrant hues of verdigris and blues;
I find myself once again strolling through
vines of sweet-scented, lilac-colored plumes;
embraced by their silky, delicate deliciousness.
The serenity of these gentle flowered vines
casts its magic over the old footbridge
and I am reminded of childhood, collecting
fallen flowers for Mom's table in summer.
Lavender dreams flooded my young psyche
of grape cotton candy and blueberry mornings.
I come back here occasionally to relive those
days in harbors of contentment and hope.
If my heart could be unveiled
In etchings on a canvas sky,
I would have to barter with the gods
for inks richly dyed,
ground saffron and vermilion, citrine and verdigris
could scarcely start to paint nuances of an exotic gypsy soul.
Could they read warm tones or cold,
looking in the heart's clear glass,
and formulate fresh colors to reveal emotion's tides;
create a new prism to divide the beaming spirit-spectrum light
and pierce the secret depths of me?
God gifts of light and power,
must formulate new tools to awaken mysteries,
break down barriers of mind,
disclosing a story line speaking only heart to heart
unwinding from a tantalizing spool.
Copyright, November 12, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
What does it mean, to be green,
Referring to color, not politics or emotions.
There's some tints or hues, between yellows and blues;
With a lot of room, in between, for so many types of green.
There are some greens that actually say green:
Blue-green, yellow-green, light or dark green.
Other greens are just as real, for example: veridian,
Verdigris, chartreuse, teal, mantis and harlequin.
We've also seen, place names in green:
Dartmouth green, India green, forest green
Pakistan green, Paris green, sea green,
Cal Poly green, Persian green, office green.
Plants are mostly green, so many plant colors follow:
Artichoke, asparagus, honeydew, and avocado,
Apple, fern, lime, mint, olive, shamrock, forest, pistachio...
Anyone ever heard of phthalo?
What does it mean, to be green?
I, personally, get a thrill, out of chlorophyll.
All these greenish strengths, are really wavelengths
Of reflected light. We define which green is right.
Cascades of stretching autumn ivy
snuggle close to the verdigris hardware
of an intricately carved, but sun-bleached
walnut door under a collapsing portico.
Droplets of sweat trace jigsaw trails
through the clinging film of dirt, revealing
the white of fluted pillars looming crookedly and
hunched by centuries of unappreciated exertion.
An eerie nostalgia laps at my consciousness
fettering my imagination to that very portal.
What yearning is this, to peer backward through
the impenetrable curtain of time?
Curiosity gives way to fearful dread;
wandering thoughts to waking realization;
that it’s a frightful thing indeed, to love
as death relentlessly pursues the same.
What can be built that cannot be toppled…
What can be polished, that will not erode…
What can be loved that cannot be taken…
behind that impenetrable curtain of time?
08/13/15
Anti-Poem — “Snaking It To Venice”
(Poet’s Instruction: Play “The End” by the Doors loudly, while reading this anti-poem)
it’s you and me baby inside this gliding duster
this ’74 green plymouth cruising machine blasting
spit fire and gasoline grenades into the LA sun
snaking it to venice on the santa monica freeway
passing pillsbury billboards and green verdigris
doors music playing loudly on the duster radio dial
taking us past the santa monica civic auditorium
our rock pleasure palace under the ocean stars
fronted by the six high dudes straight as spears—
pylons of steel drum solos and marijuana memories
standing upward like skinny giants waiting to eat
hippie dudes and the bongo kings stand out front
polka-dotted chicks smile and pass running joints
we’re riding the snake babe riding on main street
looking for the rock gods behind beaming glass walls
looking to hear boogie music with the mind jive girls
the van chicks craving a bong hit of columbian gold
looking to groove on organ sonics that weaken you
kidnap you with handcuffs for a ransom of lost time
now jim morrison shimmies into view with a beer
the boys play the end again in 1967 with amps blaring
the vox organ humming out electric mind lacerations
as Ray Manzarek sits upright again on the melting stage
dig it baby, dig it there are no tomorrows no endings
it’s just you and me baby snaking it to venice beach
passing the dream palaces lit up with phosphorescence
the sun pole-dancing there doing the cosmic bend-over
the ’74 duster blasting spitfire and gasoline grenades
Sun is brightly shining …
Minaret echoes throughout
haze hides verdigris