Best Vivid Poems
The cemetery was fresh and vivid green
when we took our bikes down the paths of it -
past stones and trees and mausoleums and grass as far as we could see,
carefree on that muggy summer afternoon,
perspiration glistening on our arms and on our faces
as we sought to stay on the shady side of each well-traveled lane.
Instinctively we followed Dale, our older red-haired fun-loving brother,
turning here and there; it didn’t matter. We had no destination,
no gravesites of friends or relatives to visit.
Sometimes we would spot an interesting tombstone,
jump off our bikes and take a closer look at it.
We were just kids, out of school for summer with no real obligations.
Our lives were a clean slate, not like the worn and broken headstones
we spotted sometimes on the cemetery’s edge, the older area’s grave stones
whose names were hard to read and dates went as far back as the 1800’s.
Those were emblems of an ancient past for us.
It was 1965! We were the modern generation and the future loomed
as large for us
as those many squared city blocks the cemetery measured.
Flash forward two decades to 1984. I was married with two small kids
and back in my hometown; things around me seeming so much smaller,
and the future loomed not quite so large ahead of me this time.
Most of my sisters were married but leading separate lives in different states.
We all had pressing obligations, so our reunion could not be a long one.
No longer were my sisters and I carefree, and we were not riding bikes.
We rode in cars that followed one another in a line;
the cemetery was cold and dismal grey that December day
as we gathered around the unearthed sod,
staring, unbelieving, into the giant hole that was to be the final resting place
for the brother whom we’d once followed so gleefully
along the shady paths of vivid green
Splashes of scarlet and violet blend into blue heavens
While soft, white, feathery clouds rise like angels taking flight
Over memories of Monet’s Artist's Garden at Giverny.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Sponsor Andrea Dietrich
Contest Name Glorious Sijo Fields
February 7, 2015
sunset explosions
wandering butterfly swarms
windblown rose petals
bird populations
animals of many kinds
autumn leaves swirling
prestorm dark gray clouds
the world assortment of fruits
bouyant rainbow skies
Red is the color of passion and rage
It creates a sense of infuriating rampage
Yellow is the color of joy that enlightens
Expressions of sunrises that always brightens
Green is the color of jealousy and power
Wherever it is there will be no one devour
Blue is the color of sadness and pain
A touch of the sky to send innocent refrain
Purple is the color or kings and princes
It is royalty awakening all the senses
Orange is the color of October leaves
With it there is promise of all He believes
Pink is the color of soft and tender sweetness
A sense of all that brings about completeness
Ivory is the color of bridal gowns and tresses
That beautiful moment when there are yeses
Gray is the color of rain and reflection
Reminders that we are going in one direction
White is the color of snowfall and feathers
A chill in the air that takes us through treasures
Black is the color of death and all that dies
When the life has gone from the autumn skies
Together these colors mingle to bring about inspiration
Feelings that will twist about vividly, a dance of salvation
The orange flowers attract bumble bees
Yellow and black bees stung my red knees
Dance round flailing and wailing crimson legs
Devilish dimples arose; scratch pegs
Several amber ants stung white toes
The vivid dream retained
If only a picture
Of that beautiful house
Remained. One photo is left
One of you and your spouse
The vivid dream retained
Each time I dream the dream
Every alcove and niche
Becomes more defined
In style, the house was rich
The vivid dream retained
If only I could see
You again and visit
Tell all we know and share
The earth is doomed. Is it?
The vivid dream retained
Soon we'll meet in heaven
The house won't mean anything
But our familial love will
Awesome feelings bring
Written: January 27, 2021
I keep having this dream about my uncle and aunt's home which burned after they sold it and moved years and years ago. The people who bought it did not live there but maybe six months before it went up in flames. I guess the dream is more about them and their relationship to me though but the house was a beauty.
One definition of retain is too keep in memory.
Since early childhood I was aware of my sorroundings;
looking around with the interest of a grown-up man,
waiting for the golden sunrise with rosy streaks
to rise from beyond the Paterno Mountain...
to dazzle a southern boy with vivid dreams.
The clock-tower, in the Fallen Soldiers memorial square wreath-adorned,
stroke seven to announce the coming of a quite day
in a valley, where orange blossoms strongly perfumed
welcoming spring in all its daintiness and cheerfulness...
as shallows retuned home flying over pines groves covered with gray.
My chestnut-colored hair was gently brushed by a whimsical breeze,
spreading the scent of jasmine's bushes wilting down;
that's where robins took shelter when the summer sun
was at its hightest peak and trees glistened and swayed to please
a curious and adventurous southern boy with vivid dreams.
Ever wondered how I had gotten to be an elaborate poet in childhood days,
exploring everything to express myself in the most unique ways?
It was love of Nature and its splendor breathed in with appreciation
that made me who I am today, and wiping away the tears of golden age,
I feel the fanthom of my presence wandering down a silent lane swarmed with sage.
Night came with willowy shadows, carrying out their nocturanl task...
not to frighten me, but to bring the brilliance of gleaming stars so perfectly aligned;
and I dreamed with relief, knowing that there would be no endless wait
to be overwhelmed with a mystery only revealed to a child with vivid dreams.
I looked further above, beyond the stunning, starry sky as the brightest light shined.
The country I am writing about is Italy
Vivid contrasts emanate lively hues
from the brilliancy of colors,
to radiate skin, hair and eyes;
and these are the wishes of all lovers!
He's a handsome man in a dark suit well-pressed,
and she's a beautiful woman in a scarlet dress;
he doesn't like ladies with flashy clothes,
and she only likes guys with ripped shirts!
Amelia fascinates her partner with her adorable smile,
Riccardo's blue eyes see a woman no man can resist;
and with his sexy eyes and killer's looks makes his conquest;
how exciting she seems and how happy she is to feel alive!
Their cheeks occasionally touch as kisses of a soft wind,
passion arises, but the dance must end with a standing ovation;
they're the only perfect pair who are rehearsing and getting recognition,
other dancers are getting impatient and are dying to come in.
The violin and piano begin to play in full harmony, " Un Ballo In Maschera,"
and all the guests come out gracefully to join the masquerade ball without timidity...
wearing luxurious and colorful costumes of the legendary Venetian Era;
and they elegantly dance on the diamond-shaped floor, trying to gess each other's identity.
The chorus adapts a moderato tone as wished by the conductor's baton, as the harmonic tones
accompany the high pitched soprano, who suddenly bursts out in a hissy scene;
she shouts, "My Riccardo has betrayed me! Take his mask off, and let him see me!"
And while the melody is embellished by the harmony, in anguish, she discords her vivid notes.
Entered in Brian's Strand contest, " Colours "
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Vivid Dreams
__________________________________
Dream Darlin,
I am in your head
every line and curve of my body
the way I breathe with you against my skin
you remember the quiver of my lips as they touched your flesh
so soft and subtle with licorice red shimmer
you remember how my nimble hands ravaged your body like a map..moving place to place
deep sleep Darlin, keep dreaming
I whisper in your ear softly..blowing gently
you toss and turn as if every image seems so real
I push my legs between yours playfully
my toes playing with yours
my long dark hair, brushing against your shoulder
I smile down at you, then lean in to kiss your neck
deep..deep sleep Darlin
I let my body slide atop yours
my ample breast heave up and down against your bare chest
our hearts beat in perfect rhythmic patterns
you lean in to smell the soft vanilla scent on my skin
you close your eyes as you take it all in
and before you get any further
you awake breathlessly and turned on...
your dreams have never been as vivid
as you go through your day, you pray for the night to come
hoping for another dream of us
and when night falls you tuck into bed
your eyes shut with ease as you nestle in snuggly
and softly in your mind, you hear my voice
Dream Darlin...
8/18/14- Jessica Thompson
Corridor of light
Fiery spring called seaward
From foam to glory
Ladies' scents
so nice everywhere,
midst the hats.
Every style
making their unique statement,
like garden blossoms!
Skies above vent pent up emotions -
ripe anger cracks stormy patterns
in vivid, threatening feels.
Skies above vent pent up emotions.
Though I feel severe sky warnings,
I am sight caught and fast locked.
Skies above vent pent up emotions -
Ripe anger cracks stormy patterns.
In the holes of your face there are two sapphires,that is making me all desire. All my words,are vague,my silence is vivid.
Many words are latent ,but love is my only holy word,my latent words can be like a sword,but my holy word can change the world.
I dreamed of shadow and of sun
A lucid outline, twasn’t much
Like lines and riddles often touch
Between, I found, my love
That time is riddled with these lines
--so juxtaposed
Memory cannot feel like hearts
She cannot beat nor burst
But with her vivid statuesque
She moves.
There is no silence bright as sun
Save memory where it runs
The wake and fall are both the same
There beauty has no shame.
There is no silence as the hearts
Whose hearts in beating beat apart
Unwaiting like the past
Forgotten lines of love
A sunrise in the rust.
This is a true, but amusing tale,
Hope your laughter does not fail,
'Tis a saga of a cockatoo,
Of life, he held a jaundiced view,
At the going down of the sun,
Cocky embellished his own fun,
And at the rising of each dawn,
Cocky's catharsis our ears did adorn,
The parrot kept talking, none listened to he,
Cocky had such a vivid vocabulary,
All starting with "F...ing C...'s"!
We heard his morning matins, you see,
His vespers were hard to believe,
'Twas sociolinguistic acquisition, prithee,
His jaded look at society,
Swearing is cathartic, but so lazy,
Yes, old cocky had such a vocabulary!