Best Whitsun Poems
Tonight, a montage is brushed with a splendor
of glazed branches : an arrangement of russet
teal and orange; dappled wisps enticing
my spirit for a pilgrim beyond my own angst.
In pure delight, tendrils of leaves are aflame
through the glory of a varnished summer.
Feathery rims unfurl in dotted patterns
adorning a cherry tree with iridescent flush
as its arms seem to layout
the stencils of hours' burdens.
Yet, miniature stars flicker on its garment
this cherry timber blowing heavenward,
perhaps content in the grace
of its caressed shade and bloomed fruitage;
enough to guard men from rainfall and sun.
I nestle on the ground, searching for its beauty,
and feeling its silence: a renewed breath heaves
from petals born in earth's clay ,sewn by nature's hands;
ever- entrancing and evergreen.
...................
Brian Strand's Whitsun Premiere Contest
We are all gathered on the platform
Jumping up and down with glee
We can see the smoke of the puffing train
Coming nearer to take us to the sea
We are off on a Whitsun treat
Forty children or more
Many adults to look after us
Experience told them what was the score
They heaved on wicker baskets of goodies
And crates of lemonade
We were off to Barry Island for a Picnic
Just a half hours ride away
The seats were rather hard and had
mesh racks above to store luggage for folk
Opened up the windows with a leather strap
Stuck out heads to a face full of smuts and smoke
The choc choo sound was so exhilarating
Excitement grew with every mile
Wanted to be that train driver with his whistle
To pull that chain that made the sound, bringing smiles.
Had a wonderful time on the sands
Paddled our feet in the sea
Gathered around to eat our food
Washed down for the adults with gallons of tea
Forty tired and happy children
Clambered aboad that train for home
The clicketty clack of the wheels
the sway of the carriage, sending them to sleep and dream
We were soon at our home station
So sleepy yet didn't want the day to end
Tired and dirty, had a lovely day in the sun
Starting the day aboard a steam train that puffed around the bend.
Penned January 20 2015
I’m kept hidden in the cupboard,
always under lock and key;
dare not come into the open
how disgraceful it would be!
I sit cramped, my bones are aching,
a dark secret in the dark;
I can’t even take a breather
for a scandal it could spark.
I’m condemned to live forever
out of sight from prying eyes
while my master’s troubled conscience
covers up for endless lies.
How I wish for change of fortune
so the truth will all come out.
It would give me back my freedom
then with joy I’ll jump and shout!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Contest: Whitsun Premier
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Placed: 5th
© 22nd May 2017
The Mayfly is up on the Kennet,
Well it’s Whitsun why wouldn’t it be?
There’s a fine downstream breeze,
And the fishing’s with ease,
Do come as you used to for me.
The Mayfly is up on the Kennet,
You ought to come down for a spot,
If you come on Tuesday,
I’ll meet you at Newbury,
The weather they say will be hot.
Last Friday they started at lunchtime,
Just a few duns to begin,
But at twenty past eight,
Yes, really that late,
‘twas as prolific as I’d ever seen.
The large fish you lost just last season,
With the ‘Rats Cat’ you left in it’s Jaw,
Came at me this morning,
Without any warning,
And god help me, forgive me I swore.
On Wednesday Julia’s brother,
Fishing on Shermans they say,
Got his limit by teatime
And whilst in the meantime,
Julia got me as well by the way.
In the long grass out along Gunters,
With the middle cut Hatch at it’s side,
We made love for hours
Amidst summer flowers
And the fishing is useless, I tried.
The emergence will not last much longer,
One more week is the keepers best guess,
But I’ve enough of the fishing,
for now I’m just wishing,
That Julia will wear her new dress.
She has ruined my season for ever,
Her tempting is all plain to see,
Just because of her eyes,
And of course her fine thighs,
There’ll be no more fishing for me.
So The Mayfly is up on the Kennet,
Please excuse my disdain and aversion.
For Julia’s Smile,
has detained me awhile,
I’ve a much more enthralling diversion.
Now the Mayfly is up on the Kennet,
The emergence is all fast and hopping,
On the Park stream today,
I got my own way,
Julia’s gone off to do her own shopping.
But as ‘the ladies’ go dancing at Whitsun,
Julia flashes her eyes up at me,
It is not my physique,
That she chooses to seek,
But my Fly box, for a pattern you see.
I taught her to cast just this season,
Her delivery is coming on fine,
She got a leash just last Tuesday,
And another on Thursday,
Now for romping she hasn’t the time.
But now the Mayfly is up on the Kennet,
There is one thing I continually wish,
That Julia’s beguile
Would detain me awhile,
And I ‘d taught her to land her own fish.
The End
Imbued with wisdom of the Holy Ghost
who drifted down with blessings upon them
day fifty post-Resurrection Sunday,
Apostles, inspired, spoke in many tongues
for gifts of Baptism Christ had affirmed.
Each year on Whitsun-Pentecost, we meet
to praise and share that holy wisdom too.
Alive with deep belief in hearts and souls,
we pray for blessings from the Holy Ghost
for gifts of growth in this, our Christian faith.
Sandra M. Haight
Lightning strikes with thunderous clap
A thickening fog rolls into the bay
Ships stacked with dead on their back
Set ablaze so they can sail away
White waves crash rocks with sound
Death ships burning fill the background
Men stand still on ridges overlooking
Play pipes for dead soldiers spirit bound
Tall red flames melt through the fog
Release men's souls to fly away
To seek far realms of Scottish Gods
Widows will cry loud this day
Clans in kilts that flap in the wind
Watch ships float further from shore
Men with their pipes stand in the cold
Above the waves on the Scottish shore
Women in black will harvest their tears
Gather their children, they'll have no more
Their lives now poorer filled with fears
In villages along the Scottish shores
Pipes will be played in haunting sound
Songs will be sung and stories told
Memories of sacrifice will endure
In villages along the Scottish shores
5/23/17 Contest Whitsun Premier
Here I am, a young girl in the cemetery,
holding the hand of my mother in a parade,
I wore a new white dress
and my new shoes were pinching my toes.
All around the cemetery we followed the priest
as he prayed for the dead.
It was Whitsuntide,
and no tears for the decayed were to be
but a celebration was beginning . . .
We brought flowers for the graves
and a choir sang holy songs.
I felt disconnected and was thinking other thoughts,
as it was an awful, dreadful place
with moss draped tombs and weeping angel statues.
Grandma was at home preparing a Whit-Sunday meal
and there would be dancing and singing for days.
This confused me and I began to ask questions,
I, a young girl.
Like why were tombs engraved, and mother read
the words, sad words, unable to speak the words . . .
It was Spring and we carried flowers . . .
to be divided and laid on the graves to fade tomorrow
but today, it was so festive and beautiful in the cemetery,
with the people smiling and talking joyfully
celebrating Whitsun.
_______________________
May 20, 2017
Verse/Celebration
Copyright Protected, ID 902984
Brian Strand
25 lines
New Year's Dream Double Etheree
Dear
New Year!
‘To take oath
and follow’. Both.
New Resolution
to release emotion.
Honey-moon inside Igloo.
Icy roof, frosty floor: I-You.
Neither confusion nor dilemma
Shiny silky snowy panorama.
Oh! My Dear. Come close, closer and closest
to enjoy our pearly passion at best.
Warm blood, warm heart, warm love to shed
Cooing doves on single bed.
Thick ice covered ground.
Chilled cold all around.
We two too hot
Both being caught
in arms.
Charms!
01/ 05 /17
WHITSUN PREMIER CONTEST by Brian Strand