Best Wild Poems
The blackberry's love for the garden rose
Brought down the gardener's wrath.
The blackberry sensed the danger
As he wended the garden path.
" A love so true as mine", he sighed,
"Must dare to brave the hoe.
Just a few more feet to reach her,
My true love she must know."
He crept along so quietly,
Sometimes quite out of sight
Until he nudged his darling's feet.
Did he dare to trust the light?
He heard the gardener's heavy boot
And hid in craven shame.
He knew he'd soon be weeded out,
A seedling with no name.
"Have I no worth since I don't rate
Some Latin nomenclature?
Without a well known parentage
Am I a freak of nature?
His darling's line was long and pure,
No skeletons in her past.
He had to make his feelings known.
Those boots were treading fast.
Gently then he wrapped his vine
Around his loved one's spine.
In great amazement he opined,
"Her thorns are sharp as mine".
The sweet rose felt his tender touch
And realized his fear
And wondered at his bravery
In coming to her here.
She heard the swishing of the hoe,
She heard those nearing feet.
Quietly letting down her leaves
In a manner so discreet
She covered her wild lover.
The gardener unaware,
Stopped but to view her beauty.
He saw naught hiding there.
She whispered, "You are safe now".
The blackberry's heart was light,
Thankful that his dear sweet rose
Had not exposed his plight.
"A rose is still a rose." she said,
"By any other name
And in our distant ancestry,
We share some of the same".
"I'd rather know your wild love,
Than a love that's dull and tame,"
Cuddling close, returned his kiss
Without a bit of shame.
Next season there were seedlings
Of a very different kind.
The gardener delighted, cried
"A horticultural find."
The moral of this story?
Things aren't always what they seem.
The love you look down on today,
Could be tomorrow's dream.
This bridge has arched the lake's narrows
for a century, flanked on either side
by Autumn trees shedding their faded leaves,
blowing with the first snowflakes
across worn gray stones of my spirit.
Six months ago you felt the first pain.
Now you lie in white sterility
of hospice care, continually exorcizing
the feeding tube, a final tether
binding you to earth,
where the morphine pump wheezes
every fifteen minutes
and missionaries advise prayer
to the strength-less living.
Your a**hole oncologist told me your suffering
was none of my business.
I told him to take his prognosis,
as suffocating as the pine cleaner
lingering like miasma
over hallway linoleum,
and get the f**k out.
From the corner of my eye
I spot a wild rose sprouting on the bank
at the base of a haggard maple,
an anomaly in bleak October,
glaring crimson as my resentment,
angry as the dream when I said,
I'll be your will when yours is gone.
Knowing full well it won't survive the winter,
I give fate the finger
from my dismal perch,
just as I gave you two dozen such blooms this Mother's Day.
I'll see you in Spring,
rises the phoenix from my Summer ashes.
The flurries thicken around me
like a gathering of angels.
With eyes stinging
I toss plucked petals of pennies
into the Judas lake
while wishing as hard as I can.
12/31/18
The breeze annoying trees entices me,
I drift away afar to fields abloom,
with silver tongues untied their whispers free—
..ah prairie-weed does burn a sweet perfume.
The flowered spikes do strike a reminisce,
the musky scent upon each purple spear…
your kiss, our bliss… you I miss… you I miss—
I fall upon each heady spear, despite the golden air.
The gilt-edged frills and thrills of summer days— that flutter!
The guilt-wedged sway and suede of lusty meadow sage.
The jilted sun, once young, still shines above the haze— that clutter…
an unfledged page from when we came of age.
I linger lone and lost and loathe the lure of wind
as fuzzy leaves flaunt drizzle beads beneath the clouds chagrined.
I gather twilight shades and arrange them in a vase
wild hues of lips just kissed
and princely pomp captured in cut-glass
embraced and tamed -- though
their petals flame in reflective facets
tinseled hearts filled with a harvest of falling stars
inspires desires of satisfaction
as thrill of nightfall’s gold lingers like cosmic light
in the stardust of afterthought
Susan Ashley
April 26, 2020
~ First Place ~
Contest: Completely Your Choice (23)
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Tongues of my temptress fire lick
arousing your ardent artistic desire
if you dare imagine me — the intensity
capture me, take your chance
I’ll love you, leave you, please you, tease you, traipse you,
take you heavenly higher
I'm your drama queen, diva, ballerina
I’m your fierce flamenco dance!
Scarlet swirls sweeping and dervish whirls weeping
we are a fluorescent fandango.
Flowing your ink through my virtual veins;
I'm your lust, your lament, your confession
in your skin stargazing, wrapped in rhymes rippling
your taste buds, your sweet wild mango,
breathe me to life with beauty and angst
I'm your dreamy rhapsodic obsession.
Fantasy clouds I fly, your bird-of-passionate-paradise
plumage preened with geranium esprit
in rhythmic rapture, twirl me in provocative pirouettes
flare the sensual skirts of your mind.
Alive in your heartbeat, I pulsate;
- you love me - hate me - need me - you can’t live without me -
I personify designs dancing across your page
of our pillow talk poetically lined.
Forge my nature in your flame as I mesmerize you
I am your ingénue;
your soulful seduction strumming my spirit to liveliness
with an effleurage of emotion...
I’m the creation of your inspiration
a dazzling display of ravish red and citrine hue
in prose I pose arabesque till vivid verse sets me free;
a flamboyant flamingo, your flirtatious muse in motion.
Alone and left to contemplate,
had I a pair of wings,
I’d fly away and search the world
for the peace of wild things.
To live among the animals
and sense their lack of guile
existing in the here and now,
each moment spent worthwhile.
And free of life’s addictions,
material wealth and greed—
possessing very little,
according to the need.
But should I ever so depart
it’s uncertain I’d return,
for then I'd have a lifetime’s worth
of so much to unlearn.
Furious wind from the north hisses louder,
banging against the gaped mouth of a sky, drenched…
Haggard, the night wheezes with quack
of birds waylaid; a time of unruly rainfall
crashing once more: and the moon grows bald,
groaning a jumble of cracked acoustics:
On and on, the roar of sleet
pierces through lush trees
in a noise that grates far into the dark horizon,
an energy fierce like a woman scorned.
How she blares a war amidst a company of men,
flowers, and all in one driven ride
that her wild thrill rasps zooms ---
until on ninth hour
a slow-motion of rhythm flows,
while she pauses to croon a mellow tune
as if... in final taps of a wail,
nothing ever happened.
For Shadow Hamilton:The Noise Contest
Written 3/9/2017
I am just a country boy at heart
mustang free wild at spirit
Awakening to the bliss birds singing love piercing into a soul
Treasure gem in the promised land
dewdrops are falling rubbing them into my fingers
wind breathing her voice whispers silver
I hold so much love deep inside for you
stroking gently as it touches softly
your one amazing woman to me
sweetly inside the land of milk and honey
touching finger caress in the morning sun
Golden dreams in her I smile rising queen of the east
To she who bows me humble
so full of grace inside treasure deeply smiling
Then as I look across the mountains
captured in deep thoughts within beauty wow
White clouds in the sky racing to dreamland
darling hop on the magic carpet
whisked away in a breathless heartbeat
I fall away into a distant dream starstruck paradise Shangri-la
garden of eden your my seventh heaven love
never have I tasted such a fine fruit
paradise walking with you is to wonderland
hand in hand we will dance together sweetheart
in never-never land forever and always our love
you darling are heaven on earth
illusion of a rainbow falling rich
baby I found my pot of gold
your all the riches this man needs in the heart
Darling with you I can see a great vision
together in the great golden cased thoughts
us two at the pearly gates of heaven
now your my dream smiling angel of delight
Old Mountain tales of love spin
'neath dawn's blush,
Elderberries, purple ink drop pearls
drawing me nigh.
Ah! Her laughter just like a honeybee’s dance
in the summer’s rush.
For you ignite my days with passion,
'tis morn, a tear I cry
The calm, twilight lingers as her words
soft and low
In the caress of wildflowers where life’s
tranquility forever grows.
O'! Upon thy lips such sweetness dwells
Must be God's design
Born where dandelions and wild bees
forever intertwine.
O', nectar kissed by sun untouched by
human hands
An arcadian panorama of ambrosia
upon my senses' land.
Thine gaze is my beacon in the
moonlit’s silvery velvet light.
You my guiding star ignites
for all my spirit’s journey
O' my soul’s delight
For as a life-alchemists seek nectar
deep in the mountain’s heart.
Thy love's an enchanting lore where peace
like nestling lark.
All the sages sighs, thymes' tempting lore
a beautiful pure chorus
Heather fills rolling landscapes
an untold story before us.
Yes, my love's confession takes flight
with wild abandon
In the sanctuary, a haven bathed
in golden dawn
Thy touch is a sacred psalm
a sonnet on the wind
Radiant grace, I scribe my song
on every blossom's stem
Sunlight filters through sylvan green leaves
just for you.
Thy smile, a warmth that sees my spirit
through and through.
Our love, eternal, untamed by
fleeting space or time.
A taste of heaven's dew
a love of purest and most divine.
Together, hand in hand
we'll stray through life's inviolate maze
Where wildflowers bloom
and hearts forever graze.
No jeweled crown
arrayed in silks and finery
Could display the love, my beloved
I found forever in thee.
For You are my sweet lady,
my songbird
my forever home
My wild mountain honey
where my spirit roams.
In thee, a love unbound
sweeter than sun-kissed dew
My Wild Mountain Honey
forever wild
forever true.
Where hills lay barren, and bedrock’s stripped bare
let me take you away to county Clare
Huge cliffs climb sheer, dwarfing waves underneath
atop the Burren my heart skips a beat
With nothing to see, apart from the view
all makes perfect sense, rain comes right on cue
And whatever I feel, it’s in the air
desolation yes, but without a care
Where fields seed pebbles, and pastures reap stones
through Clare’s vast rawness, I trek on my own
A whitewashed lighthouse, beckons away
scouring heavy seas, beneath clouds of grey
Gulls are crying, as they happily do
rising and falling, going nowhere too
Still makes me wonder, where I’d rather be
than here by Clare’s dolmens in reverie
Later I take in, what nature left out
my pipe, tobacco, and bottle of stout
Hms
The gardener's hand was feeble,
the poet's hand was staid
Yesterday's dreams were buried
with seeds, last year were laid
Yet flowers grew in rainstorms
though coupled with the weeds
Butterflies came to visit
The gardener's heart was eased
A smallish yellow butterfly
on heal of monarch great
Across the wild garden flew
and not a moment late
For though her wings were
little, and she was very small
Somehow, she found momentum
to fly up the garden wall
The gardener watched in wonder
in the scene that she was gifted
Each nuance of this garden free
Her poet's heart uplifted
The springtime long now ended
and summers turned to fall
The gold was tinged with silver
and a fairy came to call
I envy those living as part of the wild
For I too, once heeded its call
A smoldering ember since I was a child
Urge, and belonging all part of the thrall.
I’ve enjoyed the fresh taste of a sparkling stream
Felt the tremble as you push through your fear
Stood high on a peak admiring Gods scheme
Felt both delight and remorse for taking a deer.
I’ve walked for weeks through valleys and trees
Traversed mountains with lush native grass
Felt the warmth and the cold of high country breeze
Navigated tussock, forests and high country pass.
I’ve smelt autumn rain as it mingles with dirt
Enjoyed the isolation of me and my views
Valued crude shelter while nature unleashes its hurt
Watched forest birds doing their best to amuse
But I’m now destined to be one of societies slaves
In a world where worth is measured by cash
Where worry and stress are delivered in waves
Where those without are regarded as trash.
I felt most alive in the middle of nowhere
Now dead when hemmed by city and streets
Nothing compares with fresh mountain air
Living free, no money, bills, or receipts.
Springtime rain brings fresh array
of flowers east to west.
The Rockies’ red and purple tufts
of mountain pride are best.
And mats of foliage named moss pink face south to get the sun
while buttercups put forth large blooms
so not to be outdone.
Then comes the rain to bleak terrain
where gloriously unfolds
alongside barren roads - in patches -
desert marigolds.
Mojave yucca, blue lupines,
and sego lily whites
with Indian prairie fire flowers
paint the deserts bright.
And common flowers of the fields
in every place abound.
Sweet Joe-Pye weed; Black-eyed Susan
push up from the ground.
The California poppy makes
a patchwork orange and blue
while dandelions most unloved
will countless seedlings spew.
In southern marshes blossom too
the water hyacinths,
making of the waterways
pesky labyrinths.
In northern streams grow pussy willows
naked with no petals,
and somewhere on a touch-me-not
a bumblebee now settles.
Blossoming in woodlands now
are flowers in the shade,
but most prefer the sunlight of
an open forest glade.
The wild columbine dressed blue
and handsome in the breeze,
fragrant like the violet,
gives nectar to the bees
All across the country
there awaken everywhere,
each in their appointed region,
wild flowers fair.
Daisies, clover, daffodils
and lovely Queen Anne’s lace.
They briefly stay, but we can see
more fully nature’s grace!
(now for PD's Contest on Best Flower Poem)
For Constance La France's mini-contest: Wild Flowers
A giant snowball in springtime
From twenty yards out the sound and smell
Closer now; breathing her numbing scent
Listening to the drowsy hum
of greedy and jealous bees
forced to share her bounty
with Tiger and Zebra Swallowtails
School will be out soon...
Memorizing every branch within reach
Her limbs are just low enough
for a boy to scramble up quickly
fleeing imaginary monsters
still lurking and prowling below
Taking ignorant and blissful advantage
of this daughter of the wild; his protector
His big sister to run to...
Shiny and slippery black bark
that oozes burgundy sap
which dries in animal shapes
Summer twilight is coming
Bats twittering overhead
chasing nasty mosquitoes
A noise echoing from far off
A door slamming maybe...
Tucked safely away in his favorite pew
(Naughty boy, eating during church!)
sampling her forbidden fruit
sweet and sour...half is seed
Thieving Blue Jays get the most
Screaming and scolding arrogantly
yet flying away unpunished
Grannny will make jelly...
Oh everlasting Father, creator of all things
He knows that heaven is far beyond the grasp
of a feeble and fumbling mortal mind
But when You decide to send Your beloved Son
back to rule the earth for one thousand years
If he is judged worthy to be in that count
May one humble servant say if it's like this
that would be just fine...
St Helens, volatile lady,
Is letting off some steam.
She is seething now with anger.
We know not to what extreme.
I remember the eruption in
The year of ninety-eighty.
That fierce outburst proved her to be
A quite hot-headed lady.
She will not tell what ticked her off.
She gets her satisfaction,
Not from talk or boastfulness.
She articulates with action.
So take your puny instruments
And foolish speculations.
She well may have surprise in store
Beyond all expectations.
Don't tramp on her abundant skirts;
That tends to irritate her.
This lady's incensed enough now,
You're foolish if you bait her.
She's given you fair warning
And if you take her dare
You can't run far enough to get
Her ash out of your hair.
By Joyce