Best Wove Poems
listen,
the whispers
of leaves
turn colour
autumn is here.
now that you are gone
who will wake every morn
to lift the sun
unveil the sky
etch in the clouds
who will paint the rainbow?
i had a dream and in the dream i wove you a poem
i used the fiber of my character to create spools of silken thread
dipped in the juices of my passion i dyed them in the colors of my imagination
re-enforced each and every single strand with the strength of my love
touch,
the echoes
of the rain
- waters
- blossoms spring.
now that 'us' is just a word
no longer with you as one
i alone wind up metal toys
cut out paper dolls
the beach swept from under my feet
the child in me flees.
spun spools from the intricacy of my spirit
designed a pattern
to the rhythm
of the music
of my inner thoughts
enamoured in your vision
crystal beads gather on my brow
as i toil your finely bred gift
as i braid every part of me
with every memory
into every sliver of fabric
taste,
uncut
snow shapes
crisp cold
ices the wintertide.
instead now rusted
a fools gold chain of loneliness
hangs around my neck like a noose
mourns a union that once had breath
a twosome that now is dead.
see,
the sand sculptures
paint
rekindle
a childhood summer
past.
sew in the loving glow emits my flawless dreams
with my boiling blood initial my woven piece
my work at an end i awake
you lay there a wingless angel asleep
smiling as if you heard a bell ring
your boundless warmth embraces me
the moon no longer smiles
the stars no longer wink
smell,
seasonal airs
stimulates senses
memories they deliver.
without a touch
barely - i kiss you.
in this
my decade of one
hope is a wickless candle
the night just day without light
in the glee,
hopes and dreams,
in the human spirit,
lives the miracle of life.
magnificent
voices in every pitch
deep and resounding,
the melody of echoes and whispers – uncut.
Jan 4 2017
With Love
Armand
I remember the day I became a poet.
In the magnificence of the submerging sun,
I glanced upon her admiring its majesty.
Amidst hues of clementine and lilac,
her image cast a shadow so serene.
My heart began to flutter like a butterfly,
floating towards her -
finally free from the chambers of my cocoon.
Like a silk scarf, scarlet petals wove a path,
aromatising footsteps that led to her.
Who could this mysterious lady be,
that had humbled such a hardened heart?
Although strangers, it felt as our souls
had known each other for eternity.
In twinkling twilight, I could see
pieces of the moon illuminating through her eyes.
How could I forget how the reflection of her smile
invited me to wander willingly into her heart.
Like nocturnal nightingales adrift in the night,
we sang sensual melodies not heard before.
Sensations felt from her soft satin skin
remain a euphoric timeless memory.
Seduced within the substance of soulful desires,
her enchanted essence became my first poem -
the purity of her existence my eternal poetry.
Silent One
19 March 2018
Like a spider you drew me into your web
Cocooning me within your silver threads
Words, pretty words
I was totally taken in
Wrapping me up in silk ribbons,
like a party gift.
One for you to open at your pleasure.
You teased me, toyed with my emotions
Powerless to resist, I believed your web of lies
I was trapped …
"Trust me," you said.
Oh what lies, what wicked lies you wove
Foolish was I for believing your every word.
Love blinded my eyes,
My heart heard only your song.
I thought you could do no wrong,
Then slowly, the scales fell from my eyes.
I realized your web was one of deceit.
The cockerel crowed three times
You lied!
You lied!
You lied!
Keep yourself wrapped in the lies you weave.
Other innocents may fall victim to you as prey
But I've broken free from your hold,
and untangled myself from your web of deception.
06~27~16
Contest Pretty Talker Sponsored by Skat A
Entered into Any free verse poem in 200 words or less
Sponsored by Laura Loo
word count 157 words
Written for the Avebury Gorsedd, 24th September 2016
I wish you well...
I’m here, again…
Come riding in, upon the western wave
My hair all wove with golden leaves, my breast
As pale as moonlight on a hidden grave
And all the sins of summer long confessed
I come, again…
In sweeping skirts, with white swan feathers strewn
To brush the summer dust from weary grass
Make ash of aspen, damp the flame of noon
Before the frost freeze water into glass
I bring, to you…
Windfallen apples, berries from the hedge
Long shadows on the barrows, and the chalk
Wild winds to stir the willows and the sedge
And mist, and myth, down every path you walk
I’m here, again…
The promise of the harvest to fulfil
The energy of autumn, streaming through
The swirling springs that spiral round the hill
To drench the land in red and russet hue
I come, again…
Between the longest day and shortest night
To fill the blood and marrow of your bones
With all the orange glory of the light
Before the dark descend upon the stones
I bring, to you…
A cornucopia of ripened fruit
Dark juices of the vine in bottles bright
To nourish soul and body, to transmute
Your thought to dream, your dream to second sight
For I am She…
Am Autumn writ, in every field and tree
Am mistress of the Owl and running Hare
So yield unto my kiss, and blesséd be
And dance with me, oh Druid, if you dare…
@ Gail Foster 23rd September 2016
When winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again
In that old house there by the sea where you wove that tapestry
With all the glorious memories of your life upon the sea
With weathered palm so deeply etched with every season past
You rubbed a porthole in the center of the frosted glass
Where outside in splendour lie a winter-wonderland
As halos rose above your head from a pipe bowl in your hand
And there upon a rocking chair as smoke rings filled the air
We rocked across a sea of dreams wind tangled in our hair
To lands I’d never been before...we stepped upon those shores
And through your eyes I saw each one...and still I wanted more
The morning passed in dreams between two pairs of eyes of green
As the world outside held its breath in a sea of snowy cream
And when the chill of winter melted from the windowpane
The whistling kettle on the stove brought us home again
You held my hand and looked at me with that twinkle in your eyes
And told me you would be my Captain 'til the day I died
So...when winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again
~~~
In loving memory of my Dear Papa
When winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again
In that old house, where you wove that coloured tapestry
With all the glorious memories of your life upon the sea
With weathered palm so deeply etched with every season past
You rubbed a porthole in the center of the frosted glass
Where outside in splendour lie a winter-wonderland
As halos rose above your head from a pipe bowl in your hand
And there upon a rocking chair as smoke rings filled the air
We rocked across a sea of dreams wind tangled in our hair
To lands I’d never been before we stepped upon those shores
And through your eyes I saw each one and still I wanted more
The morning passed in dreams between two pairs of eyes of green
As the world outside held its breath in a sea of snowy cream
And when the chill of winter melted from the windowpane
The whistling kettle on the stove brought us home again
You held my hand and looked at me with that twinkle in your eyes
And told me you would be my Captain 'til the day I died
So when winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again
~~~~~
Written: Jan 15, 2011
Author: Elaine George
First Place in Brian Strand's contest: Let's See
4th Place In - Anything goes contest
In loving memory of my Dear Papa 'Captain James George'.
Authors Note:
When I was a child of three, I Went to live for a year with my Grandparents in Nova
Scotia. At that time my Grandfather was a retired Sea Captain of a Three Mast
Schooner. He had spent most of his life at sea, taking lumber and coal to New
Brunswick and various ports in the U.S. and in the winter months, would carry on to
pick-up and deliver cargo in the West Indies. Although my time with him was short,
the memories we shared have comforted me through-out the years.
~~~~~
I can’t believe I thought that there’d be no darkness when it’s dawn,
I’ll be your queen of hearts, even if the cosmos did crack,
‘forever’ exists as an unseen reality, and the sun will always sprinkle saffron crumbles,
upon vivacious petals of violet roses,
painted by poetic dreamers with writers block,
amidst sharpened thorns and thickened thistles.
But why do golden flares burn the selfless skin of silken silhouettes that swirl to his salmon streaks?
Is there no empathy left in cerulean spheres?
I remember the warmth of his solar presence,
and how he whispered sweet tales to the blue breeze;
he said he loves the storm that sits on
the edge of angst,
yet he chose to flee, in the quest of citrine light,
at the sight of roaring rain and raven clouds,
too reluctant to walk beneath skies engulfed in chaos.
I ponder, who am I to blame?
when the truth is, I assumed the splitting songs of this thunder-struck canvas,
would never be a reason for him to erase inked promises.
Perhaps, I should have seen, how the sparkling stars waned in silence,
and the moon veiled its pearl necklace,
tired of the monsoon monsters, mercilessly moving,
above seas so calmly awaiting~
cantaloupe wings of the compassionate sun.
So, today, I’ll follow our honey-glazed dreams,
still left along ivory shores,
adorned with seashell souvenirs,
while reminiscing how, you wove profound pantoums,
from refined refrains of rhythmic romance,
to calm the lawless nature of my inner-psyche. …
O river of moon roses
ferry me home....
I weep in quivering quiescence
like a weathered wild petal~
healing and hurting
in my p o e t i c recluse..
perhaps there is no word
to depict your thunder-struck garden
as breathless stars
shiver in solitude
tasting the pulse of betrayal
from the veins of grieving gravels…
I ponder ~ must I brush
skin of dusk
with angst of dawn
believe in self-spun delusions,
and drown in dahlia deception?
I have known truth as a masked lie
fed from familiar hands
of superficial solace...
I trusted the darker face of twilight
oblivious to the
sage flickering within...
following the fading silver
of the fickle Luna~
a willing mistress
to ethereal torment…
forgive me
I have no adjectives nor rhyme
left to right the love turned cold
I wove across
hyacinth horizon
that
feels not silent sighs
remember
you'll search for my silhouette
in valleys of vain violets
wicked-white winds
when the sun blemishes the sky
with colors of
ice-blue
r e v e r i e s
O dream-weaver
soul-kisser....
My great, great Aunt had a lovely old home,
with many a wonderful story,
hidden within its walls.
A Victorian, architectural designers dream;
vaulted ceilings, full of ghosts;
where spirit voices sang of its splendor.
What I remember most, were the sparkly door knobs;
prisms reflecting the sunlight;
beautiful rainbow colors,
adorning her sitting room walls.
The animated colors of her crystalline chandelier
wove dancing shadows into the fabric.
As a small child, I reveled in that light-play;
how I loved her magical home.
My best friend and I
Ran barefoot through the garden
Stirring the petals
Her hair tied back in two braids
Her skirt trailed out behind her
We sat by the stream
With our feet in the water
Talking and laughing
Until a pink rose I plucked
And wove it into her dark braids
The light is coming and I wish you well...
Behind the running, running man the land
Lies silent, fallow, haunted by the cry
Of one lone mourning rook who flies alone
Inscribing solemn circles in the sky
There is no time to take a backward look
Just running, running, running, running blind
He leaves the flowered garlands that she wove
With ribbons bright, with summer’s love, behind
He runs with only hope in empty hands
All faint of heart, with life blood running cold
The chill of winter earth beneath his feet
All water turned to ice in frozen fold
All out of breath with minutes yet to live
He runs, through elder grove and stand of yew
Runs, seeking for the ancient Solstice door
Described in tales the bards and ancients knew
‘Till suddenly he stumbles on a glade
All silent where no wild bird wheels or calls
And in the glade there stands a single stone
And on the ground a moon dark shadow falls
And there, within the shadow’s light he sees
That which before him other men have found
A stairway leading down in to the earth
A dark descending path in to the ground
No way but down now, this the only way
He gathers one last breath, and full of fear
Goes down the old and foot worn ancient steps
That lead towards the portal of the year
How dark the endless steps of winter’s stair
That shadow down, down to the Solstice door
To where, beneath the door a chink of light
Hints soft and bright across the cold stone floor
He sits upon the bottom step to rest
Reflect, and contemplate the year behind
And lo, she comes, bedecked in leaves and fruit
And dancing, dancing, through his weary mind
Forget me not, she sings; I am still here
I wait for you, for life to shift and stir
And through the keyhole and the chink there blows
A fragrant waft of birch and silver fir
Reviving, blessing, soft upon his face
The promise of new life upon her breath
Touched by her grace he weeps upon the step
For she has saved him with her love from death
Another year dies, another lives
He sits and waits; she watches from afar
And as he waits the light in darkness shifts
And creaks the ancient Solstice Door ajar…
by Gail
When Whitman said
make your life a song,
had he spoken to old whalers?
Did they tell him of nights becalmed
on a pacific salty sea,
when no sound of lapping waves,
or rope stressed wood,
could interfere with the silence in the hold?
Did they tell of a time beyond sleep
long after the oil lamps were shut down?
When the silence of the briny deep
was broken by the eerie songs of whales,
oozing through the wooden walls.
Did they know, then, what they heard,
or did they talk in hushed tones
as ancient seamen did,
of harpies and sirens and
devils of the deep.
Did some say, "Those are our prey."
and recognize the song
and even familiar melodies and laments
from earlier seasons spent
plying these same seas.
Short songs and long songs,
and new songs built upon old songs,
pod songs and fractal songs,
and interminable songs of pain
and love songs that can be heard
by those who hear
from one edge of the basin
of the sea, under to the other edge.
Do you have a song?
Have you worked on it each season?
Is it short and repetitious
or have you worked to improve its sound
each turning of the moon?
Is it deep and subtle?
Does it provoke a laugh?
Would I recognize it far away
on a dark and briny night?
Would you mind if I wove my song
in and out of yours?
Do you have a song?
“Grief is like the ocean. The waves ebb and flow. Sometimes the water is calm. Other times it's turbulent. In order to survive, I had to learn to swim. In moments when I struggled with massive waves of grief, I rode it out.”
Dana Arcuri
When the pearl moon is sinking
and the sea dreams in silence,
when the skies reflect
the sunrise within sighs,
I close my eyes and unlock
my grieving heart.
There, your sincere smile glows
like a string of golden pearls,
and your song, an echoing melody,
while jasmine rain croons
into the mourning mists.
And I whisper to the stars:
show me what it's like in heaven,
where angels and fairies
sway to your vanilla laughter,
for I am still healing from
the shadows of your demise.
I remember,
I was a teenage tempest
dressed in crusts of raven,
but you saw
unicorns and butterflies
soaring above
whirling waves of angst.
and wove my darkness
with acrylic glitter.
You were the antidote
to my bleeding ink.
you were the sakura spring
among my tattered twigs,
you watched me laugh
into the gothic duskiness.
Somehow seeking fireflies
within my summer maze,
did illuminate your weathered time,
like rainbow roses,
engrossed in emerald empathy.
You always knew the
right phrase to rhyme,
subtle syllables to
write every wrong.
You were my comfort
on lonely days.
The uncle, I cherish,
so young and charismatic…
Orchids in your
orchard still sprout~
flaunting their colors
in your mauve memory,
and your seraphic aura lingers
as the magnetic essence
of eternal warmth.
Now I am draped in
mementos and euphonious wind-chimes,
emanating the fragrance
of evergreen grass and soulful sunflowers.
Someday, I will find my way
to your empyrean home,
where you reside in poetry and affection…
What did you do to me?
I am not who I used to be.
I'm painting my nails, doing my hair,
In my walk there is a flair.
Is this fair or unfair?
What did you do to me?
Your one gaze is glory.
My heart wants freedom, it's jumping from the cage,
It's maroon now, before it was just a boring beige,
Oh, what did you do to me?
I am not who I used to be.
I am happy and I am crying,
Sometimes, I'm flying and dying,
Mostly crying myself I found
When you're not around.
Am I in love?
Is love something you wove?
O sweetness, what did you do to me?
O goodness, set me free!
The day that you saw me for the first time,
Your face sparked up, only you heard a chime.
I'll never forget your mouth agape,
Your eyes wrapped around me like a drape.
I wanted to see myself through your eyes
And see what secrets your eyes disguised.
I have been thinking and thinking and thinking again
About the soothing pain, then I realised it wasn't the rain
As the tears I felt on my fingertips when I touched my face,
Maybe because I wanted you to embrace.
The night is petrifying and daylight exposes me,
Coffee won't wake me up let alone the tea,
I'm too deep thinking about you,
Devotion, my lungs feel blue.
I haven't tasted a word since
I caught your glimpse,
I haven't even touched a pen, let alone a notebook,
Love is heavy, I'll turn into Ophelia dying in a brook.
Now I want to taste the nectar of your lips,
God knows how many beats my heart skips,
I want to hold your hand and never let go,
Your arms around me, a heaven, please know.
O sweetness, O sweetness,
What did you do to me!
Soft eyes of brown, hair a cascade of curls,
Your smile, a contagion that enraptured the world,
Dispositions like whispers of a wondrous spell,
With a handshake, you wove stories only our hearts could tell.
Fell deep and fast, no escaping your snare,
One touch, one glance, a universe we'd share,
In stolen glances, a secret dance took flight,
A symphony of hearts, hidden from plain sight.
But time played its hand, as years unfurled,
Our paths diverged in this big, wide world,
Said our goodbyes, with dreams to chase,
Destinies calling in their different space
Then a call unexpected, like a forgotten melody's trace,
"I like you," your words whispered across time and space,
In that moment, a chapter revisited, a page turned anew,
My heart's ink bled emotions, vibrant and true.
Four months, you were the canvas of my dreams, Every brushstroke a memory, painted in golden beams,
In your presence, time danced to a secret tune,
Little did I know, it would all end too soon.
September's touch, a fading sunset's gloom,
With splintered hopes I'm crying on my roof, "Boyfriend isn't my norm," your words so cold,
Left me adrift, in memories I hold.
So here I stand basking in the glory of my naivety,
A masterpiece of trust, my own little activity,
Regreting how beautifully my heart danced to your deceiving song,
Now I'm lost in the notes of what went wrong.
Pieces of my heart in my hand,
Punishing myself for not understanding your plan.