With a pending pen, a pensive poet ponders
As he wonders when and where to wedge the next rhyme
To split the rhythm hidden from passerby eyes
Only heard then, by those willing to wander
Daydreaming bare day, with just a hint for misty skies
A hint is but a hint to the tint of a poets eyes
So many wonder why his eyes open amidst his slumbers
When the seemingly soothing rain gently knocks lullabies
Call his name once, you'd think he turned a blind eye
Call his name twice. Do forgive his ventured mind
Bear in mind, like most, he bares the best of tough love
That Mother Nature gives along with swift Father Time
Bare in mind, his mind will write his every struggle
So give him time, peace of mind, a piece of yours shall come
By the boldest boast of thunder post the tundra coast
With his oldest, mostly tattered, tightly tethered poems
Roams the pensive poet - tired - holding on Dear Hope
Such is where the pensive poet's mind would wander most
Walking down a lane, strewn with withered leaves,
I watch as they twirl and pirouette in Autumn's chill wind
leading them in a rhythmic dance that it skillfully weaves
as they plummet, leaving branches naked and chagrinned.
There's a true spark of vigor in the breeze of Autumn's call.
One I am quite happy to answer in poetic verses composed
about a family trip to the pumpkin patch, amid hues of Fall
when Nature's boldest color palette is so vibrantly exposed.
It's time for gathering together, and offer words of thanks
for the bountiful food and the beauty of a harvest moon,
and children Trick-or-Treating; scary Halloween pranks.
There's a crispness in the air and firewood to be hewn.
I get so excited when my favorite season approaches
and foliage gloriously blazes in shades of rust and gold.
Too quickly the coldest season of the year encroaches.
I'm not enamored by Winter when shivering with cold.
From this lane, I watch geese flying to a warmer clime,
their vee formation clear to see as to the South they go.
But before Winter takes command there's enough time
to enjoy these golden days of Fall, before the first snow.
Just around the corner,
Laughing leaves and colors
Crimson, boldest orange
Golden joys, whimsical
Songs in breathless notes
Praises from the heart…
Who hears the flow of rain
Falling against the eaves,
Delicate melody of grace
Expressing what it means…
To feel the comfort of knowing
Autumn’s still voice
Is rising on the hills, coloring
The whole world in joy
Felt by those who know Him,
The One who wrote the story
Leafy notes of praise…
Rise from the spirit who grows
Quiet and reflective,
Sensing the wonder stirred
By the wistful leaves, the mist
Beyond the streams, the ridges
Blessings in notes of hope…
Found by those who hear
His still, small voice
In the hesitant prayers
Of a hesitant owl, a deer
A bouncing squirrel, preparing
For winter’s bitter frost…
And the night remembers
What it means to breathe in
The softest wind, the praise
Sounding like moon’s light, vibrating
Pouring out faith with each note,
From the feelings brought to life
By hearts who feel Autumn inside.
It is as if the world is upside down.
The ground is too light,
in comparison
to the too dark sky.
The fiercest,
boldest,
shades in nature,
clash together.
They form the
brightest
streak of golden brilliance
ever imaginable.
In that sea of darkness
I can see vibrant,
energized,
light.
At my perch by the windowsill
I can watch the world around me
thrash in rage.
But… it passes by.
Leaving the world
new,
refreshed,
soothed.
I take one step
into the
world outside,
and then another.
The ground feels soft
beneath my feet.
The grass slicker than
the finest silk.
The air that seeps
into my lungs with each
heave and ho
of my chest.
Is cleaner than
any air I’ve breathed
In a long time.
So, I sit.
I tuck my feet beneath me,
Criss-crossed and Indian style,
taking more of
those cleansing breaths.
And I think
and remember...
If this is
what it is like
after every surge of rage,
every clash of nature’s emotions.
It should storm
more often.
**Yes—
I am the boldest lover in all the world.
Who could ever claim to love more fiercely than I?
I spent countless years behind a window,
gazing at a path I knew you would never take toward me.
I sent arrow after arrow of love your way,
fully aware you would snap them and cast them aside.
I bought you gifts with trembling joy,
though I knew you would never choose a gift for me.
And I wrote you poems—
words you would never read.
I remained in love with you,
knowing you would never love me back;
I burned with longing for you,
knowing I would never reach your hands.
And still—forever—
I am your lover.
Who could dare claim
to love more than I?**
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum~
Paul the squirrel beat his acorn drum.
He swung through the pines with a raucous cheer,
rum sloshing wild as he commandeered the pier~
the boldest little buccaneer ever to come.
In the golden haze of a Paris cafe,
Where shadows and light began their play,
She sat with a gaze both sharp and deep,
While secrets of art were hers to keep.
Oh, Dora Maar, with emerald nails,
You moved through the city’s vibrant trails.
A flash of green on fingers fine,
Tracing the edge of a cubist line.
Before the canvas began to weep,
Or shadows of blue grew dark and steep,
Those ten bright tips of polished jade
Were the boldest marks that nature made.
A photographer’s eye, a surrealist mind,
Leaving the traditional world behind.
While Picasso captured the fractured face,
You held your own with a steady grace.
The emerald glow of a steady hand,
In a world that few could understand.
A muse, a creator, a spirit of fire,
Fueling the artist’s intense desire.
But beyond the paint and the storied past,
It is your own brilliance meant to last—
Dora Maar, with the forest-green hue,
A masterpiece born from the essence of you.
In Coconut Grove I did spy
A slice of the boldest key lime pie
It puckered my face
I ate every trace
With an empty plate I whispered a sigh
So far away but my heart you shine through.
Stronger, swifter, and wiser, I am better just because of you.
As the past reigned with the man kings your glow reign in me too.
I'm passionate to be directed by my compass, water, and shoes.
Your nose loud as tunes i can only offer a fife.
From a distance your warmth can rid my soul of evil, damage, and strife.
Like a specific smelling glow you hit the nose like a stife.
The boldest gift to us was Jesus. Son of Man. Son of Life!
Believe in this star because this star still insist.
It places it's place for you to contribute so don't miss.
Grab hold like a latch in the palms of your fist.
Make a way for the King. The one from Nazareth.
Red heart does flips
I fell in love
No chart for the trips
Heart flies like dove
Imagine candy lips
Appealing like lavender
There’s no written script
Feeling acting like scavenger
Want to be boisterous
Yet I shrink inside
At your joyful touch
And your emerald eyes
Why I’ll go home
And secretly write
Boldest love poem
As if was never shy
I practice my words
Hoping that I’ll remain
Unlike timid bird
When I see you again no shame
That maybe by accident
Somehow I’ll train my brain
To woo you so smooth so cool
That I win your heart so tame
Maybe by accident possibly
I find out you really like me
That we are more alike indeed
Than we are different meant to be
While hearths glow warm with ember’s light,
I dance beneath the pale moon’s gleam,
Where frosted breath curls in the night,
And ice-bound dreams take flight unseen.
The wind, a whispered song so bold,
It sings of stars in frozen streams,
Of silver landscapes, fierce and cold,
A world untouched by fire’s beams.
With every step, the crunching snow,
A voice that speaks to hearts like mine,
Where solitude and wonders grow,
And frozen beauty feels divine.
The Winter Solstice marks my days,
Its silent magic fills my chest,
The sacred chill, the moonlit haze,
This season feels like life’s own crest.
Though Yule and Christmas warm the soul,
The coolness calls me evermore,
To wander where the frost takes hold,
And where the northern tempests soar.
No words could cage this love so vast,
This bond with winter, fierce yet bright,
A thrill that lingers, unsurpassed,
Where cold and comfort both unite.
So let them stay by fireside glow,
With hands wrapped 'round their steaming cups,
While I embrace the ice and snow,
And drink the cold like boldest luck.
Ascension’s intentions shun descension
Extension’s prehension ~
Boldest dimensions of invention
Come October, I feel a nip in the air,
frosting my breath like contrails of smoke;
while gilded leaves start tumbling from the trees.
Overhead, a gaggle of honking geese
are fleeing Winter's approach:
joining the songbirds that have migrated south.
The Fall leaves are painted with bold strokes
of yellow, scarlet, fuchsia, gold, and orange:
inked by Jack Frost,
and sprinkled on the ground like confetti.
Amber and vermilion drip from the trees;
pooling into a crunchy sea
of colorful leaves: that the wind weaves,
into shifting swirls of abstract art.
One of Nature's boldest paintings,
Autumn steals one's breath away, instilling awe;
infusing Summer's death with Winter's birth:
a truly magical transformation to behold.
The secret garden
with flowers of the wilderness
shall ignite with vibrance
amongst the weeds.
Soft petals dance with chaos
and I'm the boldest.
Spotlight on me,
a cacophony of laughter,
a splash of colour
against the grey.
I am shattered,
while vigorous,
yet the last one dancing
under a broken sky.
Where my ideas spiral
like rust shaded autumn leaves,
Whirling…Twisting
within the gusts of my mind
struggling against the currents of despair.
I wear my pain like a crown of thorns,
each sting a reminder
of battles fought.
The ripples of my laughter
mask the screams
hiding the shadows,
lurking within
the weight of my illness -
heavy yet so well-known,
A ghost I’ve learnt to dance with.
In this garden,
I shed my layers.
The world recedes and I am myself -
a girl with tears
who proclaims delight
and sorrow.
One who waltzes through the madness,
embracing chaos that completes me.
In the crudeness,
I shall find my truth.
“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” – Carl Sandburg.
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
Stirring souls, poetry just knows,
Love, fire, boldest winds of desire,
Rains blessing, song without a choir.
Words pouring out soft, gentle prose,
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
Glistening dreams, love to extremes,
Beckoning from silence that screams.
Dance of dances, fluid verses,
Poetry that grace coerces,
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
Poems who don’t just tell but shows.
Rhymes and rhythms, tenderly abide,
Singing of light, sometimes wild-eyed,
Hearts might remain in the shadows,
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
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