A scientist once took to the skies,
With aerospace dreams and questioning whys.
He'd listen intently, a thoughtful façade,
Then go his own way—decisions, unflawed.
"Don’t argue!" he'd say, with wisdom so spry,
Yet soon he'd be caught in a passionate reply.
Papers unwritten, his ideas took flight,
But work clipped his wings before he could write.
He painted once, under a teacher’s gaze,
Brushed fleeting moments, like love’s passing phase.
Hearts he would chase with romantic embrace,
But Cupid, it seemed, had a brisker pace.
He speaks of greatness, of lessons profound,
Then segues to laundry and chores all around.
A couch-bound dreamer with active intent,
Age is the anchor; his will's not spent.
An inspiration wrapped in quirks and delight,
A tale of ambition, humor, and light.
Through all of his whims, one truth is clear:
Life's vibrant spark shines in him, year to year.
Categories:
brisker, identity,
Form: Free verse
Summer's twilight arrives in September.
Each day the warm weather abates and surrenders.
Placidly, the days follow a pattern:
The hues of autumn emerge with foliage that will turn
Emphatically splendid
Much the way Mother Nature intended.
Blowing breezes grow sharper and crisper.
Everywhere is susurrous with leaves that whisper.
Radiant sun still pervades as the winds get brisker.
Fortunately, there's still good weather to be had.
As autumnity approaches, one is never really sad.
Leaves begin layering one on top of another.
Landscapes transform with spectacular color.
September is truly a month like no other.
Categories:
brisker, autumn, september, summer,
Form: Acrostic
The pearl-gray sky of early morning
harmonized with my mood;
color without color
life without meaning;
as I wandered through the streets
at a loss; no job.
My downcast eyes;
eye contact unsought;
watching my feet step by drudging step,
came across a twenty-dollar bill,
discarded, dropped, abandoned?
It lay there, slightly grubby;
as money often is.
To lose a twenty bill, I thought
for someone could be the difference;
food or hunger,
others; just a gamble;
on some bright spinning reels of chance.
But here it was:
Twenty dollars on the ground,
Andrew, staring at me; tempting.
A moments troubled hesitation;
I move on
and leave the twenty where it lay
for someone needier than I to find.
Yellow sunshine pierces the gray
My back straightens
my walk is brisker, zippy.
$ Poetry Contest placed 1st
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
Date wrote: 13-June-2021
Categories:
brisker, money,
Form: Free verse
The noise of it falling
Comes closer on the wind
Louder
Brisker
As if the two have mated
And birthed that funky smell
Of Petrichor
Oh we have
Met before
The smell
Well remembered
After long hot summers
In brown dry paddocks
Frightening dry forest floors
A welcome smell
To bring relief
To all
Categories:
brisker, rain,
Form: Free verse
Spread forth your wings and fly, fair youth!
Though time is terse and winds are strong,
No brisker bird can glide as smooth.
Fly out and roam, your day’s not long!
Old age will come, so soar in song!
Break free of chains—the time is right—
And do not waste your gift for wrong:
Dive forth and chase away the night!
All spite shall burn, red skies alight,
For naught can stop the glow of truth!
The world’s old ways will die in flight,
For who can stop the charge of youth?
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
Categories:
brisker, bird, nature, old, song,
Form: Rhyme
As I ponder in front of the calendar of the wall,
Little can I believe, it will be five years this Fall!
As I reminisce that day, or hour,
With memories, not sweet but sour.
Remember, as I enter the room adorned by a dull glow,
Pushing through hundreds of crowd and moving slow,
The face laid calm and the body still,
Hidden in white cloth of an unknown mill,
As my eyes saw the solemn looks,
Tears gushed out like a wire off the hooks.
I still can’t forget the sight of those still eyes,
Can’t run anymore to say the last Bye’s.
No more smiles, or a laugh beneath the whisker,
No more rides or walks that could be brisker,
As I go home now, gone is the crowd
Or those huge wreaths, with flowers freshly ploughed.
There in a corner, on a table with lace,
I sit praying in front of the silent smiling face.
With fond remembrances from a loving daughter
This is a small “ODE TO A GREAT FATHER”.
Categories:
brisker, death,
Form: I do not know?