BURYING BRAIDED DESPAIR
AND RESURRECTING ASCENDING HOPE
Last night’s dream,
Was as if that sneaking nightmare, despair;
Always teasing the unaware mind
In a wandering, flowing stream:-
Rising today, I took strands of despair,
And braided them into hope-plaits;
I then took those plaits and buried them:
Tears watering their graves:-
Hope budded and blossomed,
As petals of audacious faith glistened:-
And in the bright sunshine of the new dawn’s dawning,
Meadows of forget-me-not also bloomed; and in fields of ourstory,
Butterflies feasted on encouraging truth, rather than lying history;
Cocooning hope now hangs on my mind’s branches of time:-
No morning hoarfrost covered meadows and hills,
just flowers tinted in ochre coloring.
Early blooms of wild jonquil and daffodils ~
A new season has arrived and taken wing.
Farewell Winter snow, and your blustery chills.
Robins trill in welcoming voices, "It's Spring."
Earth gives birth to budded trees and buzzing bees.
Advent's fragrant scents are carried in the breeze.
I've no memory of my beginning,
A tiny seed, a lowly abandoned weed
Taken for a ride on Mariah's breath
Safe harbor found on a wall,
I barely squeezed between the bricks
and rested there for a while
In the silence of loneliness, I dwelled
No others like me did I see
as I buried myself inside a crevice
Leaves like arms in shades of green
I budded like a wildflower
Despite the odds I survived
I'll be doomed to a lonely life
without a flowery mate...
a lonely weed, never to procreate
A memory ~ I recall being a wispy seed,
with fuzzy siblings at my side
When our white-haired mother withered,
she sent us off without a goodbye
to live or die on our own.
I wake at the ascension of a golden dawn
to meditate on early morning's mystique
To the amber shoreline, I'm always drawn
It's serenity and tranquility that I seek
How calm the lake's water without a ripple
On a sheet of glass, is my mirrored reflection
I seek its tranquil comfort as a babe, a nipple
To me, this is a moment of sheer perfection
It's hope of a budded flower before it blooms
In solitude, I peer through rose-colored glasses
I feel no dread about what in darkness looms
but too soon, my Pollyanna moment passes
It is you: the queen of hearts dubb my last breath your own even in death in a hole the rose above my chest...my- epitome, i'd call you home enveloping my broken stature beside fallen walls and stones ...here lies the unsung singing bones... of snow white love bird in pitch black storm trenched skylines... here lies the ...the ashes of stars that were once lost in light the sacred writ that true love will never write ...that it'd be ...the fallen tree of budded apples lost together in a sea...
Summer morning sunrise
Dawn paints with pastel hues
Day breaks before my eyes
Pastel hues gently brushed
by angels in the sky
when all the world is hushed
The sky has golden threads
stitching closed nimbus clouds
with rain nature imbeds
Nimbus clouds of dark grays
Soon earth's thirst will be quenched
Then light from gold sun rays
Quenched, budded flowers bloom
on honeysuckle vines
softly scented perfume
Vines climb the garden wall
after a summer squall
I hear serenading songs of summer swallows
and ruffling feathers of roosting starlings.
I catch the sweet scent of heirloom roses
that have not yet budded upon the bush.
All these things I know have been given to me
as surely as I see you standing before my eyes.
My arbored vines were frozen since mid-December.
The seasonal chill, no one is able to tame,
but my red winter roses, planted in September,
have profusely budded and their blooms are aflame.
Radiantly colored, their beauty wins acclaim.
Protected from the wind by a stand of bamboo,
they thrive near the garden path along the north wall.
To statuesque height, on slender jade stalks they grew,
rising like green monoliths, towering quite tall...
shielding winter roses from flurries of snowfall.
I observe the view through a frosted window pane.
Tiny snowflake crystals softly tumble aground,
waking childhood memories where emotions reign.
The setting so felicitous that I'm spellbound
watching snowdrifts as they accumulate and mound.
I have the blithe perception of a snow globe scene
in which a little girl leans on her windowsill
eyeing her snowman sparkle with a glossy sheen.
It's a picturesque theater, silent and still.
A milieu causing me to reach for ink and quill.
12/25/2022
Emile Pinet sponsors...
A Christmas Special Poetry Contest
Its boughs spread like a giant umbrella,
Its girth, like the span of many hands,
Its foliage was lustrous green and exuberant,
Its roots dispersed like the tentacles of an octopus.
This tree stood tall and strong,
It stood against the tides of seasons,
It withstood fierce winds,
It swirled and danced to their rhythms.
It was the admiration of many people,
They praised and talked about its resilience,
Children played around it until sunset,
Travellers took refuge under its shade,
Others took parts of it for herbs and spices.
Nobody knew what it went through on the inside,
Little cuts metamorphosed into deep wounds,
Tiny slashes transformed into intense lacerations,
These were recalcitrant to healing.
There was a raging storm,
It passed through the town,
It shook everything to its foundation,
It pulled down and ripped apart,
This tree bowed to its wake.
A part of it held the forte,
It only took a while,
After spring,
There was an awakening,
It sprouted and budded again.
November 6, 2022.
Renascence,
This or That, Vol 14 Poetry Contest,
Edward Ibeh.
I hear the sounds of a spring brightening dawn,
As fledgeling birds from sheltering nests emerge.
A lone Blackbird’s singing lifts this idling morn,
A creature scuttering through the long grassed verge.
I hear a fox barking in the fading night,
An early bee droning through the warming day.
I hear breezes rustling in the morning light,
The slow risen hours of a full budded May,
I hear the symphony of the pouring rain,
The hiss as sudden watery puddles form,
Fast rivulets gushing through the gurgling drain,
Low grumbling sounds of a distant passing storm.
I hear the woodland stream sing its own refrain
And slow draughts whispering through the barn’s stored grain.
To slow dance into night with a new love,
anticipation building all the while!
To look into your darling’s eyes and see
the adoration that you strongly feel
reflected back, for you too are adored,
and barely can you breathe it feels so good!
Romance has budded sweetly like a rose.
Its scent is pure delight, and petal-soft
will be the kiss that you’ve been dreaming of.
Your fingers interlace. A thrill divine
goes down your spine, and tiny butterflies
are all aflutter in your stomach as
you gaze into the eyes of your amor.
Your love - so fresh - like snow that no one yet
has tread upon; your prints will be the first!
There's nothing like it; never will there be
a thing so beautiful as this first love.
You're both alone beneath a starry sky.
You lean in for that magical first kiss.
There’s nothing else but bliss in all the world,
and breathless, oh, you’re soaring to the moon!
Dec. 28, 2021 using theme Breathless
Now for A Strand (1057) Poetry Contest
The early morning walkabouts
gathers in the view
an ocean tide of green yellowed sprouts
splashing throughout in garden cue
as flower buds edge forth upon the turf
and petal blossoms flutter down to earth.
It's late spring n pause assumed
upon the garden splash
when flowers once budded and bloomed
but never seem long enough to last.
but there it is, a rhapsody
somewhere hiding in tree leaves.
Unseen but well heard
a ballad for the seasons repeating
an echoed repertoire of a mockingbird
filled with spring and summer greetings
calling out melodies earth-shaking
enjoy the Sunday morning with little hesitating.
Spring's fragrances seduce honey bees that nestle inside each delicate flower. I watch their flight from daffodils to hive, while butterflies hover over milkweed, laying fragile eggs. In tandem they flutter; a ballet with a multitude of dancers that convert my yard into a magical stage. I hear a symphony of trills; a serenade from wrens and cardinals, adding to the ambience. The bird bath seems to be a meeting place for avian to play.
feathered ones gather
in maples they alight ~
warbler's sonata
Sunlight kisses lush petals of lavender and hyacinth, as a zephyr breeze stirs their sweet perfume. I am enrapt at the sight of such splendor. Tea roses have budded, and will soon open velvet petals to line my cobblestone walkway. Hummingbirds are visiting morning glory and tulips. What a delightful Spring morning!
garden awash
with resurgence of life ~
spring symbiosis
\
March 22, 2021
Springtime Haibun Contest
Sponsored by: M. L. Kiser
"Spring awakes with the touch and breath of God."
the poet's pen
No morning hoarfrost covered meadows and hills,
just flowers tinted in ochre coloring.
Early blooms of wild jonquil and daffodils ~
A new season has arrived and taken wing.
Farewell Winter snow, and your blustery chills.
Robins trill in welcoming voices, "It's Spring."
Earth gives birth to budded trees and buzzing bees.
Advent's fragrant scents are carried in the breeze.
~ February 13, 2021 ~
I wake at the ascension of golden dawn
to meditate on the morning's mystique
To the sandy shoreline, I'm always drawn
as the sun climbs over the mountain peak
How calm the lake's water without a ripple
Like a sheet of glass; is my mirrored reflection
I seek its tranquil comfort as a babe, a nipple
To me, this is a moment of sheer perfection
It's hope of a budded flower before it blooms
In solitude, I peer from rose-colored glasses
I have no fear about what in darkness looms
but too soon, my Pollyanna moment passes
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