Burnish Poems

fields of life

to wend through golden grasses of my past
      with chill winds at my back from o'er the hill
   oh how I wish the glow of spring would last

thus far behind me stands that boy, miscast
      while just a jester, much too bright and shrill
   to wend through golden grasses of my past

the latter lad, thus pressed to love too fast
      so saved his heart to burnish, soft and still
   oh how I wish the glow of spring would last

he stumbled into manhood, loves amassed
      with wisdom gained from tragedy and thrill
   to wend through golden grasses of my past

encumbrances and burdens grew too vast
      while finding warmth in darkness and a pill  
   oh how I wish the glow of spring would last

so now I cross the fields of time, steadfast
      renewed with all the love one heart can will
   to wend through golden grasses of my past
oh how I wish the glow of spring would last.




Copyright © 2019 Gregory Richard Barden

shady

a shady place where
burnish Asian lily blooms....
purple tail lizard

Autumn By Straw Light

Between the reaching shades of tall trees
copper-leafed hillocks’ catch fire,
ghost flames
burnish the slow stealth of evening.

A translucent straw-light
seen only through the thumb hole 
of a painter’s pallet,
or in that late sunlit wash, that blooms 
so openly that eyes miss it.

Redolent are the long shadows
dipped as they are in rich earthy scents.
The flaxen hay is layered between
timbered silhouettes,
where gossamer ribbons of vapor
hazes-over honeyed acers.

Softly a lambent buoyancy of evening
blends amber and russet wisps
with hues of sorrel and orange.
A mellowing sky drapes over the fields
a chiffon fan of muted rays.

The tawny straws turn slowly,
all unclear to daylight eyes,

but by this eventide
we will view this ebbing day
through a golden glass.

Town Planners Are Watched

Town planners would us astonish, 
When they rocks and hills demolish, 
So as to new cities polish,
Their smart dwellers make less foolish
And it all turns out Bad Rubbish;
Reason to them all admonish
And Town Planning just abolish…

Town planners should themselves furnish
With what would a terrain burnish,
Not sensitive eyeballs punish;
Town planners watched by all eyes 
Can’t afford to be that unwise.
As they neighborhoods garnish,
Their image sadly tarnish.

Forgiving

Forgiving another I'm quick to do,
if forgetting is not also required.
Their echos iterate in an old queue
of actions I, alone, may have inspired.

Forgiving myself for mistakes I've made
(thousands wait patiently to be absolved.)
Another's perception sometimes I'd trade
for I've become much too deeply involved.

I must let things go, erase from my mind
wrongs perceived as caused by others or self.
Not allow thoughts to roam until they find
paths of worry never placed on a shelf.

Rethinking actions: at best of no use.
Dawn's beauty signals a day newly born.
Time flies too quickly to burnish each bruise.
Love, after all, rescues worries I've worn.

January 11, 2023
for Sotto's "Revealing Your Soul and Other Tensions" Contest

Life is to sow, not reap

I wake one day, again for long to sleep 
All life to find: if life or death is fake, 
And learn, man’s here to sow, seldom to reap. 

Death lives with life all through lifetime to creep, 
Crawling along like a slithering snake, 
I wake one day, again for long to sleep. 

A faithful friend, keen life’s friendship to keep, 
Death would never even dream, life to take, 
Beware, life’s here to sow, seldom to reap. 

Life’s just a tiny blip of time, no leap, 
It strives in fleeting time the most to make,
I wake one day, again for long to sleep. 

And live, forget, fail to find truth so deep, 
Try to swim but sink in life’s shallow lake, 
And learn to sow, sometime later to reap. 

Life’s to garner light in every round trip 
That faintly burnish hereafter’s dark stake, 
I wake one day, again for long to sleep, 
Life’s just to sow, let death decide to reap. 
_____________________________________ 
Villanelles | 05.10.2012, revised March 2022 |

Subject Can Their Bad Kings Banish

Subjects can their Bad Kings banish:
Their Lords that image tarnish 
By being decisive and mannish 
While proving them a clannish 
After bribing schnapps of the Danish 
And deceiving wine the Spanish!

Subjects must the details furnish 
Of the wrongs by Monarchs to banish 
And if they wish some garnish 
Or the entire narrative varnish!

Subjects should Terrible Kings punish 
Their faults ceases to burnish 
Their eulogy for The–Without–Blemish.

Resolution

Oh yes, I am resolved.
Resolved to heal and not to wound,
to listen more than answer back,
to be more balm than stringent sound
to friend, or foe when they attack. 

Ah yes, I am resolved,
to think myself not more exalted,
more worthy of a higher place,
no guile beside my name reported,
no hiding of my truest face. 

Steadfast, sure, is this resolve,
to not befriend this hostile world,
to turn and bend and be conformed. 
To rather burnish tarnished gold,
redeem, renew and be transformed. 

Yes, oh yes, I am resolved.
For me there is no turning back,
a steadfast rock in every hour.
But oh, this power I surely lack.
To will, to do, and not fall back
Lies only in my Lord's great power.

Moon Gold

. for public domain

For a moment the world shines brighter
as clouds clear the sky for the moon.
Harvested fields burnish brown with gold,
and the dish runs away with the spoon.*

The view wears a dimming reminder,
of cherished life that passes our way,
shadows of gold, and promises
of hard work for a better day.

And just as soon as easy coming,
the moonlight takes to quietly leave
gold for chosen ones in the dark,
"Patiently await the dawn, or grieve."


* from the children's rhyme Hey Diddle Diddle, the cat and the fiddle . . . .

The Wounding of Innocence

Keep forever magenta memories,
chased in fields of old mud, barefooted,
  allow disgrace and stigma to reveal,
fading amber secrets,
of indelicate curiosity,
  scarlet laughter invited burgeoning confidence,
callow and covetous intrigue dissatisfied,
  Mother Mary's flower bud sinned against,
when carnal instincts overwhelmed,
  aching wounds of then still burnish,
but clemency is forever void of her embrace,
  when the sullied clothed in midnight blue,
wept for fading Spanish guitars,
and thunder rumbled to the turquoise sea.

Just Like the Chestnut Horses

Into the mellow I fall gently gliding into green pastures 
owling eyes watching behind birch, the sound of breaking pine  
wild horses flying past the wind, a country of blushing skies 
The quiet day arrives and feeds their mane some golden air  
as the pillow soft burnish leaves crisp at my feet  
turn me into a human landscape, by the gurgling lake  
Into the mellow I go to dream my dreams by Autumns rake 
 hELLO wINTER, you debonnaire millionaire of white 
cross not my path early , do not support November push 
the pumpkins in the batch have barely had a chance 
so wait, ...
hELLO eND, let me kiss your leaves of multi colored shades 
before the tree comes shivering down the 
winter lane... 
All the white horses are running away towards the cave  
where silence talks to them in riddles of breeze and haze  
promise me lovely pre-winter teen, that tomorrow  
you will awaken my bells to springtime come what may  
I'll be just like the chestnut horses leaving the barn to revisit,  
running through your golden fields once and thrice again.

River Stones

These are the stones
that ground nails and sharpened talons,
they have slid under mountains of ice and fire,
have been polished by the glacial dead.

The stones endure now in layers of motion and stillness,
some are wind-tools shaped by a tireless chisel,
other’s glint with a past and crushed starlight.

The river has left signs of its scouring trace.
I turn a stone over –
look backward to a molten world.
I can hardly imagine
the slow burnish of such immutable forces,

suddenly I am a fish out of water,
my mind wriggling across an ice floe.

Good Deeds

I believe that a good deed never dies. 
Once performed, it is not fated
to fall to the ground and wither. 
Instead, like gold leaf, it is gently applied
as a burnish, to gild the walls of heaven, 
its light shining in us, like an ember
that glows when kissed by the breath of memory.

Fade

“Better to burn out than fade away”
Indifferent complicated muster fading
Still the better just to fade, I say:

Observe the final glimmer glowing
Dissipated TV figures into silence vanish
Pushed away like breath the slim existence

Still most appear on vapors final blow
Leaving body burden burnish badly
So the living languish winding woe


Quotation attributed to Neil Young

Our Fitting Fall

A naked bleakness dressed with sparkling stars,
Dance sweetly taffaria fairies wands,
Auburn burnish Terra foundation scars,
Strewn light rods frock poise for their eager bonds.

Savor sparked light, plated of painted blends,
Generous crops hatched for harvesters pluck,
Heap hued leaves for dives of little friends,
Grand to behold as worn eyes are awed struck.

As the sinking filters down to deaths floor,
Achromatic crystals shroud their being,
Neath browns fertile soil rebirth of its core,
Hibernates for pardoned Spring, their freeing.

Limelight a year; birth, life, dying and death,
Mirror fleeting truth and our fragile breath.


*taffaria; Fairies' wings are made of a special material called taffaria. This ultra-strong, silky and transparent material is clear at first glance but has all 7 colors of the rainbow in it. Red, purple, yellow, pink, blue, green, and orange.


2019 November 04


RhymeZone
PS Grammar Checker
Howmanysyllables;
14 lines x 10 syllables - 140 syllables total

• Short Burnish Poems
• Famous Burnish Poems
• Best Burnish Poems
• Read Burnish Poems
• Long Burnish Poems
• Burnish Quotes