Beaming eyeballs,
and orbs,
from first blush,
offspring frolicsome,
as they dot,
geosmin odoured pavement,
whilst shrieking impishly,
with infectious,
cuddly cheep,
parents shepherd,
yet they exude,
at bounce captured,
cordial conducive,
in electrifying,
picturesque swathe,
orange-scorched oriole,
with coal-black plume,
on urban shade tree,
townscape as hub,
endowed cosmopolitan,
brimful brio, ginger, dash,
kundalini wakened,
as sultry vault,
vigilant ambience,
ample alignment to,
ice tea mint gust,
aroma mediating,
splash of amber sun wash,
neath navy welkins,
that taunt and sketch,
wooing ambit,
extracts of,
aroha’s
indigo index
an evergreen tree
dons a frosty coat of white
its snow-laden boughs
hang heavy with winter’s tears
like incandescent pinecones
a jolly snowman
with a Pinocchio nose
wears momma’s red scarf
its buttoned smile, coal black eyes
and pipe, polished to a gleam
I dance in the snow
as arctic breaths billow in
a mushroom of smoke
snowflakes faintly touch my lips
then melt in a puff of air
Coal black night
wrapped in bleached blanket
under the clear skies
stared eyes go dim and deadly
anaemic
Words go mute
off the cuff raised hand
to bid her farewell
stayed in dark softly as a
man in fog
Place: 1st
Incinerating us
one coal black night
my lover lit a match.
The things he said
cannot be taken back.
In my heart are cinders' ash!
An ombré of coal black
zinnia red
across stygian sky
metamorphose
the stelliferous night
when sunrays tread
the dewy morn awakes
red as a rose!
Placed fifth
VIBRATIONS FROM A VERSO Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
25th July,2025
endless floods arise
coal-black clouds ease pangs of birth ~
dreams are swept away
They dive and circle as if in hypnotic state,
Tiny wrens, and ravens, and coal black crows.
When trucks dumps their loads, the flurry of fowl contemplate
Savory morsels or just household throws.
The noise of large tractors, and of sharp shrills and caws,
Of wild wings flapping over a landfill,
The thrown scraps from a table bring the birds to a pause,
Then landing en mass for a full belly fill.
It's exciting to watch them, yet worries my mind.
Some of the garbage is not fit to eat.
To the forests and meadows, there are rich foods to find,
While hanging bird feeders are quite a treat.
The most baby blue, two-storied house; baby blue chimney;
and milk-chocolate-brown rooftop. A whimsical triangle pine,
in front and ‘longside the home, seems to be atop a hill,
newly covered in pearl-gray white snow.
Spheres of snow, descending and ascending - spirited
prayers on Jacob’s ladder. Chimney, roof, house, and
fence posts dotted with drips of snow. Likewise, snow
shudders underneath the shutters eyelids.
Posts, of beige, baby pink, milk chocolate and tawny,
wrapped in holly berries and leaves; Coal-black iron gate,
more open than closed with crafted hearts.
Home surrounded by holly berry arch - perhaps a red cardinal
will alight and give a delightful nibble on a berry or two.
The pine and shutters, piquant. Ponders the apple of the eye,
stitched to the variance of woven threads, surely by foible,
needle and fragile fingers, not reaching for perfection,
but perfectly piques the curiosity for a poet’s meditation.
Hungry for ideas -
a fish dish would help,
an unhinged arm's length away,
way over the Yangtze River,
where, far from the nearest eyeball,
drunken cormorants dive
for silverplated carp.
Alas, any old iron skillet
will not fit this oily range,
I will have to cowboy it,
first, beans and baby powder
to talcum my muffins
while I break-in some roughhewn chaps,
then to rodeo this coal-black cooker,
as I lasso a China man,
a wise angler who knows how to catch,
the natural gas of an angry Puffer Fish.
Above the Melting Ice
Soft white skin, taut and smooth.
Insulated from the Arctic cold,
Snuggled warm in its wetsuit, he sleeps.
Protected from predators,
Camouflaged as a mound of snow,
Ignoring sounds of cracking and popping.
Each inhale releases, exhales,
The slightest shift in movement,
Flippers anchored to his round form.
Slow to stir, he scratches.
Returning to the place of now,
Covered in quiet contentment.
Coal-black eyes scan the horizon,
Nourished by the bounty within the icy waters,
Effortless, he slips into the abyss.
A place of serene silence,
Embraced by the essence of life,
Peaceful, pristine, perfect.
I too must remember,
The embrace of life’s essence,
Living above the melting ice.
Forcing myself
to live in green-
belt of forest with
no civil comforts or concerns
I don’t flinch. I won’t.
Living in
extremes of
two seasons
cinder-hot Sun
drowning rain
I don’t complain, I can’t
one summer was different
A passionate couple
Fire-Air, waltzed through
acres of my nearby forest,
grey-burning lives small & big –
I didn’t cry.
After HER party, I
went to see the charred
landscape, my heart thumped
wild, I could feel my soul in throat –
I didn’t cry
I stilled my thoughts - I
knelt to feel, I knelt
to beat coal-black ground, I
thumped chest, I flayed my
hands to sky, I howled,
Roared, wailed, cried
I clenched my fist,
boxed at guiltless air, I
called his partner names –
I sobbed back to silence
With impotent-raging silence
my hands cradled a tiny
dying burnt bird gasp for last
gulp of air, I knelt
in silence. That day
I cried, I missed God that day
I sobbed back to silence
Autumn gives heed to the season's clarion call.
In dispute with the tree branches, leaves fall
The sun sometimes seems withdrawn.
Red-yellow mix delightedly paints the dawn
Winds and wintry in slow- races compete
Untimely rains naughtily mock the heat.
Days, yearning to sleep long, move fast
In clouds appear apparitions of contrast.
Harvest and celebrations erupt in delight.
The moon and stars brighten the coal-black night.
Love and romance, as oxygen, fill the air.
The exuberance of this season, O darling, let's share!
The bare branches were shaking,
twigs rattled like ill-fitting teeth.
I thought:
'any moment now
the coal black lumpiness of them
will break a bough,
and all tumble down or up,
creating sky-slides of avian tumult'.
They jousted at each other,
clattering their sharp quilled feathers
like angry Black Knights.
The very air shook as they bounced,
up and down
imitating hooligans on a drunken spree -
rowdy 'caws' assaulting all ears.
Then,
in a sudden spray of alarmed confusion
they scattered, wheeling away,
in every direction.
From behind a thick-glass window,
someone must have muttered:
Shoo!
The stock of the rifle is hand-selected walnut.
I dust a beautiful porcelain lady.
My Nikon needs to be taken out of its case
like a coal black memory.
I pick up a quartz crystal,
put it to my eye
don't know why.
I drive out at night
with no aim or destination.
I go to the Oriental grocery emporium.
Cooking into the unknown
is my space travel.
These things I do are tramlines,
These things I do are rituals
for the safe-side of my mind.
I believe in beautiful mornings,
Lapis lazuli skies,
Cotton ball clouds,
Waking up slowly,
Feeling the lovely warmth,
More ardent than a trillion suns,
Emanating from the person beside you,
As you can’t help it
But embrace the small of their back.
I believe in dusk,
Sunsets of roses and tulips,
Red, pink, orange, purple.
I believe in star shine,
Coal-black nights,
Pierced by billions of stars,
Precious sparkling ores and gems,
Surrounding a crescent moon,
Like a smile amid the darkness,
But still finding it not as wonderful
As the way they smile
When you gingerly caress their face.
I believe in beauty,
The beauty of nature,
The beauty of the world.
But it isn’t nearly as wonderful
As when you have someone
To share it with.
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