I observe the naked light un-folding' waking a day so bright, near broad seas
Rolling! In power rippling curling,
then dissapating, a breeze
arises carressing senses exciting.. The hills above show head and shouldered looming, i see lichen green on
Wayside bouldered, Burgundy
roses around a cottage porch, such beauty all
Naked there is no garb needed; naught."as is the
Moonlight; when it arrives, shall be un-impeded, I see cowslips yellow, the irisis
Blue, the sky in its splendour, and un-matched hues, of all this the very same
Is true.' In their naked states that God created, does anything decribed need enhancing? I say if any so think? Well they
Need berrating, what am i recieving
of deeper truths? Is God giving me
insight naming world delete's who
clothe war in piety, and sell greed..? As
blest? who are of those, who would
destroy not deliver, and Gods Spirit test"
Killers of all that is so great
and good! The naked gift
of ithe nnocent child' how deep lies your
Depravity? You by now; thrice damned imbiciles.!!!
Written: December 23, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
*************
Castle Ravenloft looms—
a janiform crown of storm-light and stone.
Its spires protrude as if imploring
a cold, unanswering nimbus.
Below, Barovia lies—
a shabby village where cowslips squirm,
and daybreak, under mists,
offers only a brief farewell.
This land’s spirit is sacred suffering.
Hope and death entwine in chiaroscuro.
Symbiosis curdles into a curse,
and the living move with shadows
as though born to them.
Ubiquitous, gelid mists
embed xenogenesis in every breath,
Their jagged deceit conning the brave and mulish.
Dark, shriveled streets of Barovia—
laden with pale wisteria—
echo with inane, forgotten glee,
an odor of treacle, revulsion, and lost joy.
On the edge between night and terror,
a winsome child may hum a chorus—
a fleeting overlap of sorrow and mercy.
But the mists return, hostile and persistent;
after tasting music, street, and soul,
only the castle remains—
a riddle whispered against
a cloudscape that refuses to rise.
The balmy breeze wafted over the prairie,
Where yellow cowslips huddled in patches.
And here and there I heard a whisper echoing:
Love her, love her, love her.
But she seemed deaf and preferred the wounded wind.
How easy it was to forget and never recapture
All my wistful whisper, I would always love you.
Those sweet nothings of past affections.
We no longer trudged the path made up for two.
Forgotten were those bygone days
When we believed that thistledown tufts
Were really friendly fairies in disguise.
Thus she escaped my clutches
And like a unicorn disappearing in an eclipse,
I headed for a dull and empty living
Blaming her uselessly for I still loved her.
Weren't we the product of our time?
We slammed the doors of love in our own faces,
Building woeful walls around us
Painting it with a tinge of misunderstanding,
When we could lead such a colorful life,
Giving our hearts a chance,
Laughing at ourselves.....
And sending a whisper,
a woeful whisper to the moon above.
Placed First
I remember, oh how I remember
the years that have gone by.
Our doors were never bolted
our windows never closed.
Women had part-time jobs
knocking on doors all afternoon,
their comely voices bidding:
Madam 'tis Avon calling for you.
Meantime grandma would sit
outside the house and gossip
with friends who passed her by,
whilst we would wander all alone
in fun parks or green meadows,
flying our gaudy coloured kites,
and gathering cowslips for our dear mum.
We strolled along deserted lanes
lined by straggly rubble walls,
adorned by yellow cowslips,
perfumed with early wild narcissus,
and music, a fine harmony,
performed by finches of all colours
Whilst blue **** and sparrow fly from tree to tree.
I lingered there, hoping I could get away
from the fathomless worries of the weary world,
or perhaps find rest in an eternal quietude.
We walked hand in hand, listening to the rill
Its clear waters zigzagging downwards.
She stared at the rivulet with wonderment.
I admired her composure, her interest
In all around her, a stoic tranquillity.
I invited her to sit besides me on a wooden bench.
Enjoy the vast silent panorama of the countryside.
No other human could be seen in the vicinity
Except far off, a farmer tilled his field.
She put her head against my shoulder.
We uttered not one word. It was pure bliss.
I realized love can be silent,
For utter silence is true love.
OLD
Outside the classroom
Sun cloud and tree dapple the grassy vale
Aspens tremble, willows sway in graceful measures
Blackbird, thrush and warbler trill a delicate scale
Daisies, buttercups, cowslips scatter transient treasures
Above and beyond in skies azure and white
Skylarks ascend, red kites soar in cerulean
And in their chosen study focus sight
Gaze down upon this blest Elysian scene
NEW
Now Inside the classroom
Dust and shadows dapple desk and board
Mere echoes of live voices pulse the air
The students now spread far and wide abroad
Their lives confined by overbearing care
But when freedom casts aside curbs as of captors
Young eyes may once again be raised on high
And study with the skylark and the raptors
The transient blissful vista there still nigh
1 October 2021
A courteous curtain
Looked thready with fine silk
Scenting of my core
Which led linger rose in my mind
And with no fleeing ticks
But almost ding-dong devotes
Potent day and night
Shrouds,when I come in
Shields,when I come out
Dripping that cotton every moment
For not to streets cowslips
To steal me from her role
Let I vocal vomits vociferously
"Am I boastful beaming as her turban?
Oh,I love you courteous curtain
For vile of my days"
Listen carefully: those are bells ringing.
To whom are they calling?
From where come the peals?
Here in the wild countryside
the pale-yellow cowslips
dance a lonely jig
to the tune of the wayward breeze,
dispersing their melliferous fragrance,
gracing us with their herbal remedies.
And still the bells peal!
Do they toll for me?
Reminding me of my needs?
Shall I gather the cowslips?
What shall I do with weeds?
There see them grow in the vale
or along the riverbanks
where waters rush headlong,
zigzagging through the silvery alleys,
making their way to the far off sea.
And the bells still peal!
The cowslips sway in the breeze.
I stand still devoid of fantasy,
empty of coherent dreams.
What will I gain from cowslips?
except distil it in my cellar
and enjoy its narcotic sips?
Still do the bells toll?
Why? What for?
My heart knows, of course.
I find a shade, I kneel, I pray.
Let the bells toll.
I've heard as cowslips bend their heads.
buttercup yellow
kissing cowslips
midst dancing grasses
back &forth
on the go
a foraging airshow ,to and fro
busy bees
morn 'til late
thus
honeycombsp
proliferate
'ere
waving stalks
seed
then fade
nectar flows
&sweetness made
eveything glows
is reflectve
nothing happens
garlands of blossom
the wonder of it all
cowslips in flower
buttercups bloom
colour
shines golden
in the heart of nature
visible
vulnerable
tender warm&
true
that
something special
look
more closely
at
beautiful shapes
unsophiticated
draw close
to the looking glass
of nature
splashed
with love
brings out tenderness
entirely possessed
by
the rhythm of the day
watching
we marvel
in patience &hope
each morning
a happening
to feel
as day
succeeds day
the invisible
hidden from sight
as summer
grows within
PAST HISTORIC
Others have come
I have kept the memory
She with the bright eager face and wisdom beyond her age
He in the body of a boy but with full grown mind of a sage
He the humble giant, driven to knowledge that he pursues
She with the questing soul of a scholar and romantic heart of a muse
They have departed
The Earth has revolved
And today we teach Present Perfect
PRESENT
Outside the classroom
Sun cloud and tree dapple the grassy vale
Aspen and willow whisper and sway a graceful measure
Blackbird, thrush and warbler trill a delicate scale
Daisies, buttercups and cowslips scatter their transient treasure
Above and beyond in skies of azure and white
Skylarks ascend and red kites soar in the cerulean
And gaze down upon this fleeting Elysian scene
PERFECT
Back and forth,
HIgh then low
Black swifts scythe below;
Beneath the vivid hue
Wide-set celestial blue.
Across the field
Buttercups fill my view with
Dung pats,dried,and fried in the sun;
Cowslips clumped,bud apple-green
With daisies dotted between.
What a wonderful time nature will bring
this exceptional season we call Spring,
sounds of birds, amazing aromas, smells
beautiful cowslips, primrose and bluebells,
fresh feel in the air,green shoots of new crops
colourful tulips, pansies, and snowdrops,
misty mornings, dew on the lush green grass
trumpets of daffodils, tulips, crocus,
warmth from bright sun rays, sense of optimism
peonies, sweet peas and pink cherry blossom,
longer warm days, shorter nights that delights
hyacinth, freesias, wonderful sights,
goodbye bad weather frost, wind and rain
hello new growth new life happy again.
16/03/2017.
Glowing candles flicker an imminent grief,
Undulant meadows sink then moments brief,
A recluse in silence deep, torment lies only if
Truth recoups when heavy gravels lift,
An answer wayward a curse or a gift.
Cowslips they unfold of features like Jen,
Savages abscond when clock strikes ten,
Perverse acts send hungry crowds lighten,
Hubris hold invariably the psyche taken,
Perils unforeseen pulses of men quicken.
Children's lax inexpiable chides mother,
Intrinsic in nature mud ponds splatter,
Bare foots they wrestle, would spectators rather?
Such complacency splits its odd feather,
A pervasive yet reprehensible matter.
Pictures in frames of tumultuous memories,
Mutinous rogues, malevolent the eye that sees,
To confer one's wish in return good ceases,
Tentative strokes across sheets her will flees,
Exacerbates her desires tenfold with ease.
Towards the middle of the April the wind changes and the showers fall,
We hide under the branches of an old fir tree sheltering from the rain,
All is well as the rain sweeps across the shallow mead's rippling waters,
There is a fluorescent greenness in the grass and buds begin to open.
Walking through villages old parks over commons, heaths and meadows,
Stretching legs running over commons after a long and very hard winter,
Larks sing in the sweetest air as blackbirds swoop from grand oak trees,
A child looks amazed at the change nature makes his eyes wide as saucers.
Standing on common land flocks of goslings pale green like new catkins,
Protected by squawking and chasing parents should anything come near,
Gorse in full bloom in the leafless woods while primroses bask in the rain,
Turf on these lands are thick with violets, cowslips grow in fine meadows.
The ox lip, half primrose half cowslip begins to mature into a thick bloom,
Looking across square fields enclosed by thousand year old hedgerows,
Old orchards grass is littered with white violets side by side with daisy's,
A Purple wood spurge hangs pale-green flowers among tufts of alyssum.
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