The cragged moon, a curdled, midnight bloom,
Where veins of frost, dissect a shadowed room.
A galaxy of mold, on lunar stone,
A whispered legend, soft and darkly known.
It weeps a brine, a sharp, celestial tear,
A pungent phantom, banishing all fear.
Then, amber relics, in a glassy tomb,
Where time's slow fingers, weave a spiced perfume.
Each wrinkled emerald, a sunken, ancient eye,
That holds the secrets, of a bygone sky.
They swim in brine, a sun-kissed, golden sea,
Where sharpness sleeps, and tangy memories flee.
These kindred spirits, in a twilight tryst,
A marriage strange, by starlight's silver kissed.
One, a moon's decay, a noble, bitter grace,
The other, time's own kiss, upon a verdant space.
A symphony of tang, a whispered, aged lore,
Where phantom flavors, haunt forevermore.
A taste of ages, in a shadowed, secret place,
A paradox of pleasure, etched on time's worn face.
A velvet darkness, and a sunlit, sour dream,
Where sharpened shadows, and aged sunbeams gleam.
Stormy sea churns with frightening fury
Seamen shouting about a mangled mizzenmast
Cragged cliffs are awaiting ahead
Eerie ghost gray sky defines haranguing hope
Fear foments in dire disaster
Tempest toll; ubiquitous undertow
Sailor's destiny lies on rugged rocks.
#1
Syllables E selected and check with PS
FIRST PLACE WINNER
written November 30, 2021
submitted to "Alliterisen 2 Poetry Contest"
sponsored by Joseph May
High above the sun-bleached shore
Between blue sea and blue sky
Lonely, silent world unreached
Home of those who soar
The tranquil skies.
Whose wings spread and shadow
Suspended on a weaving current
Stretch and relax in constant flight.
They nest atop the cragged tor
Open to wind and rain, and raise
Their young to glide
Between high heaven and low shore
Where clouds float and lie
Inert, the eagle's realm.
Cobalt cragged peaks amidst clouds
Cathedrals they are, proud so tall
Years of erosion now shout loud
My eyes now view in total thrall
Their reflections upon natures pure
Sharing many marvels from her brochure
Look at the Icicle.
It forms-
An ugly mass drooping from a cragged rock, the water
hardening before it has sufficient time to
d
r
i
p
I've heard them called things of beauty by others, and
indeed I once thought of them as such.
But after today...
(Yesterday)
My father called me to tell
me that my Nine Year old bother has lukemia.
I cried for hours.
Today I found out that he is going to be alright, though he
will participate in outpatient treatment for three years.
I cried again.
And as I drove home from Dornbecher's childrens hospital this afternoon, I
saw the Icicles hanging from the rocks hidden in the shade.
I cried some more.
I love my brother Sean.
When Christy cries,
the birds stop chirping,
When tears flow from her eyes,
the rain stops, for it she is usurping
The very power of nature...
With her deep, deep emotion,
More powerful than the tidal surge
of a seismic excited ocean
Christy and I talk,
through poetry's strong power
be it humorous or dour...
We've both walked the same sad halls
of life and love's many pratfalls
We've never met, and likely never will
but through words that we exchange
we struggle to ascend life's cragged hill
As we meander through the lifeless days
Escaping true bliss and the heated blaze.
Aimlessly searching for a better goal
We traverse this world as wandering souls.
Most times days are dark as a mystery
Dropping as dead leaves from a sunlit tree.
Wasting our time as though prodigal trolls
We circumnavigate as wandering souls.
Born bad seeds falling through steep cragged cracks
Trying to fill empty holes to get back.
Ogres and gargoyles can't rock but we roll
Destined to ramble on, wandering souls.
Our hell is excursions with nothing said
One can't change agony and lifelong dread.
Always a party filled with laughs,so droll
Not for us vagabond wandering souls.