They arrive at the start of spring,
In the morning light, they sing,
On branches high they dance,
Daringly reaching for the sky, taking a chance.
Emerald leaves sway gently
in the breeze,
A soothing sound spreads among
the trees.
Beneath Summer’s warmth they drink and drink,
In various colours displaying their
beauty, glittering in sync.
Then in a blink comes autumn’s call,
Turning emerald leaves to gold and
red,
Each leaf’s vein bleeds,
And in a final twirl to the ground,
they gracefully fall.
By Zyrool
9/26
"The clouds spill a thousand secrets"
in transitional transient forms
Your touch is like the spongy clouds
blessing me bountifully with brazen benevolence
"Melt my tears into your sweet fire"
for I'm daringly, defiantly "love-drunk on desire"
You can even "seduce the stars without a script..."
Who am I to escape your emerald eyes?
Like a moth drawn to the incandescent candle
I faithfully flutter around your fervent fulgence
You are my amber ambrosia
enveloping me with your amorous aroma
I dance dreamily in dandelion stardust
for you are my dearest, dashing, daring darling
We'll learn life's lavender lessons in tandem
Our souls are intricately interlaced and intertwined
Ruby passion sizzles...
when our hearts are in hazel harmony
Our mutual understanding is unfortunately understated
If you're the sea, I'm the sand
lapping your lapis lazuli waves with my love
We're crocheted cohesively for forevermore
our affection for the endless eternity
our adoration and admiration will never die
We possess an inseparable intimacy
immeasurable immortal imprints
impressed upon this universe
~ Hyacinth hearts held together even in heaven ~
Constance La France's The Pensive Poet's Contest
Reminiscences are yet revived by the glory
of Now mirroring slivers of past traces' ~ by poet
This thinning pen lays on a shed
of damp grasses where there are
no flowers to daringly explore---
A gasping star wanes
into the ash of light;
emptiness raking its only shape -
neutral as dunked rays greying the skyline.
Dreary as a poet's last whimper,
unfinished phrases gather
to rest... anticipating
drooped wake of winter petals,
as blots of ink
trace the calligraphy of langour,
the shadow play from past revelries
and adult slow- burn despair : how pensive
sighs offer their chánts
to a rising moon--- and buds of waving lime,
of the sky cascading
all the hums of vintage music evanesce ,
soft sheen of paper crumpling thoughts
so darn mellow , gathering on thé barks
of yesteryears where pages
of innocence and grief múst now
be rendered to memorials' grave...
maidens in the stream
are washing clothes together
their colorful skirts
are so daringly tucked up...
the lads guard their fishing rods
This thinning pen lays
on a shed of damp grasses
where there are no flower
to daringly explore---
A gasping star wanes
into the ash of light;
emptiness becomes
its only environ neutral a the dunked rays
greying the skyline.
Dreary as a poet's last whimper,
unfinished phrases gather to rest
and in the edge of night, the world
grows still as dying petals .
My life, unlived...nonetheless
here I am lingering without a care,
in the tender swerve of nightfall
winging into the fog thrown
by the spreading corolla
of a woodland's alchemy:
It's jungle-coiled leaves
the size and shape
of an iquana's ear watercolors me
in a marsh of dappled streams.
For a while, I am captivated
by this display, my soul deeply focused
on a moment daringly alive
through the landscape wildly daring,
that my pulse begins to throb again
with the lightness of a world's being.
Written: December 06, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Constance La France
Quote "Winter's white tapestry invites us to pause, inhale the serenity, and take shelter in snowflakes". By Poet
*******************
The shiny trail sprawls forth at my feet,
in silk spike where snow and shade meet.
The world, a quilt of gems, shone bright.
as silence snow slides spumy, a fading flight.
Each flake, a spell, captivating to the eye.
A lover's caress, gentle yet daringly nigh.
I bide in tranquility, engulfed in his shine.
Gradually, nighttime is marred in a shrine
He strokes my hair and lingers upon my cheek.
His smooches are halcyon and meek
Peace hangs in the air, a whisper of light glow
His arms wrap me in the chill of winter's snow.
His rhythm melds with mine, serene and deep.
I had a sense of sweep that I had to reap
Snow is transformed into a beautiful tune.
A bond of love that fails to endure and swoon.
She whispers back, "I love you, stay with me,"
Yet I know her gift is a pure banshee.
For soon he fades, his memory will decay,
a spirit of winter melting fast away.
Tongues are magical, when it calm down stress:
Magical tongues wrap body's tempered soul,
To soothe what loneliness' fright might oppress
And massage beast single's life can't make whole.
Tongues do twist to tour around daringly,
With eagerness; there is something to loose...
Peaceful touching flare, caress caringly
Conscious guest, gut can easily seduce
At standby quietly waiting to turn on,
The still feelings that never walk away
Unto restored spirit of gleeful fun...
Except if death calls, it never decay.
Magical tongues always lift and dust off
Dying will of restless bids, when flesh cough...
Some sorrows are blessings tears can not cease;
Grieving legs to be fearless for life's peace...
Journey daringly undone,
To fall and rise yet from none-
Handling impulse sorrowful stakes increase.
Alphabets gather as words unravel
the passing and returning of moans;
lines of phrases inflame the arteries
of beauty, angst, love interwoven
by imagination's pining.
Tingle of words… fragrance of vowels…
caress of verses enter the soul, as if to dive
into the very basin of layered expressions.
On a fresh scroll baring my bones
and rawest of mood,
I enter a daringly new dimension
with a theme that reels my senses
that ink and quill ravage fleshed pages
As poetry makes the eyes hungry.
my voice called out twice,
but i couldn’t stop there,
i wrote about a fatal vice,
your eyes being elsewhere,
it can be named assumption,
but i think it speaks for itself,
my ability to daringly jump in,
while further neglecting myself,
and every time it’s a rapture,
of the patient chasing game,
it’s a bore without a capture,
of soul who’s quite the same,
but i know how to leave it too,
it’s a choice i haven’t yet made,
because it ruins the idea of you,
and the mythology that i’ve laid.
I hold three magic rocks, in my hand
Rolling them over and over and over
Leaving this reality behind, far behind
Rolling the first magic rock, a stage unfolds,
Where secrets of magic are daringly told.
With a flick of the wrist and a glint in the eye,
A world of illusion begins to fly high.
With the roll of second magic rock, a Genie takes flight,
With a shimmer of stardust, a magical sight.
"Three wishes, dear friend," the voice softly hums,
In realms of the impossible, where fantasy comes.
With the rolling of last magic rock, I dive into a magic divine,
The healing embrace of a love that’s benign.
In the heart of despair, where hope seems to wane,
A whisper of faith can ease every pain.
Life is a balancing game.
At times through dilapidated bridge,
With shattered rails and planks,
We have to daringly pass,
To reach our desired destination.
Though poetry requires
a sense of rhythm-form
(for clear recognition)
approach varies greatly,
the size of the word-ship
and runway --
whether calm sailing
or raging storm --
an even glide
or extreme dive alarm --
the pilot of his poem
the Imager of his sea and sky,
some plot more
while others, haphazardly
simply take-off and fly --
what is poetry?
what is living?
calmly controlled aspirations
while the athlete pushing beyond
safe limits, what we are
secure with~ or also phantasmagoric?
thus having choice of Free-range
a poet, I believe, will often test his craft
will chance a dunk and raft
will test his life
will break-ranks
and recklessly
daringly explore it!
.
daringly doting
dumbfoundedly depicted
disquisitive dress
*Disquisitive is an adjective that means inquisitive,
investigative, or fond of discussion or investigation.
;)
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