Moonlight snowfall captivates
Winter wishes swirl before my eyes
Breathlessly beautiful, exhilarates
Night to remember to poetize
Verse writes itself with my soft sighs.
Winter quintain
Poetry Contest
Sponsored
by
Francine Roberts
17/12/2021
The shining sunset,
with languishing colors,
exhilarates the sky.
But as the light dims,
the soul of it falters,
as if a loss of breath.
Then from its pinnacle,
it falls into the night,
and its velvet curtain!
I sail over green forests,
Ride jet streams above seas,
Gain speed like lightning,
While earth seeks to please.
I sip nectar from Big Dipper,
North Star looks and lingers.
Comets whisper amazement,
As planets crook their fingers.
My soul soars over Orion,
I’m an itinerant in space!
A far off galaxy beckons,
Can my body keep the pace?
Hobnobbing with celestial members,
On through ethereal constellations.
Forget the wild blue yonder,
Touring cosmos inspiration.
Soaring higher, faster, farther,
Climbing rungs of Jacob’s ladder.
My adrenaline exhilarates,
Anticipation gladder.
Exploring worlds, light years apart.
Unbelievable, yet on and on I seek.
Soon wafted into heaven,
Angels brush my cheek.
Symphonic melodies fill the air,
As I skate on streets of gold.
I’m happy to live eternally,
While heaven I behold!
That shining sunset
with its languishing colors
exhilarates the sky
but as it dims
the soul falters
and from its pinnacle
falls into the night
and its velvet curtain!
date: 4/23/2017
Every layman knows that since long ago,
painting, sketching and sculpting
by those possessing valid talent
has produced art that exhilarates hearts
and/or thoughts as artistry caught.
Not all know that our modern times
paired fine arts’ aesthetics chime
with craft’s utilitarian cadence
under Visual Art's mega umbrella.
Many wish riddance to this ambivalence.
To me, the grabbing-high from creativity
comes when it moves me perceptively.
I’m not much for art particulars,
its critics, popular trends or scholars.
I have my own criteria for art to
be brought home and share my hearth;
it must spark my imagination’s girth
with a delight that bubbles forth.
... CayCay
March 5, 2019
Flower I hold in hand, delicate as your sweet charm
Reaffirms my love, and feelings of amorous warmth
Idyllic like your serene beauty, petals are made of glee
Surrounded by ardent leaves of treasured memories
Color is your favorite pink, but the aroma is my wish
Searching nectar like a honeybee, adorning my plea
Never could I say enough, without help of eternal
Delivering blissful message, from my heart to yours
Yes, I wrote the verses but the words are not mine
They were custom-made to worship in your shrine
When you hear my inner voice urging for your reply
A gentle tug of heart exhilarates fervid eyes to smile
Scripting affectionate cherish of happy-valentine song
For love has always known, to each other we belong
February 13, 2018
Placed first in contest # 545 by Brian Strand
WINGS OF WONDER
cool wings of blackbirds
likened to blue angel jets
spectators wonder
a shadow that soars beneath
a cloud that exhilarates
7/17/2017
tanka form
Summer Haiku
Gliding through blue waves
freedom that exhilarates
surfing my ocean...
05/15/16
Words were meant to be shared,
embraced, loathed at times,
feared, and met with trepidation.
Words release that power within us
we need to express in tactile whispers
or in loud climactic reverberations.
They are meant to charm, to soothe,
to pacify, to even stop that internal
clock ticking away elusive moments.
Words...
laid bare, exhuming the bleeding heart
with its rhythmic flow that exhilarates
to an innate beating of native drums.
When words enter the realm of poetry
they seek their own uncharted path
enlightening and illuminating the spirit.
They become their own reward,
caught between light and shadow,
imagination and creative exploration.
© Connie Marcum Wong
I am an aged dusky man,
like a bottle of Bordeaux wine,
The older am I,
The Stronger my tipsiness,
I am packed in old Jeroboam bottle;
May be in old filthy bottle,
Yet soul is fresh vigorous,
inebriating wine;
My soul is prisoner under cork,
Once is released,
gravity is at height;
Squirt my wetty aroma,
exhilarates all for fun;
My body may break or perish,
Even may leave me helpless,
Yet am Bordeaux wine, loved by all,
They all know, more the older am I,
More the tipsiness I have;
I am an aged dusky man,
like a bottle of Bordeaux wine;
© Sadashivan Nair.
Note: ( I proudly share the same birth date with my favorite poet, Robert Frost (3-26)
I wrote the following poem in honor of my favorite poet, Robert Frost, who was born in the same
month and date as I, March 26th, the only difference was the year, yet those years have not separated
our poetic kinship. I decided to use a similar style as was used by my childhood poet hero.
The poem is not about him, yet I have used his surname in the title as inspiration for it! I hope you enjoy it. Robert
This Frost Brings Snow
When rains attempt to touch down.
Chilled north breath freezes them;
Heaven's watery tears,
Turning inward to crystal.
So much fun to slide
On their blinding residue.
These feet used for sleds;
Not so humorous on unprepared bottom.
Still, this fresh cold oxygen,
It exhilarates older lungs.
I've breathed warmer air,
Yet from poisoned lower valleys.
Something about this frosted water,
Floating into my life.
A natural miracle from the sky;
My mind loves it before it melts.
© 2014 Robert William Gruhn A.R.R.
A gentle breeze
Resonates me
At heartstrings,
Sets a quiver
Of emotions,
Quaffs all my
Grief,
Nipping life
Into me,
Retreads my
Rambunctious self,
A gentle breeze,
A keepsake,
Is dainty
And compatible,
Jiggles and
Evokes aspirations,
Exhilarates ,
A zephyr !!
Trumpet
Melody notes
One fine evening
Bugle celebrates victory
Proclaiming amnesty into air
Trumpeter exhilarates
Lets out loose
Blows it harder
Trumpet
Written on 9/9/13 by
Dr. Upma Sharma
On visual #2
I awoke in a half dead state.
Senses crippled with no thoughts.
I lay alone, in an empty space.
The nothingness lasts until I peel open my eyes.
Without warning bursts of light pierce my soul as the colours in my world overflow.
That empty state was live and new, a brilliant sight that slowly grew.
I throw open my door, and my senses are assaulted with life.
A spectrum of sounds and a swirl of smells collide.
I can feel the world, as I stand in my doorway.
A bleak existence that now has meaning.
I can feel.
The warmth of the sun beats down.
The gentle touch of the wind exhilarates me.
I am lost in time, with no need to find my way.
I can see the leaves on the trees flitter.
The windows of the cars flicker with reflected light.
I dare myself, and close my eyes, leaving the beautiful sensations.
All I can do is breath, and now I feel alive.
I fall back, and land on the grass.
With eyes closed I feel the hundreds of blades, fresh, and new.
I can feel, and I am alive.
Alex Gladu
A Feeling of Hope
I always have visions of running up the hill.
Far from others but between us all.
Leaping from a rock that's molten black
and frozen in time at a distant call.
Surrounded by a carpet of bright green moss
with the feel of a mate and the urge to crawl.
A hill whose top exhilarates and sets you below the dew.
Where going back down's a pathway home and love a place to sprawl.
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