I think of you quite often, when the rain
Falls gently through the tender autumn air,
And every leaf, half golden, whispers pain,
A fleeting sadness I could almost wear.
I think of you when twilight softly gleams
Along the river’s silver-threaded edge,
Where sunset mingles with forgotten dreams,
And night is but a whispered, quiet pledge.
I think of you when morning breaks the night,
The first blush in the sky, a bloom of rose,
Reminds me of your laughter, pure, and bright—
The sound that every dawn within me knows.
I think of you when stars begin to glow,
Like promises of peace upon the sea,
And in their quiet sparkles, I still know
You are the light that shines, though far from me.
I think of you when wind moves through the trees,
Its haunting melody a soft refrain,
That echoes memories across the seas,
Of times we lived, in joy, without a stain.
I think of you in silence, when the moon
Is hanging like a wish upon the sky,
A whispered thought that fades away too soon—
But lingers, like a soft, unspoken sigh.
The world still sleeps at dawn's first blush
when trilling birds tickle my ear.
I welcome the dirge of a thrush
as sunlight's tepid breath draws near.
When trilling birds tickle my ear
and morning skies are pastel pink,
I dip my feathered quill in ink.
I welcome the dirge of a thrush
helping his mate to build a nest.
It's the time of day I like best.
As sunlight's tepid breath draws near,
I've written a verse of Haiku
of rose petals dripping with dew.
Oh, Symphony Sunrise, where hues ignite,
A celestial canvas painted with light.
The dawn's first blush, a rosy crescendo,
Whispering secrets the night could not bestow.
The sky, a stage, where stars begin to fade,
And clouds, like dancers, in the shadows play.
A symphony of colors, soft and bold,
A tapestry of gold, and crimson, and old.
The sun, a maestro, with a golden bow,
Conducts the orchestra of the morning's glow.
Each ray a note, a vibrant, soaring sound,
As darkness recedes, and light is found.
The trees, like silent listeners, stand tall,
Their leaves, a chorus, responding to the call.
The birds, their voices, blend with the sun's light,
A vibrant aria, in the morning's bright.
From slumber deep, the world begins to stir,
Touched by the symphony, a brand new chapter.
A promise whispered in the morning breeze,
Of hope and joy, and life that never ceases.
So let us listen, to this wondrous art,
The symphony of sunrise, that touches the heart.
For in its beauty, we find grace anew,
A reminder of the wonders that life can imbue.
8/24/2024
Moonlight or Sunrise Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Ink Empress
Deep blood red orange cloud’s,
ethereal dream float,
Satin wind carrier of luscious mint,
green hymnody’s deft transport,
Spring hues random loitering,
between gray peeled branches,
Chirpy echo squeak,
from red-wing blackbird,
A fragile wafer tin threshold,
Golden stream gurgle,
under marsh reeds,
Evanescent saline grain haze,
Azure ocean tide aroused,
from still wave slumber,
Clamshell pearl strewn oyster,
oddments interspersed,
on pockmark sandstone beach,
Iridescent canopy of nature trail,
Awaits the first blush pilgrim,
who revels in lavish glimpses,
And sumptuous earworm madrigal,
A tantalizing world so close,
Glad tiding raptures,
from the camper awakened,
Coffee caper bean whiff aromatic,
Quencher of dust road harsh throat,
Splatter free rapeseed oil,
daub on an iron pan,
wild howl from prehistoric wolf,
So quaint in its primal sweep,
hair-raising backdrop to stir fry meal,
Tinplate dollop sated hunger
First blush fountain azimuth of hued rays
wet patio shrub basket in the haze
zealous heartland tower cry as life force
celebrate and savour August rare days
Magenta skylines cluster silken clouds
blue ocean colour eyes that worship shrouds
a fancy surreal canvass so divine
it mesmerises jubilant bright crowds
Summer fun arcades stoke our dream world mind
gasps of red tint bliss a peak season find
earthbound poise dilates refulgent cascade
rocking beach tune fare blurs dark strain purblind
Sapphire plinths that anchor stoic ambit
vision on parade my high rise gambit
traipse amid the dahlia euphoric
seventh heaven rapture’s cloud nine orbit
Komorebi 11-8-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Komorebi
Sunlight dashes through boughs adorned
In autumn’s scent of red orange crimson
Tossing diamonds of daybreak from their limbs
Into the borning air of dawn
To litter the forest floor in clutter of crystal auroras
Playing hide and seek with shadows,
Awakened by the roster’s first blush,
To prance across branches on tip-toes of brindled magic
As the moon and sun, the darkness and dawn,
Change places in daily do-se-dos,
Leaving fingerprints of light, in moments of intimacy,
When fingers of dappled warmth push back shadows
With celestial sighs of radiance
And flutter like a sparkling flute of luminosity
Cascading in ricochets from oak to elm to evergreen
Until gleeful pandemoniums of white fire
Give birth to awe in strings of burnished zephrys
Draped in jubilees through boughs of dawning beauty
Woven in strands of light as sunshine thinks on loveliness -
Decorations of celebration!
"Green is nature’s poetry."
"Green – the magical canvas of nature."
"Green gives the calm we need in this world full of chaos."
~ Shilpa Ahuja (all 3 quotes)
"Green is the fresh emblem of well-founded hopes."
~ Mary Webb
Nature's poetry is green,
Blazing in the leaves,
It makes the heart feel serene,
The mind, calm receives;
Green is canvas magical,
Where God paints the trees,
Vast verdancy radical
Cool the eyes and please;
Emblem of well-founded hopes,
Green is Spring's first blush,
The fresh grass that grows on slopes,
Decked with dew looks lush;
When we see an emerald,
The pulse beats faster,
Green does excite and herald
"Hand of the Master".
When the sun rises and spreads
its sticky yellow syrup across green marzipan fields
I rub the bees from the fragrant holyhock bells
and sniff the nectar.
I pull each cup to drink the breakfast dew
and taste summer mornings paste
then hear a fly buzzing by.
Trees are heavy with laden aprons of
sappy boughs, thick with unopened fruit,
Unable to set the table or move their loaded limbs.
In this warm, breathless, first blush,
slurping down the booty of the day,
inebriated in a fine stirred brew of Yorkshire hemp,
I blink to see my dreaming fairyland alive,
and paying tribute lift to toast the ride.
“Love weaves a mysterious magic spell”
Enchanted heart light pulse no rein can quell
Moonbeam frenzy rippling through souls entwined
Dark midnight hour gasp a charmed sleigh bell
Golden whispers permeate our hub aligned
Pearl-eyed lustrous jinx free oath undersigned
We bare toe dash at wishful madcap pace
As eros leaves its comet far behind
Early red dawn passion etched in sheer lace
Spring day mystic zenith, her glow tone face
Closer to nirvana, deep first blush team
Eternal heaven, haunt, or secret space.
Breath of sky rapt tender link’s heady stream
Otherworld amidst engagement ring theme
Doves that skim and coo silver froth afloat
Bright souvenirs en route unveil a gleam
Sensual laughter spurs hypnotic note
blithely fosters harmonising fond quote
Erotic fervour cast your lucky shroud
O'er honeymooner’s trance on dream boat
Line 3
A lovely dawning
paints a rose tinted sky.
it will rain later,
the sky will disrobe
and fall as summer tears;
a rain softly sorrowful
yet drenched in a gentle joy.
So young and fair
are the fresh skirts
of this new washed air;
a breeze lifts our eyes
to the hem of heaven.
When the rain comes,
when the gray air trembles,
for it most certainly will,
our sprits will know
both delight and drear,
as we recall,
the lovely artistry,
the fine first blush
of this rosy dawn.
High alpine meadows are dusted with wildflowers,
And the faraway horizon is outlined with craggy mountain peaks,
Half-asleep lights blink through the sun-painted mist,
The sunrays dip at varying angles and intensities,
creating mixed moods and mysteries ~
It feels good to be up at dawn.
Deep blood red orange clouds ethereal dream float,
Satin wind carrier of luscious mint green hymnody’s deft transport,
Spring hues loiter in between gray peeled branches,
Chirpy echo squeak from red-wing blackbird a fragile threshold,
Golden stream gurgle under marsh reeds ~
Evanescent saline grain haze
Azure ocean tide aroused from still wave slumber,
Clamshell pearl strewn oyster oddments interspersed on pockmark sandstone beach,
Iridescent canopy of nature trail,
Awaits the first blush pilgrim who revels in lavish glimpses,
And sumptuous earworm madrigal ~
A tantalizing world so close
"Two doves in white flying, feathers glow
beneath the morning's rainbow colors."
Quote by _Charles Messina
The dawning of morning begins as a luminous glow,
such artistry in that first blush that infuses the sky;
and there beneath heaven two white doves fly,
their winged plumage panache,
radiant gliding in the first light.
And then, a soft flush of pigment stain in a pinkish wash,
the doves twining and flying apart in glimmering flight;
now, the sky is hued in gold,
soon the sky blue will unfold.
______________________
December 06, 2022
Poetry/Rhyme/Colors In The Sky
Copyright Protected, ID 12-1506-958-06
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere Contest, Colors In The Sky
sponsor, Mystic Rose Rose, Judged 12/08/2022
Seventh Place
What have been sayin’
It's only Saturday
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
Father in the kitchen
Eats his check away
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
Don’t you shake and shiver
When the hounds of order bey?
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
God is dead, or in Toms River –
Any dumb excuse to pray
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
Island people don't get ready
Wherever there's tsunami
They wait until that drawback gets all flushed
But back to your studies
Back to Bloom's Taxonomy
And the camouflage of sophomore girls’ first blush
It’s cartridge, pump and filter
It’s the dose in the ashtray
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
All the post-its in your Rilke
Will not my respect sway
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
Your hopeless, guileless, wretched pact of clay
The family-brand is over –
Say whatever you want but not “gay”
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
Steep slate slopes glow in autumn gold
Below jagged white aretes.
Strong young men hunt among the crags
Pursuing choice chamois and deer.
Valley maids harvest purple grapes.
Laughing children mash-dance in vats.
Women stir yeast to set the brew
And lid and cork some oaken casks.
Auld men rest warm on terrace slates
Of a sunlit vine-wrapped arbor,
Slowly sipping first blush vintage,
Telling tales of mighty hunts.
Bright eyes eager for fontina
Laughter and motsetta slices,
Raising glasses filled with Syrah
To toss their years a grand hurrah.
Their hearts are on the mountain highs,
But sunset colors paint their eyes.
Mine a trial was cool
My heart was forced into a pool
Only due to an inviting pull
A pull not into a pool a center of the fool
But as accrues fruits of a heart so full…
Everything everywhere led so dull
And the angel came as a bouncing ball
All to be celestial to me – a pal
All this not even condemned by Paul
So pretty – what a welcome, a call
At first blush all was like a tale
My face changed into pale
Something of a, ‘can’t tell’,
But my heart could tell,
Pouncing to a trial so well
Every day I recall scenes at the well.
Not all temptations are evil
Mine was God’s will;
She rolled to me like a wheel
For my lesions to heal
She came for all gaps – to seal,
Justified was the trial, for real.
She came not to kill
She paid up my bill
In my back they would drill
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