Floodlights Poems

Would You Still Love Me

Sponsored by: Jerry T Curtis   Abridged Version   Contest My Song
_____________________________________________________ 


I didn’t see the moon in a pearly hue.
The ocean’s waves weren't a deep azure blue.
If the meadows didn’t sing a soft gentle tune.
In a pearly hue I didn’t see the moon.

Would you still love me?

Floodlights don’t shine brightly as I glimpse the starry night.
Waterfalls don’t cascade in a rainbow of colored light.
If the warm summer rain didn’t fall so lightly.
As I glimpse the starry night, floodlights don’t shine brightly.

Would you still love me?

If I ceased to be able to rhyme, I could not write.
If eagles didn’t soar and doves didn’t take flight.
If I was no longer a poet til the end of time.
 I could not write, if I ceased to be able to rhyme.

Would you still love me?

Our Gate To Heaven

"And if there's gonna be a life here after,
And faith somehow I'm sure there's gonna be,
I will ask my God to let me make my Heaven,
In that dear place together you and me." 
Quote by Tommy Flemming and the Poet


you became the gate through which I entered reality
my vitality
we embarked together on a journey to sensuality
morality
you are still the gateway to floodlights in my mind
my find
by day the sun rose just to witness our adoration
infatuation
In every storm you were the thunder
my wonder
you were my strength against life unfurled
our world
melting to look into your soulful eyes
mesmerize
we walked as one, stride by stride
by your side
Your splendid embrace
souls interlace
always my mate
it was our gate
going through
with you
**
when that ghostly apparition appears
my fears
and all but our love is godforsaken
we refuse to be taken
groaning and grief-stricken we part
my heart
on gossamer wings the angel will save
our grave
going through the gate in stormy weather
we are together

Hopping Trains

On Friday nights we’d sneak into
the railyard and wait
in the shadows 
between the floodlights for a train
slow enough for us to hop,
our hands already tingling
with the promise of flight.

We trotted beside the train,
waiting for the right moment
to grab a boxcar’s ladder
and climb to the roof like outlaws—
aware of the danger
and thrilled by it—
as the train gathered speed.

We jumped as it rounded the curve—
boots hitting gravel, hearts pounding—
but a voice barked out of the dark,
and then a dog, all teeth and fury,
came tearing toward us.
We bolted for the fence
without looking back.

We hit the chain-link fence at speed,
scrambled like fugitives—
I braced for asthma to take me
but my lungs opened wide,
no tightness, no fire, just breath
pure and clean, lifting me over
like I was born to run.

I landed laughing—
heart hammering, lungs still free—
and something in me shifted.
I had outrun fear, leapt past
the story that said I couldn’t—
and for the first time,
I believed it.

Lady Liberty The Gift

appears a Roman goddess
halo affects adorn as spears on a diadem
Her torch enlightens the world
flames are gilded in 24K gold
reflecting the sun's rays, looming She is not  
for the floodlights illumine night’s darkest hours
the French had created Her
Americans built Her a concrete pillar
the old raised funds as the young saved their pennies
grounded granite pedestal protects from blue bolt strikes
disassembled in toto scattered and strewn She was
93m in height
neoclassic colossal copper sculpture
oxidized to muted green an outer patina
broken chains at Her feet breaking free from tyranny and servitude
typifies a democratic government                                                                  
She faces southeast welcoming all arrivals transversing the sea
France gifted Americans, brothers of liberty
against sepia skies, streaked layers, cream colored clouds 
a silhouette stands on Liberty Island

Collingwood, Oh Collingwood

In the heart of Melbourne's bustling streets,
Lies a club where every footy fan meets.
Black and white, their colors fly,
A magpie's pride, soaring high.

Collingwood, oh Collingwood,
Where dreams are chased, and understood.
With every kick, mark, and handball,
The Magpies stand, united and tall.

From Victoria Park to the MCG,
Their history rich, for all to see.
Legends have graced the hallowed ground,
With roaring fans, their cheers resound.

They fight, they strive, with all their might,
Under the floodlights, every Friday night.
With every goal, the crowd's roar swells,
Echoing through the city, a story it tells.

So here's to the Magpies, black and white,
In their quest for glory, they take flight.
Collingwood, oh Collingwood,
Forever strong, forever good.

Virtuous Circles

Does life seem to you,
as love does to we,
that virtuous circles
engage healing intent

While viscious squares
of bad-tempered stomping
marches much less gayly
toward escalating drama
with harmful trauma
and persistent
discontent

Positive engagement
does not engage negative performers
as if some lives
are divinely entitled
to redemptively matter more,
and thereby attract glowing floodlights

Upstaging those worshipping lesser
unstraight
unmale
unwhite gods
and goddesses of trust
and compassion
without boundaries

Backstage,
opening opaque
and closing vulnerable curtains
breathes diverse gender icons,
sexualized idols

Muses 
recomposing noted feelings
from inside out,
hard erect warriors
embracing soft receptive catchers,
absorbent empathizers

Integrity's copassionate healers,
pulling and pushing together
1 way
with 0 means.

So Beautiful

You were so beautiful yesterday,
When the air smelled of wildfires,
When a nostalgic fog painted the city with sepia
When I got a flat tire.

You were so beautiful yesterday,
When a cold morning wrapped us in its chilly blanket,
When our silhouettes glided through the parking lot floodlights,
With our fingers entwined in an amorous fight,
And a rare car would bid us farewell with its sleepy headlights.

You were so beautiful…
Yesterday.

Twilight Meditation

As the soft glowing light fills the sky above, the sun scatters her rays across 
the heavens blushing in hues of blue and green, with midnight accrues.
(Breathe in, hold and breathe out)
As the sun sets giving us her partial illumined glow, we begin to feel the 
presence of Spirit and all that it brings. Peace, joy and abundant love.
A nautical dawn arrives after a nautical dusk, lighting up our hearts and 
filling us with new hope. 
(Breathe in, hold and breathe out)
The floodlights of our souls reveal a clarity that has never been seen 
before. We open the door to our hearts and allow the peace of 
understanding to enter into communion with us and our hearts 
become vessels for God.  
Vessels navigating through earth with celestial beams radiating through 
our very being. 
(Breathe in, hold and breathe out)
As a soft glow fills the sky twilight lands on us, like an eagle bringing
us endurance and strength, alongside a gentle and lasting soft caress.  
Amen !

In Praise of Anonymity

You flowered in the shade.
Headlights and floodlights
slid off your retiring shadow.
Occasionally the spotlights flare
lit-up your solitary walk
but only the footprints
you left fleetingly on flowing water.

I praise your independent natural nature
needing nothing of this world
that you did not give too yourself.
You refused to hang upon the exhortation of others
but raised yourself like a mother
in a hidden garden created for 
individuality and abundance.

We other anonymous ones look to you
recognizing we are and were never apart
from the same sunlight we warmed our
hearts upon 
knowing you were in secret
sharing that light with us all.

The Floodlights Are Burning

The floodlights are burning;

On Adam and Eve's glorious playground,
what the hell is happening ?

Is it another great evil war
a flood of bloodbath that's coming ?
or will it be the judgment day,
before the God, the fools of power are bringing ?

Pray hard;
O' meek, O' earth's peaceful human being !
We don't need no end, we need to keep on living.
War seems to be, the one tragic fate
on humans never ending.

(04.13.2022)

Trumpet

Vanity dripping off of you
Like dew from a new spring stem
The mightiest cock shall rule the roost
But there's a disease unleashed in the pen

Something's in the air
Blowing over this farm tonight
Wake up, wake up, Farmer Jones
The sky is burning so bright

Vanity pooling under you
The floodlights, flooded in sweat 
The front row feels the ground burst
And the critics never forget

Something's in the air
Blowing over this town tonight
Wake up, wake up, man on the street
The sky is burning so bright 

Vanity will not shelter you
When the lakeshore goes to boil 
And the angel blows the trumpet
And dust blows off the soil 

Something's in the air 
Blowing over this hill tonight
Wake up, wake up, John of the Cross
The sky is burning bright

It's July

O Ruby; you are my resuming red

Red, the heart of the gemstone
Symbol of love and passion
Comes to the path of romance
Takes the soul gratefully at a glance

Fountain of July torrential rain
Within rhythmic welcome sane
Dearly drenching nibbling grass
Where we're for the rabbit nurse

Rain kisses the dog, the barbed wire fence,
The floodlights of night, where camera lens
Sieges your dancing through neon lights
And silhouette of heart phantom behind

No sun and no moon there are
Days fairness and nights darkness desire
Unstoppable life force in dripping
From your scented body of evergreen

Maiden tulips and lotus on your soaked cloths
Cheerfully greet wild reunion with the inner smooth

Bluish-purple the larkspur far alone
The water lily on the brimfull pond
Bonding a grove of amorous eyes
With the red wine and craving ties

Warm and burning warm everywhere
Deaths and deceptive virus also snare
Soggy mind in the beat of window
Hearing the weep of Leo born widow

10.07.2020 Chattogram

Nocturne

Nocturne

Leagues of dreamy space
Lie behind the sparse stage of consciousness.
That is where
I'm headed now.

Turned my back upon the floodlights
Stepped behind the curtain
Where my Pegasus awaits
To gallop to the stars.

I hang upon the fringe;
The fringe that I can open/close.
I hear the symphony of spheres
That play a tune made from measures of silence.

No, I'm not afraid of darkness.
The darkness is my coat.
No, I'm not afraid to lose myself;
Myself is everywhere.

The Death of Ian Incognito

The world a stage,
Shakespeare noted.
And we the imposter,
in our final call. 

A few catch our last show.
Unwitting, they s on cue,
our fatal prelude,
our convulsive caricature,
our final self-deprecation.

A clown milking our last mockery,
our closing burlesque pratfall, 
our irrevocable tremor,
our departure in floodlights.  

The guffaws intend no harm.
No one knows our real name.
We are just the familiar disguise
of impulsive chuckles.

Yes, the stage is our world,
where we regale in our farcical regalia,
where we playact the death we die,
defined abruptly only by the privation of others,
their season of grieving like elephants.

Perhaps it’s better this way,
decomposing, never to be recovered,
just the sound of laughter lost, 
or the fading fragment in someone’s 
sleepless night.

Published The Magnolia Review 03/2020

August Trance

Watching the clouds at dusk
   and the deer in flight. . .
      I wait for these beauties to cross.

The hue of the sky
   morphs from ebony ~ scores navy blue;
       headrests of angels tucked away.

Camry headlights illuminate
   the warm-green of oak and moss;
        unsettled as the shadows shift.

The floodlights hover
   over the blue mountain poly-tarp
      with potential nightlife.

Exciting the thrill
   of heightened landscape — friends
       of the sun, strangers at midnight.

Diversely the ho hum
   of security, under the lamplight. . .
        in front of the smart t.v.

nevertheless

August trance of romance
   the images framed —
      God of fame, gifted them.

8/7/2019

• Short Floodlights Poems
• Famous Floodlights Poems
• Best Floodlights Poems
• Read Floodlights Poems
• Long Floodlights Poems
• Floodlights Quotes