IN AN OF A ONCE WILTED FLOWER BLOOMING AGAIN
Hey, paper flowers
Don’t grow
And love is not
A fun plaything:-
You tickled my heart,
And I giggled silly tears;
You then reeled me in
As I feasted on your sweet bait;
Then, you left, leaving me like
An old cemetery: full and lifeless:-
Now I ride a roller coaster of emotions
Up and down the tainted rails,
Life all so often travels:-
However, companions of pain and fear,
Are ceasing to be old road dogs,
Without whom I can’t survive;
And you will soon become
A faded keloid, my heart
Once tearfully bore:-
Now blooming
In the healing garden
Of passion, I fragrantly grow;
Waiting to be plucked and watered
In a vase of true and everlasting love:
May my given love, nourish your growth:-
Of Heaven's influence, benign
Angel's, beneficent
On the year, the life, through Spring, through Love
Fragrantly what is leant.
Winds of honest scented
insistence glided my wings
through life’s many dramas.
Raw breezes fragrantly
touched my unsure skin
with soothing perfumes
promising my faith was
not errantly consumed.
I thought, go until I had it,
not go until the path quit
without signs I had tried.
I imagined a target future
sat for my eventual,
precisely aimed, bullseye.
That’s a notion I did covet,
even leaned it towards perfect.
If bottled, wind's cologne could
release sachets of peace to
waft serene blends upon and
through times of disquietude.
Idyllic illicit illusion…
Complicit daydream delusion…
Explicit panoply profusion…
Other worldly garlanded gems..
Purring poetic…balletic..stirring kinetic aesthetic..
Absurdly drop atop delicious stems..
Heavenly blue hue...serenity’s serendipitous shade..
Or purple patch so plush…fairies blamelessly blush..
Bucolic blossom hush... mother nature's made..
Garnishing..varnishing.. intricate forest floor laid..
Magical mist…delicate..sumptuously sprayed...
Trysts persist…unctuously dappled glade..
How can you resist..not be swayed?
Flagrantly decadently displayed.
Fragrantly delectably conveyed...
Casts seasonal smorgasbord spells..
Marvel at the mythical majesty..
Spring’s cocooned woven tapestry..
Festooned filigree of bluebell dells
Just one cup in the morning; no added flavor
Ceylon tea or Assamese is my preference
Each drip and each sip I so favor and savor
Betwixt too light and too strong. This makes difference
Its red-black-orange mixture I fondly adore
My chocolate face waves betwixt its white-ash smoke
There's a fragrantly sumptuous taste in its core
To sip this nectar with me join a few townsfolk
It's poured into my cup in a hundred-degree
I start sipping. It does not hurt my lips or tongue
The process goes on till I, finally, could see
Not a tinge is left, and I feel extremely young
A cup of hot black tea is the day's protector
Can't I compare it with the heavenly nectar...?
09 February 2023
A Simple Pleasure Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
Frequently, fragrantly followeth I
Fickle and fallow and famously shy
New love is true love and true love is known
Not by the seed but the need to be grown
Fortune may function to fashion your fate
Finding the future of passion is great
If your position is painfully pressed
Feign your audition and gainfully rest
Blamelessly fighting the urge of the pack
Shamelessly citing the courage they lack
Purely delighting the young and the old
Surely inciting the tongue of the bold
Sleeping is meant to be well by the way
Reaping her scent by the smell of the day
Keeping her bent to the vent is the key
Seeping that went from the tent next to me
Leaping about is the essence of fame
Deepening doubt is the presence of blame
Death is the vagrance of hope in the beast
Life is the fragrance of love in the least.
Submitted to the "Rhyme Rumi Quote" Poetry Contest
On August 11, 2022
Sponsored by Sotto Poet
Purple blooms, lost in amber noontime luster,
Fragrantly crowding, in richest beauty cluster.
Sunshine gold seems to shimmer just for her,
As red butterflies wander, with many a flutter!
Awash in garnets, green trees of summertime,
And golden sapphires, warm roses on a vine,
Sparkle all the memorable days, citrine shine,
And flashing colors, of a diamond sun divine!
Nighttime ebony hues, turned to lovely shades of rose,
And a creamy moon yet shone, about to make its escape.
The song of praise commenced from the emerald treetops,
And other stirrings began the summer's day happenings.
I had awakened by and by, to dreamy roses in the sky!
I was pleased that day, a golden sun was coming my way,
With beauty in its wake, in charmed customary fashion.
The roses from my garden, sat fragrantly in the vase,
Waiting in silent patience, for deep admiration to go by.
A wonderful beginning to an exceedingly promising day,
Wrapped in the warmth of summer's pleasant beginning!
Sleep wouldn't return to me, because day was calling,
And rose tinted daylight, decorated my bedroom walls,
And joy and eagerness crowded the world like sunshine!
Written on April 28, 2021
For: What's in a title in 14-20 lines Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Tulips and lilies never smelled
so fragrantly inebriating
by the lake of the half-moon,
I sense the ineffable mystery
of an alluring and serene evening;
remote breezes so unforeseen
and unquestionably redolent
slightly touch the motionless surface
of the silvery and bluish lake so comely
and limpid while drowsy oaks and spruces
sway their long and thick branches...
as if silence were an act of reverence!
In the deserted town strangely
someone sits on the bend of the lake
of the half-moon as he stares
at the luminescent Northern Star
striking the strings of his guitar
with his skilled, young fingers...
suddenly everything harmonizes
with his beautifully played melody,
but he's so amazed by the splendor of the lake
of the half-moon that he doesn't hesitate
to join the invisible nightingales to praise
the indubitable presence of the Creator!
Graceful: a unique and an exquisitely arranged being.
Gorgeous contours and beauty that ignites that feeling.
Ambitious, intelligent, God-fearing and fully mature;
Undeniably classic qualities of a virtuous woman; for sure.
She clearly knows her most intimate desire and pursues it:
Purpose, passion and persistence ultimately gains her profit.
Her spirited and self-sacrificing character speaks a volume;
A beautiful human embodiment: fragrantly sweet perfume
She assuredly keeps her wits and exudes common sense;
A divine present offered as a help-meet is her true essence.
The astonishing radiance of her smile and alluring kindness;
All a picturesque display of absolute heavenly blessedness.
She’s the kind of woman every mother speaks highly about;
A scintillatingly sweet, vision of special, without a doubt.
End
By: Dion Penville
Leeds, we have a strong City,
Open the gates once more,
For the poor and the needy
And the sting of death we shall devour.
Pour out a prayer unto the heaven
Let Grace expand all our borders.
Leaping high and wide and dwelling
We will bear in the tide all the fears.
We have been in pain, hurt and broken
Brought forth from the wild,
The inhabitants of the earth had fallen
In travail as a woman with a child.
The Lord comes out of his place,
To discipline the inhabitants of the earth.
Leeds has cried out for deliverance,
A new era of hope is springing forth.
Come, people, enter your houses,
And shut the doors behind you.
Establish peace, and righteousness
Let the truth be restored and fragrantly grow.
Hide yourselves for a little moment,
Until the wind of indignation is past.
Lost in the cycle of the world event
Memories of those who dwell in the dust.
The Lord will be a crown of glory
To the remnant of his people,
When the overflowing scourge passes empty
Vanished into the air like a tempest of hail.
fragrantly falling
in green park I love the shade
wisteria trees
musically
on the staff
f major treble
clef keeps me
with only one
note that is
B flat and so
maestro
tap tap
tap your baton
attention
follow
ing his lead
i'm feeling
basso
filled up on
beans so
i'll be
a tuba
fragrantly
playing Rimsky
Korsakov
not even
thinking
of stopping
fingering
flight
not bumbling
the bumblebee
but the spit valve
will
need
drained
at
least
twice
mutton chop whiskers
grandpa puffs cherrywood pipe
dislodging smoke rings
6/22/2019
MagiCicada 13 or 17 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Maureen McGreavy
Syllables: 5/7/5
The Last of the Wine
When the last of the wine
has been poured, red and dry,
and the gold wings of eagles,
burnished by time, dismount the sky.
When the velvet hush of eventide
conquers the ebbing splendor of day
and quick deep laughter, like hope
unraveled, is wilted by time's decay.
Her soft dark eyes will remind me
of love's fragments gathered in bloom;
a bouquet of passion's blossoms
fragrantly spun on love's loom.
And the silent desperate waiting
to swallow up her honeyed breath
will dwell in memory's corridor
until the ardor yields to death.
Stolen hours, like grains of sand,
have been scattered through the years,
venerated by the pain and glory
of our intimacy--and our tears.
The fervent rhythm of her body
has engulfed me in its tide,
interring my dread of failure
where other restive fears reside.
Tasting her where she loves me,
milking the kisses from her lips,
has infused my soul with purpose
and inspired lyric fingertips.
When the sweet magic is ended
and night bird wings mount the sky,
our adventure will have the flavor
of aging wine, red and dry
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