Walking down a lane, strewn with withered leaves,
I watch as they twirl and pirouette in Autumn's chill wind
leading them in a rhythmic dance that it skillfully weaves
as they plummet, leaving branches naked and chagrinned.
There's a true spark of vigor in the breeze of Autumn's call.
One I am quite happy to answer in poetic verses composed
about a family trip to the pumpkin patch, amid hues of Fall
when Nature's boldest color palette is so vibrantly exposed.
It's time for gathering together, and offer words of thanks
for the bountiful food and the beauty of a harvest moon,
and children Trick-or-Treating; scary Halloween pranks.
There's a crispness in the air and firewood to be hewn.
I get so excited when my favorite season approaches
and foliage gloriously blazes in shades of rust and gold.
Too quickly the coldest season of the year encroaches.
I'm not enamored by Winter when shivering with cold.
From this lane, I watch geese flying to a warmer clime,
their vee formation clear to see as to the South they go.
But before Winter takes command there's enough time
to enjoy these golden days of Fall, before the first snow.
I gaze up into the swoon of night,
forbidden thoughts of you, swallowed by the moon.
An authentic surprise…
A magnetic dimension…
a precarious invention indeed.
Our creed...
Every word...
Every thought freed.
A whole world waiting between,
what I had dreamed…
what I had imagined…
I feel you, sacred, like Tamarind
or Tiger Lily...
Slowly, quietly, absolutely!
You appear, here…
A home that’s been waiting in my heart,
debating this art now on display,
Just an array of sunrays in every way.
Rekindled intention of a love dimension.
Oh, what an exquisite invention!
As I gaze up into the swoon of night,
The moon so dazzlingly bright.
Your eyes give rise to this sweet kind of wise.
And there, in your eyes, still…
The moon so gloriously full,
As I feel a euphoria of wonderful.
Don’t go, don’t float away this time…
I need your light for my words to take flight,
for the poet to delight...
Set the mind alight...
Forbidden fire...
I cannot write without your desire.
you barf baster again
washbowl always amplify serious
burden but buttress can
gloriously grandstand crumpled expunging
never negotiate prolonged affliction
center choppy crabbedness extract
stillness for greenback stockholding
that ascribe brandish backsliding
gastrogavage plumping faintness and
your wedding will be
unalterable fluttering caring desirableness
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 24–30, 2026)
fireproof ruby
on the humming horizon ,
outsail our venturesome
stillness prolonged .
fluttering gloriously
my narcissus !
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 24–30, 2026)
Light shimmered upon the lake
Reflections of Luna's golden glow
She reigned in midnight blue skies
Gloriously glimmering before my eyes
We have built the loom of velvet and of nerve,
wove thick silk over the glaring, naked Sun.
Then drowned the blinding beam we couldn't serve,
in this sweet, narcotic bliss: we have won.
We took the brilliant, cold, dissecting mind,
fused it to gut-rot, raw, animal lust -
two magnets locked, a Frankenstein refined,
embodied in a cage of breathing dust.
And in this meat-rigged, gloriously cursed frame,
we grope for truth like blind men feeling fire.
Adorning every scar with an ornate name,
enslaved by the wary design of desire.
Now rip the stitches. Tear the sacred shroud.
Unlace the golden corsets of the mind.
Shed the thick, perfumed armor of the proud,
and leave the clever, grasping self behind.
Peel back the skin, the ego, and the pride -
let the raw, incandescent engine flare.
There is no "you" or "I" to hide inside,
only the blinding light, stripped entirely bare.
Sautéed psalms of silver strong
Believing in youth as maturity soothes
It is as it should be in my heart
No longer obsessed with less
Teal tears baptize and bless
Lust all that fuss dismissed
Creating a fuchsia foundation
For a clean heart of love so artistic
Kisses create passionate pulsing poetry
Amethyst heart fails to be imperfect
Yet victorious gloriously worth it
All the waiting praying forsaking
Of the wrong one’s led to
Love’s lavender ladder
Where superior intimacy awaits
Baking basking in indigo intimacy
Singing heart hymns
Turquoise touches melting them
From one note into one song
That dotes strokes sings steams
Hotter than July’s jade dreams
Purple passion new yet old fashion
Perfectly imperfect and ravishing
The little bride had a terrific marriage
The groom never felt any way but single
She reported about their union in gloriously complimentary ways
ignoring love letters left in her car by his girlfriends
The groom never wanted to be married
He felt roped into it, hogtied, lassoed, squirming and struggling
She bragged about the cupcake he brought her once in twenty years
She was in a marriage of one, defending him until the day he left for good
In the deepest realms of my soul I sing
Some ballads, some parodies - how I feel.
The subjects can be about anything.
The most important factor is it's real.
My heart sings "the chorus a poet bleeds"
It's in the nature of a poetess.
This melody meets our innermost needs,
The effects of this, my heart wants to stress.
For one time "I kissed an opera octave"
And it played to the tune of poetry.
I'll dance to this song til I meet the grave,
As it's who I am and it's part of me.
The bells of the soul gloriously ring!
The Hymn Of The Heart I joyfully sing!
Oh cheese! I confess my devotion
to thee, to your curdled, cultured,
gloriously gooey arts.
Cheddar calls my name
with the confidence of someone
who knows I’ll always say yes.
Brie seduces softly
all buttery whispers
and melt-in-the-middle promises.
Gouda is no better
strutting in like a snack-scented celebrity
with that smug smoky grin.
Even Swiss tempts me
holes and all~
proof that imperfection can still be delicious.
I try to resist, but the dairy aisle knows me
always greeting me like an old friend
who always talks me into trouble.
So I surrender again
armed with water crackers,
a hopeful heart, and zero regrets.
This morning the earth is gloriously alive
every living thing green, glistening, glowing
with the golden sunrise
and the world stirs with the Old Magic again
enough to make even the skeptics believe in fey queens and Underhill
tree nymphs and selkies
and the spirit of every thing unseen and immortal, sleeping
waiting for some foretold seeker to waken them from enchanted dreams
The sweet breeze is a song unsung, ever changing and mysterious
begging the minstrels and musicians to follow her and learn of true music
of things we cannot grasp but yearn to understand
of life and death and all the secrets in between
This morning is like poetry
something sacred and transcendent, transient
vibrant and untouchable
crystal cluster scintillate on etheric arm silvery
throned in centre I sit pert alert
observing galaxies glitter gloriously at golden gate
silent stars circling dance luminosities, flawlessly
ordained with eternal breath echoing eerie
I shake ringed jewels from cobalt space ~
Hard not to love Dylan Thomas’s tall tales
Each gloomy day may just tip those scales
Sends you off the rails when all else fails
Dilly dally schoolboys get cat of nine tails
Go doolally rally in the valley hard as nails
Don't cuss no faff or fuss for us Taff males
Knew along with a fair few Cymru crew's hue
Shared view that no where else has in spades
Cascades of so many gloriously grey shades
Dylan boozy villain mutters hip hop hooray
Gusts bluster beneath his sails on his travails
Trooping way this colour can't be kept at bay
Muster bulbous tinted voluptuous glinted bales
Proudly ride loudly in the night on his coattails
Very fond of merry vagabond's beyond the pales
Hail the true Withnail's escapades made in Wales
Don't harangue pang for meringue gang at play
Not a gimmick pray clouds don't go away hold sway
Rollick then frolic & fossick.. a limerick for any day
Outdoor foray adore bucolic score kaleidoscopic GREY
372.
The Prayer of a Warrior's Heir
Oh Father God, this is the best time to make me a millionaire
This is the greatest moment to be merciful & fair
Merciful to the one being thrown into lion's lair
Fair to the one who cannot escape the snare
Consider this not a temptation nor dare
So with Thy miracles, I can gloriously share!!!
Listen to the Prayer of a Warrior's Heir
The grandson of a soldier allied to those with golden hair
Whose national emblem is still under our care
For their country's our jewel so precious & rare
Whose relation with ours no one can impair
Although our system is corrupt & unfair
Prices going up from veggies to fare
Stomachs are empty, pockets are bare
Yet the aristocrats' banks eternally glare
Glaring with gold they're reluctant to share
Where is your Christianity? Where is your care?
-07/11/2015
(Dumarao)
*My Prayer Poems for Ultimate Victory Collection
Sleep, my son,
hush, hush, little one.
Your father's heart hums for you,
your mother's heart longs for you.
It’s eventide;
darkness wraps the world in black velvet,
yet the moon shines gloriously,
and the stars weave a lullaby,
all for you, my son.
I cherish you, boy.
Your worth surpasses the rarest emeralds;
your laughter stitches my frail soul,
and your sleeping face undoes me.
You and I—
we are of the same essence,
the same murmured wish to the heavens.
You are the yearning of my old soul,
the answer to dreams whispered in silence.
And I love you—
beyond what any words can say.
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