"May, queen of blossoms, and fulfilling flowers,
what pretty music shall we charm the hours?"
~ Lord Edward Thurlow
Lily of the valley
charming me
Little hawthorns blossom
Look awesome
Lilacs, irises bloom
No more gloom
Nature's music ranting
Enchanting
Exhilarating scene
May's the queen.
While powdered flakes gently spill from heaven
Like embroidery of gold tassels kissing buds
And hawthorns ,the frost twinkles and drifts
Into winter’s beautifully formed marquee,
tangy the vapor of her skin
wafting into nightfall’s’ interlude.
Enthralled, I shudder at the rhythm
Of her dance : icicles flitting in liquid
Crystal taps on silver alleys... a movement
glossed by the spades of eve’s lanterns:
She is a mystery, a prayer, a holy angel
That lays her sparkling white gown
On pearlized brocade sewn into fabric of snow…
A winter’s luminescence casting an alchemy
That my own fingers, in a pirouette,
unfurl then coil into a solstice's hymn...
The ivory spray of moonlit beads, swaying
‘Glory be, Oh glory be.”
Darl! Let's go to Manhattan beach,
There we can catch some fish,
Then you'll cook a nice dish,
That we'll eat under the Beech.
This time, if Jennifer goes,
She'll want to eat a lot of Mangoes,
Then we'll send some by cargoes,
Like we did when we were on hol's in Fargo.
Oh! That reminds me, dearie!
Can you help me cut down this Cherry?
Don't think I am going nuts;
'Cos I earlier made you climb that Walnut.
Just like on Long Island, If not for Jennifer;
I would've broken my spine,
When you wanted me to cut down a Connifer,
But I still got injured by a falling Pine.
Long Islands! That's where we saw many Rowans,
In a forest planted by the Romans,
I thought I'd find some of their treasures,
It would've made our memories more to measure.
Those are not Rowans, they are Hawthorns!
Hawthorn? That tree I climbed was without thorns,
Anyway, there's a lot of fun playing with trees,
There's no such adventure that nature gives more free.
Sanguine lies
topple the true being
errant calls beckon you
Tears in your eyes
seek fortune in the east
under cloudy skies
where hawthorns roam
There's a winding scope of reasons
song on a mossy bank
everything clear under open sky
Flowers affirm my constant love for you.
Sweetheart, prepare to receive these
from January to December:
carnation, violets
daffodils, daisies
hawthorns, roses
buttercups, gladiolus
aster, marigold
chrysanthemum, hollies...
Never will I let oblivion
vanquish my vow*...
So help me, God.
( A https://www.pinterest.com/pin/578431145904755821/ and 40 words)
*Ecclesiastes 5:5 Better is it that thou shouldest not vow, than that thou shouldest vow and not pay.
July 29, 2022
2nd place, "Short verse inspired by pictures" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Lisa YY; judged on 8/9/2022.
When dreamtime leads me to a mystic land
I saunter quietly ... climbing a hill,
For the kingdom of fairies and elves reigns
With gossamer wings and jewels in their hair.
A sapphire castle laps with ambient winds
Robed in diamante from godly hands.
Sweet mist of air and silver voices echo
Through quivering rock pools of hawthorns green.
This lofty place thrills bright imaginings
Upon glittered sands like tiers of limestone,
Hard marbles and finely-polished pebbles
Lie dotted through rainbow of stardust ,untold.
Tasseled wands bestow spells on the courtyard
Beguiling my eye with pixie- waltz steps
Until, at the height of enchanted awe
Fairy Queen lends magic, then fades in dreams!
Second Chance # 3 Contest of Broken Wings
Posted 4/21/2016
Judging Finalized 4/27/2016
Somehow, before the call of morn
When misty fog drifts on hawthorns,
And daybreak hails a new sunset
I trace past moments now at rest.
SWAI
Captcha Contest of Judy Konos
4.28.2015
In moments when the twilight sparks
To gently flare as dark embarks,
Tender comes eve swinging a hum
While air-brushed clouds, on flight, succumb.
Yet, through the lull of sky, I hear
Their voices billow quite unclear
Whispering mildly, still I know
Those refrains from seasons ago.
Somehow, before the call of morn
When foggy mist glides on hawthorns,
And daybreak hails a new sunset
I trace past journeys now at rest.
Amidst the quiver of my dreams,
Beloved voices float midstream
On to pathways that bless each name;
Marked deeply in my soul, aflame.
Andrea Dietrich's Let's Get Technical Contest
~new poem~
Lashed together
for a better tomorrow,
ending war of words.
Heralding the new
moon I sacrifice
my becoming age
I will sleep now
on hawthorns in bleeding
flames of forest.
Satish Verma
Evening wore a floral dress.
Blue birds announced their departure
opening red wings.
You know them, buffs
of night who would not wait for the moon
to rise and I had nothing to hide.
These tragic toes
black with gangrene
still want to mount on red clovers.
That anatomy of desire
will dance with snakes. Who knows
the beautiful anxiety of lying on hawthorns ?
Satish Verma
It was a removed behavioral aspect
of a vivisection;
the moon had left
the grey anatomy of earth.
Crazy,
yes the system shows
sheer lunacy. The prudence
was chasing a smoke.
A long winged golden eagle
soars high for a prey of short limbs.
The opaque ankles
will not take the victim very far.
A cut-glass vase will have
an unrelenting rose, who was not
responsible for crucification,
like hawthorns.
Satish Verma
Ecological Colonization -
"the action by a plant or animal of establishing itself in an area."
Each spring the pine trees become quite distraught
considering it a mere childish ploy
that neighb'ring maple trees without much thought
must litter the ground with their silly toys.
The willful whirly birds with tensity
find life each fall equally distressing
since pine needles have a propensity
for clutter by untidy undressing.
The hybrid elms propose a postulate
attempting proof that those who are living
with a roommate's rude failure to placate
must learn the pensive art of forgiving.
The plan was to establish parity
between the two trees, the maple and pine,
by having each tree speak apology
putting request for pardon on the line.
Sadly the prose from the trees went south bound
when a pedantic oak cast its acorns
like aspersions upon their common ground
and the gum shed its sap on the hawthorns.
Irreverent arsenic of lake bottom
was seeping in me
I was riding on waves, moon-stuck.
The nude shot
of anemone, blindfolded
after the criminal assault.
Why they were throwing the lewed comments ?
A raw cave
of white pain, drags the deity out
and dances on hawthorns.
The butchers become sick,
sick to the bones.
O democracy, king was not wise,
wise was not king.
Satish Verma
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