How can I, make you move
When I can't find words to describe
how I feel inside, so I cry.
I close my eyes sometimes.
To pacify the time, this fragile
thing called life.
we all have stars in our eyes
some have dreams that died
it shapes the wake of our life's
To please Lady Muse, all my heart to bare,
I tried invoking her with chiselled verse,
That, the pure pleasure of my pen’s all hers,
Yet, left I was at blank paper to stare.
I sought some odd words archaic and rare,
And tried to paint the bleakest face of woes,
Which, often a desperate poet toes,
Fervent did I appeal that she be fair.
The words when came, came halting as if shy
And listless, I failed her bulwark to breach,
Nothing whatso worked and I knew not why,
I failed, the fount of words resource to reach,
I still coaxed my pen a new line to mint,
A voice whispered: hearken to your heart's hint.
_________________________________________
Sonnet | 03.11.2008 | poem
Poet’s note: There are times when no matter what you do, words desert your pen as this sonnet says. Notice, the Volta is hinted at the beginning of the sestet, but its high tide occurs only at the poem-ending couplet.
Driving to the country,
There was a surprise -
Hints of orange trying
Autumn on for size.
Green is still prevailing;
Summer’s hanging in,
But some leaves are taking
Fall out for a spin.
Chilly nights are coming,
With them Nature’s tints.
Soon there will be orange,
More than just as hints.
when we were intense
we had been living in tents
with all their extents
having high expense
with huge head that became dense
not making much sense
much intelligence
from sinning which way prevents
need a few more hints
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
RiverSea Plantation
Bolivia, NC
"Bitter truth remains bitter, can be sugar coated but underneath it is all the same."
If I could predict,
The happening,
Going to happen,
I would hadn't done this.
If I could change,
The past,
Which has happened,
I could redo it all over.
If only I got,
The calings beforehead,
The callings of future,
I could have save the day.
But the reality,
Which remains,
And will remain,
The same forever.
I can hear
the wind making snowballs
fading leaves crisping
chattering acorn crazed squirrels
a soft rustle of chilled bird feathers
I can see
low hanging branches
offerings to short nibblers
the beginning blush of a Red Maple
the edge of the day creeping closer
I can feel
the excitement
of distant V’s
chittering sparrows at sunrise
scampering squirrels
school bus arrivals
the hints of fall
gently claiming its season
John G. Lawless
©9/30/2022
Hints of you wandered
about amidst the uncharted
places expected to detour
emotional haste borrowed
from a time where morale
sat on a shelf of self doubt
while you employed balance
I craved difference growth
quite in tuned with your
mental wrath beneath the
tarnished silver spoon
you seemed to covenant
so well an yet I sufficed
the after math as the after
thoughts withered though
we were never meant to be
Written by Mrs Yolanda Joy Nicholsen
Hints of Autumn
The air kisses night with a chill
As if summer forgets herself
In scarlet sunsets reveries
And ignores crickets whispered hints.
Summer days grow shorter still as
The air kisses night with a chill
When seconds race against the sun
Bearing clues of gold autumn tide.
Misty veils hide her fading smile
In amber red instead of green
The air kisses night with a chill
Thick dew waits to ice orange pumpkins
In maize afternoons summer dreams
Her autumn bridegroom takes her hand
To lead through blue frosty dawns when
The air kisses night with a chill.
8-16-22
Contest: Hint of Autumn
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Hints of Autumn are so subtle,
like ripe crops, awaiting harvest.
And nights that darken earlier,
after the dog days of August.
Falling leaves appear overnight,
hints of Autumn are so subtle.
Like a pumpkin turning orange,
under leaves of emerald green.
Canopies start changing colors:
even though October's far off.
Hints of Autumn are so subtle:
like, children heading back to school.
And other subliminal signs;
like, honking geese migrating south.
Although Fall is celebrated,
hints of Autumn are so subtle.
As lonely sighs drift across the mountaintops
Mists linger ‘til midmorning, caressing trees
It's evident that the temperature slowly drops,
For a chill is accompanying the August breeze.
Slight hints of color nestle in along the crown
As lonely sighs drift across the mountaintops
A few leaves, growing tired, are drifting down
For autumn leans heavily on August’s props.
Predicting summer’s sodden humid day’s sops
We can enjoy hints of coming autumn’s glamor
As lonely sighs drift across the mountaintops
They call to mind the end of summer’s clamor.
Be still and you can hear echoes of September
Chants of “the hills are alive” music never stops,
The lovely days of August, always to remember
As lonely sighs drift across the mountaintops.
Written August 11, 2022
winter drops
hints
in the pre-dawn
hours
slick surfaces
frost-covered
windshields
last night's
drunks
frozen stiff
carted off
to the morgue
When I was young, my Grandpa sometimes used
expressions that seemed corny at the time.
“The Lord gave you two ears, but just one mouth”
revisits me each time my face turns red
because I used my mouth more than my ears.
Fast forward fifty years. It’s very late.
My aging bones won’t get the rest they crave
until the lines my lamp illuminates
convey precisely what I long to say.
I then will lay aside my well-worn book
and favored pen, released to seek sound sleep.
Slight hints of Grandpa often make their way
into my poems. Those, I plan to share
with grandkids, who will smile and say, “That’s good,”
but not with much conviction! They will learn—
I hope—as I did, many precious gems
lie waiting to be mined from “corny” lines
composed by aging poets in the night.
Date posted: June 25, 2020
Poetry Contest Title: The Old Scribe Placed 12th of 13
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
I feel it in the morning dim,
when I head out to drive to work,
a bite of chill that saps the vim,
tough now it seems just a flirt.
Again, when I drive home later,
auburn fringe of a maple tree,
soon to attract the spectators,
from the dull steel of the city.
I spot it in a gaudy sign
that advertises back-to-school,
weighs heavily in children’s minds,
all bemoaning a fate so ‘cruel.’
Next, in the light of our great sun,
more slanted than it was before,
the light feels like it’s tired, done,
ever retreating, more and more.
At dusk I hear the geese fleeing,
they are making for the south too,
their constant honks sound like bragging,
“We’re out of here, sucks to be you.”
And on the roads more deer will go,
the rut is only weeks away,
cars must avoid scrambling does
chased by bucks looking for play.
Most will bemoan the summer’s end,
but I think I am fine with it,
never fond of heat that offends,
or insects…I always get bit.
Soon I can go out for a walk
without having to sweat at all,
no mosquitoes or chiggers stalk,
I welcome these first hints of fall.
Pastel colored emotions
Tangerine flavors too
Misty blue soft notions
Many shades and hues
Sweet and salty delights
Candy pink colored love
Dream shades at nights
Fluffy clouds from above
All words lavender teases
Tickling my mind with peach
Yellow color surely pleases
As pale green thoughts reach
My mind dancing in tints
Multi colored sun rays
All spring colored hints
The sights of springs days
Give Me Hints That Make Sense
Give me some hints that do make sense;
Things have been separated by a fence;
Poetry writing,
Is inviting;
Suspense resulted in making you tense.
Jim Horn
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