It is late September again.
Under a warming sun, your hand holds my hand.
Now the horizon sits – a silent spectator.
When gently huffs the wind,
twilight cascades upon my skin.
We lay in misty vapor from
dusk’s bursting promise
as ink paints a panorama of primrose.
As luminous streams of stars
paint my poetic sky,
stirring my moon-swept soul,
soft fire is his eyes.
I glow through starlight,
embracing our marrow’s warmth.
Let the strongest of winds come -
our hand hold will never end.
balls of lightning
scrape the darkness
off my bedroom window
desert hills illuminated
thundering growls
of a grumpy giant
rumble through the night
while my pillow squishes
against my chest
like you
loud huffs and puffs
scatter twigs, leaves and dust
across the concrete
sky's all swollen up
and the earth pants
in anticipation
bucking
to meet the clouds
ravished trees rustle
thirsty for so long
dry blades of grass
stand so soo straight
straining to be engulfed
a pregnant pause
while sheets of silent light
splinter into x-rays
of desperation
and fertile longing
she holds her breath
quivering
and the universe explodes
smashing, crashing
stabbing the ground
splitting it wide open
to swallow torrents
descending drenching
tearing and rending
filling and drilling
penetrating
saturating
soaking and drowning
gasping for air
mad rushing recedes
into the lulling drizzle
she absorbs
until the moon is gone
and mouth so dry
I wake face buried
in the soft folds
of what comforts me
these days
and you're waiting
for the wake up call
you never wake up to
(you know)
rid of thoughts
washed away
evaporated
it's a new day
love
where gently huffs the wind
in clicks of seconds undefined,
my entire being becomes aware
how grasping unto this moment,
this flow of Now slips from
time , as sunray beats the light
way down to the ground:
inside this space where quiet trails,
a lake of senses rivers on
fluid in motion, while flowers gaze--
asking for rain-- their cheeks
turned upward to lambent sky and
circles of butterflies buzz guiding
this path...I find myself letting go
without words to mar this scene;
a fluent kind of sacredness which
connects me to presence unadulterated...
and winds sigh, 'pray tell, what time is it?'
my answer, I do not know.
Fred is always ready for fisticuffs
Any excuse to get even for sighs and huffs
Has bruised many knuckles to prove this to you
Daily has at least one fight, and sometimes two.
Jailed in ’92 when his best friend was dead.
We were not sure it was even good ole Fred
Could not prove it was him, I guess.
Used to get beaten up regularly by his sister Tess.
Beware of the dingo and watch out for your goat,
he hates our current leader, but is unable to vote.
He’s been doing hard time for relations with a horse,
he finally escaped but then he was caught, of course.
Back to Yuma he will go in a red dress and cuffs,
sleeveless I might add as he huffs and puffs.
He’s pretty sneaky this dingo and he’s fond of our landscape,
if he catches wind of your sheep he might try to escape.
I pray Terry and Dave keep a close eye on this chap
the dingo is not picky about what he puts on his lap.
He’s a menace to ranchers and all animals in town,
even in the car park, on the low he is down.
The good folk in Milton Creek will surely watch for his return,
this dingo is full of disease and spreads a rash that will burn.
Don’t try to be a hero, if you hear him talking rough,
he’s been working his fingers and he was born keyboard tough.
I hear a rustling in the leaves
As the wind huffs and heaves
A storm is coming ever near
A rustling in the leaves I hear
Gray clouds roam across the sky
Some leaves swirl up on high
Thunder rumbles in the dome
Across the sky gray clouds roam
The rain will fall for a while
And make the land more fertile
Flowers seem to love it all
For a while the rain will fall
A rainbow shows its many hues
As the sky regains its blues
A pot of gold are at the end of those
Its many hues a rainbow shows
9-7-2022
Afternoon Snowstorm in January
David J Walker
What else would I dream about
in January
When the chill is enough to kill
All incentive
And the north wind huffs its wicked breath
In a cruel Laugh
What else would I dream about except
a certain day in a
Far away June
The 10 O’clock sun blazing its tune to
The roar of the lawnmowers
Joining the song
Shorts and a t-shirt is all we had on
And new flip flops that knew
to keep time all along
the sweet smell of fresh mown grass
and the shrilled laugh of children flying
On swings that become wings
against a summer sky
What else would I dream about when
An ice storm sets in
except the
Cherry Icee’s we bought
At Gordon Moore’s drug store
For a dime
There was Cherry and Cola
Root beer and Limon Lime
We started to notice that
Girls were different
A mystery that would never be
Solved
What else would I dream about
in the concession
to an afternoon snowstorm
in January long gone
The wolf
When I was a child,
I dreamt of white picket fences,
And cuddling on a coach.
Long walks on a beach,
And hot chocolate on a winters’ night.
Instead three months into marriage.
I was welcome with a fist.
My dreams were scattered into nightmares of horrors and pain,
My hopes were blowing up in vain.
Although life was growing inside me.
It did not stop the pain.
More beatings and humiliation,
Leads to lies, to family, doctors and friends.
How long must I keep on?
Or my walls will crumbling down.
My wolf is not outside my house,
That blows my house down.
He lied his way inside,
And broke my guard down.
Like a pig prepared for slaughter,
He broke me piece by piece down.
His howls was just as worst as bites,
He brought his wrath down with might.
Can someone please come rescue me?
From the big bad wolf,
Whose huffs and puffs,
Blow me down.
Date: 6/08/21
Contest: Word Play Poems with Play -on-word Raison D'etre--Poetry
Sponsor: John Anderson
There was a distant mournful pitch
a tease that played push and pull with the clouds
fierce, frightful, frenzied perpetual motion,
cirrus, cumulus, altostratus mix at play;
first,
grays, darkened purples, subtle blue patches of fluff and stuff
icy white tinged ivories that cling to every gust;
riding in on the restless racing zephyr winds
tossed and tumbled, twisted and teased through the trees
whipping, swaying, bouncing up and down repeatedly;
a lurch, a bend, a breaking twig on every branch
catkins and samaras of sugar maple glide
clutching in the discordant snips and snags of huffs and puffs
riders in the wind, catching transport in every breezy gale
rushing untethered from west to east, north to south
in the race to reach the open air freed upon the seas.
Where conifers gaily waltz tempos evergreen
Unspoiled by human deeds, pure, and pristine,
Eagles soar there, spanning freedom wings
And trees gently whisper to rhythmic bird trills
Echoing grey owls, blue jays, robins, crossbills,
Hopping, jumping, circling, frolicking in breeze
Reveling with hatchlings, feeding on berries
As sun rays filtering-in on wildflowers glow
Oscillating shadows in gusting, windy, woes
Amidst bears’ huffs, woofs, raging ugly growl
When raccoons coyly snarl at foxes’ feral-howl
Hiding from pitter-patter of tropical rainfall
In heavenly paradise as birdsongs toll daylong
Serenading the land where liberty is paramount
In forest of my dreams’ blossoming sanctuary~
A temple, a hideaway, a refuge, an ecosystem,
A reserve for humanity, a shrine for sanctity,
In equilibrium, edifying calmness and peace
Where elixir of sacred life flows in holy streams
Sustaining earth’s renewal in tranquil harmony.
April 17, 2021
Placed 3rd: In the forest of my dreams premium contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Placed 1st: All yours (Apr 24) contest
Happiness holds a historical record for having a heavenly holiday
Her husband’s husky half adds hardy hilarity huffs to her hoorays
Handy huffing hints of horribly honorable hearty humor handling Halifax
She send them out in troops of ten, in huffs.
The mushroom brigade, the mushroom puffs.
They were mighty and fun, and fine and frisky.
The mushroom puffs, all full of mush, some risky.
Her steed held steady, as the army advanced.
His queen on tight, her face barely glanced.
As the mushroom puffs brought in their prey.
They dragged up raccoons, frogs and rabbits so gray.
The mushroom puffs were mighty and mean.
And ever so loyal to Stanpapa, their fairy Queen.
She loved their girth, their dance, their devilish way.
They were her favorite troops each and every day.
lounging on the bench
tender gust envelopes me-
a scent minty as citrus
its wing releases
soft cuddle thinning away-
to blow last huffs of fall's flair
Contest- Spin A Sedoka
Sponsor- Nette Onclaud
2 Nov 2020
They are all laughing and guffawing.
But they do not read the books I do.
And they do not have my heartfelt messages.
The ones that are so absolute
That I know what I know without knowing how
Yet I do know. Verification comes in goosebumps.
It is an inner knowing none of them have.
I do not tell them either
For it is something else they would laugh about.
What is going on? I ask them.
John thinks aliens are real, Tim says.
They explode into enormous carnival rides of laughter.
John gets mad and huffs off. I follow him.
Come on back! Someone yells. I ignore this.
I think we do have aliens I tell him. He says “yeah, right.”
Don’t bother, an inner voice says, but I ignore it.
I have thought it for a long time, I say.
He says something means and shoves off.
An inner voice says “told you.”
Yes, I knew better.
I had been trying to get someone to listen for the past ten years.
It is an inner knowing that aliens do exist.
My neck saturates itself with goosebumps
Verifying that aliens do exist.
That is how I know.
(I apologize, as I have been busy writing a novel
and have not posted poetry for a long time!
I pray you, forgive my absence, and read this
little contribution, written with heart!)
Dost Thou, in seeking Love, mistake Romance
For Love’s sweet angel, calling out to thee?
Romance is but a dull fellow, who pants
And huffs and barks incessant, up the tree!
But Love, O Love’s a King in beggar’s clothes,
Who sits at th’ gate each day, to see the Queen—
And when she rides forth, he presents a rose
‘Tis all that he may do—his heart is clean!
For she hath sworn her beauty and her heart
To another King than he, greater, and kind
Who hath won her troth by simple, honest art
And purity and gentleness of mind.
O, do not with Romance, elope, and find
Love’s greater Beauty lost, and fallen behind!
Related Poems