Inlaid Poems | Examples

Lights on the river VIII

Quicksilver tendrils
inlaid rivulets flow through
the inky blackness

The Tutu and the Gown: A Fairy's Dilemma

Roaming in the corridor,
The fairy chuckled,
Mesmerized by the beauty of her own dress,
She grew self-assured in her little fairy school.

The multi-colored tutu,
inlaid with wild flowers;
Rivaled her silver sandals,
Which gleamed like her sparkling wings behind.

Then came the final day,
Bidding farewell to her tiny realm,
She moved ahead.

With sadness and excitement intertwined,
She decided to work through,
Until she became the best.

The moment she stepped into the real world,
She realized,
The tutu she wore was nowhere near the fairy gowns.
The praise and love she once received had faded into lies.
Maybe the tutu she wore was the best tutu, but not the best gown.

Carrying the weight of sudden change,
She still chose to enhance her tutu’s grace.
She rushed to the fashion store and cheerfully exclaimed:
"Get me the Cancan underskirt, fabric and shimmery pearls packed!"

The seller shot her an irksome look,
and Demanded fifty golden bricks.

The helpless fairy turned hopeless,
For she could have earned those bricks—
Only if she had a fluffy gown dress.

A Time to Reflect

Quite far we have traversed, in pursuit of goals we chose,
Through troubles and trepidations of seasons in throes;
Sometimes reveling sunshine, sometime in glum of shadows,
Always together~ on barren terrains, or verdant meadows.
 
In albums of yore, we ruminate now, turning pages of life,
Banishing anguish of feelings-forlorn, fuming in strife;
Reminiscing in moments passionate, of love sublime,
Treasured in memories-beloved, accumulated over time.

Harboring wisdom, inlaid in life’s waning phase, as we age,
In realms of reflections, insights-sapient, now we engage;
Learning from knowledge gained, from choices we made,
Accepting with grace, laments of secrets, as yet unsaid.

Regrets unmitigated, voice remorse of unuttered sigh,
Seeking empathy from goodwill of repentant goodbye;
As life tallies good versus bad, that introspections confide,
Eying a tranquil state of mind, devoid of hate and pride.

It’s time to reflect, it’s time to mend, it’s time to befriend,
As journey of life, beaming content, approaches its end;
Living final days in covenants revered, humbly we penned,
Elevating self, in peace of bliss, to heavens we shall ascend.

A story of conditioning

Conditioning 

Is seemingly

What we are..

Patterns inlaid

Are there for 

Comparisons..so that

An appearance might

Be labeled and

Understood..

Such a story may 

Arise...

Labyrinthine

The tangled intricate emotion of love
washes a thin blood red line on the heart
where a glow waits patiently
on the winding path chosen
that leads to a treasure we seek
Where the sun rises in a fiery blaze
like God striking a match on our horizon
   to light the way
through the labyrinthine corridors of the heart
that we find in the eyes of yesterday
measuring whether tomorrow is more bountiful
than the inlaid scars...from a tortured past
filled with perplexing pictures of false dreams
that left our hearts confused
Today we'll travel through the maze of love
   seeking meadows
saturated with purple asters and yellow buttercups
where willowy wisps hang in the air
on rainbow colors of silken wings
   as the soul listens
to the sound of our pulsating heartbeat
that flows through the labyrinth of day and night
   where kisses are yearning
for ardent boundaries of binding arms
that welcome an enchanted heart
   where lifting eyelids surrender
to a vision of lovers searching a sunlit sky
that invites a breathless rapture of treasure
found in the twists and turns of love

Epilogue

In the depths of nights shades,
lies the underworld roots of tentacles and rakes of spades.
This darkness creeps and crawls,
Whispers and echoes screams of a fall.
But not until the error is inlaid.

But fear not, for within your soul,
lies a light that can make you whole.
Let it shine, let it grow,
lamp be oiled by Christs Holy blood shed flow.

For in the midst of darkness and pain,
the heart can still find its refrain.
Through the struggles and the toil,
there lies a beauty in the soil.
A path of cultivate way.

So hold on tight, don't let go,
hold onto the reins.
For there is still hope for the Truth to know you 
and lead you through its gates, to its' Inn of "Heartschambermade".

Let your heart take flight,
be a driver through the dark of night.
Embrace the beauty of its direction and what is right.
For out the darkness beacons a glow. 
The Truth, a place of integrity you can call home.

Flames of Scarlet

The gilding of the canopies
calls upon Autumn's Midas touch.
Whereas amber and orange leaves
get inlaid with gold filigree.

Jack Frost's icy kiss ushers in
the gilding of the canopies.
And with yellow and crimson tints,
Autumn dabbles in abstract art.

Fallen leaves crackle underfoot
as squirrels scamper for acorns.
The gilding of the canopies;
warns them it's time to gather nuts.

The honking geese once more fly south,
over blazing flames of scarlet.
For Autumn colors started with
the gilding of the canopies.

Dreams of An Alter Ego

I make a perfect dry martini,
I read and write and speak Français,
All my suits, and shirts, and shoes are custom-made.
I own a Porsche and Maserati,
A house on Acapulco Bay
With scores of floors of marble tile that's all inlaid.

I have a staff to fetch and carry,
My every wish is their command,
If I drop things, I just leave them where they lay.
All I need do is snap my fingers,
Someone's always close at hand,
And they look after Señor Jim in every way.

I host the most elaborate soirées,
They're in society's upper niche,
On my birthday and, of course, on New Year's Eve,
Where the hoi polloi and high-born
Mingle with the nouveau riche,
And they're all the better for it when they leave.

This all may seem a bit pretentious,
And I don't mean to self-inflate,
For wealth and fame, of course, do not equate with happiness,
But in my dreams my alter ego
Will oftentimes exaggerate
And make seem real what, to be sure, is pure "b..s".

Poetry the Open Form

a
taxonomical
neo-geo
connoisseur
moves on again
to
a totemic
astonishment
 of many

yet
stifling
in every sense
&
in it all
prosaic
 inspiration
 poetically described
 as
 dystopian reimaginings
 of flotsam

a natural
 detritus
embedded
yet
 not belonging
 littered with empty
 kitsch
inlaid with
a peripatetic
identity
&
 linguistic
incomprehensiblity

a
perfected
 undertaking
before
disillusionment
 was growing
into
an insular
 mutely
 societal moment

a
tormented
self-portrait
to
reflect
 the days
but instead
depicted
a  recognition
of
largely passing
 decades
hoisted
&
seared
in
a
retrospective
 survey

Tear

A tear is a moment of truth understood
that is tethered to the birth of pain
   it never falls alone
and flows from the deepest well
hidden in an endless hole of darkness
to leave an unhealable wound
   bleeding from my soul
that bears witness to the pain within
and rips the lining of my heart
to form crumpled flesh of unmeasurable stain
that is inlaid on the face of my sadness
   where nothing feels real
only long streams flowing from my eyes
as the world collapses and I'm trying to breathe
   looking without seeing
trying to stop my soul from bleeding
   wanting to die, needing to live
in this moment of truth
my heart and soul must decide
as they weigh the depth of pain
   on broken scales that have rusted away
from tears that have fallen before in silence

4/13/23
contest Writing Challenge "T" words
sponsor...Constance La France

Forever

Love rises like a full moon
and lights two hearts in glimmers and glows
of timeless emotion, stretching forever

where each kiss is a passionate measure of time
moving the clock hand as hearts bloom
and the fragrant scent of love caresses the soul

welcoming a more gentle world
seen in the afterglow of lover's eyes
who found eternity in every wish fulfilled
as they dance as one soul, one heart
across the romantic floor of Forever
   that's inlaid in their hearts like a precious jewel

2/15/23

contest Writing Challenge-F words
sponsor Constance La France
"Forever"

Purposes

When the sun sets, flecking clouds with diaphanous light and birds whistle daytime’s last summer psalms, we call it night.

We’re moonbathing and Sunny’s features are inlaid with glamorous silver-blue patines. We’ll reawaken soon, our time is measured in assignments, not in hours, days or even seasons.

Responsibility is a villain of our own devices. You can run from it, bolt your door against it, only to find it’s right there - in back of you - smiling like a tiger or a parent.

Unfortunately, the university isn’t a hotel. It’s more of a competition, like those survivor shows.

We’ll enjoy the moonlight, for a few, laconic moments, for it seems to possess a sweet power to cool and calm, but soon our purposes will call, irresistibly, and we’ll return to the performance.
.
.
Merriam Webster: laconic: brief to the point of seeming rude.

Shadowed Ravens Watch

a procession

shadowed ravens watch 
depressive day turns
the winds bring Frost 

Skelton branches clutch 

Ghosts dance after the fall 
The procession crawls 
To the point of vanishing 
Oblong boxes of onyx inlaid 

Crimson glowing deep within 
Secret Furies fly in frightening 
Nightmares flank the regal divinities 

WRAITHs of mourners drift 
White wispy lost memory 
Cast in time back to the precipice
The dark procession reflecting
In Raven's soulless eyes

Spin under a clouded sky 
The color of the dead 
Mourn the passing of gods 
Humanity dips into the Misty void 
Full of creation loss

Deep secrets live buried
Within oblong boxes 
Of Ebony and Crimson 
As amber burn

Ravens clutch skeletal branches 
Their black eyes witness
The serpents procession 
Under these lead-gray skies

The cumulus just holding his breath 
waiting to break has nightmares 

as their vanities pass by...

Love's Ashes We All Burned

Lost loves I've known sometimes appear
to haunt my idle mind
timeless shadows which reappear
in fragments that remind

inlaid scars hang on the heart's wall
tear stains I stumble through
some words spoken I can't recall
those I cannot undo

memories kept of loves I've known
their eyes of passion gone
full of life in the days we'd own
when night begets the dawn

remembering the times, we shared
until we heard goodbyes
in love, we dared when hearts prepared
beneath the star-lit skies

sometimes I wonder, where they are
the ways their lives have turned
those distant days that seem so far
love's ashes we all burned

some found the pathway to my soul
hidden inside my heart
they poured upon me love's control
my soul, I could not part

like an ebb tide, they come and go
to leave an empty shore
lost horizons we'll never know
memories to explore

these loves I've known, I'm grateful for
they helped me through the years
to find the passion at my core
they cost no more than tears

5/22/22

The Sea

The wondrous wonder of the wandering sun
crosses the sea's horizon
in red burning skies of morning
then disappears with the flaming flowing clouds of evening
to leave a purple cloak before the night
where star-lit glows drip beads of light
upon the silk-like surface of a moving sea

beneath this sky a glorious hue of moonlight
lays like liquid gold inlaid on the water's surface
as wind-driven ripples rapidly run to the shore
to form white-crested waves from rising tides
which end on a coastline of traveled sand
tumbling ashore until they vanish
into a sea-soaked shore of tiny pebbles and crushed shells

it's here in this quiet serenity of a vast vibrant sea
I find peace in the perpetual motion of never-ending waves
giving birth to the beauty of this bountiful broth of natural wonder
that fills my soul with its beautiful ballet of eternal bliss

2/21/22 
contest Form-F-Free-Verse...Nature
sponsor Constance La France

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