sky weeping ice tears
hanging lamps on pine branches
illumed by streetlights
Fireflies flicker and light the night
on my walk home through the wood
after a day's fun in the sun
thinking summer should always feel this good
and they look like nymphs to me
dancing quietly on the breeze
flitting hither thither and yon
between the softly-moonlit trees
sending signals to one another
before the dawn and it's too late
like tiny bioluminescent Aldis lamps
flashing to find the perfect mate
In the cosmos where colors collide/
Under a canvas of vibrant pink and purple tide two abstract figures, hats tilted just so/
Stand tall in the galaxy, putting on a show/
Geometric shapes dance in a minimalist spree, Jazz notes shine like stars, wild and free/
Are they space lamp illuminators, or comedians in flight? Telling tales of the universe, in the stillness of night.
They float through the cosmos, shining so bright. UFOs in formation, or cosmic jesters on a space flight/
Bold colors clash, a celestial array, In this otherworldly realm where a new comedy's hybrid imagination is at play/
Saturn lamps flicker, casting shadows on cosmic dust, While alien beings laugh, bursting at the seams, man, what a rush/
So let the jazz flow, let the universe hum, In this vibrant expanse, all are welcome to come/ Join the cosmic comedy and let your worries fade into the Milky Way/
Under the glow of laugh-N- lamps, in this infinite space. Embrace the abstract and one day visit Mars/
For in the heart of the cosmos, we’re all comedians there. So laugh with the aliens, they brought us here, In the vastness of space, we are all going there/
The abandoned Mansion was once owned by the Adams Family.
They were doing a terrific business in their lumberyard at the time.
Day laborers who were not busy were sent over to build their home.
It was gorgeous in its heyday, lovelier than anything else on the block.
There were other ritzy mansions, said my auntie, just not this ritzy.
We stared at the old abandoned Mansion; she looked sad.
Her grass had no roses or lilies, her concrete flower pots were broken.
What a shame, I said. Can we get closer? I want to take a better look.
You cannot go inside, Auntie said, but I think we can peek into windows.
I jumped back and screamed when I reached the window.
There is someone in there! She put her hand out and touched mine.
Two of my little cousins began shrieking in terror.
She made that up, Auntie said. She was trying to scare you.
I know what I had seen, and I was not making anything up.
I never went back, but sometimes I drive by and cringe.
That house is not abandoned.
The lamps inside my home
are quite unique;
Mid-Century Modern-
those styles still speak.
All those remaining now
are deemed antique:
the sixties and
the seventies mystique.
White lucite spun to weave
translucent spheres
that rest on smooth brass stems
with walnut leaves.
Their creative, curvy lines
survived the years
as each collector searches,
finds, and cleaves.
As for the colors-
often bright and stark-
like avocado green
and orange too,
as lights inside the
lucite globes did spark
great interest
as their uniqueness grew.
The sixties and
the seventies mystique;
Mid-Century Modern-
those styles still speak.
All those remaining now
are quite unique.
The lamps inside my home
are deemed antique.
My floor lamp's supple branches
spread out from its base
When there's a draft in the room
they wave all over the place
Did I mention that the color
of this floor lamp is gold
The leaves dropped off, sadly
'cos the room got too cold
My words are frail, like the pale souls of the night to light which they seep - tenderly fragile - -
as though they may weep if not well received,
as though his response may burn - like fire to cloth, into my temple,
and his eyes cause such unease.
But if only to stay
and soak in the charming ways of his lips,
then perhaps not too far from the light i may stray,
and through the night, in the dim light may we meet in a chased glimpse.
Wishes on lamps
By Michelle Morris
31/10/2020
Let's get together and write our
wishes for the future;
Let's release them on lamps and
allow them to float up and
far beyond our location...
Let's focus on those wonderful
wishes coming true -
Blessings and abundance
for the world and our
loved ones too...
© Michelle Morris, 2020
Valentine sweethearts Lacy and Don
Sing about how their lights go out and on
Neighbors can hear them singing out on the lawn
That shaded couple, Lacy and Don
They look like lamps a shrimpy guy said.
Oh course they are agreed Shawn and Ned
What are lamps? Asked Goldie Shed.
You know, don’t you? Asked a clover bed.
They tried to get opinions from a Don Juan.
He was trying to sneak to the Comic-Con.
I distracted myself with a flashy baton.
Not wanting to talk trash about Lacy or Don.
It is the light
From a man's heart
Reflected by women,
Sensing every part.
It is the zenith
Energizing every limb
But be careful
Gluttony is a sin.
It is the soul of men
Loving glow of women
Made to glow
By the hands of the Almighty.
It is women galore
Partaking of splendor
Like full moon's glow
We were made to shine.
It is mere reflection
Charted by the divine
So, if men should fail us
Simmer, ponder on God's gift to us.
*
Thieves run faster
Than the searching light
Into the shadows
Of wrong deeds
To light up the shadows
God lights up
The lamps in their hearts
She started at dawn
when dew was glistening,
and bubbles were dancing
to the tune of kerosene lamps.
Oct. 25, 2020
Liberum Divisa 2 Poetry Contest
Gregory R Barden
Original poem: “Mother Love” (Posted on January 16, 2017 and submitted on April 9, 2017 to “Non Romantic Love” Premiere Poetry Contest, conducted by Emile Pinet.)
White Angels, Glowing Lamps
When the wind blows,
down from the great north,
it brings a mighty frost.
Do not be afraid.
Just because something,
makes you tremble,
does not give it the right…
to win.
Stand tall, all who guard the gate.
Do not look away.
The past is coming to call.
It is trying to get back what it has lost.
It is trying to take back what you will not give.
Do not let it, do not let it live again.
You, I, me, we…
climbed out,
climbed off ,
this far from the top step…
of deaths door.
An angel in the night,
saved…
Sirens
and people,
names and faces,
now forgotten.
bags of cut up clothes…
thrown away.
Yet the one… the one that prayed.
White hospitals,
full of needles,
Clean, fresh sheets.
A dirty and sad heart,
given a second chance,
by a stranger,
a man on the street.
Someone.
that took a moment,
to make sure,
You, I, me, we
were still alive.
You kindle the lamps
Little earthen bowls
Holding circles of mustard oil
Wicks like snouts of desire
The sober flame radiating rosy heat
Smell of ripened wheat
I get my book
Under the leaves of the light
Words snuggling in delight
The dissolving nights recede
Your pent-up poems, all freed
You become the words
Swords disappear
Mightier pen gets prepared
The lamps in the corners
In triangles and tweets
Light on the lips of darkness
Salvador Dali
It is poetry of Diwali
Smileys hovering in the air
Scented light from your hair
You kindle the lamps
Taking light
From my candle-hand
Blushing eyes command
Compelling lamps
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