Blessed to be part of God's open-theatre
But a weather whiplash created a havoc
My innocent joy evaporated
My lean body quivered by the violent winds
Pitter! Patter! It started pouring down
The winds added fuel to the storm
Sturdy trees prostrated on the ground
Accepting their defeat in the duel
It flooded all over submerging me
Luckily, the flow took a quick diversion
By dawn, the level dropped down to my neck
And I could see the limpid firmament
Noticed a ray like a sharp needle
Came out penetrating the stretched blue denim
Over the moon! I was spellbound by sunlight!
Place: 3 rd
Written: May 26, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Constance La France
Quote: Ponder on the future and how you may improve it rather than being stuck in the past. By Poet
1st place contest winner
*****************
Don’t brood over shadows gone by,
like clouds that cannot stay.
Let morning’s light grow fonder instead,
assume its glow—the best way to spread
The stream flows, but never the same,
its limpid song, a delicate flame.
Each drop is a soft, deep endeavor—
a truth that sighs, yet speaks forever.
Focus on the seed, and how it cracks a rock.
a serene power, challenging the clock.
Existence is delicious, plain and bright--
Stay true in your zen, with grace and insight
Pretty stars in a dim sky, linked to the kernel.
Their golden glare and eyes are eternal.
They convey to us faith, broad and deep.
That wakes awareness while others sleep.
Look in your heart, weak yet strong,
It shatters, it heals, it sings its song.
Success or failure, joy or despair—
If you pause to ponder, let it pause in prayer.
Written: May 25, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Sara Kendrick
1st place contest winner
*****************
A single ember soothes the night,
don't need blazes burning bright.
A mild, pristine, limpid stream,
whispers the facts we love and deem.
The smallest seed, in swale it grows,
teaches more than pomp bestows.
No golden crown, no fine array,
just a quiet grace to show the way.
The heart shall find a halcyon air,
cheerfulness is simple, if we share
Life’s wisdom croons in modest tune—
Prosaic, pure in its dulcet boon.
Written: May 25, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Silent One
2nd place contest winner
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Quote: "Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.” — By Rumi ( With my honest wishes of a long and healthy life— Very Happy Birthday.
The moon still glows—an alabaster flame,
memory’s mirror, never the same.
Spume drifts, shimmering and bright,
not shadowy, but limpid light.
You watch sunsets and softly muse—
Do you fade, or do you fuse?
Their shades shroud loss and gain,
a peculiar parity of pleasure and pain.
Lessons grasped don’t be acrimonious,
regrets mollified primarily harmonious.
Time’s conundrum teaches clear—
Delicate days are a deep fear.
To your tender time, you’d tell and attire,
Beware quixotry, yet seize the desire.
Do not anathemize your fall—
Failure’s anodyne heals all.
Though tristful shadows at times prowl,
still you liaise with joy, still you howl.
Twilight or dawn, the soul’s refrain—
amaranthine light will remain.
A simple roof to shield from wind and rain,
A tranquil house devoid of stress and strain
Where the flashes of faith and love do shine,
Renders a home the shrine of the divine.
No need for ocean of wealth, grand and vast,
But a peaceful spirit fostered to last,
Harvesting joy, strolling beneath the sky,
Staring at sparkling stars slowly slide by.
To use simple bricks homes to build, isn`t shame,
So it`s with words we choose, verses to frame,
No need for pompous, grandiloquent art
To touch the innermost depth of the heart.
Simple words cutely used sparkle delight,
Illuminate the common mind with light,
In humble verses, the inner self gleams,
Reflecting life's limpid lingering dreams.
High sounding verbiage sounds harsh to ears,
Grips the mind of the bulk of souls with fears~
Simplicity isn`t mediocrity,
But the mirror of true humility.
Written: May 06, 2026, for contest sponsored by Andrea Dietrich
Quote 4. "May, queen of blossoms, and fulfilling flowers, what pretty music shall we charm the hours?" - Lord Edward Thurlow
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May brings a breath of brisk bloom,
soft sprigs sing their hymns to doom.
Her petals plait the spans in gold,
and the warm air cast a charming hold.
She graces the day with limpid light,
a whispered tune, and the swamps ignite.
With sky-foam drift and meadow's gleam,
she waltzes shakily into a dream.
I suppose what I've worshipped all along
is the Soul of All Things:
the miraculous in everything
the beauty that shines out
from the heart of God.
I was lucky enough to see it shining
with limpid beauty in one person
but now I realize
that this is the near intimation
of the Kingdom within and without.
I even have some small realization
that it is my own soul and self;
what I, what we all, are made from.
Keep your eyes peeled and your mind open
for that's the only way to catch sight of it
in yourself and in the world.
You have to be a hunter and gatherer of beauty
in the primitive reality of things.
Christopher M. Swan 2011
September Sun
The sultry summer wind softly whispers her name basking in the early September sun. Eyes aglow with limpid beauty radiating with relentless compassion arduously preserved and adamantly protected. Humbly healing hardened hearts resurecting passion with a single winsome smile. Gentle reflection elevates and eviscerates indiscriminately exposing souls with sensitive grace. Chrystaline elegance of early morning dew reflecting brilliance beyond ever before imagined. Deep discerning emotions generously disseminated as the sunhine dancing through locks of gold. A moment in time etched upon my soul with the blood and pain of my past gently floating away in the early September sun.
from the limpid pools
of your eyes, sad streams run down
through your hollowed cheeks —
quivering, shaking, breaking
every fibre of your heart .
when you smile at me
I watch the curve of your lips
as they part to speak-
then I heed the sad whispers
of a torn, grief-stricken heart.
my heart is burning
at the thought of a farewell.
we are just pilgrims~
meeting to part in this world
heading to an unknown spot.
at the edge of the cliff,
she stood
determined…….
eyes limpid pools of sadness,
hair wind swept
flawed….?
damaged?
the swirling enormity below
inviting….!
nested in her own ignorance
never knowing there’s poison
in the sting of bees,
as dripping honey
in their combs.
consumed without flame
in the heat waves of life
an escape is ineluctable
to cover a secret kept…!
SWISH….!!!
the water below parted noisily
sloshed up…
but the tug was fierce.
down,
down
she slid,
into the silver chambers
to be garlanded by mermaids!
There was a time when love was
a bright star in the sky
sunshine on a rainy day
an eagle soaring quietly
towards the edge of day :)
but now that you are gone
life has become a weeping willow
thrashing in the rain seeping gold
from limpid broken branches
There was a time when angels sang
lighting our hearts in fire and burning desire....
Today I sit and wallow in my tears
counting on my grieving fingers
the sum of all our years.
There was a time you and I would dance
on the pinnacle of heaven
now I dance and I dance alone, between heaven and earth
and your memory is now, ... my thirst !
Nebula to Eye
Where stars weave though velvet sky
Is born a limpid nebula to eye.
Fall with its limpid deep blue skies
Flamboyant leaves dipped in garish dyes
Place: 1st
A slow and joyous path beneath the skies,
Earth holds me close in rooted ground each day,
While wind blows cloudy liquid dreams that rise,
Islands are adrift in clean clouds that stray.
You, wise young Druid, cloaked in ageless green,
Stand firm upon the soil where Nature dwells.
Limpid and true, your waters flow serene.
A gift you give when I am overwhelmed.
Golden youth wrapped in stars from Scottish hills,
Near me, you linger, yet gaze far and wide.
In my mind, etched, where inner vision thrills.
You blaze within, my rising star and guide.
Once fading, I was healed by sacred grace.
My vivid heart revived in your embrace.
It falls with grace.
Metallic bawls hail the strength of zinc roofs.
At the mercy of the thatch,
Drops drip from needle points of skeletal
Palm fronds.
Particles of rain descend on thresholds
Among dewed terrains.
The petrichor befriends the atmosphere,
Caressing limpid warmth with floating cold.
Lightning, a white dancing Anaconda, races with speed,
Filling the tenebrous plains with lights of hope.
Troubled skies ululate through the power of thunder.
I always recline on that liquid voice!
Rainmakers cream their palms
And roast fresh leaves of
Epochal petals
Plucked from somnolent trees.
Bubbles, green and full of life, puke,
Filling up the mouths of burning woods.
Grey darkness suggests the pleasant wars of
May through October,
When distant wayward drops
Trickle before the deafening deluge.
I hail the blandishments of July
For the society of fattened yams and the
Worthy tendrils —festooned confetti of ceremonial
Harvests.
Droughts yawn in vain when the attitude of
Wet seasons befriends the skies,
Yielding fecund grimes that grace the soil.
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