Lithesome Poems

Chime Of Meditation

Lithesome steps lead me to an ancient 
 temple 
Perched across a bay, weeds and 
  hyacinths curl between my feet, 
Where mist refills bowl of cotton clouds 
As rustling breeze ascends on skyline's ladder.
 In stillness, I lounge on the pew to whisper unsaid psalmic devotions
 for a world which aches for calmer  
 retreat-- 
That I reach a peak where the mind 
  becomes absent-- 
Then I hear them , a medley of peals
 Lifting me higher in regulated tempo from gong 
 rhythms, 

A music swelling in warm temperance Until warm kiln of light and radiant 
  fireflies stir my kundalini.
On this treasured moment, a sentient 
  energy 
Cleanses  my beingness from  past sins -- mortal and venial-

 That I listen to the clang of my inner child's soft echoes entering my veins:

 Somewhere in blank spaces, bells swing of 
   innocent laughter...a treble,
   a clap 
   bringing me to the kindness of youth,

 And my body stays quiet, welcoming this rite of 
  passage on days when the spirit calls for an 
      interlude's break...a meditative
 connection with 
      the self--
      without the need to speak.

Elithene

Elithene
The river nymph she calls to me in her fluid tones 
of bubbling ecstasy.
Her echo soaking each flower and frond, every stone she strokes with  lithesome bond.
Living grace of life and light, calling, singing 
the day and the night.
At her feet, froth, as stiffened lace, 
flowing down in tiered 
liquid space.
And at her neck there rises a rapid frill
 of foaming white
 in overspill.
How I love her!
and name her mine
for all her ethereal quiver
For she is that which knows no time
She is Elithene, nymph of the river.

Abstractions

Lithesome words like ‘love’, ‘loyalty’
And ‘liberty’
Lie, like mollusks on the sea
Bed; closed clam shut
Not revealing
Anything but
An unctuous feeling
And when prized open
By a devouring question
The contents give one
Indigestion.
So let’s not swallow
Such squirming terms
These loathsome, lithesome, worming words.
Meaningless and absurd
But if they are our sole default,
Let us take them with a pinch of salt.

© Barry Freeman – 18th September 2020

Charm School

CHARM SCHOOL 

They found two heavy charmed quarks,
the other one, straight up for larks. 
One up and two splendidly rotund, 
you ain't heavy, you're a baryon. 

A poised new baryon in inner space,
you’ll define and describe your place.
What flavor is there for today,
in your fleeting quick decay.

Collided winks in mass array, 
a subatomic burst display. 
A glimpse of lithesome spinning up, 
with your two roly-poly pups. 

On binary cycle mass to mass,
heavy bits just moving past.
In pas de deux the lithesome one,
sails around the chunky ton.

Your four times heavier than most,
a source of energy is not your boast.
But may the Strong Force be with thee, 
as we foretell in Q  C  D.

We just hate what you’ve been named, 
It’s greek to us and so untamed. 
Called: ka-sigh-see-see-plus-plus, 
I dub thee, Hippo-part-icus.

-Edlynn Nau
Written: October 7, 2017
©April 8, 2019

This was after this new unusual particle was discovered in July of 2017 and I’m just getting around to finishing it.  Dedicated to the team of the LHCb experiment.

Wishes For Tomorrow

A needled wail reeks from his dusky face
while gnawing thoughts keep the moon awake,
praying for grace to ebb the lonely  tides
that he blesses  another empty night  for godly  luck--
Out there  thin  arms recoil …in urgent need
a street child who droops low with hunger …grief. 

He  dream-walks  once more,    all the more
to become a youngster along playground of fields
at the soonest time    in a place called  home,
where life is more than crumbs, where laughter glows
through lithesome family scene…  and not a plague:
But wishes  tear fast  like  newspaper  rags 
when midnights play a  broken lullaby--

Till daybreak croons  new streak of faith
as  gauzy eyes yearn life’s reprieve,
believing wilfully in divine bread …
his morsel,  his finest tomorrow called home.


Tomorrow Contest of Edward Ibeh
11/21/2018

Beautiful Fall

Blithesome autumn comes on cue
Each year to chase the heat away.
As summer starts to fade from view,
Unique fall will seize the day.
Turning leaves to brown and gold
Is one of autumn’s specialties.
Feel the air grow crisp and bold!
Utmost seasonal traits please
Lovers of how flannel feels,
Frost that glistens, “Trick or Treat!”
And families’ Thanksgiving meals.
Late autumn brings December’s beat.
Listen! It’s carols. Fall is complete!

September 8, 2018, entered in John Hamilton's Beautiful Fall Contest

September 10, 2018, entered in Brian Strand's Premiere contest

September 23, 2021
entered in Caren Krutsinger's Autumn Acrostic Poetry Contest

South of the Border

I know the land where the lemon-trees flower,
South of the border, in the Sunshine State.
Where the warmth lifts up a lithesome sunflower
and the sour juice cleanses my fruitful plate.

The warm breezes
my wan spirit seizes.
The palm trees sway.
I dance with them.

I know the land where the lemon-trees flower,
where my ivory skin tans and citrus dyes my hair,
where the scent of the beaches overpower,
into the loving eyes of a weeklong vacation I stare.

The warm breezes
my wan spirit seizes.
The palm trees sway.
I dance with them.

Yes, I know that scented peninsula, so close
to my home, that undulates like waves with gentility.
The coconut beaches pound out its mighty prose
and I sing with open palms, bare feet and fertility.

The warm breezes
my wan spirit seizes.
The palm trees sway.
I dance with them.

7/31/2018
Pretty Poem Please Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward

Pixie's Spell

On a lustrous November night
Along each gliding  way;
The thrill of the season beckoned
Into the woods that day--
Where in the hush so intricate
That pulsated lithesome yet clear,
I heard a mild voice singing 
Which only those attuned may hear-
A jingle through the pewter leaves
A quiver through the boughs ..

Until a male fey drifted by
My, was it really so
Or did some magic enthrall me?
I'll really never know ...
 



Fairy Tale Contest for Alexis Y.
6/21/2018

Another Time

There was a time when she lit up 
in the firmness of youth-- like a rose on an April
morn greeting daylight with a petal-soft kiss.
And the lively wind rustled her orange pinafore... 
Oh, a time when she was young    innocent .

But  life's compass denies a woman 
fresher years , amber hair becomes grey locks
of winter— thin as  flakes where breaths
succumb to chilled murmurings of discontent;
the summer flame turning into weary longings. 

Yet comes another time when the breeze
at last returns, to caress a  wrinkled face 
and allow her once lithesome spirit to play on,
shrieking giddily, then wailing at flowers
from nowhere:  through a realm weightless
this flight back to childhood  quickly dims--
those touch- and- go pleasures unknown
by her memory lost, her own name forgotten.



Poetry For The Sake Of Poetry Contest
Sponsor: john lawless   6/2/2018

Some Only Enough

Sometimes, having some only, can be irksome.
For many lonesome folk like being alone,
fearsome foes can be feeble foibles,
a lithesome limb can lie limp through lethargy,
being cumbersome can be troublesome,
the meddlesome can be quarrelsome,
the awesome can be astonishingly awful,
the fulsome can be disgusting in gluttony,
and the flavorsome often leave a lingering taint.

So getting only some, to winsome, at least, 
often leaves one unwholesome, worrisome, 
wearisome and unfulfilled, unsated.
For some only, is never enough some.

Can Still Hold You

In this closet darkness pervades,
the door has been locked from the inside.

Curled in the corner, eyes shut, she remains.
Unseen demons there await
outside in the moon light.

Flowers dance while sweet music plays as
lithesome images pass through her mind,
her dreams laid bare this long lonely day,
all of the fantasies she'll never find.

Beneath closed eyelids
her golden prince rescues her
from endless darkness.
I have no golden armor,
yet my arms can still hold you.


04/19/2018
 
For BW's "It's All About Four" Poetry Contest

Fairy Trees

Fairy Trees

in my wood 
there are lithesome
trees of delicate winter hue
a grove brings love
and sisterhood into the 
the darker  few.

they dance wild, among storms
cued across the mountains,
touching one another
with thrashing limbs
holding fast their roots
deep within the soil.

summer breezes 
bring lacy crowns
of palest tender green
they bow and bend  
with courtly pomp
toward each sister tree.

then fall, again, 
steals green away
replacing it with gold
but still they stay 
steadfast and true
to promises of old.

Inkwell of Traipsing Thoughts

Lithesome lines of rapturous rhymes and torrid truths,
Written with piteous pleas and tantalized tease;
Left to others' wits to be interpretive sleuths
Of our loves, lusts, confessional musts and envies.

Rhythm ripping or cadence caressing penned words,
Weeping a caustic choice or singing a heart's rejoice;
Gathered in silken sentiments or stampeding herds
Inkwell of traipsing thoughts etched in poetic voice.


Susan Ashley
October 16, 2017


*'The Love Letter' - Painting by Samuel Luke Fildes*

Maestro Please

After the symphony my maestro arrived home
to a candlelight dinner just the two of us alone
still dressed in his tails he was quite debonair
while I was in my lace dress with my long hair,

The flickering light from the candles gave off a soft glow
sitting there eating talking about his orchestrated show
finishing up he walked over to where I sat
pulling me up from my chair as if I were a lithesome cat,

He led me to to the bear skin rug by the fireplace
and unzipped my lace dress with a loving look on his face
with both of our hearts racing we gently embraced
gentle kisses like wishes all over my neck and face,

Such passion I never knew could exist
the heat from the fireplace we never would have missed
hot feverish bodies entwined together on the rug
fitting perfectly together like a hand in a glove,

He played me like his own personal violin
stroking and stoking the smoky fireworks within
the crescendo building till the final climax
when our rigid sweaty bodies finally relaxed…



9-21-17
The Poets Fire
Sponsored by Gregory Barden

A Girl With a Racket

Cannot forget this dear friend from my youth,
Met her on practice wall, lithesome and fair,
Charms of a waitress, a confidence there,
‘Beauty,’ her virtue, and that is the truth.

Friendship developed, we flirted at court,
Love of the stroke, not to win, was her art,
Net ever-present to keep us apart,
Not her dream man, I still won her support.

Many admirers, most pushed to the side,
Marriage it seems was not her cup of tea,
Her goal, a picture of what she could be,
Her dream of future the whole of her pride.

Women have come and gone. Still, we are friends!
Nectar untasted can sweeten the flow’r,
(Chemical magic bonds moisture and flour,
Promises rainbow as true love intends).

These verses yours, my friend, long missing rhyme,
Born of the soul, now, at last, see the light,
Cradled small bird, I release it to flight,
Hoping it soars till the ending of time!


Brian Johnston
July 27, 2017

Poet's Notes:
For Stephanie Gerber,

God's blessing through life,
though never my wife

on the eve of her sixty-first birthday.

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