Long Gossamer Poems
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An abandoned cottage holds
remnants of secrets unexplored.
the past ~ whispers ~ through
a creaky wooden floor.
Vestiges in gossamer, drape
window frames and doors
through tainted panes of glass
the scent of meadow soars.
Woody stems and vines
cling to crumbling walls
shadows peeling back
memories I recall:
the oracle Sycamore
a hostel to a swinging rope,
like a pendulum
timed in perpetual stroke.
Gazing on orchards
of fruited trees
romanced by busy
droning bees
nomadic tribes
of wide - eyed deer
forage and drink
the creek so clear
cascading toward the river
that lies beyond the bend,
a cloistered Heron in Cattails,
a protracted pose transcends;
leaning in a mantra
of spiritual grace,
resonates the thrum
in a humble sacred place.
echoes of song birds
harmonize in the morn
endowed in devotion,
awaken the dawn.
Mother Nature’s
rhythmic beat
a faithful promise;
she will repeat.
Day dawned dank grey.
Sky pre-washed to ashen, cuddled in.
Cats on tippy-toes dipped their toes in puddles
stalking prey, huddled to pause, slumbering in.
Birds ruffled dew drop spots from feathers,
distracted to pause their prattle tattle calls
by the gloom of low slung clouds engulfing the din.
The dank cupped hands of horizon clouds
called for hush in prayer
to say grace with the morning gathering, all misted-in in fog.
The dewy gossamer mist turned to gentle rain,
almost embarrassed
to fall with pitter-patter plinks and plops
echoing from puddles, leaves and panes.
The shower done with its drenching, quenching drizzle,
passed overhead
and curtain-called the sun to get up,
to stand to attention,
and to herald the day
to get on with its business.
I am
a Calico Goddess
of shadow.
Chant and eat peaches.
Bathe in stars’ sighs.
Sing with trees.
Listen to tea leaves as they sing of laughter, of honey, of hope.
See faces peering into shop windows: eager,
childish with glee. What do they seek?
Carpets of gossamer,
butterflies’ wings,
books written in dew,
candy sticks and ocean spray.
Chant and kiss the bees, flower-sweet.
Believe in the sunrise, red-gold truths told with birds’ tongues.
Spin in the forest’s shadows,
a dervish of delight crowned with crimson leaves and fireflies.
I am
a Calico Goddess
of shadow.
Drown yourself in a sea of violets.
Taste the wind’s song.
Embrace the joy life brings.
Be the dream you hear on waking.
In ghostly white of midnight as
sky- shadows trace gossamer streaks ,
I become a recluse,
losing tracks of stars' grave hues
and the flavor of meadows
in snow grows bitter...the bronze gate
reeking of metal cold, again --frozen
like my rusty, numb thoughts.
Must I remember
how they were slain? The wails come
to haunt those Godforsaken eves
when the lane flooded groaning voices,
ramming our old grills from darn
collision of cars--- in a flash.
And now, dim clouds reflect frozen
bodies of kin like grief stricken portraits ,
pale as folded , bloodied sheets...
and I turn away from this mashed
scene on a vintage gate, grating
flesh in drills of shock
...my recluse core, seething
' Leave me alone...'
Alone candle flame
Burning into the night
Burning deep in the heart
The endless dark
Waves of ink crash upon
This island of illuminated shores
Bleak hours of lost sorrow
Love nevermore
Wings of shadowed sparrow touch, not evermore
Emotions grow forever
Narrow
In a flame alone
In the darkness of its design, forevermore
Burning, burning bright fighting the night
Perched about the thin window sill
A beacon to the lost world
In tomorrow not all is quite not all is still
Sits the raven evermore
No one knows the shallow of will
Its flight driving the engines before
The raines far from the burning hot core
Before the storming of will
Longing for something to adore
To keep a light a candle
This island of lighted shore
A flame far far from the rains of night
Before it starts to wonder, wax, and wain
Tilting, flickering, dancing, dying
In the cold wind
Smoke arises
out
out
silent sentinel flame
a beacon of fire in their oblivion of night
Curling up
Breaking away
Dwindles this flame
The night smooth flawless hue rushes in
Endless as oceans
A presence near as a heartbeat
Gossamer as ink splashing against optics
Sorrow vast and black
A flame blazing burning out fast
the ebon dove cover thy eyes
With dark silky wings
As an alone candle flame
Burning into the night
Burning deep in the heart
Struggles against
the endless magnetic
enigmatic pragmatic night
Waves of ink crash upon
this island of gleaming shores.
Why am I me? Now, that is the question,
It sure needs some thought and deep expression,
Sometimes I think I’d be a butterfly,
It has varied colours and it can fly…
Or why can’t I be that orange goldfish?
Gossamer fins to swim is all I wish…
Or maybe that deer with feet so agile,
Then maybe my mind wouldn’t feel so fragile…
Why am I not you? Why am I not her?
Oh yes, such stray thoughts do sometimes occur,
I am me because I have a purpose,
Fashioned for God’s glory, am not worthless…
The LORD’s image I bear, His child I be,
So I just thank Him for making me ME.
09.20. 2021
For Shreya LN's "Why am I me?" contest
Another typical insipid day
the sweet, crimson glowing ember
falling revealing the lustrous serenity
of kaleidoscopic skies
Elysian whispers around
my remaining canvas of arid
Gossamer and prosaic filled voids
replaces citrine, saffron nirvana
Bodies surrounding shimmer effulgent colors
I'm yet to remain in my dull ashen-sparked cave
A sudden delirious shriek
gleeful, exuberant faces
twisted into pale onyx terror
An apocalyptic doomsday guaranteed
Terminal of mankind ; destruction of
of earth prophesied
Everyone's glistening resplendent canvases
splattered grim trepidation
Painted with oblivion; like mine
with included kneaded dollops of overwrought
Perhaps the revolutionary, prodigious hysteria
sparked fluorescent inspiration
My ebony pedestrian now being sparkled
in an euphoric nostalgic feeling
A persistent voice echoing;
...
An exploded erosion of scarlet filled emotions
I clutch my brush and become the creator I once was;
Amongst the cacophonic abyss
painting an ephemeral, nebulous word
into my perennial realms of cerulean hopes
Brushstrokes of light touched canary among daffodil fields
Turning into shapes of radiant marigold inspiration
painted over leftovers of monotonous drab
In the end's haunting echo of emptiness
I found my exuberant-buttercup passions of a sunlit meadow
My bolstering voice of ivory whispered inspirations
I am an azure propelling star among cobalt filled echoes
of forgotten melodies
I've reimagined my painted chiaroscuro perspectives,
crafting a bold artistic masterpiece
Oh hearken the struggle, life's gossamer threads,
The delicate sway of hope ...
Framed by churning white of Lord Neptune's might,
Faith dangles a slender rope.
Wan maiden, her savior, and a scarlet shawl,
Battered by surf and gale ...
Yet our faceless hero and his capable arms,
As sure as the damsel, frail.
Mostly monochromatic, all its tones of gray,
Save for the kerchief, red ...
While turbulent struggles around them rage on,
We center that shawl instead.
We see not the others who attend the line,
But imagine them nonetheless ...
The artist connects them with the lanyard, strong,
And so intimates their distress.
The distinctive edges and leaf-like waves
Are peculiar to Winslow's style ...
As are the rare stories his paintings tell,
That enamor us, and beguile.
While he traveled afar and painted it all,
And was a celebrated roamer ...
He loved my home state of Maine the best,
And so truly was a HOMER.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Celebration of Art Poetry Contest", Kim Rodrigues, Judge & Sponsor.
DUST PIXIES INSIDE GRANNY’S CEDAR CHEST
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Amidst the ancient whispers of timeworn wood,
underneath time and the cedar’s scent
a gathering of dust pixies flutters, luminescent.
adventurous, bubbly, curious, daring, effervescent.
Their xerophytic murmurs fill the attic air;
dancing on sunbeams upon gossamer wings,
these aerial acrobats ballet on dust motes illuminantly.
flecks glimmer, hundreds invade jubilantly.
Prismatic creatures of color, lively as summer’s breeze,
they celebrate the dust, mundane
journeying through mystical realms where they reign.
kaleidoscopic, luminous, microscopic, numerous, opulent.
Zipping back into the cedar’s shadows,
innocent guardians of memories hide in forgotten linens,
their fleeting glimpse of magic locked away.
playful, quirky, restless, synchronous, twinkletoes
On a golden carpet of lustrous laurel
another red leaf in amber blaze gleams,
twirling to trumpets in waltz so aural
blanket of glorious crimson autumn dreams.
Iridescent veil orchestrates blue fir trees
maple shimmers in draped sequins of crystal dew,
swaying to layered hums of shivering breeze
blazing in flames of proliferous mauve hue.
Immersed in aroma of wet mountain slumber
lavender dusk nervously cuddles silver frost,
spreading gossamer melody on emerging umber
bathing in scarlet rays, broken twigs embossed.
Symphony of scintillating fervent topaz seas
disperses from azure palate on electric sky,
dripping to crevices of haloed tides to appease
mellows of echoing wind for sandcastles to fly.
Exploding ecstasy of an embellished petal springs
peeping through rivulets in reaping wisps of desire,
to a moonlit bridge, my whispering red leaf clings
longing to strum tender strings in autumn's bonfire.
August 6, 2020
Nature Rhyming Poetry Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brenda Chiri
~Winner: 2nd Place