Long Opalescence Poems
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Love is not enough sometimes;
like melting wax on a candle as it burns
and vanishes into a kiss.
You pour every ounce of love hoping
that what you offer will come back to you.
Those that love too much, are the ones that hurt
the most, but they're your universe's core.
An Ocean; it is not an ocean
without the briny breeze,
the nascent, lulling movements
from its eternal depths
and the seagulls that soar above her surf.
And where, the murmur ambiance above
the endless horizon meets the indigo sea.
Where the brimming laden stars flicker,
whirl loud beneath a bright blue sky,
and the green blade of the herbal sweet sedge.
And where, in and out the bees, butterflies,
and hummingbird flutter to savor nectar
from a chalice of fragrant flowers.
Reflecting on the weaved fabric of past days
weighs heavy on my mind, as the evening
unlaces and draws to a closing night.
Those moments my heart quivers
as the opalescence clouds veil the scene.
Time for bed, my bed beside the window,
I glean the heavens trying to hold back tears
from flowing, famished for warmth.
There is no shame in crying tears.
Where love is not enough, fall to the living soul;
mood as gray as the sky, which the sun finishes.
Slowly, leisurely, with romance to whom love will be,
the taste of wine and stroll upon the beach alone.
2/24/2022
Poetry Contest: Some broken hearts never mend'
Sponsored By: Faraz Ajmal
sawed-off on the
crimson emerald from a cloudy sky
squeal
and, at times, the reason
low-slung why
sparkles of a pearly salver
modicum of encrusted damask mist
befuddles me
albeit
moon, amber, and opalescence
spawn a charming sight
the perspective
strikes each crevice of the flesh.
and psyche advise
shrouded in a cinereous cloud
hapless and helpless, a glum-blue wolf
growls out a bluesy bemoan.
creating a lacuna
of gallivant love touchstone
leaden wails of anguish
rhythmic echoed refrain
plainchants of auric yearning
reminiscent of challah
aiming for eleemosynary seeds
cahoots to germinate and thrive
2nd place contest winner
Written: March 20, 2023
A Strand No 1201 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
In the orchard of opalescence
magnificent myriads of mellows
fervently flow in fountains
breathing beguile blossoms
a forgotten fable ferments,
in haunting hollows I hear.
My heart is a restless garden
with varying pulses of penumbra
conflicts caressing cuddles
tenacious tattered thorns
singing to sumptuous serenades
where brisking bubbles burst
butterflies spread beautiful wings
bees buzzing like ballerinas
to ballads in pirouettes--
a symphony calms my anxieties
descending from azure skies
but my vineyard wilts in agony.
A bird drops a seed of hope
from a foreign land in my orchard
sprouting to strive in storms
emanating exotic effervescence
ballerinas pause their buzz
butterflies flee in fear
serenades slip in streams
out casting the stranger seed.
I touch the seed with curiosity
blissfully in my meadow
melancholy melts to melodies
auspicious aurora allures
tender bud in lavender hues
drenching my dulcet dreams
in showers of chrysanthemum whispers
draping my fears at dusk
embrace my weariness with love
Is this what I'd been awaiting
a stranger I've always known
Aphrodite in lilac curtains
blushes to unfurl the petals
my fingers touch her musings
her fragrance blooms my orchard
ensnaring my sapphire senses
sparkling in emerald dew drops
I plant her beside my window
she's my fable of felicity
vineyard reviving to life
as tendrils ascend to witness
her velvet lullabies
"Sleep my love
another garden awaits me"
July 30, 2020
Petal, buds, blossoms, bees, birds, butterflies! Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
~Winner: 1st Place
The floodwaters shimmer with opalescence in the morning sun
The torrential rain finally comes to a halt
In the stillness of it all floats the body of the banker’s son
Six feet above-ground, his grave on the asphalt
Birds stir cautiously above in the stripped-down trees
Their intertwining voices weaving a fragile song
A tattered American flag wavers in the cool breeze
Some buildings in ruins while others hold strong
As the waters retreat, remnants of a past life emerge
Scattered belongings and overturned furniture drift
While some may view the flood as a natural scourge
Others may see it as a revitalizing gift
The deep blue, empty sky holds a surreal clarity
As if having been cleansed by the storm before
Devastation occurs for the sake of posterity
New life emerges from the grasp of the great war
Wetlands breathe and fertile soil is restored
Fish of many shades explore the new habitat
Nature replenishes itself, humanity ignored
But it’s always possible to rebuild the laundromat
Shadows stretch long over the worn-down earth
Leaving a story of withering sadness behind
The grief and pain of the people entwined in rebirth
A message in the ruins, both cruel and kind
There is strange beauty in the morning after
When everything comes to a head
In the silence of the town hear Mother Nature’s laughter
O’er the skies and the trees and the flooded riverbed
Finally, as afternoon sun splayed
through the picture window
onto wood floor and last pieces of furniture,
I packed that summer on the lake
into a box, mitering indigo corners
between squares of bubble wrap,
ripples appliqued with lilac jacaranda blooms
blown on the water.
Kids would leave for college and grandparents died,
but that year bees hovered in marigolds and violet alyssum.
The moon's marshmallow singed umber, impaled on a hanger
over golden flames. Dawn's opalescence would flicker
in pale aquamarine, receding shadows uncovering
beads of cerulean icing and pink lemonade shimmering
on shamrock and juniper.
Tiers of skinned knees and runny noses now framed
by cardboard and plastic were stacked like red velvet cake
atop a knotty pine picnic table as terns called in the distance,
then sealed with oak and concrete of our final day as we cannon-balled
off dock's end like it was the last thing we'd ever do.
The Zebra Mussel Invasion (The Story Of The Three Hump Clam)
God’s opalescence-
Mississippi riverbed
Suffocating sleep
_________________________________________________
Dedicated to Nadine and Burl, of “River City Pearls” in Alma
Wisconsin, fighting heroically to save the many species of
Mississippi river clams, bordering on extinction, from the
Choking Zebra Mussel invasion, your effort is honorable.
.
For you history buffs, Nadine was a pioneer in the Chinese
“mother of pearl” button-trade industry over 50 yrs. ago,
(now vanished) originating from this area of the Mississippi near
Alma called “Lake Pepin” a vast expanse of the river with
Minnesota on one side, and Wisconsin on the other, her River
Pearl Jewelry and Oil Paintings are internationally acclaimed.
your skin …
cornflow’r in the moonlite
through louvers that
slice you to tender shards
of opalescence
arranged like piano keys on
Egyptian percale
the sea of sheets we so
often drown in …
“oh baby” -
the way you say those words -
soft candle puffs
as if turning flame to wisps
coyly chasing my name from
where I thought it safe
to its utter peril upon your lips
and its baptism by the
kiss that slays …
my rapture is no longer my own
it exists only in chaos
at the source of the divine -
the wellspring
that indescribable place of
wilding wonder …
and yet …
at this moment of contentment and
joy and security -
where we are timeless and true
where every hour is midnight …
a tear leaps from my chin to its doom
unnoticed by you with
my back strategically to the moon …
because I know with certainty
(though I don’t know HOW)
that someday I’ll be alone -
someday I’ll be drenched by the same moon
remembering this very moment
remembering that I knew
that solitude would be my fate …
that I would one day ache
for the gentle, whisp’ry way
you said …
“oh baby”.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, January 24, 2024
Aesthetic things bestow us lasting satiety.
as time oozes, its beauty only widens
dwindling in a jolt, yet prevailing to arise
a calm haven for us to unwind our soul
the sheen of opalescence is a dream.
I adore you the way cliffs love streams.
savoring soulful waves and breathing bliss,
as the earth basks in the sun's golden glow.
Wanderlust's wild whimsy wanders as a weapon.
There wasn't a single instance.
much before I knew it was you.
a single person who has made a major sync.
the quiet moment when you're in tune with me,
postulating that a bettor is on the way.
I searched high and low for my true love.
in search of the snail shell's sparkles
with a shallow inner happiness wonder
But, as wilted flowers, they faded quickly.
Affection is in the air, the paintbrush is lovely,
You're the bird who agrees to join me on my love flight.
Its powerful wings let it fly afar in the sky.
Not a single day passed with no action.
Before I was apodictic you were my beam,
luminosity washed across my existence.
I was terrified of drowning.
I swam in the warmth of love.
But the horrific lies kept piling up.
It suffocated my genuine desires.
With the wind whispering sweetly,
When will the sun shine again, my love?
Will it spill its molten compassion on both of us?
Why I must face this dark place on my own?
Is my affection for you overwhelming?
Silken grazing artistry and moonlit radiance
spark a desire for vivid colors and brightness.
Invigorated and upbeat feelings are present.
prior to the designer's luscious palette fading
Allow the moments to pass you by as streams.
My feelings for you are eternal.
the veracity of an emotion that is special.
Assuredness, mutuality, and the realization of a wish
I wish to never suffer a day away from you!
Written: January 27, 2023
Upto You Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
As you start to walk out on the way,
the way appears.- Rumi
Tonight, I speak to the moon,
lunar verses echoing the piercing
lyrics of an aching heart.
Its crystal wings softly
kiss the sea line in silence,
releasing silver ripples
of renaissance,
while the sun awaits another
dahlia dawn, graced by
delicate symphonies of
fairy-feathered fantasies.
Time is a treat ribboned
with truth and testaments
of melted monsoons,
left as souvenirs of the past,
on shimmering shores
of fragile flowers.
I was once a broken ballad,
bruised and battered
like an ornament left
on a haunted island,
where every breeze felt
like the seething sounds of sirens,
awakening demons within
my chrysalis psyche,
to cloud the horizon
painted with pigments of peace.
Trust was an ink blot
I spilled upon oceans
of blue-black pearls,
oblivious to the cracks
and faded glows of opalescence,
for I was a naive target
of narcissistic daggers,
caressing my skin with
pestering perceptions.
As I wore my wounds
like corsets crocheted
with crooked compassion,
too eager to embrace
wrathful winds~
bursting forth infernal flames,
while drenched in the
subtle dews of raging rain.
If I were to tell the world
the person I used to be,
could I write without
my fingers trembling,
without the weakened words
of weariness that weighed me down?
For I knew not what love was,
and I knew not
dreams of strength,
runes of resilience, or the
unbreakable gravity of forgiveness.
Yet I rise, beyond faceless ghosts,
soaring above nameless streets
of pointless thoughts.
I am now everything I was not;
I am both shadow and light,
seeking and waltzing to
the music of my own magical fight.
So remember,
the furs and claws,
the water and fire,
outlining the garnet~
aura of my ambient existence.
Black brings beauty to white and coral opalescence
Lends obscure luster to gold and yellow’s fluorescence
Artists present wondrous reality with its clear presence
Creation of God* is never complete against night’s essence
Kindness’ purity becomes perfect vis-à-vis grim evil sense.
Bold to stand against neutrality-prevalence
Living ebony blends with varied hues’ iridescence
Asserting dignity, royalty, formality’s existence
Calmness blends with starless somnolence
Keeping balance as cheers versus despondence.
Bestowing sophistication along arrogance-absence
Lightless soot manifests elegance without pretense
Accentuating shades in its wondrous defense
Championing blue, red and yellow shades’ incense
Kindling depth of green, orange, violet – verily intense.
*Genesis 1:5 And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day.
August 28, 2021
10th place, "The Color Black" Poetry Writing Premier Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke; judged on 8/29/2021.