Long Overnight Poems
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Stars are at their peak
Giving each other pecks on the cheek
Telling friends watching in fantasy land what they speak
How wonderful it is
Being in television movie making biz
Having a Bah calling like Lady Liz
Miles down below
Workers nobody know
Are painting the background
Taking pictures around
Capturing the scenic mountainous sound
Goal showing characters in the town
When the friendly blonde knight
Not looking for a fight
Came upon the exciting artistic sight
Nothing was going in was the problematic plight
And things were not all right
Was everything through?
For those from Vancouver
Using a special lens
Moving photography Fed Ex picked up for send
Overnight received in morning by Director Ben
Our faithful knight had five nettings
Throughout the postcard settings
Only issue
Everyone needed a tissue
Since the trampolines did not save ‘Coyote’ the family jewel
Protected the community was priority and rule
Filmmakers thought this visual was not cool
Thinking avalanches are
Exciting talk at the bar
And enchanting as a dip in the melting snow pools
They were acting like unprepared fools
High above
Stars still in love
Not worried about the potential danger
Relaxing back east was the summer time ranger
Hanging out nothing to do
Waiting for their theatrical cue
Sitting, loitering, reading the updated script
Being freeloaders on the studio paid vacation trip
While hiking in the wooded brush
Finding a husband after a quick crush
Mrs. Knight felt the deadly threat
Horrific visions she could not forget
Not a good idea to tempt with a dare
Or there could be a serious scare
Wintry rumbles
And loose frozen tumbles
Creating all sorts of trouble
We arrived early at the Fairmile
We’re welcomed by Jason’s warm smile
He made a pot of tea
For my hubby and me
I’m happy we’re staying a while!
Our bedroom was spotlessly clean
And as for the breakfast cuisine
The huge choice was amazing
(Overnight oats I’m praising)
We feasted like a King and Queen!
The pre–order system is great
It ensured the food on our plate
Was ready on time
And it tasted divine
One downside I’ve put on some weight!!!!
For treats you need not travel far
The lounge has an honesty bar
Drinks and tasty snacks
Like yummy flapjacks
This guesthouse should rank a four star!
Hosts Jason and wife Melanie
In tandem, they work seamlessly
I can truly attest
They look after each guest
Shame Fairmile’s not closer to me!
There’s plenty more that I could say
But sadly I’ve not got all day
If it’s in your plans
To visit St Anne’s
The Fairmile’s the best place to stay!
Cold front brings August respite
upon cusp of autumn quite
natural palliative to forget monetary plight
relieving spate of dog days of summer
seasonal crisp balm appeared overnight
evidenced of late by Jeeves
cool temperatures at night
temporarily bumping ugly
global warming with moonlight
sonata courtesy mother nature
perfect bonfire weather courtesy lignite
kept burning chaste cheerful pro bono
strong arm moored Sir Lancelot knight
sinewy physique, muscularly lean
apropos appellation applied Jack Lite
doubling up as Jack Frost
i.e. old man winter based
on Farmer's almanac
forecasters, who possess
sixth sense insight
predicting harsh winter, yeah right
as if standing atop shoulders of giants
towering, rivaling, overshadowing...
Jack and beanstalk re: fabulous height
seedy tale Aesop pose ghostwrite
ten and/or retold by Flora Annie Steel
fanciful imaginative flight
first appeared as The Story to delight
kids all ages of Jack Spriggins and
the Enchanted Bean in 1734 quite
similar to goose that laid golden egg
wishful thinking miniature
cogs and wheels spin
furiously at midnight
fantasizing escaping out
maws o' penury plight
accepting hand to mouth existence
experiencing pleasant distraction
as fall weather doth excite
reminding me seasonal change
could kindle potential playwright
within, which storyline outright
fabrication trumpeting rich mogul
comprising make believe webbed world
frees yours truly 24/7 nightmarish fright
one forlorn bummer groveling along...
holding transformative amulet tight
precious stone of malachite
imparting deep energy cleaning,
bringing healing powers that
powers love delight.
Springtime has erupted; life's everywhere
With a fine chartreuse film that floats through the air.
The live oaks are blooming along with golden mesquite-
The scents of renewal are verdant and sweet.
Chameleon fields that change overnight;
A plethora of color; an artists delight
Yellow, so bright it hurts the eyes,
Covers the hills like a huge sunshine tide.
Pastures of green and wild onion white
Deceive the perception with flowered highlights.
Black and white calves frolic and play
Through the myriad of colors on display.
Seas of Indian paintbrush in brash scarlet red
Abut pink morning primrose, gently lifting its head;
Kaleidoscope gaillardia next to wine-colored phlox,
Mad impressionist Nature has pulled out the stops
Painting great Texas with colors galore
Then deciding to add just one color more
And up shoots the bonnets in startling blue.
Our states flower emblem, a salute to you.
JSC 2003
A cold front moved in overnight
and morning’s air made me breathe deep,
like an athlete before an event.
Yesterday’s humidity pushed aside,
creates a feeling of zest,
as if it’s the first touch of Spring.
But this is Autumn chasing
a recalcitrant Summer,
like the sun chasing darkness.
Following my early morning walk,
I sit in the corner of the kitchen
drinking coffee and watching the cat
on the window sill.
The neighborhood is quiet
and my eyes move to a leaf,
floating to a breeze-appointed place
near the fence in a flower bed.
I wonder how many more
Autumns I’ll experience,
now that I’m retired.
To my surprise, seeds - did I ask for them? We are expecting rain and sun,
and a little manure. So I plant them with stakes. I just know what I need.
My garden, like a burial plot, yet something must rise from the pit. I just know it. I sense it is an important crop and its fruit will be spread to all my friends. The bag said “For 2020 — all you will need.” So I watch from my couch, expectant for seeds to sprout. I fall asleep and dream of a boy named Jack whose seeds grow
overnight. I wake up and look at my garden. You’ll never guess what happened next. I knocked on every door, near and far, giving away the sprouted fruit. Each one with different designs — plentiful masks. I laugh.
8/17/2020
Contest: Mystery Seeds
Sponsor: Carolyn Devonshire
I remember the world before all the people and cars.
The animals lived in peace and harmony with the land.
I was the lifeline to places both near and far.
It was a time which you may never understand.
I led the way for early settlers to cross to the west,
Trying to give them a smooth and trouble-free ride.
There were plenty of places along the way to rest,
In little towns that sprouted up on either side.
As the years went by, the world was in a hurry,
So I was covered in gravel and stone, and then paved.
During the war, interstates were made to ease the worry,
And many others like me would never be saved.
The quaint little communities that once were thriving
Became dusty old ghost towns almost overnight.
I became riddled with weeds that would not stop growing,
And soon I was deserted; out of mind, out of sight.
My glory days returned through a short-lived t.v. show,
And people remembered where they used to get their kicks.
If a trip down memory lane is where you want to go,
Then keep me alive by taking a drive down Route 66.
When a friend of ours dies…who in our life has played a part
it is with the deepest sorrow we add thier tombstone to the cemetery in our heart.
Why her? Why him? Why now? We asked ourselves as we desperately try to cope
for a while we are thrown off balance…our life is out of focus…we lose our hope.
There is no right or wrong way to confront death…despite what the experts say
we’ll struggle through our sorrow…our grief…and all the while we will pray
for strength and courage and guidance as we solemnly whisper their name
knowing the life we knew up to this point…will never be the same.
It’s as if death has infected our bodies in an instant…overnight…
and our world…once awash in color…has turned to black and white.
At first their memories are fresh…and our sorrow may paralyze…
but then while cloaked in sadness…we begin to realize
they would not want us to remain sad forevermore…
and we try to go on living…the way we lived before.
Slowly with the help of our family and our friends…the healing process begins
and over time, with their help, the color seeps back in.
And we find a place for those we lost in our memories
next to the memories of others who in our life played a part
where we can visit them as often as we like…in the cemetery in our heart.
It’s a quiet, solemn place that has no complement…no parallel
the final resting place where our memories go to dwell.
Where we can walk among them any hour…any minute of any day.
Where the ones we’ve lost forever…are never far away.
We never know when our grief will end and when the healing process will start
But we can take some solace knowing their memories
will always have a quiet place to rest
in the cemetery in our heart.
crushing defeat
in
abyss
of
nostalgia
for
overnight
reminds me
of
you
& city lulls
tumult
of
memories
from
neolithic
times
to
celebrate
words
of
believer
of
love
& soulmates
listen
to
chirping
of
birds
mellifluous
sounds
in
perfect
balance
of
angst
& blithe
similar
to
heartbeats
when
colliding
of
love
happens
&
dusk
unhappens
smiling
teasing
holding
hands
in
belatedly
yin
& yang
in
Edenic
dreams
psalms
of
spring
breathlessly
blossom
beyond
blurred
verses
&
cursed
cravings
covets
kissing
&
erupting
under
elysian
edging
achings
drip
in
gold
& cream
to
smitten
singing
a
name
with
brilliance
& limitless
pleasure
Written: April 04, 2023
2nd place contest winner
A Brian Strand Premiere No 1206 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE::THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' (intuitive cadence)& so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
I miss you.
I miss us.
I miss everything we were
And everything we did together.
How did we change overnight?
I thought what we would last longer than this.
Not forever
But definitely not just four months.
Actually it may have been more than that if we add the time we weren't together
But I still loved you.
Six whole months.
Turns out six months is nothing to you
But just a fling.
But did you ever ask me what it meant to me?
To me,
It meant so much more than just a fling.
It meant the whole world.
I did things with you I've never done with anyone before.
But non of that matters anymore does it?
You hurt me
But at the same time,
Noone could ever hurt me more than I can hurt myself.
I'm the one who confronted you with my feelings
And now I'm paying for it.
You hurt me,
But I still miss you like a foolish little kid.