Long Peach Poems
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Chicago to the North;
East of the Great Divide;
New Orleans to the South;
and South of The Mason-Dixon.
It's 8:20 PM in The Central Time Zone;
two hours earlier in my prior time zone,
and I'm 2000 miles and 4 months removed.
The language is no longer 'you guys but Y'all'.
Whether here or there, the best season is Fall.
Currently, I see things often not seen for many a year.
The once heavy sites of brown have turned to green.
No smoking skies, and the cars are not required to smog.
This rural setting is more subdued and tamed, it seems.
I'm now retired, but I think the wages are much too lean.
I miss my lemon, peach, and pear trees, but I hasten to add that I never cared much about the two tall palm trees.
My young Rose of Sharon is about 5 years old, and it saddens me that she will have to grow old without me.
I don't think the new owner will keep the nectarine trees.
I pray that God will send more rain to the Westerners.
Here, it seems to be either raining or getting ready to.
I think the bean and corn crops will do wonders this year.
Multiple clouds of white fill the beautiful blue skies, and also, white clouds with shaded greys abound.
It may come with a different melody, but
one's life needs never be without a song.
I often hear pleasing whispers of the wind, and I
feel cool breezes, presently, with low humidity.
High humidity will soon arrive, and that's a promise.
Presently, it's pleasantly calm and warm in late May.
I pray the soon coming hurricane season will be mild.
These bits and pieces of muse have been my expressions
about my new home where I recently came to roam.
053022PS
Swept away in a spaceship
with a Captain Dylan Hunt, by name.
He looks just like Kevin Sorbo
of television's "Hercules" fame.
I'm not sure which is more shocking,
this galaxy quest or the hunk.
Hope this ship can make the journey.
It rattles like a piece of junk.
Stopping off at some distant planet
for repairs on this bucket of bolts.
We leave the ship for shore leave.
What we see gives us both jolts.
In the evening sky overhead
are three moons in the dark green sky
with rainbow coloured rings 'round one.
It's true ! I wouldn't lie.
As the sage coloured sky darkens
to a deep, deep hunter green
the smallest moon changes colours.
Strangest thing I've ever seen.
The middle moon, with rainbow rings,
is the largest of the three.
The hunky captain and I take a seat
and talk about what we see.
The third moon in the sky above
seems to be quite close by,
It is a gorgeous shade of peach,
the prettiest in the sky.
Apparently, the ship is fixed
and now its time to go.
I so enjoyed the sunset here.
The moons put on quite a show.
Off to the next galaxy,
the hunky captain and I,
looking forward to many more sunsets
on many more planets in the sky.
p.s. I'm NOT going home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
for Paula Swanson's "Not Just Any Sunset " contest
07/08/2011
Whenever I am reorganizing and freeing up space in the garage, it's always just a matter of time before she'll come calling.
Or I'm on the computer writing or catching up on the news, it never fails that an urgent honey do was just about due.
She's been visiting relatives for the last two weeks. She's got two more weeks before she returns home to me.
More than expected, I felt her absence the very first week. Several times I have caught myself waiting to be interrupted.
Often I've had to readjust or reprogram my mind; "Home alone". I say to myself, "Oh wow, she's not here", and resume my activity.
In 45 years of marriage, we have never been separated this long. Realistically, for the first time, I am missing her in a whole new way.
In 45 years, I've never missed her this long, this much, this way. I'm niether bored nor lonely, because I always have plenty to do.
I have been gathering and eatting more tomatoes since she's been gone.
I suspect I'll be eatting crowder peas and zucchini before she gets home.
I wish she could have seen me gathering peaches and nectarines today.
I can't deny; I've eatten more ice cream than I should; but I'm not all bad.
Why, a couple of days ago, I made a very tasty peach/nectarine smoothie. I must confess; I just have to say; I kid you not; and believe me when I say.
I will welcome her return and not be sad when things return to normal. But I'm 'tickled pink' that since she's been gone, the phone hardly rings anymore!!
72717FBPS
It never got to ripen before it had started splitting at the seam.
It was still too yellow.
Not soft enough.
Too smooth like it was pulled out of the tree too soon
before it had a chance to feel.
It never got to feel enough of the breezes
It never got covered in the morning dew and feel the sun slowly dry its un-ripened skin
And start again
Or ever feel the earth catch it when it falls
In the verdant valley
Where I laid you down in your grass-stained
white gown
before it rained
And where I cried
missing all your sneezes.
Instead, it split too soon
Its heart broke before it got to fall.
She'd spent the day on the beach, all alone,
as skies of morning peach turned amber gold.
Silence broken by cries of gulls, echoing her own
as waves were curling; over the ocean they rolled.
She lazed in a hammock strung beneath palm trees,
trying to erase from memory the words he spoke.
His voice drifted on the wind of a warm summer breeze.
Utterances about the promises he'd made then broke.
She read a little, did too much thinking, mostly slept.
It was exhausting to do nothing and yet feel so jaded,
unless of course she counted the hours she'd wept.
A shadow fell across her face when sunlight faded.
A Winter Landscape
a southern winter
landscape framed by dark gray clouds
pines sigh mellow tunes
a small boy laughs as he runs
splashing in muddy puddles
white ice spews from ground
as temperature plummets
peach blossoms turn brown
a gray haired man shakes his head
and buys tulips for his wife
a spring bouquet sits
in a lovely vase gone dry
tulip petals fall
a kitten smashes the vase
and leaps from the windowsill
grandmother awakes
a small boy and his kitten
run outside to play
donning a yellow rain coat
against the winter landscape
Collaborative poem
Written by: Sara Kendrick, USA and Jack Horne, UK
Summertime meals are delicious
sandwiches with sliced tomatoes
green beans cooked with new potatoes
Homegrown, healthy and nutritious
garden vegetables and fruits
a mixture of tubers and roots
Meals are often expeditious
hotdogs and burgers on the grill
homemade ice cream an added thrill
Barbecues can be ambitious
preparation of sauce and meat
could be hours until time to eat
Summer desserts are capricious
peach cobblers or watermelons
freshly cut honeydew melons
Cool drinks can be adventitious
house special mama's ice tea sweet
or lemonade to beat the heat
Summertime meals are delicious
Homegrown, healthy and nutritious
Meals are often expeditious
Barbecues can be ambitious
Summer desserts are capricious
Cool drinks can be adventitious
July 13, 2018
New Constanza Contest by Emile Pinet
Fifth Place
Constanza
The Constanza created by Connie Marcum Wong consists of five or more 3-line stanzas. Each line eight syllables. All the first lines of all the stanzas form an independent poem as the rest of the poem expresses a deeper meaning. The first lines are in mono-rhyme while the second and third lines of each stanza rhyme together. Rhyme scheme: a/b/b a/c/c a/d/d a/e/e a/f/f........etc. And the end verse is made up of the first lines of all the previous verses combined.
This sunset of peach crowns the bay, aglow
While Manila lies in tropical bliss
This region bustling with tunes as nights flow
Along street cafes where friends reminisce.
The jam of guitars floods a moonlit trail
Dizzy where tangy hyacinths delight…
Folks prancing on rhumba beats to unveil
My city agleam... near a harbor bright.
Modern yet quaint, this scene is my life’s art
Afloat like an isle of eclectic flair,
Robed in temples,parks of inner child’s heart
For this dwelling charms with beauty to share.
In my abode of pearled Oriental grains,
Manila pulsates in festive refrains.
Where Are You From Contest
Sponsor: Joseph Soper
* Manila ( Philippines)
This chair has chipped paint.
Its shadow gangly
in the light spilling through
the window. A deep
buttercup bisque steeps.
Through this stream, ember
motility of curdled
cream seeps into pores.
The seat embraces. Blood
colors sugar soft.
Fragments of dust waver
around the chair. Like
the suspended stars, or
the pixel points on
an LCD screen. Crumbs.
Feathers stick to the cheeks,
to be brushed off,
puff into the heavens.
Egg -white tinctured coat
wilts within the humid
air. Like the jaundiced
skin you wished to shed
when you first sundered
the sheets this morning.
This chair rocked my great
grandmother and her
children, and mother. Creaks
like an anchored boat.
Exposed grey brown wood
perishes, stabs the skin.
Like the chilled sea tinted
eyes: an ingress tears
the hushed air- a summons:
her son. Long ago
an apollyon. Starless.
The chair will be kindle
in September, sand-
peach colors imbued,
flushed like the candied
burn of Fall. Her flames.
Relive the fire
in the sky; salt waters
plum green, oily.
tauten red orange arms.
War in the distance-
better. The rose portrait,
diabolus shades stain
a cimmeran- tinted
loss, wound. Chalk inhaled.
And the blaze of two black
holes colliding. Wraiths.
The winter of her life,
within which a lurid
spirit-thin webbed cross
bleeds ash. Freezes; clots.
Morning brews sunrise colors-
yolk yellow seeping over
edges; light sterling silver
strung; rubbed linens ironed
across the rim. The creatural
world-a lime olive, sea blue
cup- has a view from space:
mottled tints- mud grey, green. Deep.
Sienna red flames bedewed.
Aged worn cotton tinctures-
the crumpled fabrics' wrinkles
are mountains, hills, cliffs ingrained.
Threads netted- the indigenous
lives captive-evolution.
They tat the stretched skies, royal.
From beats the animus- birth;
sprouting; feathery gardens
open to the sun. Roots plow.
Volcanic lands thrust- beryl
hues are the telluric gloss
of... diamonds. Hope. Pearl flushes-
scents of the wash of Summers.
Peach -brown malts- inebriation
of puissance. Grains reaped, ablaze
in Autumn afternoons. Stoked,
ground into mealy givings.
Marl nectare, fertility.
Corollas of heaven- O'Keefe.