Long Powdery Poems
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A band of brothers rushed through the door
Suddenly a thunderous roar was heard and hey were no more
A giant cloud enveloping all in it’s way
Tuning everything to night where once before there was day
Powdery white dust everywhere
Stinging one’s eyes and polluting the air
He sounds of sirens heard everywhere
But safety and shelter wee found no where
Someone said many were trapped inside
It was there and then I began to cry
So many lost on that day
So many lives taken away
These souls taken from their loved ones
For no reason for it was nothing that they had done
We stand by and watched and prayed
Yet hope grows dim with each passing day
We offer our prayers and honor their memory
We give courage to their family
And as they look down on us this day
They know that those who have done this will pay
Form:
a blindingly foggy day,
powdery wind blowing it's whistle
without cease.
out in the blizzard,
a man in his vehicle,
immobile in the deep snow.
he's plucked out
of the brutal mercy
of the winter storm.
seeking refuge
in a good samaritan's garage;
teeth chattering,
body trembling,
frequently shaking
frost-bitten hands;
hurricane of anguish
churning
at the pit of his stomach.
he's sipping hot cocoa
ah, relief!
Winter Storm Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Kim Rodrigues
Date written: 1/4/2023
Trying to recapture the joy of those winter days is difficult. School cancelled: sun shining through the sheer, white, curtains into an all too girlie room, the sound of a tea kettle's whistle, the ice cold feeling of oak boards on bare feet, between scatter rugs; I ran to the kitchen. The transistor radio sounded, still calling out school closings. The snow sifted down.
bright sun
sparkles on snowflakes –
the plow roars
Quick phone calls, punctuated with giggles, roused a gaggle of neighborhood girls. White skates in hand, I burst out the door. I rushed toward the swampy area behind the neighbor’s house. My rubber boots crunching crust above the powdery fluff. At the edge of the watery wood, I stood staring. Boys, I see the boys in there. They have their skates on already. Tommy Maloney, my crush, skated toward me.
his black waves
dusted with snow –
whoops of delight
A hummock of snow-topped grass served as a seat. I removed my boots from beneath the zip sides of snow pants and try to tie laces new white skates. Once done I stood wobbling, weak-ankled. Tommy laughs, as knock-kneed I attempt a glide toward him falling on my butt. Oh how his eyes sparkled, an Irish rogue at twelve. Kneeling, Tommy began to re-lace my skates. I remember wishing, so much, he would kiss me.
First Contemporary haibun online Fall 2013
Published in Winter Legends 2014
Leaves Sing a Lullaby
Sweet and innocent baby, skin of soft powdery scents, kiss of sweet nectar
Fields of spring flowers blooming against the hill
with delicate rainbow colors dancing to the whispers of the gentle breeze
Butterflies and bumble bees emerging from nestled rest
and generate igniting the efflorescence of life
As the tree’s limbs nestles and cradles the innocent child
underneath its shade,
gentle breeze flows between emerald green leaves
and it sings a lullaby with the whisper of its leaves
© 4/29/2015
Contest Name: Your Favourite Old Poem
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
"Do not go gentle into that good night."
"Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Quote By Dylan Thomas
Smoky clouds float above slate skies.
Powdery alabaster flakes of snow glide to the earth.
A frozen taste of grief hovers in the breeze,
while maniacal machinery grinds close by.
The scent of industrial oil stings my nose,
as your chestnut coffin lowers into the misty petrichor below.
The pattering of moist dirt dings against the hardened box.
Crystal-clear tears wash over my face,
your warmth now replaced by a marble headstone.
Hours pass under opaque moonlight;
I sit with midnight winds
and buttery daisies,
clinging to the glistening stone,
trying to find a way back to you.
BLACK POWDER
Fireworks glowed on sky
sparkling so spectacular.
Crackers blown and burst
spreading ash and black powder.
hitting hammer on ear drum.
Odor of sulphur
flaunted polluting air.
Charcoal dust on roof
to be cleaned and swept out.
Waited long just to breathe fresh.
Fireworks glowed on love.
but blown burst on betrayal.
Caused bruise and scar.
Heart swept all leaving no trace.
Black powdery love still haunts.
11/12/18
Dumbfoundedness still prevails three weeks later...
when held spellbound courtesy grifter
Flim-flam man left lasting emotional whiplash
his derelict perfected artifice
to hijack every last cent
smarted me with indelible smash;
living daylight delivered I kidney you not
envious affliction affecting
last named member and founder of the Byrds
with crosby, stills, young and nash
entire corporeal being turned to hash
condemned state yours truly relegated,
cuz cremation unaffordable, though pulverized
and transformed into powdery ash;
Impossible mission to conceptualize
transmutation into cremains, the brain
lodged within me noggin
ill equipped to envision mine gray matter
even after asking mister Google to explain
that cremation takes place
in a specially designed furnace,
referred to as a cremation chamber or retort,
and exposed to extreme temperatures –
up to 1,800 degrees Fahrenheit–
leaving behind only ashes.
Following the procedure,
a cooling period required
before the remains can be handled.
Yours truly can best attest,
when succumbing as victim to virtual heist
I most likely flip flopped
into one percent atavistic Neanderthal state;
a surprising revelation
23andme genotyping results
yielded said presence of proto human
after analyzing DNA
courtesy saliva sample from eldest sister.
No other logical satisfactory explanation doth chime
lapsed consciousness, hence reasonable rhyme
whereat one twenty first century mortal man
virtually travelled in time
cast into nasty, shortish brute
obliging deft inducement
outsourcing valuable dough.
Though aforementioned far-fetched notion
smacks of high skepticism,
yet no more ridiculous than
hominids over bajillion years springing forth
from flotsam and jetsam in the ocean
I may as well broach another theory of creation
(just came to my mind),
that divine omnipotent wizard
sprinkled magic potion
across primordial sea
after watching an advertisement promotion
claiming said product
contained the seeds of life and white lily.
Convinced that snake oil salesman
wrought deleterious influence
triggering a debacle that rocked
the financial market,
(albeit constituting one singular naked ape),
an attorney general based in Philadelphia
believes I presented a convincing case,
which hopefully witnesses
recouping all or most of my funds.
When she retires,
she'll buy a private tropical island
and build herself a little house with furniture of wicker and bamboo.
Only those who she invites will visit her there.
She'll have five cats who will be free to prowl the island,
safe from traffic or coyotes.
Her days will be filled with the scent of salt and hibiscus,
the sounds of ocean and wind chimes.
At night, the cats will join her on the pillowed chaise
on her patio,
under a spattered sky.
Her fingers will rake lazily through their downy fur,
purrs rumbling as she counts the stars
and names the constellations.
In the morning,
she will eat sweet, fresh mango,
picked from the mango tree outside her kitchen window.
She'll swim in the limpid blue cove, cool and sacred,
and walk along the shore,
her toes kneading powdery sand.
She will find pink, coiled shells to add to her huge glass jar
and write poems in the afternoon—
after a nap
with her cats—
when she retires.
A raw quiet
stretches like a membrane
across the night.
Pulled tight it waits to amplify
the slightest sound.
Each passing minute dials up
the volume of a nerve
strung to snare
the powdery whispers of a moth
or the faint ticking wheezed
out of an old wristwatch
kept beside the bed.
Others sneak the outskirts,
undeciphered, just out of reach
of being named.
Then in time
thoughts take over
and chatter in an aimless
dialogue of the brain.
The past is replayed
again and again
in regrets or unhealed shame
or bent to shape
itself another way as if
a choice was had
to change what happened
into what should have been.
Or the mind stammers, afraid,
paused on the lip
of what's to come,
a dull dread
of something unshaped
palling over the days ahead,
or plucks some planned event
for it to fill
with imagined pleasure
of what might be.
A distant siren
tunnels the dark
with its urgent wail
then thins to silence.
Unease lingers in its wake
and slowly tightens
until all distills
to just the sound
of a muffled pulse
beating in the chambers
of an ear.
One day it will stop.
Breathe
I call to you my beloved
Your unleashed whispers arrive
Riding the tendrils of an approaching fog
A dance of mist unfurling its fingertips of desire
Coming ever closer to my pulsating heart
I long for you, for all you have ever been
To taste your breath, your desire, your heartache and your sorrow
Would be my everlasting gift
You come to me in many forms... hovering close by
Beckoning me upward to that place between Heaven and Earth
White hawk.....Your feathered wings outstretched
I lay upon your back merging with you
Entering your being
Becoming you
I feel our wings beating as we enter the sky together
Gliding across powdery clouds
A stillness... the air brushing our cheeks
Our bodies rising and falling
Dipping, curving, and diving
Before climbing again
Joy
A quiet ascendance soaring into the realm
Of Spirit and Soul
Entering magical moments cloaked in ancient memories
Our guardians are hummingbirds and owls
Adorned in snowy white guiding us towards the velvet envelope
Between space and time
Undying light reaching out to the end of the horizon
A merging of ALL..... Promise and Desire
An everlasting illumination of hope
Swimming in the naked air
Being kissed by bursts of sunlight
Peering through the gauzy sky
My body basking in radiant warmth
A quiet solitude
A tapestry of pale rose, magenta, and mauve
Reflecting my inner soul
A call to BREATHE....Deeply...Fully
Feeling the eternal connection
Becoming one with the pulse of life
Surrounding us all
A deep reverence towards all that is
Pink pearled strands of rain pierce the sea of mist and clouds
A kaleidoscope.... columns of light and shadow
Swimming through glorious turquoise universes
I close my eyes and feel your embrace
As we become one