Long Vines Poems
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Beneath the fury of sun
Wades a wobbly nun
Stomping on thorns
Watch the teary ferns
Scars on her skin
Carrying wounds engraved
Curse devious grin
And snakes she once craved
She sucked and spitted
Bouts of venom in her blood
Tainted by flood
Of emotions she once knitted
Profuse tears of fern
They observe
Drip on her burn
Numbing pain so perverse
Weeped the clouds
In meloncholic ambience
Silence crept loud
Spotting redemption in defiance
Step out the vines
Adorning her bruises
Wind's penchant to divine's
Yearning, she refuses
Blanket of ferns
Ease her shivers
While the moon upturns
Bogs were her new weavers
Time passed by
Has been watching the sky
Fern decays
Her soul repays
November! When the auburn autumn leaves
retard the tinkling brooks of Vallombrosa,
and kitchen chimneys draw the old ones closer:
when timid fieldmice nestle in the eaves
and oaken chests give up our longer sleeves,
and finer fabrics cede the game to grosser:
we close John Grisham, open Vargas LLosa:
Orion rises, and Arcturus grieves.
But sometimes there’s a gracious interlude.
Though winter waits offstage with all its lines
word-perfect, still a kind of summer shines.
The breeze feels older now, of muted mood,
not so disposed to boast its vital signs,
inclined to amble through the golden vines.
Sonnet composed: 10 November 2019
New Fall Sonnets Poetry Contest 2019
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Remembrance of what had been
and would never be again
to have journeyed through a dream state
of emotions wrought
that drip slowly still
filling the well of the heart
quenching the throat of loneliness
when needs were met
in an exchange of binds, reaching out
with tender arms of expectations and desire
as they lit the wick of love's candle
to remove the empty dark
that stirs on the twilight of their horizon
washed in the color gray
where they wait
to kiss the passionate hungry lips of a lonely traveler
who enters the realm of their hope
with a burning yearning to be loved as them
and for a time the world collapsed
into a singular face of exhalation
filled with the glorious glow of internal blossoms
raining the air in sacred fragrant scents
that poured down on the hearts of lovers
entwined like vines wrapped around the days of life
where fruit hung heavy and ripe with thoughts of an eternity
found to be an illusion
painted by the hand of false dreams
of what love should be, and for a time was
perhaps, their bonding of forever and timeless
was a moment's pause on life's journey
that became a memory of two lonely hearts
who joined in the struggle of life
to find peace, even if briefly
when emotions erupted like a volcano
spilling out on the landscape of their dreams
removing everything in its path
with its molten state of energy
until it cooled and hardened on barren ground
that was once a garden where lovers walked
in the star-dust light of romance
with eyes of wonder
that now turn away in silence
on their long slow path back to loneliness
7/22/22
Trumpet vines, in tangerine and cherry,
Softly whisper to those souls who know –
bell shaped blooms, so bright and merry.
Morning glories in purple, blue and berry,
Delicate beauties perfect as a rainbow,
Trumpet vines, in tangerine and cherry,
Mountain laurels, blushing shy as January,
Colors of pink sigh in their ghostly glow,
bell shaped blooms, so bright and merry.
Lily of the valley, pristine white to marry,
Flowers so gentle, much like the willow.
Trumpet vines, in tangerine and cherry,
Bells of Ireland in green like the military,
Capture the gaze of every calm meadow.
bell shaped blooms, so bright and merry.
Fairy bells, bluebells and foxglove – carry
Their warmth, even melting winter’s snow,
Trumpet vines, in tangerine and cherry,
bell shaped blooms, so bright and merry.
A Jar of Summer
Snow lies thick on the yard
Outside my window.
I lift the jar from the shelf
And carry it to my breakfast table.
Sunlight glows purple through the glass.
I pry open the lid.
And the winey aroma
Fills my soul with summer.
I see the grass by the fence.
The air is heavy with
The musky smell of wild grapes
That hang in beckoning clusters
From vines among the trees.
I clamber over the fence,
My hip complaining
About that last leg over!
I scramble among the grasses -
Never mind the thorny creepers
Clutching at my legs and clothes -
And load my bag with purple jewels.
The jam kettle waits,
And I hurry home to fill
The neighborhood with the
Thick, sweet aroma of cooking grapes.
This little jar of jam I open
At my winter breakfast table
Holds all the memories of summer.
I close my eyes and let
The tart-sweet taste
Fill my all my senses with
The sun and smells and tastes
Of summer past and summers yet to come.
I woke to the birds singing,
and distant church bells ringing;
my bedroom was sunshine hued,
it gave me a calm still mood.
Soon, I walked a lush green path,
in nature I hold no wrath;
I love the wandering vines,
and flowers colored like wines.
Love the stillness and deep hush,
caressed by natures paint brush;
I just breath in a sweet scene,
and I am filled with serene.
I come upon a blue stream,
peaceful, tranquil as a dream;
ducks float among grass reeds,
happy to eat water weeds.
Only God could create this,
this heaven on earth and bliss;
the trees form a church ceiling,
for my praying and healing.
So, when seeking deep, deep thoughts,
and to unravel life's knots;
I find myself in nature,
talking to Buddha-nature.
________________________
April 12, 2023
Poetry/Jueju/Qijue/The Stillness of Nature
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1539-061-12
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere contest, Write A Jueju-Qijue
sponsor, Emile Pinet, Judged 05/22/2023
Second Place
Two young lovers
Seeing eye to eye;
Ecstatic romance
Promises made
Language of love;
Reality can be harsh
July sun-bathing
Local fruitage surprise:
Durians, mangosteens, rambutans!
Two yellow butterflies
Zigzagging flight path;
Bourgainvillea landing
Sweet nectar sip
Momentary focus;
Long haul to tall casuarina
Old banyan tree witness
School boy quarrels echo;
All gone away
Time passes quickly
So many ambitious kids;
Now preside over meetings
Old school mates
Chance encounter;
Discuss happenings
Witty old father checks
Vivacious mother tags;
Facebook excursions
Fancy smart phones
Tablets for dummies;
Slow learning curve
Purple flowers
Creeping vines on fence;
Morning salutation
Morning Glory flowers
Here at dawn;
Gone by dusk
Leon Enriquez
23 July 2014
Singapore
As death mimics love itself and clutch a throbbing heart,
kindling consolation to savor flight, farther and farther
beyond the inner yelps released as vibrating soar easily,
stimulating stress to execute its portion and naught idle,
merely trounce its climatic claim with an uttered gasp.
Exhale nor inhale as a soul embarks anew venture upon
a road that seems less traveled, albeit, a much-traveled
road, nonetheless, deliberating back to that grey hued
frame, thoroughly placed in peace, smiling at once was a
vestige of their former self as hands clasp naught wave.
The hours, the days, the years, all appear as if time itself
is naught placed on hold, but practically be nonexistent,
then again, seeing the circumstances unfold, obviously,
one will be able to grasp that there is no other direction
of a skyless opaque mist, except a harmonious presence.
As distinction advents and all be so unique and naught
strange, more and more a glide into the everlasting light
and that the glorious manifestation established hereon,
whereby, one came upon Steinbeck as he was sitting by
vines, beaming, as he was writing, The Grapes of Mirth.
if only i had made better choices
if only i had said no
if only i knew what and where love was
if only i had simply remained faithful
i would be sleeping in a warm, comfortable king size bed
and not struggling to stay warm under a cheap throw blanket in my old 1991 ford taurus
damn right you reap what you sow
the roots are mighty poisonous
the staying power of distrust and the stained change that comes with it
is not worth the time or the energy
treasure and cherish the One that rocked with you from the very raw begin
finding another even close to similar is like going through a car wash full of briar vines
the main difference is that a good heart is being ripped, torn, and scarred
apologies are like sandpaper in a melancholy desert with no sign of relief
when all is done and in the personal history books, nothing salvageable ever becomes of it
though quite a few recover, it is still never the same because of the permanent stain....no matter how hard the work
some may disagree, but what about their eyes on the ceiling in the dark when lost in thought
if only i had made better choices
if only i had said no
if only i knew what and where love was
if only i had simply remained faithful
i would be loungin' in my favorite, cozy chair and not listening to (sittin' on) the dock of the bay in a daze of confusion wasting time
The missing letters are feared lost better calls shrieked into the mossy night where hovering the moon delights, in wolfish cries and another bursts the devil called and answered Ms. Hearst so while the nighttime day's mirror... cries are heard! They said that amber was a rock no more, for if serendipitously defined then hulking over the river is the divestment of the vines, but modern day America hasn't won the currency war, the Euro has it's place ensured, and though we wile through rows of corn our hearts aflutter as others mourn, be crisp beneath that blotted out apple tree, the asylum loves apple juice for free.