A hush, soothing as sombre
In its finality
Like a healing dew settles. Tis
Man's post-sunset hour.
Hear up through draw breathes again
Earth's being. Now fear- free.
Mossed and mushroomed; and snail-faced.
Gentlest beguiling!
Heaven's host, first of did sing.
Men yet to devour.
Inside my heart is where you always dwell my darling
never forgotten
from that first kiss you were to be my true love
this love cannot be destroyed
You are
the rose inside my heart- dear
from that moment we met- we were to be one
joined eternally
I recall all the good times
we shared love, passion, desire and happiness
so alike- we complimented each other
we were so truly in love
Darling
like E.E. Cummings wrote in his romantic poem
I carry you in my heart
until my last day on earth I will love you
I go often with a rose
to lay upon your mossed and engraved tomb stone
seems odd for a man who was so full of life
oh, listen birds are singing
There is a great beauty in this decaying
such a peacefulness where chipmunks run and leap
my eyes fill with tears
and a rose of love blooms brightly in my heart
___________________
March 22, 2023
Poetry/Suzette Prime/Inside My Heart - MR
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1533-294-22
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, The Rose Inside My Heart
sponsor, Mystic Rose, Rose, Judged 03/31/2023
First Place
time worn stones mossed green
tranquil for years where they lay ...
a thousand birds sing
_____________________
January 28, 2023
Poetry/Haiku
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1520-811-28
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere 2022 Poetry Marathon, Mile 26
sponsor, Mark Toney, Judged 02/04/2023
Submitted to the Premier contest, Premier Choice, No 1188
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 02/19/2023
and in my dreamy dream I walk over a hill
where the high sun above is shining bright
and find an abandoned garden growing at will
with buds and blooms vibrant- oh, what a sight
crocuses, roses, curious flowers unknown
a deep purple bursting- a twining plait
and beside a blue pond I sit on a worn stone
all enclosed by a mossed wall with ornate gate
I linger there among yellow lilies sun kissed
in this garden so strange, so fair and sweet
but now- I must from this dream untwist
as mist swirls and twirls starting at my feet
______________________
October 04, 2022
Poetry/Quatrain/the abandoned garden
Copyright Protected, ID 10-1492-114-04
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere contest, 2022 Poetry Marathon, Mile 17
sponsor, Mark Toney, Judged 10/26/2022
Submitted to the Standard contest, Your Choice 2022
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judge 12/24/2022
Tenth Place
BEYOND BRAINS
Oh! my poor soul! Worn out of what I am?
A loop of having evil after wicked!
My mood riding the rollercoaster,
Fearless and being gearless.
Who wants to take up the responsibility?
Science or spiritual, sigh is never.
Pushed to a cliff of crocodiles.
Abashed with what have done in.
On the mossed rock I sit, legs crossed,
Waiting for an answer from above
Who wants to unleash the evil,
and bring in the spring of joy?
I sensed a cold hand on my shoulder
Brought warmth to my hilarious heat.
“It’s just the Monthly One!” shook me up,
Realized the ridicule, shutting my eyes,
Feeling daft of mulling over.
breathing at...
mossed-fears
is
breathing with a...
time-meme oar-ease
as
most-spheres of...
mind are reflect-shuns
that
define some re-all...
at-tea that soak-cursed
my
......favorite t-shirt.....?
stans sand
My soul is bleeding, bleeding,
as a thousand sharp daggers stab me;
for the headstones are green mossed,
and I hold to my heart tattered memories;
like decaying bouquets,
and will 'till my last gasp !
_____________________
April 10, 2022
Poetry/Free Verse/Like Decaying Bouquets
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1446-865-10
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Bite Size Poem, No 42
sponsor, Line Gauthier, Judged 05/01/2022
First Place
Have been on a journey to now,
it was hard but made it somehow;
I followed the teachings of Tao,
finding peace in a cat's meow.
It has been hard at times !
There are days that I am still lost,
oh, their graves are all quite green mossed;
for into grief I have been tossed,
for surviving have paid a cost.
I feel twisted sometimes !
But, I have a strength within me,
now try to greet each dawn with glee;
I am a poet wannabe,
a modern day Calliope.
And each day my joy climbs !
_____________________
April 08, 2022
Poetry/Tail-Rhyme/My Own Kind of Beautiful
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1446-475-08
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Deep in a green forest place,
where all creatures interlace,
among the lush all embrace,
while mossy vines grow and twine in swirls !
A tiny frog is leaping,
landing on a leaf creeping,
on a silent pond sleeping,
till' a thump sends his leaf into twirls !
A small butterfly is lost,
on a floating thing is tossed,
frog is looking like a leaf mossed,
reflected in water their leaf whirls !
________________________
March 18, 2022
Poetry/Rhyme/Lind30 Rhyme/Green Reflections
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1440-746-18
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Lind30 Rhyme
sponsor, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judged04/13/2022
First Place
Forlorn and lost,
I hang my head like a dying flower;
scars on my soul are mossed,
I drown in dregs that devour.
My journey has left my life garden so ravaged,
but, I must leave this forlorn that keeps me damaged;
and hope must be salvaged.
I will find my strength and power at any cost !
Hope is like water,
and though life is a struggle and journey;
I am my mother's daughter,
and will battle all those vines ferny.
There will be twists and turns and days that taint and stain,
but, against the winds I will break my forlorn chain;
to find my way in the rain.
And forlorn will be rinsed away with the hope water !
_______________________
April 13, 2021
Poetry/Rhyme/Forlorn Hope
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1346-851-13
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, This or That, Vol 2
sponsor, Edward Ibeh, Judged 05/13/2021
Third Place
Black beyond frozen shores,
Stellar winds blowing spawn.
Pocked lunar lithic pores,
Barren buds blooming dawn.
Shiny crust over mossed,
A young garden’s dew.
Moldy peach luster lost,
Glow spiders hazy blue.
Spores pulsate swelling nodes,
Shrieking howls grunting sounds.
Shrooms lactate yelling toads,
Shadow wolves' hunting grounds.
Silken silvered moon beams,
Silent short sanguine screams.
*iambic trimeter tetralexic sonnet
The earth is still with winter frost,
The forest shines with snow embossed,
The rocks now snowed had once been mossed,
The clouds all move their snow exhaust.
The trees arrayed in garment white,
A velvet blackness falls with night,
The stars all glow with silver light,
As shining diamonds piled bright.
The wind, a thief steals clouded breath,
The snow burns white, as cold as death,
It's icy blast breaches with eath,
A biting reign, its shibboleth.
The frost filed crystals, clear as ice,
The grip of hoarfrost like a vice
A rush of cold wind; frank, concise,
A winter wonder paradise.
nearing time
a ring of stars told me the future is
the sea that you try to grasp with
broken hands and the past will not
be changed it is stained with rust
and flotsam as your inside ebbs like
a mossed ruin in the dunes where
the salted grass fails to grow as the
wind shakes the waves you are alone
Derelict now cold
Mossed stones in sporadic spill
Ageing arms out spread
They, competing for the light
Sadly, both succumb to time
.
I stood by the bridge
Gazing down at the greens
Of the trees on the banks
At the union of streams.
Through mossed balustrade
Reflected I'd spy
The spires of Magdalen
In watery sky.
Leaves on the water
Red, yellow and gold
By unseen currents,
The near bank hold.
Bright against grey
In light autumn shower
A shimmering halo
Above the stone tower.
Wide wavelets circling
The still picture flows
A fast spreading mask
Where the hidden fish rose.
By the far bank
The ripple passes
Halting the gaze
Of hanging grasses.
Thinned willow and elm
Where pigeons coo,
As in the past
They forever will do.
Now Michaelmas comes,
New faces appear,
But Oxford unchanged
Will greet the new year.
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