The noon heat no longer burns like dog days,
Storms now caress the leaves with care and grace,
The roughness of summer night kept at bay,
'Stead calmness, peace and comfort take their place.
The air is hazy, lazy, filled with fun,
Awaiting the chill and darkness of fall,
Now missing kisses of mid-summer's sun,
And cricket's early morning rasping call.
The sky billows brilliant blue with glamour,
The ocean's coolness purifies the air,
Tempting sunbaths silently clamour
For my pale skin on the beach to bask bare.
his lips slipped upon mine; into dreaming
in the satellite of fall's chaste shadows
sphered by the last cast of summer streaming
onto our free skin, sunk in the shallows
our first kisses, our first mature outlet
for a latent love now bursts in our ears
from seeds sown in spring's bosom, mere trinket
our little love, hedging, a nest appears
underneath the wakeful sun, its pure heat
receding; displaced by the chatoyance
of autumnal leaves waltzing where we'll meet
singing, unfazed, at the cold's arrogance
Written: August 09, 2025, for contest SEASONS NOW AND AFTER Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
************
Aurora sheds her velvet, gleaming flame,
Dusk with iridescent shades fills the air.
Molten winds trick hearts in taking a game,
Grooved meadows grant obedient despair.
The alabaster clouds sparkle with grace,
Empyrean dreams appease the reek ache.
Fertile roots stir zymotic in their place,
Anodyne stars at triptych kindly break.
The swarm is a hive of busy tough bees,
Pavonine clouds, incarnadine with thrill.
Multivocal leaves—ethereal, breeze—,
Rapture in desiccation, soft and still.
SEASONS NOW AND AFTER Poetry Contest
Nette Onclaud
8/8/25
As summer winds to an end, there's a pitch
Summer's last breath rocks with school-aged kids
Soon, the air will be filled with excitement
Like hens racing for corn at feeding time
College kids are racing off to their schools
With the new school year, friendships are renewed
Back-to-school shopping and clothes are noted
On-campus parties under the radar
Drawn lines in the sands, aphrodisiacs
And heaps of gossip, stories, rear their head
This yearly song finds all school kids singing
The thrill of late summer, school, brings sweet dreams
Lying in between seasons is a pause,
To look at what's gone on, what's to become.
In Fall, dreading Summer's last curtain call.
In Spring, vaulting to cheer Winter's demise.
The quad-cycle ride brings its surprises.
It taunts, haunts with clockwork compromises-
When we wake up before the alarm sounds,
Or press snooze, to linger on dreams instead.
Drowning the questions never posed nor asked,
Of why shadows shrink when midday is poised.
Or why they're seen at night when sun has flown.
Who steers this whim and flit of sun's time-span?
After ten years a night like this,
when I will be in my late thirty's;
with a healed heart and maintained smile,
I will be laughing at my youth's flaws undefined.
I will be laughing for rushing after those 'emotionally absents',
I will be laughing for wasting months and years over my imprudence.
I will be laughing for dedicating them saucy love poems.
Maybe I will be reading them aloud but I will not be feeling the same.
Those breathless nights will be gone.
I no longer be keen to do constant adorn.
Those traitors shall be anxious to get back me,
but I shall not feel the same pace of glee.
I shall be celebrating my birthday without mourn.
Because till then I shall admit this that 'Winners Stands Alone.'
BREEDS OF LATE LEGENDS
The soul of Bob Marley -
Tap it from the Caribbean reggae.
The ambition of Tupac Shakur -
Immortalize a generational legacy.
The mind of Malcom X -
A monument for all world's activists.
The dream of Martin Luther King -
Still holds the world's ear ransom.
The heroics of Nelson Mandela -
Voyage from apartheid to multiracial democracy.
The greatness of Muhammad Ali -
"Floats like a butterfly & Sting like a bee".
The world need not these monstrous men mountains
But most needing of a breed of our late legends.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright©November2022.
Be a blessing to us and stop writing such trash
With hypocritical flair making our teeth gnash,
All your talk of being so close to the good Lord
Falls flat when you slice fellow poets with a sword
Why do you harass those who enter contests?
Seems there is jealousy in your lame protests,
You do not get comments, most of us you block
Trying to befriend you is like befriending a croc!
If you want a place at the top of a poetry soup list
Consider requirements you’ve obviously missed
Write some top-notch poems worthy of notice
Stop lambasting people, start with the POTUS!
Consider encouraging new poets on the soup
And like a zoo monkey, stop throwing your poop.
Enter those poetry contests you seem to abhor
But, of course, you must begin on the first floor,
And work your way up to some earned recognition
Apologize to folks you’ve hurt, start with contrition,
Try to practice the Golden Rule you often espouse
And stop behaving like an ungrateful, entitled louse!
Written October 20, 2022
[to a Poetry Soup “poetess” who
persists in harassing those who
have achieved top levels on
Poetry Soup lists.]
Of late I feel lost
untethered and tossed
like a ship left dead on the sea.
But no need to worry
for I'm in no hurry
with a dove flying circles 'round me.
Of late, I seem unable
To write a song or fable.
Perhaps it’s too much caffeine;
I seem to be unstable.
Now recently, I’m shaking;
My muscles have been aching.
I may be lacking protein,
Or maybe I’m just faking.
A certain strange malodor;
Those germs are all freeloaders.
Perhaps it is my hygiene,
My wife complained, I showed her.
Perhaps it’s too much caffeine,
I may be lacking protein.
Of late, I seem unable;
Perhaps it is my hygiene.
----------
Another of the 4 stanza poems where the 4th is constructed from the non-rhyming lines from first 3 and the first line from the first.
This one is 7 syllables throughout, so depending on the definition of a jueju, it fits that category, as described in "Dawn song".
It's also fairly stupid, just trying to get the hang of this 4th stanza as
a summary of the first 3...
“Where have all the flowers gone,” the poet wrote
A metaphor for those lost in a cruel war of late
Lives that were wrested from home and family
And thrown into a milieu of humiliation and hate
No real purpose for forfeiting their young lives
In conflict that obviously portended no good ending
But then, what war of that magnitude ever does? --
Is worth our young servicemen and women sending
To sacrifice their lives for some undefined honor
Is it patriotism to assert ourselves in a foreign affair
Methinks there are ulterior motives unexplained
That did not justify the loss of lives way over there.
written November 5, 2021
Do I prefer spring or Fall?
The blooming of flowers or the falling leaves?
My choice depends on the texture of colors
that excite and enthrall.
All the paths are completely solitary,
and lay their blazing carpets that reflect
the shading trees doomed with regret;
I'm already missing their stunning beauty.
The woodpeckers bite on bark
and are clearly heard through the persisting silence,
sad-looking robins, closely parched on a rusty fence,
are comforted by a lonely lark.
If Autumn only evokes sadness...
why would I choose this alluring season:
giving this poet another plausible reason
to explore Nature and its thrills?
Entered in Regina McIntosh's contest
October Contest
Written on 10/3/2020
A short Poem as
A Tribute to My Lost Wife.
Countless voices and memories
May get foggy or dim
By the flow of time stream,
But where do they get erased,
From the continuous petals of mind,
What to say of friends, even life partners,
Get lost, while walking on the path of life,
But, their images and figures,
On the petals of mind,
Continue to spread their fragrance,
Till we breath and live in this world,
To inspires us to fight, the darkness all around
To support those, who are losing courage and hopes
This is the mantra of life
I got it from my lost loved ones and
from my lost wife Shashi.
.
Even if, rocks become obstacles,
To destroy into pieces,
All the bright figures and shapes,
Want to lay rope to bind,
To bind the stream of art and writing,
Which has immense power and force,
But where has anyone stopped
The flow and current of a powerful river
Or has closed in his fist
The beautiful fragrance flowing in the air.
Ravindra K Kapoor
New Raipur India 17 07 2020
* On this day I lost my wife in 2017.
i cry at the thought of heartbreak
i speed in the hopes to create a kaleidoscope alternative
i crash to make the illusion last forever
i die dreaming of you loving me
as i cross over
i become a dark artist painting light images
i look for a penny, but i can't find the fuse box of my sanity
suddenly, it is the third day and i do not remember a thing
it is then that i learn the definition of unconditional love
it is then that i understand the inner making of my broken heart
it is then that a realize that i had no comprehension beyond the satisfaction of my self
it is then that i reality hits me in the head like a hot anvil with cold thorns
it is then that i discover to late.....that it is indeed too late.....
meaty limbs of oak -
august plumage aflutter
with draconic hiss
8/19/2019
Tree Themed Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
575 howmanysyllables.com
*august - marked by majestic dignity or grandeur
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