Under the bejeweled diadem of the sparkling sky
the vibrant celebration finds exuberance in the carnival,
morphing into a sea of color and music in the aura of night
where I float with the fancy procession in the spirit of joy.
The unleashed spectrum of confetti swirls in the festive air,
dancers in plumed apparels sway to the rhythm of samba.
The alluring aroma of street food drifts in the smoky air,
entices the ever-longing sense of delicious delight
The serene street reverberates with the tempo of trumpets
as the festooned floats glide through the hypnotized crowds.
Convention creates ingenuity in the exhilarating ambiance
with the mystique melodic motion in the festival of life.
{For 5x5x3 Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Miranda Hawley
Date submitted: 20/4/25}
ARTIST
They shone daring green avocado
in dark adverse period swearing
guilt ridden heart vanquished free
sacral scrubbed pink and ready
plumed serpent in magnificent bloom
with candles God watched supreme
from blue misty mountain clean
knowing Artist was not insane
two green irises unusually plain
pierced her luminous spine divine
naked Eve eyed painting quiet
easels of unfinished tired purple
massaged her throat coloured gurgle
rooms without curtains collapsing sad
Artist pierced Love bubble mad
I dreamed a bird-of paradise arose one starry night.
Beautifully plumed, it floated in mystical moon-light.
I drifted along with it, as delicate as fine lace,
extraordinarily content, unconstrained and graceful.
As I left the door ajar,
as I stood under the stars,
as I stared at the moon afar,
As I glance at my foot, riddled with scars.
I asked the moon to listen as I gloomed.
As I spread my hands wide,
As I welcomed the rain with stride,
As I let my feet slide,
As I danced with my hair tied.
I asked the rain to listen as I plumed.
As I hugged the stem,
As the wind touches my dress's hem,
As the leaf kissed my anadem,
As my eyes glittered like gems.
I asked the tree to listen as I bloomed.
Madame Dollene was Rubenesque
wearing too much rouge
her hat was oversized, overstuffed, over plumed
on anyone else, it would have looked outrageous.
The orange red feather perfectly matched her dress
Kuddos to her hat maker and her dressmaker.
She was the ultimate madame,
Looking every bit the part.
I was glad I was in Paris
To see her, if nothing else
I was fascinated by her attitude
Her steely blue eyes looked through my soul.
She had a strange smile, as if she knew the secrets of the universe.
I was convinced that she did.
Orbit or forfeit but never collide
You’ll just mess it up like last time
On a beach in St. Augustine, Florida, I thought I wanted you.
Orbit or forfeit but never collide
You’ll just mess it up like last time
I could have sworn I knew you from somewhere, the way your hair aligned with the freckles on your nose like a seashell. So distinct. And rare.
Orbit or forfeit but never collide
You’ll just mess it up like last time
I caught your eye. Visions of prairie wagon dirt clouds plumed in my head. I think it was the sea spray. Maybe. Grains of sand splayed on your forearms like stars. You had a dusty look about you.
Orbit or forfeit but never collide
You’ll just mess it up like last time
You smiled, and flakes of crystallized sea salt broke off your skin like a sparkling chrysalis. You were glowing,
but I averted my eye.
My mantric mind.
Orbit or forfeit but never collide
You’ll just mess it up like last time
night sounds awaken
as eerily shrills echo~
ominous mantra
plumed wings cast shadows
reflecting in the moonlight~
twilight prey tango
birds hidden in nests
quietly guarding fledglings ~
nocturnal mission
a night heron squawks
while motionless in the marsh~
still fishing pursuit
A Blue Heron unleashes itself from a
surfing wind and flowing sky.
Wings spread it rides, almost hovering,
as it seeks a nestled place to land.
There, the long reeds
have been hollowed out by its mate,
but she has gone to fish,
gone elsewhere.
The bird lands,
for a moment its long legs are buoyed
by the merest whisp of gravity.
The heron settles, folding its wings
like a cloak around him,
now as the wind ruffles its feathers
he seems only a scrawny effigy,
of the bird in flight,
a plumed twig planted in the disturbed shallows.
The pond ripples with silver whispers,
small fish dart, their heads
arrowing deeper.
The Great Blue
strides slowly to the shoreline
becomes a living statue,
a patient presence
amid the rushing blow.
That is when I saw
how the world is stirred around
by a stillness,
how an unmoving center
can turn within a heron's eye.
(A bird-in man poem)
Yes, any bird can be the common crow;
the bulbul or the yellow bird.
And parrots, ofcourse;
because every tree has got its own bird.
But to which colour does your bird belong to?
Red-plumed; yellow-feathered?
My eyes nested on her head.
But said she: black is not the crow; but the crow is black.
Fluttered my butterflies on her lips;
She told: red is not red bird; but red bird is...
The snails fingered on her areolae to nausea; brown isn't the bulbul but the bulbul is brown, said she.
Then the snakes tongued into her naval flower.
She replied: blue is not any snake; but snake is blue.
While bites both venomous and mutual entwined us into ecstasy, on my moringa tree,
there rained all the parrots!
They ate my seeds to the barren.
Yes, green isn't the parrots but parrots are green, said she.
Which is the colour of my bird?
Alas, the parrots flew away with the answer.
But each with the same feathers.
And now we are flying trees with the same feathers.
(The end)
(On parrots:
Most parrots are monogamous, form strong pair bonds which in some cases last for life, which in larger species atleast 82 years.)
Sailing atop waves, this life in full bloom,
Upon the shoreline, the lighthouse forewarns,
Darkened clouds hover, the impending doom.
Waves still like mirror, glass shimmering womb,
Life in full sail, ship commissioned as born,
Sailing atop waves, this life in full bloom.
Anxiety encased in light and tomb,
To seek help ashore, sounding its ship horn,
Darkened clouds hover, the impending doom.
A lighthouse keeper, sheds light on the gloom,
Resilient sails, however war-torn,
Sailing atop waves, this life in full bloom.
Ship shifts its rudder, evade the presumed,
Rocks stick out of waves, for whom will we mourn,
Darkened clouds hover, the impending doom.
Anxiety strikes all, even those plumed,
Through the lighthouse keeper, trouble be borne.
Sailing atop waves, this life in full bloom.
Darkened clouds hover, the impending doom.
Flaming out Full myself frog rode a glitzy snail to Frolic Town.
When he got there, he did a shimmy and danced all around.
Then he threw himself dramatically on the ground.
Flashing his feathered boa, making a really big sound.
He is so confident! The other frogs said to each other.
What kind of family did he have? Where is his father? His mother.
His parents are from outer space, they know no limits said his friend.
Which is why Flaming out Full Myself frog can be himself to the very end.
I wish I had a background like that, so many said at once and meant it.
He flung his pink and purple plumed hat around, and no relative had a fit.
He is truly magnificent! Frolic town residents agreed with each other.
Asking where is his father? He must have a saint for a mother.
The crows are a feathered crowd,
a dark cloud
jostled together as they are
over the roadkill.
They peck and tear
lift a little in the air
allowing another beak
to stab at a morsel.
Black wings
iridescent in the morning light
flutter in the cram and bustle of
their feeding.
Above them a lone hawk
watches from a high perch.
If it swooped to steal a crumb
form the crows table
it would be instantly mobbed
made to flee
swerve and dodge
the anger of the many.
The raptor waits,
for the crows will eventually
fall to bickering and dissent,
some will fly away cawing
others will strut the highway
seeking more edible scraps.
Then the hawk will descend
rummage the remains
and fly off
with a hard won piece of gristle
content to be
the king of its invisible castle
that is
until the riotous corvids return again
to claim its throne.
Soaring sovereign, white-crowned bird,
Shanghaied silently without a word.
Strong feathers molted one-by-one.
Pinfeather plumed on bare skin.
Wet market ready.
3/19/2023
cold curfew lifted
eager wings spread, feathers plumed...
sweet song susurrates
tweeting awareness
of burgeoning beginning...
springtime harbinger
February 10, 2023
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Contest : Bird
in regal blue
amid blooming eyes
plumed iridescence
peahens gather
in a harem
train rattling
in search of a mate
colored quills
she spreads her feathers
choice made
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