blue skies, white foam;
ride turquoise seas.
pine scent, sourced breeze,
green sunshine glow.
flag flaps, afloat -
turns, twists; a treat
of shadowed clouds -
p i c t o r i a l
with chimney smoke.
earth’s breast heaving;
sun’s eyes gleaming
as dusk breaks through.
ribboned moon glow -
a heady gloam.
High in the night sky
The Milky Way shines so bright
Of white ribboned stars
Our two names are scribed there
With ink of an ancient sun.
We frame his daily work of love
along a mirrored river of calm
brown legs and arms reaching for above
snow white their wool where they belong
such peace not to be fleeced ~
he cuddles them where nature is song
Hills ribboned breasts peachy orange
prime colours are all we need
this is how we feed from Earth’s
core green sweet …
______________________
Art piece :
Shepherd and Sheep at Vlaici
Nicolae Darascu
Date: 1912
Style: Post-Impressionism
Genre: Landscape
Source : Wikiart
_________________________
3rd PLACEMENT : Premier Contest
Sponsor : Brian Strand : March 26
which witch am I looking for? I asked my cousin again.
The prettiest one with blue hair, he said, with a heart-shaped chin.
I did not think I would ever find her in this witch coven so big
But she was the only one with blue hair, her name was Mig.
I introduced myself and invited her to my Halloween bash
She thanked me so much, her ribboned hair was as pretty as a sash
She told me that a creepy guy had been bothering her; I asked his name
It was my cousin; she could not attend the party; not such a shame.
All around, smoke ribboned from ashtrays
and mushroomed on the stained ceiling.
There, in the corner, F. Lee Bailey glared,
like a father watching his ill behaved children,
but, as children do, they ignored him.
Irving Kanarek leaned on the far end of the bar.
He was equally ignored,
as barristers sought their pecking order
in a gaggle of egos.
Over the bar a sign hung, "The Bench",
where ironically, the bartender, in jest,
would be asked to "judge" the winner of some petty spat.
Conversation was tediously interrupted as night progressed,
"Objection your honor,l he's badgering the witness"!
"Objection sustained" would ring out from behind the bar,
but amidst all the pseudo legalese, a pall hung ~
draping down the walls like smoke.
They must laugh for sanity but
the killer set free, who would kill again
became the dragon in the room
that would follow them home...
Note: F. Lee Bailey defended the Boston Strangler. OJ Simpson and others
and Irving Kanarek defended Charles Manson
Take initiative go to the light where the force of darkness ends
A flame needs its kindled source as a sparking awareness mends
Our enlightened energy wrapped in an array of cavernous colors
Ribboned radiant impressions given in vast deepest depths squalors
A shadow self may live dormant and await unveiling the chaos within
When it has become an unbearable journey to live in your own skin
Opaque indigo stones skim over shallow waters in an empty well
Stratas rock labyrinths chiseled lies of neglect in a nautilus shell
Warm sorrel ribbon evokes sympathy in a disparaged tale of woe
A sorbet of violet, green, and tangerine conjure a melodious flow
What is truly a wellspring of a healing rainbow palette renders
We find the key to unlocking magic embers in dormant chambers
Dank darkness may lead us astray from individuality and truth
Take initiative, find the light of all brightest light reaching for you
Waves of pale blue wafted through the quilted Texas sky
Highlighting the tangerines and lavenders of the evening
Grandpa’s old windmill looked picturesque in the distance
Sundown believes in imagination, adoration and fantasy
I stared into the ribboned distance, wondering if the trees suspected
They had an essential part in the mystique of the moment
Birds were reverent, none of them flew through the backdrop
My camera captured the night’s beauty, but not her silent ambiance
Mulled Cider Memories
Santa Claus sees what we
are doing.
We rejoice in grandly...
snow-shoeing.
And, oh we do love our hot,
mulled cider.
Especially next to a warm, cozy,
fire!
Christmas tunes joyfully fill many
a home.
Friends an relatives here, who do
Love us ..and do not roam.
We love each other for who we, as
individuals, truly are.
Freedom lovers, we, one and all,who
sing beneath silver, Christmas stars.
Speaking our truths, behind wreathed
ribboned, decorated doors
Bright eyes that sparkle, arms that hold.
True love carved, in poetic, holiday gold.
12/10/2024
Time keeps crawling
Time thaws fleeting days
Days with daisy hope
Days where you fall
Fall to rise again
Fall in perfumed dreams
Dreams forgotten
Dreams lost in silence
Silence that sings
Silence with secrets
Secrets unquestionable
Secrets unfathomable
Unfathomable reality
Unfathomable clarity
Clarity with no remorse
Clarity of seven stars
Stars of lavender love
Stars of silver hymns
Hymns of forsaken flowers
Hymns whispered in rhymes
Rhymes left unwritten
Rhymes with no rhythm
Rhythm of bleeding ink
Rhythm of whistling waves
Waves of healing
Waves of cleansing
Cleansing yesterday’s pain
Cleansing masks of shame
Shame rinsed in mauve rain
Shame with shimmering stains
Stains of rosy red
Stains from emerald emotions
Emotions that made me hush
Emotions from tokens of love
Love painted in prose
Love within my heart
Heart ribboned with sunsets
Heart reflecting clementine sky
Sky sequined in sapphires
Sky quilted in rubies
Rubies within summer blues
Rubies mirror twilight hues
Hues of moonlit souvenirs
Hues of untangled strings
Strings of faith
Strings of words
Words mean nothing
Words mean everything
Everything…
Nothing…
Fashionable Fall flaunts her lustrous leaves,
catwalks flowing flora with earnest ease.
Haunting lullabies from the quaking trees
cast chilling currents from mountain to keys.
Dancing diamonds of glistening glow
show skies with promise of soon-to-be snow.
Sunrises and sunsets are a fireworks show
scattering the stars like dice in a throw.
Gowns of complementary colors trace
ribboned harvest fields at riotous pace.
Swirling with natural, elegant grace,
her glamor failing and fast losing face.
Tattered trees largely stripped bare of their clothes
leave a psychedelic pathway that flows.
With each rowdy breeze, it gustily blows,
and turns pale snozzle to a reddened nose.
With stinging, shallow breath and crimson cheeks
embrace lacy lakes and mountains’ paling peaks
till Winter steals through Fall and solemnly seeks
favor for upcoming ice-hearted weeks.
Words have color and intent,
texture, size and shape;
loosed by emotions we give
legs to lowly travel, and wings
to keep them aloft~ those articulated
ribboned kites we fly in our poetry
Once released, we can never take
them entirely back
Words knit together and scatter,
Blend and splatter
Mend and shatter – make smile
and tear...
Words are everything to
marvel under and over
Something for everyone
we should both treasure
and fear.
Inspired by those separated by WWII, their sacrifice, and the brothers and sisters who are now joining those they lost so young...and, this day in the Ukraine once again...
I never thought I'd miss the clickety-clack;
like a tap dancing minstrel - hour on hour
the carriage would slide,
only to pause for a cigarette and more
thoughtful inspiration.
As smoke ribboned, you would write again
in its foggy veil, and I would nod off
leaving you - a misty aberration.
I cherish that now...and the earring
in my breast pocket, golden, like my memories
and my promise to return it to you
will be kept, no matter...
Your novels used to be of love,
of plane tickets to romantic beaches,
instead, you write now of beaches
where soldiers die and lovers cry.
My strength lies in your embrace
and thoughts that still hold you.
Be safe, and write of love once more.
(A fictional letter from "Harm's Way")
You wrote from your impassioned heart, dear Mama,
An ode, or a sonnet, penned without undue drama.
I sang your lyrics time and again, calling your name
They were your legacy; they never sounded the same
As when you gathered us toddlers into your arms,
And sang to us your sweet verses and psalms.
You wrote from your innermost being, dear Mama
Losing you brought all of us children great trauma.
We searched for comfort among your beautiful things
Your hair ribbons, your pictures, your wedding rings,
But nothing consoled us found among your frocks
Like the pages you saved in your red-ribboned box.
Time has faded the memories we shared long ago
Places we went before life dealt us that fateful blow
Leaving Dad and us children to forage on our own.
But Dad kept us together until we were fully grown
Sometimes we get together as opportunity knocks,
And, always read poems from Mom’s red-ribboned box.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Written March 8, 2021
Revised and Edited for "I Remember" Contest
Sponsored by Malabika Ray Choudhury
You wrote your deepest passionate thoughts, dear Mama,
Odes, or a sonnet, penned without undue drama.
I sang those lyrics many times, calling your name
They were your legacy; never sounded the same
As when you gathered us toddlers into your arms,
And sang sweetly to us from your verses and psalms.
Times together none of us can ever erase
The resonance of your voice, the smile on your face.
You wrote from your innermost being, dear Mama
Losing you brought all of us children great trauma.
We searched for comfort among your beautiful things
Your hair ribbons, your pictures, your gold wedding rings,
But nothing consoling was found among your frocks
Like the pages you saved in your red-ribboned box.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Written March 6, 2021
Submitted to "Poetry As Legacy" Contest
Sponsored by Line Gautier
The Breath Of Winter Sigh Of Spring.
.
After the long icy crippling breathe of winter
At last a warmer welcoming sigh of spring
Heralds a promise of better things to come
The end of stagnation and decay
And the rebirth of abundant living things
.
The wiry trees prepare to clothe and dress
The now fertile ground
No longer under deaths duress
As hazy sunlight filters and dances through
Finger tendrils and contorted twisted naked branches
From a sprawling canopy of vibrant blue
.
Clear sun-kissed ripples
Cascade and weave trough the scattered rocks of sandstone
Of a rushing gushing gurgling
Sparkling gleaming silver ribboned stream
Journeying through vale moorland and pasture
Evoking thought of summer dreams
.
Songster birds scurry and hurry
Collecting nesting scrags and things
Dormant critters awaken
As a season of plenty now begins.
.
Peter Dome©2020.
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