Savors Poems | Examples

Summer sighs softly, pausing to watch the golden days slipping away

Summer sighs softly, pausing to watch the golden days slipping away,
When the sun trickles through the gently trembling birch leaves,
Whispering of growth and ripening, the enchantress transforms the fields,
Into gold woven from corn, swaying in the rhythms of bountiful harvests.
White clouds gather, like storms waiting to unleash their song,
She gathers new bluebirds in her warm heart, singing with their harmonies,
As the light fades, like that comma of silence between day and dawn,
She savors this moment before autumn plants its frost upon her cheeks.
A dance of time, a pause between seasons, a dream of the gentle equinox,
Where time seems to stop, and nature weaves its silent story,
The whole world takes a deep breath, captured in the beauty of a fleeting moment,
Summer retreats slowly, making way for autumn to sing its symphony of leaves.

Pause Between Summer and Autumn POTD

Seasons Now and After  8-11-25  Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
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Pause Between Summer and Autumn

Summer sighs ~ she pauses to gaze on days  
When sunlight drips from feathery birch leaves
Whispering of growing large, ripening,
Enchantress turns maize to fields of spun gold
She sways in rhythms of pregnant harvests
Only seen in dreams of the equinox.

As white clouds gather, like storms in waiting,
She gathers new bluebirds in her warm heart
Singing with their harmonies as light fades,
Like that comma of stillness in between
Daylight and dawn, she savors this moment 
Before autumn plants frost upon her blush.

Scars on Starry Skies

"People expect all stories of abuse 
to be loud and angry 
but they're not. 
Sometimes they're quiet and cruel
and swept under the rug."  ~ Trista Mateer

When the sky sips wild thyme,
and the sun savors swells of zenith,
       like the sakura essence of spring,
I feel beyond the blushing blues,
the bruised silhouette of victimized wind, 
fighting the heinous heat, while barely breathing;
for she did not ask the soulless predators;
familiar fangs, disguised as servers of diamonds,
to steal the innocence from her starry night,
             staining the air with bleeding grief,
now the horizon sits ~ a silent spectator~ 
to a virtue stolen, left to ashes and dust, 
       of heartbeats soaked in crimson tears...

The Feast of Power

Walls breathe insistent hunger,
red as the inside of a split pomegranate,
richer still where the tallow has melted,
slick as the fat from a burnt offering. 

Scarpia does not eat.
He savors—sounds of gristle 
snapping in the next room—
—low, wet gasps—
body writhing beneath unseen hands,
a melody of muscle breaking.

Tosca stands, spine locked,
as he drinks from a goblet brimming with the color
of a mouth left too long in the sun.
He watches her throat move,
slow, careful, like a deer 
scenting iron in the air.

A scream glissandos through the walls.
Scarpia wipes his lips.
His fingers, thick as butcher’s twine,
gesture toward the door—
an invitation, a demand—
a sermon delivered without breath.

Tosca does not kneel.
Not yet.
But the feast has begun,
and the host holds the fermata. 



(note: this poem was inspired by a scene from the opera Tosca by Giacomo Puccini)

Our Love is Like Curry

Our love is like a bowl of curry
Sour and salty, then sweet and spicy
It lingers and savors slowly
Explodes a burst of umami 
Perhaps the lemongrass and lime
Gives aroma of our passing time
What is life if you're not mine? 
A lonely shrimp floating on a brine
It is often misunderstood
A healthy meal doesn't taste so good
But affection that is unwooed
Is unreal as cheap fast food
As I took a sip of tamarind juice
A peak of pleasure it produced
My heart melted and infused
Knowing your love I'll never lose
This is our love story
That sees beyond taste and beauty
True love shall never hurry
But waits until it's ready

Midnight snacks

The beauty of the evening,
The blushing horizon in the west
I adore much the taste
Of sugary sweets blended
In the black coffee
In the mug of beautiful evening
Moistens my thirsty throat,
To alleviate an exhaustion 
After my daily affairs.

The glow of appealing eve
Freezes to the stark darkness.
Thin cover of Black Satin
 Sets nightly all over my body.
The cool and soft warmth
Of my subconscious body 
Spins the deep slumber.

My whole body are then senseless:
By the immeasurable beauty
Of my beloved.
Warming me up at a snail's pace 
Plunges to an iridescent dreams.

After having dinner, 
Nice reflection of  the glowing eve
Switches into gloomy night
I clean my hand and mouth 
And feel me cozy by the leftover
At the edge of my dinner plate
Midnight snacks sparkle
Like diamond inside the coal.

The midnight snacks
A few pieces of food desecrates 
As the complexity of my life
Tastes saline as the ocean water do,
Comes out frequently
Of my dehydrated throat
Something more pleasant savors.. .
*

Missy Sue

Missy Sue makes malted milk shakes
and she savors marmalade,
macaroons and snickerdoodles
and sweet souffles she has made.

Sue is messy slicing melons,
strawberries and mangoes too.
Sue munches seeds and celery sticks.
She mixes meats, making stew.

Milk chocolate -mouth-watering,
sweet and marvelously mild -
satisfies Missy Sue
mainly if it is Swiss styled!

Periwinkle Confessions

 I  remember  Cupid’s scent when December stars sailed,  
above vast seas of scars rippling with past mistakes,  
awaiting the euphonious moon to croon and tune melodies veiled.  

But will the skies in blues be the muse, casting dews of jasmine bright?  
For when shadows rise, darkness looms and blooms in lotus-filled lakes,  
erasing the old memories of ink, imbued with rose gold light.  

Maybe the waning essence of sage flavors savors the colors of amorous art,  
where twilight twirls and swirls to silent confessions that time breaks,  
oblivious to the periwinkle rhyme placed from your soul to my lilac-laced heart.

An Ice Cream Dream

Though they come in the same container 

And each on its own is a taste sensation 

Not everyone savors the different flavors

In a Neapolitan nation

Ode to a Pressure Cooker

In my kitchen, there's a treasure,
scrumptious dinner, it helps me prepare.
Under pressure it combines flavors,
Serves proudly, mouthwatering savors.

This wonder made of stainless steel,
Shines like a star among my utensils.
Rice, beans, soup, or stew, 
Ready in a flash for the whole crew.

Safety valve and rubber gasket,
Ensure this helper is not a threat.
Though it shrieks like a train,
This gadget is a faithful friend.

I rely on this device a lot,
As it gives peace to my heart.
So, here's to the pressure cooker's plea,
Transforming ingredients into a glee!

Povero Diavolo

Behind the mask made of many ears
Calla lilies earnestly listen
Their canals thirst for morning’s song
For the manic moon stared upon us
with hollow light transfixed
Behind the mask of valley’d green
palms and snow clad ears
was the sound of a weeping strong
A poor poor devil sobbed 
a wraith’s rain makes sordid soil rich
Drowning under mud, drowning in life
crimson portrait all contorted
Blood seeped from his horns 
breathing in the cloudless day
How does a face so hollow 
brim with dismay?
How can a flower pot host be so morbid?
Sniveling at the sight of the sun, 
lip quivering
throat like a Gordian knot
What a Hell it must be 
to be a He whom savors Sodom
While being exposed 
to a season’s birth
present for every blossom’s budding.

Memories of Mother

Memories Of Mother ©2022dBwordresearch


I'll always have your memory that no one can take away
I think of you often, which helps me through lonely days.

Love, kindness, and gentleness lived where we dwelled.
Mother, we're still honoring you since God said farewell.

My heart savors all the thoughts of you, even now apart. 
Quit often; I unwrap them to feel the warmth in my heart.   

While you've been in Heaven, I think of you frequently
Of all your heartfelt tenderness with love and intimacy.

You helped lead our family; Mother, you were strong
We followed, knowing we were loved and belonged.

Discord was seldom but solved before the sun went down
We were fortunate, Mother; you could always be found.

I know you're watching from above and waiting patiently. 
Our family was made in Heaven;  there you wait for me.

The Blame Game

She delights in blame.
Pointing fingers without shame.
But totally absent
Of any personal talent.

Her words are alike daggers.
Cutting deep into the heart.
She thinks she's clever.
But in reality, she's just playing a part.

The blame game is her favorite.
Always finding someone to accuse.
But when the spotlight savors it.
She quickly makes an excuse.

She never takes responsibility.
For her own actions and mistakes.
Instead, she shifts the susceptibility.
And creates the most drama and heartache.

But one day she'll realize:
That the blame game is a losing fight.
For true growth and evil lies
Start with accepting what's right.

So let's abandon the blame game.
And bestow ownership of our lives.
Only then can we act without defame
And truly thrive.

Shots Fired

He walks into the market,
With a rifle in his hands.
An ulterior motive,
That no one understands.

An automatic weapon,
It should come as no surprise.
With fully loaded clip,
Drops people just like flies.

See the blood splattered scene,
A sight we all abhor.
Another fatal shooting,
Limp bodies on the floor.

There's a smile on his face,
As he savors all the dead.
Please do us all a favor,
And shoot yourself instead.

Viola

The artist savors the subtle imperfection that makes a moment unique.

John G. Lawless
©5/7/2023

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