Short Foreground Poems

A final hurrah in our rosebed-
the last Summer colours 
palette the  foreground...

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pampered
spilling wine
spilling tears
plastic sheets
still such a chill
in the foreground
voluptuous music
and fractured...

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In foreground color
The orange glow that surrounds
The skeletons dance
And the ghostly reverie 
Plays in the depths of darkness

Russell Sivey...

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Great pianists play only some keys in a song, quite aware of the "others"
Only novices will hate the black or white keys, or ones they do not need
Do you know music is both sound and silence, foreground and background?...

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Inspirations echo in the mind
Images converge,blur,deline
In glass,smoked lightly blind;
Shapes imagined erase
In esoteric haze
Where light bright tones
Soften and shade in foreground was;
Colours sear in shadows fringed
In glass,smoked lightly tinged....

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Bliss tremor, a constant current
Humming in the background 
Love expressing it’s sentiment
Rising to the foreground 

Ours, if we but allow
Cadence of joy follow
In staid stillness mellow

Soft murmur
Bliss tremor

02-October-2021...

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Listen to poem:

A Star is Born

Preface ere the performance
lighting fixtures spotlight shades
background promotes the foreground
angles, points, edges, and bends
the auteur notes ere amends
a stage is set as time draws
the star unpuzzles magic*
lights, action, the curtain rise.

2020 October 22...

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Astronaut William Anders's space photo,
Onboard Apollo 8 on Christmas Eve,
Nineteen sixty-eight, a bit of a show,
Influence nature, world-renown to be,
Taken with the moon as in the foreground,
And then with the earth as in the background.


2019 September 27
howmanysyllables
6 lines x 10 syllables = a perfect 60 syllables
ababcc...

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A hazy mist or morning dew scatters in the foreground
Unsighted but audible songbirds begin to chant stoking up the dawn. 
The night is the governesses which now fade in its shadows
submitting to the streams of light from nature’s early yawn. 
Icicles drip, earth spins, everlasting time in motion while
life’s festivities end but preserved roots begin again...

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Vivid streamers in my mind,
as time came to a sudden stop.
Within my dream I can rewind,
the foreground or just the backdrop.
Upside down, back or make it drop.
The choice is mine alone it seems.
For it is my hand there atop,
the remote that channels my dreams.


Paula Swanson
For the contest:  Hutain This One
Sponsored by, Nette Onclaud
Placement: 3rd...

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Blue velvet blanket mantel dresses
Satin lace trim daintily caresses
On border, golden twine tresses
Azure light-display luminesces
In background, silver candelabra recesses
In foreground, satin Lilies rimmed with lush cresses
Overarching, marble angel with copper harp blesses
Underpinning, tidy Spruce wreath butresses
Footstool, bronze crèche a penitent tone expresses...

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secluded to my darkroom,
a roladex filled with
years of negatives,
an ambient light
illumination failed
transparent,
focus lost,
exposure.....

In the foreground
I found depth
through perception,
develop contrast
light and dark 
now shutter in harmony,
my composition.....

mere snapshots in our mind
but to me a single canvas 
that depicts two
lifetimes...

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Golden super moon
rising in the eastern sky,
mountains in the foreground,
their shadows looming wide.

Rising higher on the horizon,
color fading from golden orange to white,
growing brighter before our eyes,
the full moon lights the night.

Darkness falls as the sun sets,
stealing away the golden glow.
No sunlight left to reflect,
seizing the evenings' glow....

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tree frogs are singing
to orange-black tinted clouds
against purple sky

set in the foreground
an A-Frame rooftop peeks out
between long-leaf pines

further off due south
thunder still rumbles and rolls
threatening the peace

a single raindrop
draining from the carport roof
tickles down my nose

the sight and the sound
of the eternal present
in the perfect now...

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There's that sound again
A sound of dying 
And the company of a friend

In this twilight shine
Black ash and a silver cloud
This sliver of hope makes a dumb man proud

It doesn't matter
If to the left or right this wind blows
This is as high as my poor heart can go

That laughter in the foreground
Flocks of hair flying towards the sky
A mountaintop kissed by Eden within...

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I sank into the depths of marbled 
Frustration.
Canonized in furrowed gasps,
I claimed my own footsteps were thieves.
We all skulk slunk-shouldered to the same sorrowful shore.
Though it ain’t all that bad.
Look through the lightened leaves
The maple glow will warm your 
Foiled, flagrant, tired eyes.
If you are not your own era,
Bring your illusions to the foreground and
Castrate your deadened pride....

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Spurned faces muck in the dust
Raised by ceaseless motion
Of cyclical concerns

Waves settle in lapped sounds
Falling into synchronicity
On the line of the horizon

Plummet line sun draws tight things
Moon soothes caress, balm of the earthbound creatures

Clouds fly slow fast
Petrified in yawning quick glory of surprise
Breakthroughs

Drawn up and through
Splayed upon the dimensionless
Foreground...

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Golden hues spill like paint into the yard
One by one, a leaf slowly floats down 
Joining the others, spread out on the lawn
As if to celebrate a woven blankett, of color
Before time quickly brings wrinkle to it
The gray and white sky is hardly noticeable
As the large trees show off their new colors
Look at me! Look at me! Shining brightly!
They fill the air, take over foreground, a must see!

Heidi Sands

10/10/21...

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To the onslaught of night, daylight is retreating.
In the western horizon, the sun is receding.
Stratus clouds display a reddish hue.
A gloaming precedes the dark, which is due.
In the foreground, I see silhouettes of trees.
They bend, but never break in the breeze.
It is a rare and beautiful sight.
I see vermillion clouds before night.
They seem to signal the coming of the moon.
A silver waxing crescent makes its presence soon....

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She passed me, I thought, on a moped 
Clad in a Muslim garb and covered face
Leaving behind the flavour of a smile
And hurried on towards an edifice ahead
I watched in awe and wished I had seen more
Then as she approached the edifice
The foreground turned into a lawn
Upon which she trod ever so serenely
Her garb unfolding into a bride’s train
That stretched a hundred feet behind
But she turned not and I saw naught
Of the beautiful nymph of Mombasa....

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Rolling hills dim in the distance
Beneath low-hovering mists,
While an occasional stand of pines
Punctuates the shallow canyon rim,
The steppes to the summit appear
Like wrinkles carved into the face
Long ago, the sharp outcropping defines
A deep crevice plunging sharply
Toward the foreground in shadows,
Vanishing into imagined darkness.

written August 10, 2021
(inspired by the scenic view on a
screen-saver, location unknown)...

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The universe is in your eyes
(It exists in processing; God's the background)
After this life, the energy Pole - and the eyes -
Allow Consciousness Pole to arise
They are always together, Dear Heart!
Like background ( or SPACE itself) in art
As crucial as Foreground (the details, the stage)
WE love the Energy Pole for love is in the eyes
But then we call Space, THE Background, "DEATH."
No Dear Heart, Space is the Ground of Being
"Thou shalt make no idols before Me."...

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Listen to poem:

concerned about being upstaged
the glorious blue tinted rock
negotiated 
sent in the puffy white wisps 
to cover the vibrant coloured evergreens

the brown field in the foreground
felt offended
wondering out loud 
"what about me?"
then added "beauty you know is..."
but never bothered to finish the cliché.

for my part
i was more interested
in what the mountain had traded the clouds
what could it possibly have offered?


September 23 2016  ...

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Deep in a pocket of light, well within the harsh night
of heat and longing, safe within the porch’s embrace
the down turned eyes .. the upturned face
the lovers pose.

In randy states of disarray, the couple choses to display
the haunting distance .. so delayed, so near,
the harsh black light.

Foreground, foregone, foray, reborn, torn, on display;
tomorrow will be another day ..
for now, Mother’s home. 



*Edwood Hopper's / Summer Evening
**See About the poem please...

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