Short Furrowed Poems

Focused, brows furrowed
Working, toiling, laboring
Then, my child awakes....

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silver furrowed brow
warm streams seep through pleated seams
shrivelled folds bleached white...

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Unclench
Unclench your fist
Relax your furrowed brow
Remember God will save us all
Some How...

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I sit as child
furrowed brows
planes trails
dragon tales
clouds fail
the world around
unturns...

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Willow
Doleful shadow
Perched along lonely strand
Furrowed brow shrouding a gnarled bough
Weeping...

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Without an Earth, to shadow
A furrowed ground, shower
I doubt old Sky would bother
Send a cloud; high or low....

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Chill breath of autumn
Sears the poppy scarlet red,
On his memory'd cenotaph.

Tears trickle in the furrowed
Faces of young comrades
.....now long dead...

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Meandering slowly a crystalline memoir 
that signifies, unveils the strife
furrowed deeply in her heart.
Encapsulated in that salted bead
Anguish liquidated.

S.J.C...

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11 11 11

Chill breath of autumn
Sears the poppy scarlet red,
On his memory'd cenotaph.

Tears trickle in the furrowed
Faces of young comrades
.....now long dead
...

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Frequent famines, furrowed foreheads, faint
Father's font fructified, free flowing
fare for fragile famished families
finally fullness, faith
freedom from fervent fraught...

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This night,
The stars glittering behind
A blossoming branch,
Springs reoccurring blanket begins
To spread itself,
New hopes ride fertile winds
Through freshly furrowed fields....

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Between tulips
A pink snake
And
A metaphor

Blue lies
A furrowed brow
And 
A promise

Beloved
A red romance
And
A sacrifice

Broken fears
A final nocturne
And
A silence
...

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'Pon my brow furrowed lines of great care 
Out on the porch in torment went
Pain and agony of soul
Refreshed now with morn's cold
Peace, tranquility
Flows 'or me for
Creation's 
Blessings
See...

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A set of circumstances bring
Upon the wings of fate
A happenstance we can’t evade
Conditions we create
Gaze upon our furrowed brow
While struggle through we pray
And realize perhaps too late
That all is meant to be...

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Long twisted  stretching tendrils
Dressed in green summer clothes
Skin hard wrinkled and furrowed
Turn to rustic burnished copper and golds
Shiver in Autumn
As the cold wind blows.





Peter Dome.copyright.2014....

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brightness
mocks the darkness
furrowed footprints
wander
across the blank page
blown clean
by gusty gales
cold taunts lifeless trees
a lone leaf dances
to a distant drummer

©12/27/2022

Winter Storm Poetry Contest...

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wings of gossamer  
gently pulsating the air
butterflies in flight


tail of dragonfly
skimming the water's surface
while taking a drink


bark of an old tree
weather-beaten and furrowed
a home for insects...

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Furrowed Brows


My mind, a cornucopia of ripening words.

Idle thoughts hanging loose
pollinated by the muse

Temptation’s beauty
dances on the winds of change
an audience of one.


©11/3/2017

submitted to – CORNUCOPIA – Poetry contest...

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I lean beside a furrowed willow tree,
with threadbare limbs downcast
as I recall a meadow of youth's game--
now my belly, bones are empty, 
falling weary from old age and distant
cold orange pulsating  starlight.


A Brian Strand Contest : 239
10 Nov 16...

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Neap tide rising by minutes
swirls me in upset sand
     gritty
       irritating
         chaffing
catches in creases
of furrowed brow.
 Washed up fodder
gifted from the sea
   adds to my heap
   of disuse.
 Backtracks undent the
   sand
unmarking my passage....

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There was a dying breed outside
The forest.
They rose with pallor relished
And true.
Like rhythmic bramble they 
Trotted through stream,
Mares and lovers gave way.
Rivered with Rilke,
A new day came to pass.
The ferrets of the un-furrowed brow
Gave brilliance to our every breathe....

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Years arrive and leave, 
Winters roll and weave
Lines around your eyes
Making you look wise.

Wise enough to know 
Every wind to blow
Leaves its time and trace 
Furrowed in your face.

Lines of love and grief,
Hate and disbelief,
Rage, and loyalty, 
On your face to see....

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Years arrive and leave, 
Winters roll and weave
Lines around your eyes
Making you look wise.

Wise enough to know 
Every wind to blow
Leaves its time and trace 
Furrowed in your face.

Lines of love and grief,
Hate and disbelief,
Rage, and loyalty, 
On your face to see....

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from the brewing storm's steeping chalice
the breath of death's journey awakens in quiet tides
beckoned by the stirring whisper of mortal winds
furrowed by stoic angels in pallid temporal skies


April 17, 2021


Excerpted from "My Silent House"


Liberum Divisa 5 Poetry Contest...

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Cat or Dog? Oh No-
I want a panther
with more spots than I have
on his long lean body
no matter how much time 
he spent sunbathing
in his youth.

Neatly aligned ears, 
cosmetic frown
furrowed in his brow, 
plank-like nose above
an I Mean Business 
mouth, and OH! 
those  topaz eyes....

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