Echo sung woven into the day's own rays
For soulful eyes within the forest.
Taking resurgent aromatic breath.
Sleep not! Yet lived each season earthbound
Proud limbs elevated, support magical beauty.
A still life, as if time stopped,
Creating a stark image of isolation
Erasing the smiles of slender shooting growth.
Between the clothed shadows retreating,
Wings full wide, exuberant race, unraveling self.
An utterly Useless Tale
On a big round oak table in a living room, a vase, in its small crack, lived two house ants. They were sitting outside, considering a box of matches on the tabletop.
“if the box was empty, I’m sure I could push an inch or two the first and said. “Yeah,” the other snorted.
A man came into the room, took a matchstick out of the box, and put it back on the table, this time by its edge, and walked out.
The first ant giggled and said, “If we both push the box, it will fall on
the floor, no one will know how it ended there.”
They traversed the vast expanse of the table, pushed the box off the table, hurried back into their crack, and laughed heartily.
They had been frightened
people usually kill house ants at first
sight. The man came back, saw the box on the floor, shook his head, picked it up, and placed it back on the table. Our ants were in stitches
They were tempted to push the box on the floor again
but gave it up, the risk someone could come in with a duster
was too great
Back at their crack, they went to sleep
There you are
gazing into the water
as it coils around the pier,
hoping to decipher
its tidal language, divine
a message in the slow lift
and fall of the swell,
the soft lapping sound echoing
through the dark shadows
below.
But whatever is here
seems to have withdrawn
deeper into itself, far beyond
where your senses can reach
or your uprooted mind can go,
severed as it is
from the origins
of its own creation.
You are of this age,
utterly modern,
purged of myth
and deaf to the spirits that once
moved here in the water
and roamed the land,
the sung sagas
of your ancestors.
In the isolation
of this cleared world
a terrible silence has fallen
in which the only sound
now is your own pulse
imprisoned in the confines
of an ear.
Aliens DO exist and they are observing us guys
The way we interact with each other
What advice do you think they would give us
Would they throw up their hands in disgust
And say, “it's no use... people of earth, you just don't get it!”
Or would they see hope for us and offer to help
Perhaps they've gone through similar “growing pains”
Wherever they come from
And wish to share their experiences with us
At my advanced age, I hope I live long enough to see that day
To suggest that we are alone in the universe
Is absolutely absurd and beyond my comprehension
There are billions upon billions of other galaxies
With billions upon billions of other worlds like ours
To assume otherwise
Is UTTERLY PREPOSTEROUS!
utterly captivating
was our magical night.
as dawn lay down to sleep,
we remained awake to stargaze.
utterly romantic,
honey-sweet moments we did share.
a rendezvous tailor-made for royals;
t'was unforgettable.
utterly unforgettable!
we held midnight
in the palm of our hands;
lost in a world of our own.
utterly amorous
was the spark of love exploding
beneath the pale moonlight
each time our lips met.
utterly carefree
were our passionate hearts,
floating about with abandon
like butterflies in Spring meadow.
utterly scintillating;
pocketful of stars in our sky;
we watched them supine, smiling
in unison with the crescent moon.
utterly amazing!
watchful birds were tweeting
our favorite song
as we danced, and danced.
utterly free
were our spirits;
as if for the last time
we held each other, never letting go.
"I love words, because they're mine. Utterly, completely mine. I can share them with others. I can keep them to myself. I can use them over and over again. No matter what I do, they'll always be mine. No one can take them away from me." - Parker S. Huntington
Penniless and powerless
Naught is utterly mine,
'Cept one significant thing
That shall never be thine
Take thee my happiness
Take thee all my time,
Still, I hold the words
And I possess the rhyme
For poetry, thou cannot claim
Be I alive or be I dead,
Naught is utterly mine
'Cept thine words thee read.
Quote: “It is utterly false and cruelly arbitrary to put all the play and learning into childhood, all the work into middle age, and all the regrets into old age”. -- Margaret Mead
On a spring morn bathed in golden light,
I'm enchanted by the mist, a breathtaking sight,
Like stairways to heaven, from the lake they rise,
Utterly spellbound, I wander beneath azure skies.
Yet wars rage on in lands afar,
Where freedom falters 'neath a tyrant's star,
Innocents fall, hostages to greed's cruel deal,
Utterly disheartened by the leaders' heart of steel.
But amidst the chaos, wildflowers bloom,
On the ridge they dance, dispelling gloom,
Sparrows and swallows in a joyous spree,
Utterly beautiful, a sight so lovely, it sets the spirit free.
On a warm afternoon, thoughts drift anew,
Watch deer and chase turkeys, in sun's warm hue,
And in quiet repose, my aging frame does rest,
Utterly, I must write a poem, before I forget.
Utterly joyful when daffodils bloom
Winter is banished we live in the light
Spring melody creates wonderful tune
Landscape perfection is beautiful sight.
Swathes of yellow burst from cold winter ground
Floral Renaissance it's springtime fever
Fecundity gathering all around
Nature's become a magical weaver.
Busy weaver of spells on winter earth
Starting with daffodils, profound delight
Captivating moment nature gives birth
Triumphant vista makes our smiles ignite.
Daffodil magic has enthralled springtime
Mesmerised entirely vision sublime.
Written: October 17, 2023
Bite Size Poem No.74 for Line Gauthier Contest
__________________________________________
silent solitude
flame-edged leaf dances alone~
nature's fiery grace
Aliens DO exist and they are observing us guys
The way we interact with each other
What advice do you think they would give us
Would they throw up their hands in disgust
And say, “it's no use... people of earth, you just don't get it!”
Or would they see hope for us and offer to help
Perhaps they've gone through similar “growing pains”
Wherever they come from
And wish to share their experiences with us
At my advanced age, I hope I live long enough to see that day
To suggest that we are alone in the universe
Is absolutely absurd and beyond my comprehension
There are billions upon billions of other galaxies
With billions upon billions of other worlds like ours
To assume otherwise
Is UTTERLY, UTTERLY, PREPOSTEROUS!
There aren’t many things I utterly abhor,
Seems a waste to concentrate on dross
I do cringe when I look at an unsightly sore.
Forced to spend time with a churlish boor
I will always consider an unfortunate loss,
There aren’t many things I utterly abhor.
Observing a child spoiled rotten to the core
Whose parents have not taught who’s boss
I do cringe when I look at an unsightly sore.
The expulsion in public of a gaseous vapor
Makes some folks grin, but makes me cross
There aren’t many things I utterly abhor.
I don’t really enjoy a movie I’ve seen before,
Seeing my shirt on which I’ve dropped sauce
I do cringe when I look at an unsightly sore.
Giving it thought, I could come up with more
Like running out of thread when I need to floss
There aren’t many things I utterly abhor,
I do cringe when I look at an unsightly sore.
Written October 22, 2022
You have always been nasty and mean Julia's mother said.
It was that horribly mean voice she remembered as a child.
Charming, her naked cherubic faerie gave her a wink.
You are better than okay, she told her.
Much nicer than your mother ever could be.
Julia felt a lot better; she loved her faerie.
She had tried to put clothes on her,
but faerie would have none of that.
I am free, spontaneous, purely me, she sang.
Like you should be – truly and utterly free!
Her mother watched her closely.
Saw her smile.
Hunted down Charming.
Picked her up.
Julia rushed her mother,
toppling her over, finally standing up.
She could not have done it for herself
But she could do it for her defenseless soul faerie.
“You were magnificent!” Charming said
as they took their leave.
You are finally free of that devil of a mother!
Julia never returned.
Her happiness grew ten sizes that day.
Utterly helpless sometimes I feel
and utterly sad for no remedy found
to fix my conditions which seem so surreal.
I’m utterly stymied and tied to the ground.
Utterly thankful, however, am I,
for what gives me joy and for friendships that thrive.
Though utterly hopeless . . . I’m still getting by
and utterly happy for being alive!
Nov. 14, 2021
It’s a bright day and crystal clear sky,
There’s an open road and cool breeze,
And yet, I am driven into a quandary
beleaguered by a deep personal malaise...
My virtues overshadowed by some vice.
For me to ride out this rolling storm,
Do I use the reins or the spurs?
That I weave not a web of my own woes
It behooves me how not to die with guilt…
A guiltless mind yields not to sorrow.
I'm befuddled by a doubtful dilemma:
Is my fate a willful folly of mine
or a preordained wretched destiny?
Why redemption comes through crucifixion
and why salvation only by penance?
I wonder, must I banish my baneful whims
Lest, my much fostered hopes turn to ashes?
A flushed sun is lolling near the horizon
and the crimson sky turning drowsy gray
I must appease my innate quest for beauty
and find love to sweeten my sullen days,
But lost as I am in this doleful haze
with despair and belittled by doubt…
Pray, how do I find my way out?
~11/10/21
~Contest: "U" (Utterly)
~Sponsor: Constance La France
My heart is brimming with an endless flow of grief.
And my soul has already been deeply shattered out.
Even short bursts of breathing are rather tough.
My sobs have merged into steady tears streaming out.
Desperate to pay respects to the dead at their tomb.
And weep for hours at graves of ones I embrace.
Particularly when you share the same womb.
I'm trying to thrive as I'll never heed your face.
When one sheds a tear, some wisdom is revealed.
I am at ease knowing you are in the heavenly place.
I will succeed and overcome adversity ahead.
When death comes for me, we'll meet face to face.
Written April 24, 2021
Grief in 12 lines or less Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
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