The oxide earth vapours, the vernal air trembles
A dirty white sky overhangs in your glasses
Viridian green tints the water, it shambles
The exuberant stems of the lilies and grasses
Like women with oars punt in David Brayne's pictures
My senses are floating through waters in bloom
No exaggerations in landscape are featured
No lyrical effects, but seasonal gloom
Filled with presentiment of evidential
I thought to smile, but in fact, didn't dare
In swinging of oars there is something essential
And something is missable, as if you care.
Heavy gambage haul to save Astoria,
the aureolin Sun hides behind clouds;
Filled a map with wishing well wishes
to try and find an impossible answer;
The aureolin Sun hides behind clouds;
Viridian waters spontaneously sparkle,
a smile underneath waves of somber;
Filled a map with wishing well wishes,
the puerile solution reveals itself:
Score that tyrian and eburnean treasure!
To try and find an impossible answer,
One Eyed Willy tatoo gleams in xanadu;
It's their time, ' Goonies never say die.'
Blend of yellow and blue, it's a pickle and lime.
It is jealousy's hue and a plant in its prime.
It's an emerald, jade, and a lawn-covered yard
And St. Patrick's parade and an alien's card.
On a pond it is scum, in Wisconsin a bay.
It's a gardener's thumb and a soldier's beret.
It's a salad and spruce and a phosphorous glow,
Part of teal and chartreuse, and a light saying go.
It is chlorophyll, dill, and a countenance ill,
Dollar bill in a till and Hibernian hill.
It is Anne's house of gables, a slime-covered wreck,
Jolly giant on labels, and Kermit and Shrek.
It is leprechauns, mold, inexperience, and tea.
It's the place putts are holed and a party and pea.
It's rebellious hair and a ghoul's ghastly teeth;
A pistachio, pear, and a Christmastime wreath.
It is mint-flavored jelly, a jungle and bean.
It's viridian, Kelly, and olive--it's green!
I’m a midnight cat, by the name of Obsidian,
eyes golden by candlelight; by day they’re viridian.
As I lay here among my Mistress’s great books,
I am wondering what, for my supper, she’ll cook?
Mistress is a Seer, a Shaman, a Mage and
these books contain magic, spells upon every page.
This map too, is magic, it charts her course;
and shows her every single, natural resource.
For she gathers her herbs and plants for her magic;
to run out of these, for her, would be tragic.
She keeps everyone well, in our kingdom you see;
she even cures folks with extracts from trees!
You see, Nature provides, everything that we need;
though science won’t admit that better medicines, natural be.
There’s Digoxin from Foxglove and Aspirin from Spirea,
Ephedrine from Ephedra, it comes from various wild areas.
Once a nasty old doctor from a neighboring town,
tried hard to stop her from curing our Crown;
she concocted a potion from nature’s best weeds,
now that doctor, for her potions, pays money and pleads.
3-28-2022
Black Cat Poetry Contest
Robert James Liguori
Turquoise Twilight
Poetically sees,
sinking in turquoise twilight
gazing at azure sky.
Sapphire rays kissing cobalt meadow.
Teal mist spreading celadon shades on violet weeds.
Lapis lazuli landscape in cyanic horizon.
Indigo panorama blending in cerulean view.
Evening merging in viridian veil.
Salient self to swim on celestial blue.
Reading brings me to
another world of freedom.
While pages fly off the book,
so does in my mind,
as I become the figure
in another place in time.
Morning tropical
sun showers its breath form rays
on the sandy forlorn shore.
Barefoot on the beach,
warm fine sand between my toes,
the smell, and taste of salt air
on my face and lips.
Balmy wind wafts a few loose
strands of hair across my face.
My eyes squinting in
the sun glare to see clearly
the small sailboat out upon
calm viridian
hue and marine blue ocean
against the blue horizon.
Majestic stillness
a yearn sublime radiant
blue, sound of scattering waves.
7/4/2019
Picture 2
Poetry Contest: Fives and Sevens
Sponsored by: Joseph May
For Roseto Valfortore
Thousands of miles in silver rain
Brushing over your colors again.
Each stop still knows I’ve seen
So many lives your hues change.
Dragons blood runs on mountains and
Viridian meadows lie so green.
In a while, I dream…
Stained mosaic vineyards, deep as stars
a thousand miles away
Ron Kempton 1/23/18
Thousands of miles in silver rain
Brushing over your colors again.
Each stop still knows I’ve seen
So many lives your hues change.
Dragons blood runs on mountains and
Viridian meadows lie so green.
In a while, I dream…
Stained mosaic vineyards, deep as stars
a thousand miles away
Ron Kempton 1/23/18
A riot of colour, unfurling the plain,
as you drive the vast ways in Australia.
Vivid and broad, the landscape is changed
painted in hues of the flower.
Viridian and gold, violet and blue
the dirt itself is red,
sets off a contrast, a vision of hues,
no other place on Earth - homebred.
The Queen of Sheeba, occupies the space
as the everlasting colours transform,
the majestic camouflage of winters embrace,
defies the rules of the tundra norm.
Deprived of water, for the desert's their home,
they challenge the grace of the source,
emitting small buds against the furious loam,
life's promise, a powerful force.
Life will out, and new beginnings begun,
a testament to hold in wonder,
for winters drought, under our burning sun,
cannot deter these flowers down under.
25/10/2018
Serenity
like
flecks of gold
strewn on a
magnificently
grandiose canvas
of rich cerulean blues
deep viridian greens
and ultramarines
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on April 13, 2019 for contest APRIL 2019 PREMIER 4 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
CELESTIAL BLUE
Reaching mountain top at sea side
we swam and sank into celestial blue
gazing at azure sky embracing aquamarine ocean
in cyanic horizon.
Crowd of clouds turned turquoise on sundown.
Indigo twilight blending in teal mist spreading celadon shades.
Cerulean ambient in patches of prussian hues.
Ripples of tarn on cobalt rock reflecting cat's eye glow.
Your eyelashes on lapis lining.
Your sapphire eyes glistened in my lavender love.
Evening merged spreading viridian veil.
Periwinkle stars twinkled.
07/14/18
'
Contest No 470 by Brian Strand Eighth place
First Place
'Best Free Verse in July 2018' Contest by Laura Loo
Third Place
'Any July Poem 2018' Contest by
Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings
Second place
Free Verse Contest from July to October 1 contest by John Hamilton
SOLSTICE LOVE
Along the summer stream at solstice noon
Calm flow shapes reeds in waves viridian
Thus born, Ophelia sang her final tune
Until enclosed in cool oblivion
Above the brook blue Damsels flit in dance
And bring to mind my love, that girl who’d pass
Long solitary hours with spellbound glance
Such simple joys gave solace, filled her glass
Could you and I regain that fresh clean sight
And find contented bliss within the space
Would we thereby accept without respite
A life, advanced with no need to retrace
Perhaps one of life’s secrets in this rhyme
Is: love, and live always in present time
10 May2018
Along the summer stream at solstice noon
Calm flow shapes flexile reeds in waves viridian
Thus born, Ophelia sang her final tune
Before she was enclosed in cool oblivion
Above the brook blue Damsels flit in dance
And bring to mind that little girl who’d pass
Long solitary hours with many a spellbound glance
Such simple joys gave solace, filled her glass
Could you and I regain that fresh clean vision
And find contented bliss within the moment
Would we thereby accept without revision
Of life, advance with no need for atonement
Perhaps one of life’s secrets in this rhyme
Is to live, and live always in present time
(The Italian wine "Est! Est! Est!" got its
curious name because 900 years ago a
German bishop liked it so much, he
drank himself to death.)
Those bishop guys in days gone by
were deep and subtle thinkers.
They knew their scripture -- and no lie -
were quite accomplished drinkers.
A German prelate of the Church
was summoned down to Rome:
his servants helped him in his search
for taverns ("home from home").
How lucky we, with S.U.V.,
and motorways, and such:
twelfth century was leisurely --
ten miles a day was much!
What matter if the sun may grin,
and forest flame viridian?
To find an inn to shelter in,
their keen concern quotidian.
Not uninclined to "give it large",
unlike before or since,
he travelled with an entourage,
this spiritual prince.
Each morn he'd send a runner off
to scout the road ahead,
to find a decent Gastenhof,
and guarantee a bed.
The bishop stout (need we point out?),
a man of moral fiber,
was quite devout (but there's no doubt,
he was a keen imbiber!)
Child of the Northern Lights
Blown in on a winter gale
Dance with the Stars at Night
High as the Moon and as pale.
Deep are the Oceans you sail
On curious shores to alight
Your footsteps in sand entail
Revelation – a secret revealed
Understanding remaining concealed
Your journey has barely begun
And the wounds that are still to be healed
Require further exposure to Sun
Align your keel, Northward at the Meridian
Tilt sail and oar, to infinite viridian
Oh Freida who is fingering your shroud?
I can hear you coming, crossing the
old mansion’s tower and can see your
dark braided hair with feathers,
your perfume drifting past and
settling on uncut flowers.
But before I embrace your form,
I want to see with eyes full of flint
the draperies and naked bodies
in perpetual chiaroscuro.
Flirting with your pigments, I want
to dab violet on the face of mist,
gore sorrow with a riot of crimson-scarlet
and fling viridian on the face of earth to
be fresh again. Believe me I do not care
how you handle your brush or
whether unknown empires rise in your canvas
or knights and plebeians cross swords on
deserted beach.
I just want your blushing glow and
whisk the Dark Angel into first light.
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