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Bluebell Dreams
I become lost in your dreamy skies,
sleeping beneath the sweet elixir,
bluebells chime their lullabys,
and somewhere inside,
I know they are all lies.
But I can only see fields of blue,
one forgets the distance
between the earth and the heavens,
but it is only an endless delusion.
Like the shifting colors of your eyes,
while drinking honeyed and flower wine,
here within the carnivores mouth
we all succumb to sweet little offerings.
This Bell’s Life
One coarse ore block temper’d fine
Its pear-like visage seeks for peace
it strikes to summon the slaves of God
it uncloaks the laud of oppressive Brits
It lays by the clouds to bathe in blue
while the seraphs sigh as repenters rue
Blue-eyed Belle
There once was a blue-eyed belle from the South
Who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth
"mah darlin', I think
Mah petticoats, pink
Should be covered in mink or I'll pout."
Little Sis
Remember picking the wild bluebells,
Little sis?
Dancing in and out the woodland's dappled light,
Skipping through the bright forest glades,
Hands blackened by gummy sap,
wading knee deep in pale blue.
Remember how their green stems turned to white,
As we drew them from the dark mould,
How the bells shook a silent alarm,
When we tore them from their birth bulb,
Great armfulls we gathered,
Giddy with the excess of plenty,
Leaving careless trails of discarded plants.
"Some for Mum, some for Aunty Ivy,
"And for Grandma and for Fred",
We piled up the heaps of our generosity,
Greenwhite stems already wilting,
Pale blue flowers darkening to purple in death.
Then we found a wood ant's nest,
Newly awakened in the spring sunshine,
And ran to find sticks to poke it with.
OK after much deliberation I must say that all entries were excellent and fun to read and therefore a very close contest and hard to decide. but there can only be one winner and that is:
prendrelemick
I enjoyed the little story going on and the imageries within the piece which took me back to my childhood and flower picking. nice piece congratulations!!!:)
beautiful image...I wanna do that...Quote:
Originally Posted by prendrelemick
yes. right now. why not. dancing and skipping and twirling. Be right back.
congrats prendrelemick
Grats prendrelemick! That was a wonderful entry :)
Thankyou. It was one of those which wrote itself, almost.
Next up, a message.
Accidental Delivery
The first time it happened
it was quite subtle, a postcard
came within the mail
from a place I never heard of,
no return address,
and only a single line
scowled in a child's hand.
It was easy to dismiss,
some mistake,
or perhaps an idea of a prank
so I stored it in a drawer and never
gave it another thought.
The second time
it was a bit more adamant,
a knock upon the door,
a package left upon my doorstep,
with no way to send it back,
I wondered what I should do,
and picked it up to my ear
shook it a little,
in retrospect perhaps not the wisest choice,
but nothing happened,
at last I opened it, and what was inside
I cannot name.
In time this too was forgotten,
but it was a bit much to take,
when at midnight I was awakened
by the sound of a singing telegram
outside my bedroom window,
in truth, I never knew those were still around,
when I attempted to question them
they only smiled and walked away.
I was soon at my wits end,
when a phone call arrived,
I was half-afraid to answer it,
the postal service calling to apologize
they explained to me, that there was some glitch
in the interdimensional delivery system
but by now it should all be fixed and they
are sorry for any inconvenience.
Deep and wondrous, dimly lit
The forest's edge, no more in sight.
The message promised. What of it?
Where is that witch that she must fight,
That heartless witch who stole her man?
Unseduce him if she can,
The present never will be right.
The past keeps open its old door.
She draws her sword, "Hey! Gwendolyn's here!"
The forest waits. "Where is that whore?"
She swings at shadows swaying near.
The message said--what did it say?
The forest, too, dissolves away,
Retreats within a passing year.
to a message
a cautious note
fall not too short
elongate
strong
and the meaning
is wand
For if the trumpet give an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself to the battle?
Just a whisper in the night, scarcely heard
Faint traces of ink on an old dusty letter
Telegraph wires singing, cell phones chiming tunes
Teleconferences on the internet, echoes of words
Seems they are all written in cipher, no one has the key
The code isn't complex, but the message unclear
What are people saying, and what do we hear
When the trumpet sounds an uncertain sound...
Pendragon
(C) 6/18/2013
This is going to be very, very difficult.
Anyone else? I'll give it a couple of days.
The Message
(a personal true story)
There I stood, facing his closet's deafening silence
Stunned by his sudden and untimely death
Paralyzed to purge all his worldly essence
Alone, I could hear my breath.
Each item lingered at the touch of my fingertips
As one by one, they were boxed and sorted
A sepia-toned photograph gently touched my lips
Alone, I could feel no comfort .
Time passed, the daunting task neared completion
Only a brown paper bag of his things remained
Atop were mere oddments, the bag's darkness deepened
Alone, I could taste my pain.
I saw a light in the bottom of that bag; a collection of
God's words, life's meaning, encouragements to cope
The last one I touched was a poem of inspiration
Alone, I could see a message of hope.
"...all the pain and grief are over, every restless tossing past;
I am now at peace forever, safely home in heaven at last.
...Then you must not grieve so sorely, For I love you dearly still;
Try to look beyond earth's shadows, pray to trust God's will." *
"There is work still waiting for you, so you must not idle stand;
Do your work while life remaineth, you shall rest in God's land.
When that work is all completed, He will gently call you home;
Oh the rapture of the meeting! Oh the joy to see you come!" *
Then a peace that passes all understanding
Filled my soul, and my senses were freshened
As a promise from above for life everlasting
Alone nevermore, through God's grace.
__________________________________________________ _____
* the writer of the italicized 2 stanzas is unknown, quoted, in part, from a poem titled "Safely Home"
and printed by the American Tract Society, although it appears anonymously in various other venues.
To view the entire poem, google "Safely Home poem"
I honestly don't know what I'm going do to here.