On a full moon, the fog enrobes The barren tree branches, One of which holding twin carrion birds Waiting for the opportune moment to pounces.
They watch furtively as ghostly Figures of varying shapes, try To dance around the grand piano’s harmony Of Gothic, suspenseful cacophony
That puts the ghosts in a daze, Floating to and fro, getting closer to the blaze Of screeching, caterwauling cries, phase In and out as new spirits float in a craze
To reach the soul wrenching Sounds of agony, depression, leering, Expecting to be driven to healing From their sweet suffering that’s heart rending.
The vanda blue orchid adorns silver, Long, wavy hair that frames her Violet hued eyes, button nose, And glistening rosy lips that pause
With each end note of the violin’s Hearty tune, that attracts butterflies, Transparent to royal purple hues, Flitting around her feet in sublime harmonies
With the birds that soar higher, As though being strummed better Through the violin’s strings That are taut in their place that brings
Wonder and symphony of animal And human lives intertwined in a primal Need for survival with a core Of compassion that’s human and not a bore.
Cowgirl boots, shorts, and off the shoulder Shirt, a toddler holding the phone Speaking to her brother, who’s far, Far from home. She gurgles her love,
At times incomprehensibly, laughing At his replies that have adoration Light up her eyes as hearing His voice is her drug of choice, a succession
Of discordant sounds, she interprets With a beatific cacophony of cries That invade your heart with warmth that’s A test to your all encompassing hearts.
Thank you, Marie Harris, for the honor! The picture prompts you produce are always amazing!
Winter’s Hold
A quater of the full moon Is covered by blue clouds, Looking like Swiss cheeses Whose borders are tree branches, Naked from any adornments.
As the other tree’s branches rise Higher, they touch the smoke Coming out of chimney’s poke, That reaches into the sky, a supplication stroke, To an unending, breathtaking look
Generating a reverence for the real, Imposing nature of winter’s bold Winter scenery that takes a hold Over you, as wonder as beauty’s cold Reverence stretches into the raven sky taking in the fold.
As the branches hug the moon, So does nature embrace man’s vicarious Need to expand into its territory, vivacious In his propagation, uncaring of his malicious Effect on nature’s cycle that’s on the way to decimation.
The first is an acrostic poem titled: FORGIVENESS, while the second is titled: Glory’s Bower.
Glory’s Bower
Morning glory climbing vine, Purple, violet, red, pink, or white, Colors of a rainbow of hope That delivers expansion and will grope Your archway by making it fine!
As I run through its delicacy, I note the difference in clemency From one side to the other, as I bravely Cross the framed beauties, cleverly Hoping that the other side will have more mercy.
No more than an inch separates the bower From the white picket gate, where a shower Of light bathes the garden bed with a cover Of verdant hues, that shame any painter. As I cross into this splendor,
I note colors are sharper, Each plant has its own area, a platter Filled with diverse shapes, sizes, and sister, It takes away your breath in a blinker As you tinker with nature’s fauna that never cower
To either man or nature’s Storms that are in never ending cycles Of births and deaths, that keep hopes Alive in every heart, as it shows justice’s Plight, as it ends certain lifes.
Stay in your bower of morning Glories and enjoy the perpetual crooning Of an ecosystem in harmony, dancing!
Forge your will in steal, Outmaneuver your enemies, who feel, Replete in knowing they’re the heel. Give them your support when they fall, Inspire them to be better than before. View their progress and motivate before you bore, Inverting foe to friend, like before. Never lose hope for betterment Even when all is stacked against you, Simmer the anger, put logic to the forefront Survive, learn, educate, that hope is never gone.
Dark, Razor sharp, Claws of nails torn, Horns of hell adorn The souls of evils that step Into the obscure, winding well to help Those damned souls to reach The pinprick of light breach The diabolic breath, laugh, Full of a pestilent cuff, Shadowy death, Lingering, Stealing Life Turned To death. Dark.
Light, Souls so bright, Cleave the way to flight. Soar in a cyclone’s might, Into a haven of promised delight. Tell your tale in whispers fiery In their warmth and stealthy In their fight against deviltry, Whose hold is sturdy But crumbles When faced With Light.
I’m flabbergasted by the honor of this certificate for my poem: Athena, based on a picture prompt.
Athena
Her resplendent beauty gleams In the raven sky, her star shines Brighter with her golden armor, protective Of her vulnerabilities, as she needs to survive. Its glow is there to strive To outlast the unbeliever who stirs the hive.
Her might glistens and reverberates Throughout her vicinity, vindictive as it propels Instability, division, dissention, and war! Booming war cries echo their strengths, none bar Her entry, as she subjugates those weaker Through fear and magic of her glittery armor.
Those whose insolence is hidden behind their Camouflage of piety, are two, three faced, where They keep their dissonance locked, So their perfidy is unexpected, And the humbleness nothing but beguiled Discourse that pleases the open hearted.
Beware of those wearing lambskin, But are in reality cutthroats whose noggin Is an empty shell that requires It to be filled by others to act out wars.
The ancient mansion stood majestically On a hill, reigning supreme over its property. Its white washed Roman columns Portentous of a long gone Era of prosperties, Where everything was grandiosely fashioned.
I walk up to its opulent two door gate, bold, Using the lionhead brass knocker, collide History with modernity that interact without Affecting one another, but beauties attract Their audience, regardless of their epoch.
Traversing into a world of Babylonian Elegance painted in a rainbow of augustian Splendor dotted by verdant dendritic Filled foliage attracting visions of historic Opulence, whose loss is catastrophic in nature.
Man’s love of wealth and ownership Of all that’s esthetically vibrant will flip His survival to death, caused by his avarice, Omnipotent in its idolatry of self-importance, That’s thoughtless in its vanity and egotism.
Her helmet, a squelettal head, Adorns her brows and forehead. Her eyes, oh her eyes, windows To her hardened soul, throws A challenge to her opponent To stand down, die, or be subservient.
Her breathtaking beauty will tempt, But it’s feared as it’s a construct For those who oppose her will. Her lithe, seductively attired body is full Of pernicious intent teetering On the precipice of justice’s peppering.
Her darkened eyes, bright with Evil’s pretensions seeping bliss In veins dripping toxic poisons That leek from lush, glistening roses That spew hatred and dissention That needs to be dismantled in provision
For the lives that are destroyed by Her delicate sword wielding hands that fly.
Woman in my dreams, Hazy features covered, as you please, By groundsels whose hairy filaments Soar around her, blankets Her from head to toe, Trying vainly to get closer to blow Its velvety softness in a Tornado Of white that sweeps in an elegant flow.
She contemplates its fragility, Wondering at the reality Of how daintily flimsy Its flower is, while its stem is definitely Rooted in her heart, prettily Proving it’s longevity.
She reverently catches a blowing Head, as she admires its flowing Dance, whose strength is glowing In a sensual litany that’s dizzying.
Dream of the flower that nestles Its thorns into delicate hearts That beats for imagination that bleeds.
Poetry for Change 