A Special Occasion
While observing the gathering guest
and remembering eleven years past, when
She made her first debut on the world stage.
Wearing a soft juicy peach birth-day dress;
silk light brown threads capped her tiny head;
those little pink feet bicycling
as if readying to lead.
On this eve looking out on the mist
hovering the Hudson River, even daylight
couldn't clear the huddled clouds nor
the thick mist holding onto its place.
Everyone slowly crowded the hall
to await the second coming.
Heads turn toward a refreshed face
strolling down the aisle adorning
a pale blue gown
free-swinging
about her ankle.
A radiant beauty and
grace unparalling all...
grandma watches her
beautiful Junior Debutante
in delight!
MAY 26,2006
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Pale
Pale blue clouds, in a pale blue sky,
Pale sea birds, fly every which way.
O'er the pale blue sea, they softly fly,
Throughout the pale blue day.
Pale brown grass, withering alone,
Amid the sand dunes dying.
Pale as a sun bleached animal bone,
As you hear the sea breeze sighing.
Pale grey mist upon the sea,
Slowly creeping to the shore.
Pale giant tarpons jumping free,
As the pale Atlantic, gently roars.
12/3/11 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Misty River
This morning
Me in this Misty River
All the happiness
I am feeling inside myself
Misty River
The mist is coming
From this Misty River
There are clouds
In the sky
And the mist
Is caused by the condensation
Of the heat mixed in the cold water
Misty River
I am in a fishing boat
That boat is moving slowly in this
Misty river
It is early in the morning
I am eating my breakfast in the fishing boat in the middle of this
Misty River
I hear the birds singing early in the morning
In this Misty River
There must be trees because the sound of the birds is coming from the Branches
Misty River
So peaceful
It looks so different with the mist
No one is around but me
With my fishing boat
And the beautiful sound of the birds
It is so nice
To have a place to come to
Where I can
Hear the sound of the birds
And be left alone
With no one disturbing me
Misty River
This is my special place
And by afternoon
No clouds I will see
The birds are beautiful
Their song is just beautiful like mother nature intended it to be
If nobody else appreciates this Misty River
I do
Misty River
I will die for you
Misty River
I will shed my tears for you
I have been coming here for so long now
Misty River
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Grandma's Wedding Shoes
I’m getting ready
For the garage sale tomorrow.
My grandma passed away
A few weeks ago.
She was a collector of things
You would never know.
I am thinking to sell.
Her pair of wedding shoes
She wore one morning
Sixty years ago
Walking slowly
In a long tailed wedding gown,
Holding a bouquet of flowers in her one hand
While her father held her other hand,
Soon to be given away to her beaux,
Walking beside her, proud, smiling,
In a wedding tuxedo.
Could she have wildly imagined then,
Thirty years later,
Her unwed daughter
Would give me up for adoption
Shortly after I was born?
My mom, a poor mother,
Could not face rasing me up.
I look at the pair of shoes,
They still look new to me.
She saved them as a treasure
In the original box, tucked
Under her wedding grown,
In her old leather suitcase
Made in some small,
Now a non-existent Texas’ town.
The shoes are high heeled,
Light brown, each with two leather straps
To go around ankles,
Some sort of a hybrid
Of dress shoes and sandals,
High fashion luxury of grandma’s days.
I look at them again
And I change my mind.
I will not sell them,
They are worth a fortune to me.
Sixty years ago,
After, “ I do, I do”,
The choir boy rang
the wedding bells
On top of the steeple.
That moment, my grandma
Was wearing these shoes.
poem by Ravi Kopra
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Star Light River
Star Light river how beautiful you are
With your unforgettable sunset on the river's edge
The colors of orange, gold, pink and red
Tiny little violets growing here and there
Then the stars come out lighting up the waterfront
Looking like tiny diamonds moving in their very own private dance
The lights of the city add to the glow
There is nothing more beautiful than the river's flow
The river that I have always called Star Light river
If only it could talk I'll bet it could tell us so many secrets
About love and life; I know that I love to sit and take in its beauty
It has such a peace that I enjoy
When I am feeling sad
I feel that it really understands
My very inner thoughts and I am not really alone
What a beautiful friend to have
It never deserts me
It is always there. I love you Star Light river
I promise I will be back to watch your very own private dance
Remembering my stories of love and romance
poem by Alma Jean Epps
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[Month of] June
Rise up, and do begin the day's adorning;
The Summer dark is but the dawn of day.
The last of sunset fades into the morning,
The morning calls you from the dark away.
The holy mist, the white mist of the morning,
Was wreathing upward on my lonely way.
The way was waiting for your own adorning
That should complete the broad adorned day.
Rise up, and do begin the day's adorning;
The little eastern clouds are dapple grey:
There will be wind among the leaves to-day;
It is the very promise of the morning.
Lux Tua Via Mea: your light's my way -
Then do rise up and make it perfect day.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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Ocean Mist, This One Blurs Me, Misty Eyed On The Beach
well here we are,
in the middle of this ocean
of our respective
existences,
you are on your own
now,
i sail too,
this trip of mine
we catch a
glimpse
of the coming rain, the clouds thickening
over the sea
the horizon blurring
with mists,
like cold smoke
rising from the ice
of our glass filled
with sparkling
wine
we are in this foggy
part of
our thinking
you puzzle me
i like to think some more
who can you be
now infected by
yours truly
writing poetry
as you hide
in the thick ocean mist
blue haze
above salt
reducing
visibility
let nature spray some more
mist
like perfume in her handkerchief
dim like some dead stars
and darken
this universe
obscure the moon
blur my senses
i will try
seeing you
and your shadow
sweet
to my expectancies
of a disciple
draining some thoughts
of your past
let the mist of ignorance
dissolve in sunshine
let the haze of our eyes
clear a little bit
with our touch
to the truth
suspend impression
like liquid in gas
pour more liquor
over cracked ice
so i can have a
good sense of
your blue mist
a vaporizer can do more
adding moisture
to the air we want
to breathe
these harsh times
rain in very fine drops;
drizzle, do not fizzle
diffuse yourself finely
like a jet of water
replacing what humanity
lost
let us moisten with mist
this dryness of our
own distant worlds
ocean mist
i have a name, it is put alive
in the serving of
ice cubes on clear glass
soon hear the voices
of cracks
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To His Two Children
In the land of Wu the mulberry leaves are green,
And thrice the silkworms have gone to sleep.
In East Luh where my family stay,
I wonder who is sowing those fields of ours.
I cannot be back in time for the spring doings,
Yet I can help nothing, traveling on the river.
The south wind blowing wafts my homesick spirit
And carries it up to the front of our familiar tavern.
There I see a peach tree on the east side of the house
With thick leaves and branches waving in the blue mist.
It is the tree I planted before my parting three years ago.
The peach tree has grown now as tall as the tavern roof,
While I have wandered about without returning.
Ping-yang, my pretty daughter, I see you stand
By the peach tree and pluck a flowering branch.
You pluck the flowers, but I am not there
How your tears flow like a stream of water!
My little son, Po-chin, grown up to your sister's shoulders,
You come out with her under the peach tree,
But who is there to pat you on the back?
When I think of these things, my senses fail,
And a sharp pain cuts my heart every day.
Now I tear off a piece of white silk to write this letter,
And send it to you with my love a long way up the river.
Bazonka
Say Bazonka every day
That's what my grandma used to say
It keeps at bay the Asian Flu'
And both your elbows free from glue.
So say Bazonka every day
(That's what my grandma used to say)
Don't say it if your socks are dry!
Or when the sun is in your eye!
Never say it in the dark
(The word you see emits a spark)
Only say it in the day
(That's what my grandma used to say)
Young Tiny Tim took her advice
He said it once, he said it twice
he said it till the day he died
And even after that he tried
To say Bazonka! every day
Just like my grandma used to say.
Now folks around declare it's true
That every night at half past two
If you'll stand upon your head
And shout Bazonka! from your bed
You'll hear the word as clear as day
Just like my grandma used to say!
poem by Spike Milligan
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Life Within You (Birth)
Birth brings life to a wonderous world
Baby untouched, warm and curled
Pure blue eyes and pale pink lips
Straight red hair and tiny little hips.
Small fingers and wiggling toes
ear to ear smile with soft skin glow
Tiny life made from two,
was touched with an everlasting, 'I do.'
Birth brings love to many hearts
Baby's first cry is where it all starts
One little giggle, one little crawl
One little word then they'll be doing it all!
poem by Sarah Simard
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The Sky's New DayDress
Almost everything is turning pink now,
Under the light of the rising sun.
The sky which was cloaked in its evening gown
Is now changing for its morning dress
Made of blue, white and gold.
In doing so, the sky shifts colors,
As if he waves to us his majestic cape.
The walls of the buildings start to lighten,
which means the sun was coming
To embrace the sky with its golden, shining warmth.
And now the sky's dress sways along
With his dance of grace
In such slow, yet exhilarating tempo.
Black turns Navy Blue.
Navy steps down to Indigo.
Indigo swirls around to Violet Sky.
Violet Sky waltzes into Periwinkle.
And now I wait for that final bow,
Wherein the greatest spectacle is shown.
When Periwinkle bows and leaves the dance floor,
Cornflower Blue shall enter to dance
With the sun
And the clouds,
All on the Sky's daydress.
poem by Armmina Liberté Maclang
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Big Bear Lake
Wearing pink high-heels on stage,
I performed with Melodie at Big Bear Lake.
Wearing a pink costume with headband on head,
Melodie spoke also from me she was lead,
Into a story that made birthday wishes come true,
UniCandle unicorn would light the cake especially for you.
Audience member said that he was on the edge of his seat,
He imagined a magical land that could turn into a LSD trip.
Yes, UniCandle unicorn could do anything that day,
but I wanted to give Sarah Star a “Special Birthday.
Luckily I had this performance recorded on tape,
it turned out pretty good even though I stayed up late.
Stayed up late, with no sleep, I was so scared I couldn’t even count sheep.
My act stood out from all the rest for I was the only with a doll closed to chest.
Also, I was one of the few from the Midwest, I can attest.
(August 8, 2011)
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Beautiful Place
This world is beautiful place
this beautiful place with lass
with her sunset
beautiful
when her sun raises
it's beautiful
and moon in a light move
is beautiful
through out of her night
is beautiful
the gleaming of her stars
and morning shines
is beautiful
her mood
as the waves of her ocean
the blooming of her sight
her oldness of her blessing saint
and breezes of her beaches
her mountains and her meadows
teaching for us her love
the beauty of her fall and her fame
the differnce of her four seasons
the pouring water of rains
as roaring her mount river
or floating hovering fog of her face
the beautiful secret sigh
and ease of her drizzle shower
all her flagrancy; her fun
different faces
and different voices
of her..
so the beautiful place for lass
is beautiful place for love.
poem by Sallam Yassin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Big Bear Lake
Wearing pink high-heels on stage,
I performed with Melodie at Big Bear Lake.
Wearing a pink costume with headband on head,
Melodie spoke also from me she was lead,
Into a story that made birthday wishes come true,
UniCandle unicorn would light the cake especially for you.
Audience member said that he was on the edge of his seat,
He imagined a magical land that could turn into a LSD trip.
Yes, UniCandle unicorn could do anything that day,
but I wanted to give Sarah Star a "Special Birthday.
Luckily I had this performance recorded on tape,
it turned out pretty good even though I stayed up late.
Stayed up late, with no sleep, I was so scared I couldn't even count sheep.
My act stood out from all the rest for I was the only with a doll closed to chest.
Also, I was one of the few from the Midwest, I can attest.
Written By Suzae Chevalier
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heinelet II
They met, as it were, in a mist,
Pale, curious, eager, uncertain.
When each clasped the other and kissed,
The mist rolled aside like a curtain.
There were fields of delight to explore,
Where it seemed that their lips could not sever.
Now their lips are as lone as before
And the cold mist is thicker than ever.
poem by Gamaliel Bradford
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The Beauty of the Sky
Sitting there watching the sky
Watching the clouds pass me by
The sky is a deep blue
You can get lost in the clouds for a few
Day dreaming that you are floating on the clouds
Just you, with no one else around
Watching the clouds take a defined form
Observing the sky getting dark for a storm
Fierce lighting blazing
Lying there gazing
In amazement of the sky’s different faces
Dreaming about different places
Watching the sky turn orange and red
As the sun sets while lying there in my bed
In the early morning
Noticing the clouds forming
The purple and blue sky is grabbing my attention
It is too beautiful not to mention
It is breath taking
There is no mistaking
The many different feelings
You can observe the earth’s dealings
Just as our moods can change
The sky is a face that reflects the earth’s strains
Tornados and hurricanes
You respect its reins
Raindrops falling
Cleansing the earth for its calling
Beautiful white snow
In the evening hours you can see its glow
Appreciating the sky’s beauty
As it goes on accomplishing its duty
Lighting striking while it illuminates
The clouds depth and rejuvenates
Lying there observing
The beauty of the sky that is well deserving
The Image
When a wild grace I see,
A turn o' the neck, a curl, sweet hands, clear eyes,
Gentleness, courtesy, dignity;
In all these gifts Thee I surmise, surprise.
All beauty and delight.
Skin like a rose, a beauteous shape, an air
Free and enchanting, give my weary sight
Glimpses of Thee, Thou Beauty past compare.
Strength, courage also are Thine.
And joy of youth and wings that cleave the blue,
Low singing and soft voices, I divine
In these Thy beauty ancient yet ever new.
Oh, when my startled eye
Perceives this beauty league-long, sea and isle
And eagle-crested mountains wild and high,
I catch Thy Maker's thought -- I see Thy smile.
Some mirror out of range
Flashes reflex of Heaven on this sweet earth,
Brooding for ever, beautiful, without change,
The blue-bell sea, the thousand streams' soft mirth.
All beauty is of Thee.
Kindness and quietness, moon and stars and sun,
Gardens and woods, the bird in the new-fledged tree
And sleep, O Kindest One!
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Three Hours After Midnight
I was lying awake trying to stop my mind from thought,
but I was losing the fight, my attention was caught.
Sleep was the last thing my mind had in store for me;
it intended to saturate my thoughts with creativity.
It mixed words and flowing colours in an extraordinary blend,
slowly, at speed, smooth, then textured, the mix had no end.
The flowing beauty made no sense; however, for a second it did,
but the speed of the images made everything appear short lived.
I couldn’t capture or freeze any image and retain it in my mind,
my memory couldn’t cope with the instantaneous designs.
The images became chaotic, as I tried to slow everything down.
I thought I’d succeeded, but it only slowed to turn things around.
I became hot and sweaty, and threw back the covers from my bed,
this mental turmoil was having an effect outside my head.
I had to get up to splash cold water over my eyes and face,
and then I just sat trying to stop my thoughts from taking place.
Eventually, feeling more relaxed I lay down and closed my eyes.
I was in a light blue sky, with soft white clouds passing slowly by.
Peace and calm had come to a turbulent and unpredictable mind,
my thoughts were pleasant and slower, at last, I’d found dream time.
poem by Orlando Belo
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A Morning From The Top Of The Mountain
it is like i am ashore
with waves of mist and clouds
reversing and then
upon a clear sky
the sun arrives with its golden cloak of silk
spreading on the face of this mountain
where i slept
alone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Melody In Soft Gilded Brown
In a secret place in my heart there always
is a heroine playing the piano, tonight she
played Schubert's Impromptu in E-flat major
beautifully, rolling whirlpools of light-flashing
notes encircling a melody in soft gilded brown
Whorls turning and turning, I followed in a dance
moving to and fro, up and down, weaving musical
lines in my heart until the circles heaved in emotion,
reaching a peak and the gilded melody in soft velvet
brown calmed everything down
The secret place in my heart engulfed everyday
life, revelling in remembrance of every great love,
assigning delight to everything, every ray of sun-
shine, every moonbeam safe in a place where no
blight of being can touch - a Platonic world
Of perfect ideas where beauty remains an ideal
calling the dreamer forth - briefly adorning the
face of every smiling human being…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Featherless wings
last night i dream that i was walking in the clouds, huge
heavenly petals like pebbles wash away my tears, a moist
of silver blue drifted my pink cheek; cool, smooth and soft
as i feel it, clear as the ocean wave and beautiful as rainbow
when the sun scatter its radiant ray where i seat in the
cumulus formation of clouds beneath my feet
in a glance, speed like light passing through my eye, blinking
without control while my nose seems white as a snow failed
to breathe the air, choking with my eye staring above my head,
thinking that this might be the end, as the naked eye said adieu
death comes like a thief of the night, then i have to go, but in a
sudden moment i notice that iam not alone in the wilderness of
beautiful clouds, their are humanoid form of being floating
waving, cheering, singing sweet melody of song, and calling
many name, whispering me not to be lonely; it’s the clouds that
made us to hope, it’s the song that give us the feather to fly and
it’s the dream that leads us go, to a place, we almost have to
know
waiting for a day of night and day, seems no end, not a single
feather grown in my body cause me pain, bother and confuse
leads my way to pray, that in my featherless wings i can reach
the sky; fly my featherless wings fly up, up to the heaven above,
guide my dream in your own destiny, a place where my soul will
be happy, stay with me winged angels, featherless wings has to
fly high with you in the heaven above
oh! dream show me the way my featherless wings have something
to say, please listen my winged angels and hear my
featherless voice.......
“angels wings is made not of feather, it’s a deep faith of their
loyalty to God, tangible and form like wings”
poem by Antonio Liao
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