Best Firesides Poems
Upon a grassy hill, so long ago,
there stood a lovely 'castle', tall and white;
was built in eighteen eighty-six, aglow
with cozy rooms and firesides burning bright.
So charming were the winding stairs that flared
'neath grand cathedral ceiling's chandelier.
Outdoors, a rolling lawn and gardens shared
a rippling stony brook, so full and clear.
This 'castle' on the hill from long ago
became a fairytale- no more to see.
Now, only precious thoughts that come and go
can bring to life my fading memory.
My childhood 'castle' on the hill is gone-
our home- torn down to build a bridge upon.
Not Ready Yet
Give me just one more day of Christmas jubilee
Not ready to let go of Christmas, yet
Or stop gathering flecks of stardust
Scattered from the Heavens
Still reveling in the sweet aroma of frankincense
Or bovine straw
Lingering on evening's breath
To walk by candles in the window
Enchanted by twinkling lights of welcome.
My heart pitches a tent
On hillsides among olive trees
Craning it's neck to hear newborn angelic carols
And longs to cradle the pure cry of Love
Again and again
Infinite Love I can hold and understand.
Stay one more night, sweet season of hope,
Beside me
Not letting the lights twinkling with wicks of joy,
Festooning trees and doorways,
Dim with memory
Or exchange red and green for blue and ice
On starless nights.
Not ready to eat
The last crumbs of Christmas manna
Or leave the firesides of desert travelers
Stargazing.
Just one more night precious holiday
And then you can slip away
To walk from Bethlehem to Jerusalem.
Autumn
Chilled breezes blow.
Warm firesides glow.
Pumpkins
Orange and round
Litter the ground.
Skies
Hold November rains.
Soak gentle plains.
Maple Trees
Dress in vermillion.
It’s autumn’s cotillion.
Children
Wear shiny costumes.
Huge harvest moons.
Turkeys
Many to die.
Hear them cry.
11/11/18
Six-Word Couplet Series Encore
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
We've Been Alone Too Long
Different roads we’ve traveled down
To reach our destiny.
Many lonesome highways
Brought you here to me.
I see you now as in the dreams
I had those nights alone
When the warmth of many firesides
Chased the chill from tired bones.
We wandered far down unknown roads
Not knowing when or where
We’d find a special someone
With dreams they wished to share.
Just lonely pilgrims lost in time
With longing in their hearts
Searching for an ending
Of a dream – before it starts.
Lyric verses fill my mind
And soon become a song.
Come, let me sing my song to you –
We’ve been alone too long.
Spirit of the ancient isles,
Of Erin and of Albion,
I call to thee,
Please come to us,
Ancient spirit come to me,
I call to thee,
In moorland wind,
And highland glen,
In summer meadow,
By Greenwood tree,
I recall bluebells in spring,
Autumn rains in Irish hills,
Long winter nights by firesides,
The places where the hidden brook glides,
A deer in a forest glade,
The Standing Stones the giants made,
I recall that mystic land
That lies unseen,
So near at hand,
Where ancestral beings,
Weave out time,
And listen to the voice Divine,
I recall the bards of old,
Of endless tales that they told,
Of Bran and Branwynn,
Of Taliesin and of Merlin,
Of beacons burning in the night,
And the forests of the light,
I recall the other folk,
That live inside the hills and mounds,
Enchanting us with magic sounds,
I recall the paths we trod,
To the sacred groves,
Of the great God Lugh,
Of Dagda and the Goddess Danu,
Of Bridey, Herne and Ceredwin,
Gwion Bach and Finn McCool,
Of Beltane, Sawain and of Yule,
And of this and so much more,
That grows inside the Celtic soul,
It rises up inside us now,
Like the young sap in the old tree,
Like a root that grows,
In you and me,
And at last learns to be free,
With these words we do invoke,
The ancient masters of the Oak,
The Ash, the Thorn and every tree,
In our secret ancestry,`
To every soul to be awake,
To rise up and see whats at stake,
The root race that we must save,
The seeds and grains,
The life you gave,
In the isles of Lugh and Math,
Now is time to rise again,
To know the Sun and feel the rain,
To meet again,
The brethren of the Celtic Ray,
To come together come what may,
And never lose our will to be,
Nor the hope that comes through thee,
Through the Earth and through the trees,
Through the balmy air of a summer breeze,
That comes to you in the Sun that ripens the corn,
And harvests the crop of this ray,
And takes you to the ancient way,
So we can dance anew like blossoms in the month of May.
Green as emerald lays the soft soft grass;
Dotted slightly with red, blue and yellow.
Lay down I shall, while watching the world
In my golden sunfilled meadow.
Wind whistles softly through the air,
Scarlet petals dance on the breeze;
The leaves russel, while the branches crack,
And sweet chirping fills the trees.
The leaves russel begins to grow quiet,
As their time ends, and they lapse to the ground.
The entire world does shed herself
Of the plunder in sunshine found.
Nature goes all into slumber,
The shadows creep in ever quicker.
Glowing pumpkins hold the streets close by;
The veil of the spirits, no longer thicker.
As she sleeps, she receives a blanket
Of frost, and cushions of snow.
Trees now holding snoozing critters,
As they become prisoners of colds hold.
Firesides begin blazing brightly.
Darkness takes hold quicker still.
Decorated pines in living rooms erected,
So with joy, the misery of cold we can kill.
Finally she begins to awaken:
Songs again start to fill the air;
The sun gains his longer watch once more,
As flora and fauna again reappear.
Life again abound and bountiful.
As we celebrate under the moon.
The flowers scent fills the air once more,
And my meadow is now back in bloom.
Cognac & Brandy recollections,
sublime warmth 'tween
smoky exhaled vapors,
wisps of Madagascar aromatics
& blazes of Autumn firesides
amidst a French Château fantasy,
dipped in honeysuckle reminisces
of cardamom spice and the pungent
zest of once upon twilit legends
(THIS IS THE SECOND POEM DEDICATED TO THE US PRESIDENT IN HIS QUEST FOR A SECOND TERM)
Bit and bit together become whole,
And coin and coin fills the treasure.
Right and wrong never agree;
And little and little satisfies the measure!
Careless mischief is a dangerous thing.
Kenyans do cheerfully sing!
Here is advice for Barack Hussein Obama,
Unbeatable true son of the soil.
Sure and unbending must be your strategy;
See clearly there no chances to spoil!
Earnest and apt must be your plans,
Indefatigable must be your spirit:
Never lacking zeal, and dreaming deeds full of merit!
Our prayers we do say day and night,
By our firesides were rant our supplications,
And plead that you take courage in this fight.
May yours be a full and overflowing cup,
And may the Kenyan flag be always up!
When winter comes it brings a special charm
With holidays and decorated trees
With guests and firesides to keep us warm
Despite the icy chill of winter's freeze
That torments us with plummeting degrees
And snow to depths that's well above our knees
But silver frosting’s on the window pane
The sentimental smells of cider’s spice
With laughter and the joy are shared again
And all the world’s a cheerful paradise
(With gifts beneath the tree just to entice
The children to be mannerly and nice)
Then turkey’s gone, the cakes and pies devoured
This day is done, the children all worn out
The pots and pans and dishes all are scoured
The guests must go though no one’s gone without
And from the drive a last farewell they’ll shout
Then soon to bed they’ll all retire, no doubt
And while we both agree it’s been worthwhile
We’ve nothing left to share … except a smile
December 3, 2018 Winter Wonderland Poetry Contest "Urban Sonnet" Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
In the wintry countryside, January bares her soul and lets little buds grow,
Under drifts of pure white snow, hedge high frost hardened, there is movement,
Shoots of brave winter flowers wake, and they in turn wake our summer flowers,
Then the rarest of all our flowers the blow flower stirs hidden away from all.
With frosted snow lay-ed and the skies clear, it reflects a lapis lazuli blue,
The new snow that has fallen on top of icy snow the breeze blows it into spray,
The binding of the snow beneath there is hardness that allows us to walk on it,
Walking on snow is a wonderful feeling looking over hedge tops and deep valleys.
It's good to feel the frozen mass crunching under foot but we sometimes slide,
Only rivers show themselves, their wintery hues amid the trees and grey rocks,
And because it has been a snowy winter stories circulate around warm firesides,
Of travelers lost in great drifts on the wild moorlands and snow laden forests.
In a small hamlet people were outside their dwellings staring up at a heavy black sky,
Wind lashed the trees and front doors a big storm was about to happen and very soon,
Small ice flakes whipped up in the wind stinging eyes I had a big dewdrop on my nose,
After some time the blackened sky opened the winds raged and the snow began falling.
Like a roaring bear gusts of winds blew the nearby sea sending salty spray to join snow,
The wind sweeping across the land fiercely blowing gales loosening objects in its path,
An old man curled up against his fire heavy snow swept under his door and over his eaves,
As snow started to fall harder the flakes were huge swirling in blustery bitter cold winds.
That night was so cold every one went to collect logs for a fire smoke rose from chimneys,
Figures seen in silhouette behind lighted icy windows, doors were bolted the eaves blocked,
Friends gathered in each others houses sipping wine their singing muffled by high winds,
The worst storm that many could recall elders told stories of bigger storms tongue in cheek.
All night long snow fell in the morning villagers went outside to see the damage caused,
The sun shone with such brightness the blue sky and the carpets of snow hurt their eyes,
Icy snow was very deep and big white chunks of frozen snow stuck to bottoms of shoes,
A tall tree stood in the middle of the hamlet heavy lines of snow bent its tough boughs.
Stories circulating round firesides of travelers lost in great drifts on wild moorlands,
Wanderers that had perished, frozen in the deep snow all lost in the snow laden woods,
In the morning the snows stopped bringing sunny clear skies that shone like lapis lazuli,
The wind whistled blowing top snow into a fine spray leaving a surface frosty and hard.
There was a wonderful feeling walking along hedge-tops and across deep white valleys,
All now filled and level, the frozen mass crunching under heavy steps in snow boots,
Finding only the rivers showing themselves by their wintry hues amid trees and rocks,
Visitors from the north the red wings, thrushes and field-fares flew back to their homes.
Winter bends low to blow gusty breaths, cold,
out of his northern lair beyond the warm
of summer’s enfolding. Capricious, bold
he plans his escapades of icy storm.
Clutching for a covering, nature gasps,
trembling in a landscape grown terrible;
ice-brittle moisture ricochets and rasps
on soft skin with rough strokes unbearable.
Firesides signal soft, cozy indoor dreams
of warm nests stitched in quilted eiderdown;
we bequeath outdoors to winter’s dark schemes
to clothe the green world in dismal brown gown.
Three months to hibernate; he will retreat
before a stronger sun and winds grown sweet.
Copyright, November 18, 2019
Fall Sonnets Poetry Contest
Emile Pinet, Sponsor
In the wintry countryside, January bares her soul and lets little buds grow,
Under drifts of pure white snow, hedge high frost hardened, there is movement,
Shoots of brave winter flowers wake, and they in turn wake our summer flowers,
Then the rarest of all our flowers the blow flower stirs hidden away from all.
With frosted snow lay-ed and the skies clear, it reflects a lapis lazuli blue,
The new snow that has fallen on top of icy snow the breeze blows it into spray,
The binding of the snow beneath there is hardness that allows us to walk on it,
Walking on snow is a wonderful feeling looking over hedge tops and deep valleys.
It's good to feel the frozen mass crunching under foot but we sometimes slide,
Only rivers show themselves, their wintery hues amid the trees and grey rocks,
And because it has been a snowy winter stories circulate around warm firesides,
Of travelers lost in great drifts on the wild moorlands and snow laden forests.
Some men keep real cool at gunpoint
Having been swimming in the company of the military,
The nozzles of guns surveying in moments solitary:
Witnesses to soldiers dipping their fingers in wallets
For the purchase of that spitting out the bullets.
Some men keep grinning at gunpoint,
Because at them pistols have been pointed many times
And no ugly story followed the smiles;
It shall always be a nice evening story by firesides.
Some men choose to be absentminded at gunpoint,
When sure they are that the thing will happen
And already glimpse the bullet their brains open:
One’s best bet to start visualizing the after- life
forgetting everything including one’s wife.
Man can be cynical at gunpoint,
When fixated his mind is upon a notion
Whose abandonment would cost him a demotion
The watchword of unwavering Arabs
Between the Healthy and the On-Tabs .
But should any man be unmanned at gunpoint
Following a menacing loosening of the thing’s safety catch
Behind a door complete with a latch
A hang man’s look on the faces of the Gang
Thinking of nothing else but the loud bang.
Summertime is finally fleeting
and oddly, though, I am not sad.
Yes, the fields will soon be emptied
of pastel-colored flowers and buzzing bees
and wading knee-deep in tall, wild grass
as the sun takes its time in setting,
late into the warm-breeze nights
that cause one to linger
and gaze up into a sky
transforming from azure to cobalt
with stars in infinite millions
bringing on a sense of wonder
that never ceases to delight.
However, Autumn is waiting
quietly beyond Summer's bend
and now and then you can hear it,
see it, feel it as it approaches.
Just little touches here and there.
But sure enough, it will break free
of Summer's green and yellow dreamy hold
to announce itself in snippets
of orange, red, russet and gold.
Yes, the days are still warm and sunny
but the darker early mornings
and darker early evenings
are tell-tale as to what
Autumn is really up to.
So this is the time that I relish most,
that in-between moment
when we'll soon have
a new seasonal host
that will require of us to put away
the shorts, the sandals,
the beach towels and lotions
that made our Summer
a sensuous journey
peppered with sunshowers,
thunderclouds, swims in the lake,
collecting shells on the shoreline
and charring vegetables on grills
and catching up on novels
for requisite lounge chair readings
and picking flowers in the garden
awash in scents and ladybugs
as iced drinks are sipped and savored
under umbrellas striped and wide.
Yes, this is the time
when flannel, quilts and nippy nights
become the wardrobe,
the bedcoverings,
the almost-black frosty evenings
that draw us to lighting candles,
tending firesides,
brewing up extra coffee or tea
or reaching for cups of hot chocolate
or perhaps sifting through cookbooks
in search of something soothing to bake
that'll taste even better while
wrapped in a blanket or thick fuzzy robe
for requisite armchair readings
of long-held books, old letters, old photos
or just recalling beautiful memories
of golden Summers past
that now bring comfort and peace
to our yearning Autumnal souls.