As father gave the push, my mother whispered, “Fly, my child!”
Resplendent in my feathers, yet was frightened of the wild
unknown for that where I grew up, I had to leave and find
the reason for my wings and claws, and how I can’t be mild.
The rush of warm wind cushioned me as I took my first flight,
majestic bird who gracefully flew to such soaring heights.
From that day on I fed myself and did my parents proud
for they have taught me not to let the prey escape my sight.
For forty years I roamed the land and soared over the sea,
but then the time had come to make the choice that’s hard for me.
Up on the steepest rocky mount, I went and by my own
removed my brittle beak, talons, and old wings painfully.
Why did I have to go through all the changes and the pain?
Those parts were worn and have become my weakness and my bane.
So now that God has given me another thirty years,
behold me after my rebirth, the eagle soars again!
*For those who would care to see,this is a 3-min video on the eagle's painful rebirth
Eagles: illumination of spirit, healing, creation, Divine, Spirit (feathers are sacred healing tools)
PICTURE YOURSELF AS A BIRD POETRY CONTEST - 9th Place
SPONSOR: ANDREA DIETRICH
13 May 2015
A blazing Sun abruptly appears
Indulged in selfish applause
Heartless to the core, her light declares
She governs the Universe
The Sun gets only a glimpse of the Moon
Jealous of the Stars who pave the night's way
She races to conspire with the Horizon
To keep the Moon at bay
Melancholy is the Moon as night draws near
Chilled with howling cold and fear
Unspoken words hang stiff in the air
Each has felt them like a prayer
The Moon sits in shadows of his own silhouette
To endure thousands of years in silence
Staring through space with hollow eyes
There are no words, the Moon only cries
Karen Anglesey written 03.03.13 Recently published in Best Poets and Poems 2012 by World Poetry Movement, Utah
Little sparrow, what troubles thee
is it the stigma you face
little sparrow, what pierces thee
is it the shame of disgrace
is it the bitterness in your heart,
or the offense you can't forgive
is it the anguish that sets you apart,
or the hurt that holds you captive
what befalls you
is neither unfelt nor unknown
God cares and calls you
when you're cast out and all alone
God will never forsake you
in your time of need;
God will never permit you
to suffer or bleed.
02/19/2014; for "TO HEAL A HEART" Contest
They want my thighs/
So smooth and innocent feathers flying across broken brunches of skeletons/
They want my rhymes/
This is no poultry for poetry/
My poetry is no coward type chicken/
My words are salty/
I’m a bird i fly on top of state’s real brains/
Consuming meat and eggs of past fellow cowards/
These earth i scratch with my mouth/
Is a prostitute/
Tougher than concrete lines/
These earth i scratch with my mouth/
Is everyone's Present Day Hell
My thoughts are concrete tears like rebels/
scratch and sing mirrored messages in flocks/
This pictures are born from chests incubated second hand writings/
Smell my symptoms/
Blinking one eye ink/
Eyes wide open never see compost in words/
Aimed at fertilizing unattractively skinnny promises/
O gosh Chickens/
Shoes of chicken view touch souls with my hand clues/
Cowards spray away chicken slams/
They want my thighs/
In holidays they slaughter families born in days of slavery/
They want my rhymes/
They want my thighs/
Reflections of a Mirror
You examine me as if
I am an answer-
As if I am the answer.
You search the reflection
Of your own eyes as if
They can tell you more
Than I already have-
But the answer
Is always the same
As the question;
I'm only repeating back
What you've already
I am only the echo
Of your own
You look at me and see
If you can't defeat
The compulsion to call me
A liar, then at least
Fight against the impulse
To break me under
I can not fix you
So try to resist the
Urge to scream at me
When I can't tell you
What you want to know-
Are you trying to
Test some misguided
Hypothesis that if you
Enough of your soul,
I will crack into
A reflection of
Is that why you
Let me see you
When you are too
Ashamed to lift
Your face to meet
The gaze of
I have seen you
On every sleepy morning
That came to soon,
And every Friday night
That couldn't have
Come soon enough...
I have seen you
On nights when
You are lonely enough
To look at me and
Pretend that the face
You see behind the glass
Belongs to another
I have seen
Your tears falling thick
Until the surface of
My glass and your cheek
Are like synchronized
Window panes pondering
Every hesitant smile that you
You have tried on for size,
Before asking me
What I think...
But I am not an answer...
Only a mirror.
UNDER THIS RED UMBRELLA
The rain did not stop us romantically.
Our love was to be enjoyed.
Life span was our imagery.
We are young adults in love.
We walked in an embrace.
We talked about family and friends.
We were unity of togetherness in this scene.
I looked away shortly and saw others doing the same.
That momentary endeavor drew his attention as well.
He leaned forward with protection so that I would not get wet.
This red umbrella glisten from the night lights as we stroll through the park.
The tree leaves were wet; this was autumn.
Good spirits were in optimistic to longevity.
The red umbrella reflects the leaves of the trees as it does my man’s adoration of me.
Under this red umbrella are images of love!
User Name: Verlena S. Walker –
Nom De Plume: Oblivion Dark Sunshine
Sponsor: Leonora Galinta
Personification of Lovers done for Poem with a theme of "Umbrella" Free Poetry Contest
Entry Date: March 22, 2014
Yamaha impressed me the first time I laid eyes on her glistening blond maple wood, her stylish body details, her long fretted mother-of-pearl inlay; lobed with golden keys. Her voice called to me the first time I held her in my arms. I strummed her six strings slowly in the key of G, then moved softly to D and C. All the while, I searched earnestly for her purity in sound quality and style. She was not the most beautiful in the showroom. But oh yes! She did flatter me with her musical presence. She was beautiful to me! I knew from that moment on she would be mine for eternity.
Within the hour, I took her home to meet the family. She was shy on the journey, not making a sound; perhaps due to this being her first automobile ride or simply wanting to see a world she was now a part of. Yamaha was cased in alligator leather, a brown dressing which was stylish for the day. We were both nervous as we arrived and got out of the car. My strong caressing grip on her handle assured her she wouldn’t fall and it would be alright. She knew it would be alright as I smiled at her.
I opened the door, allowing her to enter first. When in the living room, I called to everyone to come meet the newest member of the family. Dad was taken by her simple yet elegant beauty and style. Mom touched her first and she was most pleased. At that moment I realized the importance of first impressions as Mom marveled at how pretty she was. I sat down in the best chair in the living room while Mom listed to Yamaha talk and I sang a popular country love song. I was pleased with the family acquaintance to Yamaha. It was evident she had become a part of the family.
The first few weeks, I couldn’t keep Yamaha out of my arms. I longed to be with her every minute of the day. In my eye, she made me smile by just gazing upon her. I fumbled with her in those beginning days. She ignored my elementary attempts at refinery and permitted me the time to catch up to her mastery rather than bow down to my level. Like any two lovers, both must reach to the need of the other. Only then is love truly in harmony.
Today, Yamaha is not the young glistening blond I held in my arms some thirty years removed. Her wood has been scared by my love to play her. She has received countless face lifts which cover her tainted mother-of-pearl. Her brown leather case dress stands in need of a seamstress care. But as with all things having been learned through love, we now make beautiful music together. She is my treasure, a light into my soul's well. She amplifies my inner being. As I perform, she is glorified. We have grown old together,and gotten better in time. I still hold her in my arms day by day as this lover has risen to her grace and expectations. She is my treasure for a life time.
Daily I’m sun kissed
Burned by the warmth of your lips,
for YOU are the sun
Eileen Manassian Ghali
It is a look….unhidden
It is desire…unveiled
Love and lust…exhaled
It is fantasy….released
It is passion…unbound
It is wishes….unashamed
Sensuality is supreme
The climax of a dream
The voice of arousal’s soul
The entwining that makes whole
The forever in the here
Exhibition without fear
Sensuality’s sultry kiss
Sexy Siren’s seductive bliss
All this and so much more
Is what lies for you in store
Then, what is sensuality?
Why, that is me!
It's when my smile alludes
and what my sway exudes
It's why my touch excites
and how my kiss ignites
It's when my voice enthralls
and how my body calls
It's what my lips evoke
and how my hips provoke
I'm seductive and demure
of victory I am sure
Sensuality is my name
To dominate is my game
Sensuality, is all me
Taste, and I'll set you free
Metaphor of fraud
In the road of loneliness I remake my morning prayers
Yellowed silence buries last memories
Autumn and curtain above my book are broken
Yearly rain writes an anonymous journal
There are no words between metaphors of tears
I bite darkness, fonts and white letter
Due to the rust of time the promise digests
In the corners of ignorance a broken violin hushes
Char lips I begin the ballad of fraud
A frozen key cannot reopen any door anymore
The same you walk and smash, the same you wake up,
the same you raise and fall,
Lie and cry or be quiet, but kiss the mornings in the heart
Sleeping dragon through the Dark Ages,
Coldblooded and unfeeling wraith,
It awoke and consumed the human race,
Entering every aspect of their lives.
Nothing can destroy this beast of knowledge
Except an Apocalypse.
Closing my eyes I flew
from lonely chair
through open window
in mesmerized anticipation.
Drawn toward the glowing
warmth of the porch light.
Flames torched my heart
as another circled.
The crickets kept time
as we danced
a moth-winged minuet
of transparent melancholy.
submitted to Craig Cornish – Chopped II – Poetry Contest
Tomorrow seems so far away
Today refuses to stay
Tomorrow feels gay
Today lingers in gray
Tomorrow has all the games to play
Today keeps going astray
Tomorrow is an innocent day
Today is tainted by today and past days
Tomorrow never stops dreaming of stars
Today is covered in scars
Tomorrow has new hope to offer
Today can't get anything in order
Tomorrow's melody is softer
Today's roughness needs a softener
Tomorrow seems so far away
Today is tomorrow's stairway, a promising essay
thoughts of crowing joy
in body the soul,
but wait there's more...
pasting of measure, feet taping,
but yet sapping, on the
there of sapping, hungry of just not knowing
that is the word of being humble...
the mystery of blending the
squrriel nut tree at the
top of the fountain as
thought it may seem,
that living has fall within
my thought to know to be humble...
words to be humble
creaking plank wood,
sargasso sickly sweetened
blue crab scuttled,
her boardwalk secrets
her beach head,
sand bars exposed,
only salt streak'd
Wish to be like the trees;
Only to feel the breeze
And to taste the dewdrops on my leaves.
Wish to see the sky over me
And to feel that there is nothing out of reach
Wish to feel the waves of the sea
Hitting me on the beach.
To my surprise, when woods I pass
I saw a deer running from the mass,
I hate the scene of the hunter coming,
I hate to see her running and running.
But the bravery appeared
When-with her antlers-she beard
But my legs couldn't stand
Watching her bleed on land.
I thought it is done
That she will never see the sun.
A fantasy I ruminate!
She stood again and I meditate.
She was wounded I can deem
But- with her agile body- she redeem'd
Then..I wish my heart was the deer
That could be hurt but without blear
That could be wounded but stand on his knees,
And never fall apart because any of these
I wish my heart was brave;
To face his scars with faith.
Then my deer will be strong
To brood fears all day long.
Zenith of mount
Apex of all
No peak to high
No aim too tall
He reaches, he strains;
He wears himself thin.
He toils, he strives;
His drive to be perfection's kin.
O mighty indeed
But the goal causes fall.
But not wisdom for one, save all.
He hath tried and hath fought for
What he still wills to attain.
"Eminence" and "Pinnacle";
"Crown of Man" the title he wishes to claim.
But how you have strayed!
The world watches and waits.
Sneering and jeering
As languishes one who was great.
To be escalated and elevated
Indeed he did intend,
Instead stumbled and staggered
And only did he descend.
Shadow of self
Shell of past
A look none will give
To him a glance none will cast.
"Dunderhead" and "Derelict";
"Schlemiel" is his name.
Ne'er to be remembered
Is his former fame.
There are few who know
Fewer who understand
But should you be aware
You would weep o'er this man.
Power, glory, and strength
Were to be his right hand
But dishonor, poverty, and disgrace
Are now the garland upon his head.
If you leave, the island
Rests a sad face on its paws
And longs for your return,
Harkening for the oar-splash
Of your approaching boat.
If you never return,
It remembers your face
All life long.
Mutineers on the BOUNTY had to leave the island and never return, but it stayed in their consciousness forever.
I the stained glass panel
Impeccable by craftful hand
Adorned with the color of rainbow
Stand tall but unviewed
You my dear are like the sunlight rays
The starlight's twinkle
You are like the moonlight beams
You shine through my hue
Prisming my heart’s colors to illumination
Touching off Opalescent glass seen by all
For my soul now engulfed by thy beauty
Made perfect with thy light
Viewed by all
The musical hall was filled with whines;
Of the melancholy melody and spontaneous art.
And the maestro's eyes were moving between the lines
Waiting to reach his favorite part.
I was now on stage!
Blown away by the appealing scene,
It felt like a picture in a story's page:
Neon lights and people's mien.
And among the audience:
I read the expression of the crippled soul,
And that of the afflicted heart.
Recognized that look of having a set goal
And those looks of desire to-from the beginning- start.
I am the broken violin,
Owned by the best musician in town
At me-he always liked to grin
saying that I never let him down.
I long for the touch of his bow on my strings..
But I am growing too frail to compete.
I have lost the ability to- with the melody- spread my wings,
Vapid I became, my taste; bittersweet.
My strings will be amputated soon,
And no healing process can revive my damaged harmony
I will be among the ruins, letting out no tune
So today, i will play my last symphony.
Laying next to you by this rushing bayou I marvel in awe of you a miracle I cant
live without you. Graciously your beauty lifts me unforgiven your kisses breath life
into me. No vivid metaphor of love can describe you dynamic and tremendous I'm
unworthy of you. Harmonized forever I stand by you embrace me immaculate
angel there is no where I'd rather be then here with you loving me.
I am a cheap pen, living
In your pencil box, which you keep unlocked
So that someone steals, cause a new one rocks
I have been, used to write letters that you didn’t mean
Your ignorance is not a hidden thing
Call me a link/linc between God and human beings
As I write lies, which are truly seen/sin
As truth, I put dots on a paper
Still you love the costly pens,
You honor them as your savior
Clever, the way you favour
The one with a branded name on it, remember
When you bought a new one from open market
By exchange of words, I was, brokenhearted
Day by day it turned out to be a growing burden
Knowing I am unwanted
Throwing up on a book, I vomit, ink comes out
Before he died, did Lincoln shout?
No he died, with a dream living in the pocket of his coat
A pen to represent him, present in presidential quote
So I write, knowing that no one will go through my note
My paper floats like a boat, frightened boat
On my tears, all these years, all of this enlightened road
Full of water and mud, what else you want?
Will write till my ink dries and nibs get blunt
But someone takes credit of what I write, I am not a born fighter
I am a mechanical ghostwriter
I could, make the world look, more brighter