Tell me of your peace.
Let it tell your story now
Of trials and tribulations, a tale not of dreams
Weary from a journey of self-discovery
My child, know the comfort in your peace
You feel hope in this familiar place
As it gently sloughs the pain away
Tell me of your peace
In which we all are blessed and free
Search throughout your soul sweet child
Peer not within your cluttered mind
Look out to rest your tired eyes but do not let them see
Solace found strewn upon daily thoughts is fleeting at it's best
Lasting merely moments, in untouched souls a true peace
Oh yes! You'll know when you arrive but only you will know
The world will melt away as a candle left under the blazing sun
Away away, until you feel home again, an unguided familiar scene
An innocence once lost is restored, all sins suddenly forgiven
Soaking this in with relucant ease,
Breathe it deep with a slow release
Take it in, delight in details you discover
Be calm here child, please have no fear, I am here
You are safe in this place of yours, no hurt no tears
We share not the same peace, no no
Unique to each of us, yet stranger to none
Trust in more than what you see, know beauty is within reach
We share this unspoken bond of freedom from ourselves
Please young one, listen closer now
I say, leave it all behind you love, it will only weigh you down
Cleanse yourself of careless words and careful lies
I know you're weary, let go of all you carry
Don't be afraid, here you are burden free
Trust in you, blessed one, it's easier than you believe
Sweet child, tell me now if you see
Peace resting deep within
Waiting for you
For you to let it be
Why aren’t we happy?
What is it in the most of us?
We are not how we should be
We should be like a singing bird
Who boldly, in the trees
Sings his song when fear is done
His life just flows along
He only knows the dance of life
So he just sings his song.
And yet we humans live our lives
Enfolded in our fears
Glorifying in the sad
And making this quite clear
As we always speak of doom and gloom
And watch it on TV
And always live our lives in fear
Is this the way it should be?
If only each would take a look
And see just what we be
We never see the flowers grow
Or let our hearts be free
Maybe it’s time to see the truth
Of what this life could be
If we look at life without the fear
And live with mystery.
6 August 2013 @ 1908hrs.
Observe how the ants labor without a peep;
Note the fine artistry of the spider's web-spinning;
Who will wake the bear from his long winter sleep?
Stand in awe of the hummingbird flapping its wings;
Listen to the lovely melody the songbirds sing;
Watch the majestic hawks leave their nests and soar;
Bask in the rising sun's heat at the ocean shore.
An invitation into God's presence
comes from the sun, the creatures, and much more.
All of His creation emits His essence.
Impenitent, deposited her soul before
the convent's calling of redemption turned to prayer,
her covenant, inside the sanctum to implore,
canonical sustains her matin's aubade e'er.
( The ghostly reservation spreads, outside, in air
in harmony and misty dew that nymphs bestow;
Her white and vast Invernal quilt, bequeaths his fare;
man's mountain flight in solitude, becomes a crow. )
The waiting holocaust, impertinent consumes,
abundant insularity, her life in gale,
this holiness' transparency, both souls entombs,
- besought expressions of entreat on holy trail.
Her imperfection is immured inside the hope
distrait is her salvation's route; ascends effused,
in abstinence disporting fates, who dormant grope,
emending consecrated souls that reigns refused.
With uttered sentiments and mindful heed,
cherubic, grants her vows to him and burdened scope,
attentive to his Crucifix, plasticity of mead,
was it the crow's night omen call and skyward lope?
She joins her palms, ex-courtesan and reason's mire,
perusing her late impudence, in prayer withdraws
by beauty's blessed her holiness, a thorny briar,
Eve christened maid of covenant and crimson flaws.
©11-29-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
Standing out in a field alone, a little white flower named Daisy longed for someone to share her world.
One day a blue flower named Bachelor Button entered her world they became friends.
She knew by his name that he was not the propagating kind, but that didn’t stop their relationship she called him BB short for best bud.
The seasons of Spring & Summer they enjoyed the sun, laughed in the rain and held on fast in the Fall.
Winter came it was long and hard they were both covered in a blanket of snow, not knowing whether they would ever see each other again or even survive .The snow fell then came the ice, this went on for months.
The Sun shone brightly the first day of spring. A few days later warmth of the sun melted the snow, Daisy popped up .
I’ve been waiting days for you to come out, said BB, they both chanted hooray!
The snow was completely gone in a few days, the birds started building their nests , bugs were crawling around ,butterflies began to visit the two flowers. I wish there were more of us Daisy said, to BB.
They laughed as the sun and wind blew through their leaves. Then it started the sun and rain took turns until one morning the air & field was filled with the smell of flowers.
Daisy and BB looked at each other and asked what kind of flowers are these ? they’re not white like daisies they’re not blue like bachelor buttons. They did not know the birds and bugs carried the seeds from the two of them and the caterpillars buried them under the soil.
The seeds from the new flowers were then carried by the winds many miles away, they landed in fertilized gardens and flourished, although they faced danger everyday.
as they were called WEEDS ..
The Gardener pulls weeds out of the garden so they don’t choke the flowers, which cost a lot of money and require lots of maintenance.
However there was a Gardener who saw her friends spending hours weeding their garden , that they didn’t have enough time to admire and enjoy the labors of their love
So she set out to give a home to all the weeds ,she provided a place where they could fit in and multiply, they required no maintenance, rain provides their water .
The best part of all is their beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Ask my granddaughter-- What are those flowers in the garden ?
She will answer "WILDFLOWERS " their parents were Daisy and BB
BEAK OF NIGHT
Following the glow in every star in my eyes
I lay here in the frenzy grass with swimming thoughts
Thunder hides in the still of the night
Doves fly high in an epic way
Swans glide in the mist of night
Everest tears, run down my cheeks
------- I left you-------------------
The wind carries the sorrow from a chime,
A touch with aromatic perfume, that turns out control
My shadows peeks around the warmth of a Phoenix mirage
My head is losing balance to a negative magnetic seal
Sleepwalking with the tendency to crawl
My feelings stray as I lay on this frenzy grass of snow
Years that come and years that go
Things In life I will never know
I pass the morning till the night popsicles away
A blanket of snow to cover my dream
Wings taking flight near the river stream
Mockingbirds protecting their branch
In every scream!
---------------- Far Away-------------
Leaves fall on me like an endless Odyssey Romance
I'm a lonely sparrow with an enigmatic look
A Gothic Dance, under the stars
Prancing under the devil's claw
I hold myself
Side to side
I lose myself to an ironic form.
Zero is what I can't perceive.
With and without a beak
The mystique of my lips
Is all billiard-up
My mouth sewn shut
--------------No Words, Indeed------
The ship arrived surrounded by fog's dew,
his years she carried on her seaward tracks,
the wide upfront, horizon's line was dark,
- a stork he was, comradely to her crew.
(Thus, curious, he stood upon the moors,
projecting epitome of their rejoice,
and stern, the sea-waves' hum, repressed their voice,
enduring memory the dusk allures.)
A trenchant stork, with harbors in cahoot,
side-gazing for the sunken to discern,
Perceived the sea-men deftness and concern,
applied the color of night's darkened soot.
The dusk abraded then, the ship's details,
still numbness; maybe was the ship that stared,
as his persistent - curious eyes paired
with mind's perseverance, head-rope and brails.
Around the ship quizzical boats tripped,
like wooden cradles-coffins, they were stray,
companions lost beyond skylines' array,
sea's signalizing roar, on moorings whipped.
( Their sacrosanct ascent designed the stairs,
for spotless angels to walk amidst light blue,
like then the stork recited what was true,
- a dark night ship, for his bird's story cares.
And then they fled to skies - two comets' glows
that cut through distances, in ardent Spring
a song for wanderers, harmonic link,
- the emerald of Aegean shallows. )
What foolishness of storks, invites the ship,
stray souls to marry in night's ebon phase,
two finger-funnels tall, on skies to praise,
wraiths' upstage flight, on everlasting trip?
© G.V. 09/25/2012 All Rights Reserved
Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama)
The silent bell rings in the night,
Calling the devils to kneel to the light,
What once was, becomes no more,
As the light breaks through the open door.
What you think and what you feel,
What you saw and thought was real,
Is now only dust on the road,
The desolate remains of your ancient abode.
The new light is rising on the hill,
The new song is singing down in the well,
The new souls are dreaming of your face,
The new hearts are beating at you pace.
The old ideas and reasons you gave,
Are buried in the tomb and in the grave,
The rotting bone and flesh are gone,
In the morning dew, in the morning sun.
The light shines through the open door,
Casts no shadow on the old dirty floor,
The ancient laws of reason and might,
Crumble to dust in the morning light.
What once was real and certain as rock,
Is now the dream the baby forgot,
The new light coming to wake you my love,
The silent lamb and the flying dove.
more of my poems at :
Elayne will reach the mountain spring
fresh water in the jug to pour,
the nightingales are there to sing,
untamed her feelings lonely soar.
She fills her heart with music notes,
her voice will cause the leaves to stir,
for lovers' pain sole antidotes
are songs of birds and nightly myrrh.
And as her lyrics rise to heav'n,
and render modes of the soft wind,
her palms caress his name engrav'n
on her betrothal golden ring.
He left her world and promised that
one Sunday they would meet in church;
a framed old shot of surface matte
and daily trails her glances search.
Elayne of springs, on rocks awaits,
and recreates her wedding feasts;
the wraiths around her dance with fates,
for eons play in cotton mists.
As one of them stares in her eyes,
she gropes her heart because she loves;
upon the rocks mentates she nice,
her golden ring and two white doves.
© Giorgio V., 07-22-2012
The juggler moves his fingers fast,
he likes to smile and to deceive,
when people laugh at his recast,
his goal's higher things to achieve,
for Bathsheba applauds and laughs.
Her hands she claps with sullen glee,
changed him to a marionette,
that sprawls for her obediently,
jinxed tragicomical duette,
he jumps defeating gravity.
The juggler walks on tightened rope,
St. Bernard will protect his act,
frail equilibrium's postponed,
he'll pass across, crows' croaks detract,
agleam granite pavement's below.
Unmoved he laid, (lost souls misgive) ,
the juggler sprawled did not bemoan,
the sawbones's charlatan and thief,
as Bathsheba failed to dethrone,
the clown's tangential unknown grief.
© G. V. 12/23/2012, All Rights Reserved
( Iambic tetrameter form.)