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Life Mystery Poems | Life Poems About Mystery

These Life Mystery poems are examples of Life poems about Mystery. These are the best examples of Life Mystery poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative | |

Past-Life Nightmare

A child of four suffers recurring dreams,
disturbing parents and siblings with screams.
When she awoke, always sore in one knee;
next to a birthmark, it throbbed painfully.

Night after night she feared going to bed.
What caused these nightmares that raged in her head?
Even when grown, the torment persisted,
so a therapist’s aid she enlisted.

“Hypnosis,” said he, “might offer some clues.
Why not try it?  You’ve just bad dreams to lose.”
Once under, he guided her to a room --
here people’s lifetimes in books were entombed.

“Find one that is yours,” her counselor said.
Quickly she did, but before it was read,
she felt an ache, saw just a faint title.
The words, she thought, said “Alister Bridle.”

The hypnotic trance now suddenly broke;  
puzzling questions “Mr. Bridle” evoked.
For many years she thought that was her name;
perhaps a past life had been filled with pain.

Who was this man?  She simply had to know!
Seasons passed, summer suns made way for snow.
In Florida now, 1998,
she thought all the nightmares she had escaped.

But strange dreams always catch us by surprise --
when the lights grow dim, our minds fantasize.
Cloaked in velvet, she left her parents’ farm,
stealing away on a late autumn morn’.

To meet her love, she climbed on the carriage,
knowing her folks would forbid their marriage.
Warm-hued leaves carpeted the hillside road,
and her pulse beat fast; she’d soon join her beau.

She thought only of him; joy cast its smile,
but that’s when he called, “Alice, the bridle!”
The leather band broke and wrapped ‘round her knee.
To the ground she was pulled; her horse ran free.

She met death, but past-life dreams recycle,
and she’d never been “Alister Bridle.”



*Based on real events I experienced.

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire

Details | Free verse | |

let sacred delirium flow

(in-between wakefulness and dreaming, in-between free verse and prose....it flows - I wouldn't trade it for candy-coated couplets, nor silky sonnets set in cities of gold, for my delirium is uninhibited, unhinged, freely flowing) delirious non-linear shutter-frames capture us over there, here now, before - a nuance, a taste on the tip of my tongue leading me towards need without a name nor face. Prying open other people to see if you were inside. Searching for a known desire with an unknown label, to find something never actually lost - to make it more palpable - closer. Crawling out of my skin, out of my skull, slinking through invisible trees, you appear: a jungle cat licking my mind - you always made love to my soul first, before enticing me with a liquid growl off-set by the pitter-patter of paws and purring. Your purr, your velvet purr rumbles for my submission. Willingly I accept the invitation of vulnerable humility bowing towards a fearless trust lush with a luminary borderless meshing, catching up to right now. - Right now - Your black-light curvaceous muscled trembling licks my mind, my body, my hands and mouth glide across your skin, testing the earth for stability. The tectonic plates of my belly quake resettle within your womb. Inside-outside, outside-inside a lotus-soul union, just as ancients had hinted, dissolving, letting you devour me, before I drink from your salty grail. Over-stimulation leads to an un-thinking deep rhythm, waves pushing out - in until the shoreline and tides become indistinguishable, a backdrop to a pace quickening. Outside-inside of you, you are outside-inside of me, there is no longer the need to fear unknowns, for the unknown guides us higher, guides us ever deeper, until even our release merges with the flow of ancient rippling rhythm. .

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

Details | Haibun | |

Kindred Spirits

~(tanka haibun)~


    Awakened from my walking reverie by movement ahead, I spy a Red-Tailed Hawk perched upon the wrought-iron railing of the flood-wall. The hawk is regal, stoic beauty. I stop walking in hopes of urging the bird of prey to stay its perch. It does, filling me with a sense of relief. I wonder why it let me get so close; if it was my calm, thoughts-up-in-the-clouds, meditative stroll that somehow rendered my thoughts and steps silent enough to catch the bird unawares. We eye each other, a bitter gust of mid-winter wind blows against my face; ruffles the back-feathers of the hawk. I am overwhelmed by a sensation how the two of us know exactly what we are, who we are, what we are supposed to be doing overall, but we are presently caught in a moment of unknowns, letting these unknowns erase the lines that keep us separate -- beast from human. 
I take a step closer, causing the hawk to finally alight, and I am struck by its vibrant feathers adding a dash of colour to the surrounding monochromatic grays. 
The hawk flies only a short distance ahead before landing on the railing again, so we re-enact the scene of this play. I come closer, closer, closer, until the hawk lifts up, flies a bit further along the river-walk, before landing again, until eventually it probably decides, that indeed, this human is going to traverse the entire path, for the hawk flies up into trees located further ahead. As I walk past the trees, the hawk launches out of an evergreen, with twigs in its talons. The bird flies over the river; a river made tumultuous by ice-melt.

in Winter's gray light
a Red-Tailed Hawk paints the sky 
with its feathers,
my soul lifts, follows the bird
over an ice-gorged river

The hawk lands on the base of a church steeple, and disappears behind an ornately carved corner. It appears as if the steeple is attempting to pierce the snow-clouds with its tip, trying to tear gashes in the sky, until spring blue bleeds into gray. On this Tuesday afternoon, does the church seem personified because it is devoid of Sunday parishioners milling in and out of its thick wooden doors? No matter how hard the steeple tries to break-apart the clouds, the grand sky dwarfs the church, causing it to look like a toy model. The church fluctuates between looking like a miniature-scale model, and an architectural feat.

with defiance
the steeple pierces clouds
looming overhead -
the snow-laden clouds
make the church appear small

Passing the church, I find it ironic how today the church is empty inside, yet on its steeple and roof-lines, countless animals are nesting, making this House of God their sanctuary. Slowly making my way home, I ponder about the hawk, how it is not only a predator amongst prey, but a predator amongst predators -- it flies around in plain sight, yet also hides right in the middle of the city. Coming up to the path leading to the back-door of my home, I scan a small trail of footprints in the snow. The footprints vary, but all are familiar to me. 
It is at precisely this moment that I fully acknowledge the Red-Tailed Hawk and I to be kindred spirits; how similar we really are.

the path leading home
is a winding snowy trail
of few footprints,
for only my loved ones know
where I truly live



.

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

Details | Verse | |

The Tide of Time

Washed
up
on the
shore

broken
by
the
ocean's
roar

waiting
at
the
foot
of
heavens
door

I
touch
her
fading
beauty
with
my
trembling
hand

a
broken
shell
lying
in
the
burning
sand

~~~

Author:  Elaine George

Copyright © Elaine George

Details | Personification | |

Umbrella

There she stands 
Centre stage for all to see
Tall and slender 
Precariously she balances.

I reach out for her
Draw her to me 
My hand skims her body 
Slowly reaching her skirt.

Playful fingers find hidden areas
Delighted her legs spring forth
Displaying the very beauty
Of her delicately adorned skirt.

Gaily she dances around
Dizzily twisting and turning
In the brightness of day shading
She gently tends to my needs.

Personal ballerina takes to toes leaping
Merrily bobbing up and down
As emotional to her performance
Clouds cry a thousand tears for her.

Reaching our destination
Slightly shaken, she leans
Watches me quietly drips
Against the wall.

Reminiscent of the day's fulfillment
We acknowledge one another silently
Restful knowing we shall be
One once more.

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty

Details | Free verse | |

Preacher's Son


I am the Preacher's son
who stole the bread
and broke it with a wrinkled face,
the essence weaving behind her retinas.
____

When I stole from the church,
Mrs. Worther 'the bird', had spied me
sneaking out the vestibule door,
from her usual early service perch
in the very back pew.

She carried this secret for many years,
including when she caught me eavesdropping
on midweek board meetings
from behind crates of cheap wine.
Instead of showing scorn,
she had given me a warm wink,
offering a lesson
by leaving me there to think.

Mrs. Worther
who had been my Sunday school teacher,
had made me study the lessons
without ever becoming a preacher --
especially later,
when it came to my thievery
and excursions into the park,

where I broke the bread
with a wrinkled face,
the essence shimmering behind her retinas.

I am the Preacher's son,
who instead found the presence
amongst ducks and swans,
when I broke the bread
with that crazy old lady -
gleaned what I needed to do,
and since then,
have never again
sat in another pious pew.

So now,
I am the 'bad' Preacher's son.
Some people whisper righteously
how I have come undone,
made a pact with the dark,

while I break the bread
with that age-old essence in the park.



Inception Re-mix
March 24th, 2014
(originally written: March 24th, 2010)


+/-

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

Details | Rhyme | |

The Undyings' Curse

Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
 rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star

Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw 
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries

A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought  by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn

Copyright © Avery Swarthout

Details | Couplet | |

Jack

I saw him on the highway
Thought he was insane
Standing with his thumb out 
In the pouring rain
I don't usually stop for hitchhikers
But something said I should
Besides, it was raining awful hard
And the wind was blowing good.
I said, "Hop in, it's cold out there.
Where you headed on this stormy night?"
He said, "Down the road, I really don't care
Just somewhere else will be all right.
I ain't got no license, so I'm travelling kind of slow
They just left me out of prison a few nights ago."
I might not have stopped had I known
Now we were on this dark road all alone.
I didn't know if I was in any danger
But as I drove, I listened to this stranger
He spoke of life and of acceptance
He spoke of sin and of repentance
A story of gratitude and saving grace
And I saw a smile come on his face.
He asked if I'd take him a little farther down
And drop him off in another town
I was already late but I said okay
And I listened to his stories along the way. 
When he was getting out he said, "Thanks for the hand.
God will bless you. Soon, you'll understand."
There was a new feeling inside me that I found
And I began to turn my life around.
I stopped at the prison to find out about Jack
And tell him how I got my life on track.
The warden listened and he shook his head
Saying, "I have a hard time believing what you said.
It couldn't be Jack, I'm telling you so.
You see, Jack died this day, eighteen years ago."

Angels come in strange forms sometimes.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr.

Details | Haiku | |

Dinosaurs

~Dinosaurs~


------------
X-FILES
------------
fossil of all time
creatures of mother nature
mysterious death
~~~

------------------------------
SHOW ME THE MONEY!
------------------------------
bones found in the dirt
deep under the Earth's surface
museum makes money
~~~

--------------------------
RUN FORREST! RUN!
--------------------------
tyrannosaurus
no pity chasing down prey
sharp teeth, full belly
~~~

-----------------------------------
THE VELOCITY OF INSANITY/
------------------------------------
evolution change
cascade into the ice age
Life found a new way
~~~

-----------------------
THE  BREED
-----------------------
fur on new breed
Mammoth hide for the cavemen
elephant cycle
~~~

~SKAT~

Copyright © SKAT A

Details | I do not know? | |

Raindrops

Raindrops
are like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps down
my spine

Their cool aftermath
cleanses me of my thoughts
of fear and uncertainty 
about what tomorrows
pain may bring

They make me feel,
wet with creativity
drenched in my optimistic
illumination. glistening
raindrops, my thoughts
leave paths of pleasurable
distress, and hope of success
which road, less traveled
may be the best

Forget an umbrella
when these raindrops
arrive, I walk outside
arms open wide

Ready to Receive
whatever
the mind storm may bring
because raindrops are
as my thoughts, falling
down into my mind
sending shivers down
my spine

My brain, yearns
for the rain, to wash away
the pain, tomorrows worry
does bring
One special drop
could speed up life's clock
to the time
I can handle my own
and not dwell inside my controllers
home

For raindrops are,
like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps
down my spine

Copyright © Heather Hill

Details | Ode | |

Pleasures of Moving on Moon

Pleasures of Moving on Moon


You have always charmed us by your beauty, O Moon,
Sometimes fascinating Heer and Ranjha*, and sometimes,
Mesmerizing Romeo and Juliet.

Sometimes you have spread your charms, on the monuments of Love, 
Alluring the beauty of Taj*, in the full moon light of Purnamasi*
O, Moon how many faces of Love and Beauty you have,
When you stroll silently on a snow covered maintain,
The beauty and your grandeur becomes envy for the heaven.

For Poets and Writers you have immense stories and inspirations,
For Lovers you are more precious than gold and diamond,
For singers you are like the soul of their songs,
For Boatman’s, you are their sole companion of their silence and turbulence.

While watching you so intensely from earth,
I felt, as if I was wondering on the silver surface of you O, Moon,
Moving and feeling, no gush of wind,
No moisture of Rains and dryness of Sun,
No falling of leaves, in the season of Autumn,
No bending of rivers, flowing from mountains to oceans
No murmuring of birds while mating and chatting,
No change of seasons to engage my mind and heart,
Still I was fascinating to move on the silver surface of you, O Moon.

Walking on your surface was a strange experience for me O, dear Moon,
As I was trying to feel the unique pleasures of earth, 
While moving on your silvr surface, O Moon.

Ravindra
Kanpur India 22nd November 2010
Soon I will post this as My Photo Poem with the Photograph of Moon on my Blog and on face
book, which I took on 22nd Nov. 2010

•	Heer and Rangha. The Indian Lovers like Romeo and Juliet 
•	Purnamasi.      The Day as per Indian calendar, when we can see the full Moon.
•	Taj.                  Refers to the world famous Taj Mehal monument of Agra, India.

Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor

Details | Free verse | |

Cornflower Blue

(a conversational collaboration with Christine Ueri)



"remember the dream I had when we were 10?
(waves and waves of cornflowers everywhere)
about the boy and the closet?
(sunflowers, circle, glass house?....closet, yes)
cornflower blue
(the closet was cornflower blue?)
the light in that dream was cornflower blue
(the air, the atmospheric light?)
yes, especially in the closet

I had that dream for so long
I'll never forget
little boy blue and the kingfishers --
the blue and white china plates
with the bridge and the lovers; the two doves in the willow tree,
that made me look for japanese letters....horse.
 
the funny things we do as children

(you are writing a poem....)
catch the words, my love
(you already wrote a poem up there; bridge it together --
I dried cornflowers with dandelions in a blue and white book; but it wasn't a dream.
Well, in a way it was, because at the time, I was floating in the clouds)

he wore a blue and white striped top in my dream

and I remember him
when I look at the sky,
the clouds and the golden sun --

I caught the words!
(yes! did you string them all together?)

not yet!"



                                                                                 
                                                                                



August 29th, 2012


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

Details | Free verse | |

Lantern on the Water


Place my mind into a boat
doused with kerosene.

Create a lantern on the water:
light the boat a-flame
and push it out to sea.

Then my heart will be more free.






04.06.2013




+/-

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

Details | Narrative | |

Coiled Spring External

it is in this mural of splashing fuses 
that I am lit with a solemn torch……

I gaze with back deck musing 
but  front porch eyes….

I see the distance beyond this world
                   (my own cosmic existence)
a residence I squandered 
but my feet want to tread there

the green that surrounds me 
suffuses me with lakeside dew
melodies drifting only the quiet can hear
ripples that only valid observers see

the kentucky breeze carries a lonely wind
solitary….
               where has it been?
has it touched the sand I have?
                                (bare toes buried)

somewhere a child cries in the still
shattering  this serenity 
(though some don’t hear it)
along the bank of shoal like tranquility
the birds will wail for broken dreams 
(severed by thoughtless hands)

oh, its only a portrait
                     (an inspiring one though)
as open lashes stumble 
                        a horizons sinking sun
multi hues of reckless red and pink
a blue print  of what life should be
snap shot deftness in the perception
while beneath lay the sorrow

the last lingering tangerine shades
tease and taunt the tops of dogwood trees
oh beauty as far as eyes can see
a few silver shimmers of clouds 
                              in a blue grass sky

flowers bloom sweet pea and peonies
raw carmine kisses in the silence
pretty pansy faces 
                   and grass is verdant
green!! peacock sage and pine
 arrayed in darks and lights
a myriad of different shades 
brilliant in its lush velvet on my feet

to only live life this way (skimming surfaces)
just as the honey suckle does
how blissful that would be
(in all its exquisite ignorance)
branches sway in the song of a blue bird zephyr
as the fingers of it caress my skin

tonight
this expanse is my companion

but still I perceive it
what lies beneath
in stunning cognizance 
bearing a strenuous burden

it is in this mural of splashing fuses
that I am lit with a solemn torch

I gaze with back deck musing
but front porch eyes

Copyright © Christie Moses

Details | Blank verse | |

The Force

When the blackest nightmares were realized
and bitter truth pierced cracked, brittle armor;
When candles of last hope flickered and faded
and darkness closed on the edge of vision;
When despair careened towards insanity
and aching fists and fingers began to slip;
When the abyss called, a mighty hand reached
and lifted me silent to higher ground


 

Copyright © Tim Ryerson

Details | Free verse | |

Little Blue Pill

Went through a phase....thought maybe I should live life to the fullest,
and stop giving away 8 hours of each day, towards sleeping.

After the first week of sleep deprivation,
Buddha and Jesus both appeared simultaneously,
started following me wherever I went-
couldn't tell between hallucinations and reality.

Buddha helped write my final exams,
and Jesus always made sure that I didn't forget to eat.

After the second week, I was floating above my body....
no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't fall asleep anymore-
didn't just have second and third winds....I was having winds 
to the 99th power extreme.
Jesus was telling me to try again and again,
while Buddha told me to hang in there,
for Nirvana was just around the corner.

Asked my buddy for some help,
and he gave me this little blue pill -
don't even touch aspirin anymore.

Well, the pill knocked me right out! 
Tried so hard to fight against it,
having some doubts about what I had just swallowed.

Metallic galaxies of inner stars began pulling at my eyelids,
adding their massive core-gravity to my temples.
Red turned to black inside of my mind,
as little globules of pulsing light
floated before my inner-eye.
Down,
down,
d      o      w      n,
down, I spiralled,
thinking about picking cherries from the apple tree in Eden....
beautiful Japanese Geishas propping up the ladder
that pointed down into the rabbit hole.
Up was down,
as cherries were apples?
The branches of the tree resembled its roots in the ground-
perfect mirrors of each other,
as I sat in both places at once;
dream double looking back at me.

ZZzzzzZzzzzZZzzzZZZz....for almost 62 hours straight.
Must have lived a thousand lives in those dreams.
Woke up, wasn't sure if I was still sleeping?
Awoke into sweat and stale urine.
Started falling asleep in school.
Fell asleep at work.
Once you swallow the blue pill,
you can never go back-
the rabbit hole stretches into eternity.

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

Details | Rhyme | |

Half-Lit Moon

Haze up in the heavens encircles this orb.
Half-dark, half-light, shines from above.
Twinkles of light appear to absorb.
Fractions of darkness within lighted glove,

Speaking to lovers held in each other’s arms.
Answering questions of science to some,
Floating around spreading blessed charms,
Listening close at times, hearing a hum.

Lovers for centuries, graciously, captured by,
Sweet serenity and magical mystery,
Others entranced with secrets, which fly.
From words written and spoken in history.

Satellite, orb, lady, they are all the same.
Mythical goddesses, gripped in flame.
These tales have spread so many games.
This object seen most nights has no shame.

Copyright © cecil hickman

Details | Burlesque | |

A Bad Day at the Eye Doctor's- a true story

"It was 6 or 7 years ago
Or so I'd like to think
I traveled to my eye doctor..
(I should'a seen a "shrink"!!)

My dad and I we awaited
In a filled up waiting room
Patients all a'seat
Magazines all askew
There wasn't much to say there
There wasn't much to do...

Slowly I did notice
Some odd glances made at me...
Some hand-covered conversations...
Some smirks I seemed to see

It made me feel self-conscious
They seemed fixed looking at me in my seat
When slowly I did realize...
That they were staring at my feet...

I looked down, and to my horror
And much to my surprise...
A sight I could not fathom...
I could not believe my eyes!!!

For one foot was well fitted
with tennis sneaker white...
The other a black dress shoe
It was a startling sight!!!

Now I found how hard it was
to hide one's mismatched feet
I wished to God to run out
And escape onto the street

I was red with great embarrassment
and shocked how stupid I could be!
Had I been that darn sleepy?
Or could I just not see?

Then it slowly dawned on me,
Well, darn it, here I sit....
Proves I need an eye-doctor...
and I don't give a sh__......."

Copyright © tom bell

Details | Rhyme | |

Remnants

Sad Heart, now thou art wither’d from the Sun,
What man, or god, will near thee run?
Wrought in twist like branches in Tempests' gasp,
What Comfort, or Gauze, shall be near to grasp?
True ones begotten are the ones now Rotten
And the ones now Rotten will never be forgotten
They are merely sad remains of assiduous Tears
That have been meddl’d with and tatter’d Raw throughout the years

And thou, cruel Mind, that sat’st still thru toiling trail of Night;
Must dream your broken Dreams; thou’rt a sanely flight!
Can thou extinguish passions of Fire, Disease, or Rain?
—tho thy distinguish’d influence trains to abstain
Thy Remnants brought to debris in thy Empty street,
Devour’d by Vultures, their bestow’d beaks entreat
Merely are they cleaning an inexhaustible Mess
Alas! Leaving thy rudiments of Identity to redress....


Copyright © Laura Breidenthal

Details | Rhyme | |

Looking at life

Looking at life

It’s beautiful
So many different hues
Of green, It kinds of knocks me out
There is not just a few
As I look among the many trees
How it amazes me
There’s light, and medium, soft and dark
So many hues I see.

It’s wonderful
It’s such a lovely show
There’s Butcher birds, and Ravens
Oh how it makes me glow
Parrots dressed in green and blue
Doves, and wagtails too
On velvet grass that’s feather soft
Neath sky so very blue.

Some folk they think of suicide
Have they not eyes at all?
Cannot they see loves magic? 
How life’s so beautiful
Wake up, wake up, and look at life
All those greens, and blues and yellows
Look at the birds and ask yourself
“Why are they such happy fellows”?

18 July 2014 @ 1240hrs.

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Pantoum | |

Canyons Cold and Dark

She dwells in deep canyons cold and dark
To ponder a mystery that haunts her soul
That leaves confusion and doubts in heart
The loss of confidence now takes its toll

To ponder a mystery that haunts her soul
That renders sleepless hours through the night
The loss of confidence now takes its toll
A flower slowly dying withers in sunlight

It renders sleepless hours through the night
The days are shortened and she wastes away
A flower slowly dying withers in sunlight 
Her sweet fragrance lost, forever and a day

The days are shortened and she wastes away
What could be this wrong which she has caused?
Her sweet fragrance lost, forever and a day
To fully grasp this puzzle she requires pause  

What could be this wrong which she has caused?
What pain has she laid upon your heart?
To fully grasp this puzzle she requires pause 
She dwells in deep canyons cold and dark
~*~

By:     Audrey Carey
Note:  For Paula Swanson's "Pantoum" Contest

Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick

Details | Senryu | |

Fingered

Chamber of secrets
Locked in wisps of steel incense
Swabbed sulfur din

Copyright © Xavier Keough

Details | Free verse | |

A Lover's entrée to March

How far can you fall and get back up 
How high can you jump
And keep your feet in the sand 

To touch grace and fall from within
Next to you I was out of my skin
I missed you yesterday and you leave tomorrow

A life spent in the shadows of lushly tint 
Smoke your waves 
Exhale the freshness of your menthol scent 
Home is what you call shelters that need no defense 

I’ll send 
You’ll say goodbye
I’ll send again
You won’t reply

If love 
Is the appreciation of another’s existence
Then goodbye
Is the anticipation of seeing you again

You and I, we’ll cruise the shores
Together we’ll settle with the wind 
The joy of a small hut, a lovers den

You’ll send
I’ll wonder why
You’ll send again
I will not reply 

"our songs for sale"

Copyright © Jerry Golden

Details | Rhyme | |

Stripping of Star Capes

Sleep with me under the afghan of stars
illuminary milk pouring out of heaven's jars
A storm of sliding satellites colliding can be ours
as we ribbon out our lives in whispered stories.

~Whisking up of ink in your eyes white peppered mint
while our breath entrances frost on the eve of night fall's wrist
We are still intangible, first here, but than a mist
as vagrant as sweet stars in their last glory.
Shoulders hug the trees with their limbs limp silhouette
while we strip translucent star capes to their bows with no regret
Moon beam pure explosions to beget and to beget
the light with which we pine for now in haste~

Sleep with me under the myriads of minds
which slept here before us and whispered in kind
We will be stardust ourselves you will find
as our wings of illusion unravel.

Copyright © Tatyana Carney

Details | Classicism | |

Karma

Karma was my best friend...
Until I fell for her deceitfulness...
She always had my back when others would try to harm me...
I would laugh at her and the way she would play with others emotions...
Not knowing that I would fall as one of her victims...
See Karma is mysterious...
I guess that's why she is perfered as a female dog...
She has no feelings...
That's why she always wins her battles...
Me and her never see eye to eye now...
I guess we're to much alike...
I also have no feelings...
Some may say that's impossible, being a human with no feelings...
Possible...
See,  My mother is Sorrow...
My girlfriend is Pain...
My enemy is Fear, I have none...
I came in the world naked...
So Karma can't take anything from me that is rightfully mine...
So when I leave this Earthly Hell...
I will leave, knowing that I have won the battle that no one else has ever 
Concorde...

Copyright © Lamar Johnson

Details | Quatrain | |

You make me feel numb

I do believe in magic
I so believe in peace
I believe you know undoubtedly
Of beauties and of beasts
The human spirit can withstand
And rise above the shrine
Belittle all you want, my dear
I’ll be the dwarf in time
But I’ll evolve as I hold dear
These sentiments that haunt you
I’ll cherish every single tear
Because you’ve plagued me to
I’ll turn the other rosy cheek
Though undeserved it may be
I will forgive, but won’t forget
The promised growth inspired in me
Further more, I wish to say
Remind me that I’m still alive
Disturb the sleeping monsters 
Please provoke me to survive
You compliment this hypocrite
Attention seeking scum
And help stick out the finger
That outranks the sorest thumb

Copyright © Brandon Basson

Details | Free verse | |

Let's Drive, Shall We?

There are different levels of truth
I climb
   Staircases 
	That 
	       Go
	            Far
                                      Beyond
		                         Comprehension
Reality is made of thoughts
Spiraling and humming 
Like they are something
But in the end
They are all just ideas
Driving to nowhere except 
Waiting to be found and
Put into motion
Heights of control
Shift to third and go above
Everyone is an enigma 
I fall in affection 
constantly
With myself
Metamorphosing

Who am I to ask of perfection?
I is always capitalized
but what if
i is i and we are we, and he, we together
make something different, completely?

Manufacturing lines put together
Vehicles that take soul imprinted notions
on midnight drives by the avenue
Sell them to the Lord, to the Devil
'Tis all the same
For goodness sake, heaven is simply
What we make it

Copyright © Bella Cardenas

Details | Free verse | |

Simplicity's Gifts

Cockle shell candles and firefly lights
padding the path to the woods
Grass crunched and scattered in weeds and in patterns
of the way every garden should look
Cobblestone herb baths and sleepy old stars
shooting the breeze in the dark
Waiting for someone to wish and discover
the cobblestone path in their heart
Night time is patient and fragile and ancient
with secrets just bursting to share
Turn up the jasmine and glow in the shadows
with eyes open wide to the moon
Luxuries lunar light swinging old stars
parading their final hurrah
Flittering fireflies brush up on moves as they
follow the trails of the heart
Pumpkin shaped lanterns delight the warm eye
orange and gold muted voice
Hanging from tree limbs bent down to oblige
and also to be understood
Fly on with sonar and pipe cleaner wings
soaring above all the lights
Lit up like secrets, hovering, weaving
simplicity's gifts of the night...

Copyright © Tatyana Carney

Details | Quatrain | |

My Torment

A fleeting still small voice tries to warn me
A sudden overwhelming desire to run
The tell tale taste of metallic flakes
Means my nightmare has begun

Everything around takes on a ghostly pallor
A landscape of anguish and corrosion
A moment of silence before the violence
The flash of light, the brilliant explosion

The sound of the Sun fills my ears
Fear, my throat, though none escapes me
And paralyzed I clench my eyes
As my tormentor prepares to rape me

And it's endeavor is absolute
Consumption is its ultimate goal
It exists to chase me so it can erase me
Whilst feasting on my soul

And then that familiar salty smell 
The sudden rush of warmth so stings
Engaging me relentlessly
In vile unspeakable things

Over and over and over again
My limbs stretched and wrought
As it's teeth tear my bones bare
It's mind defiles my thoughts

And still wounds beget wounds beget wounds
As in the mouth of madness I suffer
And with every injury he just seems to be
Rougher and rougher and rougher

Then just as suddenly as it began it ceases
And for a moment I am clearer
And then the true horror of it all
Is revealed in a darkly lit mirror

There in front of me stands my destroyer
Face flush with it's fill of my pain
And I find that it's eyes and mine
My God, they’re one in the same

Copyright © James Burns

Details | Classicism | |

Karen O'Leary—My Poetry Soup Pal!

She should have been Hera, goddess queen of heaven, the sister-wife of 
Zeus, king of the gods; she would have caught him one Friday night tipping 
Out while she sleeps to visit one of his plumy wives and over 100 relations. 
She would have said, “Sit down Zeus; let me inform you about the laws of 
Property settlement and child support in heaven with a concrete poem.”

She would have straightened up Aphrodite, goddess of love and lust.
Especially when Aphrodite was caught red-handed making love to
Her son, Ares, the God of war, she probably would have said, “Now look 
Here woman, quit messing with my son and creating all this rumblings in
Heaven with the gods.” I could see some Lanturne poems floating

She would have acted as the sister of Demeter, goddess of fertility,
Agriculture, and harvest, a sister of Zeus. Because she would have 
Blessed women with children who need them, and also farmers
With great harvest and crops to feed their families and sustain the 
People across the land, by waving a haiku poem in her healing hands

She would have screamed as the sister of Hermes, the crooked cattle-rustling
God; son of Zeus and Maia, who stole his brother, Apollo’s cows, then
Lied, and swore before Zeus, their father, “That even if I knew who stole 
Apollo’s cattle, I would not even accept a reward for finding the thief.” 
She would have gave her crooked brother, and son of Zeus, a flying senryu

She would have been with Athena, the virgin goddess of wisdom, reason, and 
Heroic endeavors; the daughter of Zeus, and Titan goddess of wise counsel 
Métis, especially when Athena appeared onto Swift-footed demigod,
Achilles, and told him, “Sheathe your sword and defeat Agamemnon, the 
Greek king with words of wisdom.”  I could see some wise epigram poems 

She was probably counseled by Apollo, her brother, god of music, healing, and 
Poetry; the son of Zeus and the Titan goddess Leto. Because she has cared 
For the sick in hospital emergency rooms, and has also stimulated us for years 
With her poetic muse. She has counseled many along the way and has calmed
Many storms with loving charm. “Hail my sister in Christ—Karen O’Leary!”

Happy birthday angel and wishing you many more for years to come!





Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr