The powdery snow
gloves the fingers of maple forest
protecting barren bark
with the expectation
of rose tipped bloom.
A meeting point
between pristine innocence and
the veiled promise of spring ripening.
Each trunk and limb
mirroring the action of man
Reaching, arching, swaying, creating aisles
of church-like splendor,
where the virginal may walk
toward communion with their God.
toward the birth of faith
toward the wedgwood sky
in celestial sight.
You are the wild flower in my palm
With no stem to keep you anchored to this covetous earth
You are the fragile thing I dare not cup,
As your petals whittle away under the wind
And flit unfettered in the air;
Exaggerated fear leaves my fingers numb
Hungry need leaves my fingers twitching
And my hand is paralyzed by turmoil
As every breath of wind takes another petal from me
And brings to my lungs, my chest and my heart
An overwhelming scent of need-
You are the wild beauty in my palm
And I dare not hold you to my chest
For I fear to crush you
To know first hand
That caged beauty, is beauty no more.
To have the love and sentiment
Of man, a vibrant rose,
Who courts with such a tenderness
While striking such a pose.
His flaming petals, soft and sweet,
That gently brush my lips,
A dashing leaf of lively green
Has slyly swept my hips.
His body tall and stiff with life,
His stalk down through his stem,
The shades of envy darken so,
That he becomes a gem.
His thorns, he wears them strong and proud
Though lethal they appear,
For thorns he bears to shelter me
And rid me any fear.
His velvet quivers in the breeze,
Like dancing sheets on fire,
Caress me love, from head to toe,
And see what may aspire.
For when a rose declares its love
Its pollen it will share,
So soft like dew drops over me,
I am captive in his lair.
Entangled leaf in leaf we are,
My petals soft and pale,
One jagged edge of you I feel
So tender without fail.
You trace my figure soft and slow
For petals, they will break,
But since you hold me warm and safe
They’re only yours to take.
So pick my petals, one by one,
And let them flutter by,
For all this world needs to survive
Are roses, you and I.
A giant snowball in springtime
From twenty yards out the sound and smell
Closer now; breathing her numbing scent
Listening to the drowsy hum
of greedy and jealous bees
forced to share her bounty
with Tiger and Zebra Swallowtails
School will be out soon...
Memorizing every branch within reach
Her limbs are just low enough
for a boy to scramble up quickly
fleeing imaginary monsters
still lurking and prowling below
Taking ignorant and blissful advantage
of this daughter of the wild; his protector
His big sister to run to...
Shiny and slippery black bark
that oozes burgundy sap
which dries in animal shapes
Summer twilight is coming
Bats twittering overhead
chasing nasty mosquitoes
A noise echoing from far off
A door slamming maybe...
Tucked safely away in his favorite pew
(Naughty boy, eating during church!)
sampling her forbidden fruit
sweet and sour...half is seed
Thieving Blue Jays get the most
Screaming and scolding arrogantly
yet flying away unpunished
Grannny will make jelly...
Oh everlasting Father, creator of all things
He knows that heaven is far beyond the grasp
of a feeble and fumbling mortal mind
But when You decide to send Your beloved Son
back to rule the earth for one thousand years
If he is judged worthy to be in that count
May one humble servant say if it's like this
that would be just fine...
He is above us in the clouds
run through the fields and speak of thee
He will grow roses
I will be the stem of the roses
for I shall never leave your soil
You will be the tree I grow beneath
and he will be our rain.
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....
"Ensnare My Heart"
By M. Taha Effendi
O beautiful maiden of my captive heart,
Are you not the lone bard's pompous muse?
With allure that inspired the divine art,
Heavens' hand made you with such delicate use,
What sweet circumstance upon me befalls,
My heart the endearing perfidy has plotted,
Entombed in my bosom, it beats to your calls,
Loves beyond reason the heart besotted,
Let my soul swoon at your eternal beauty awhile,
Mesmerize by sheer fineness of your chiseled cheek,
Beguile by crimson roses that adorn your seraphic smile,
Savor in you the beauty of which poets speak,
Your eyes are gleaming lagoons of preserved vintage,
Shades the cerulean ocean from their depths did lease,
The jealous eye of heaven envies your radiant visage,
The blushing moon embarrassed cowers beneath the seas,
Would you shelter me in your silken veil perchance?
That imbue elation in those who wander in its shade,
And sways to cadence of zephyrs in an eternal dance,
To invoke dark urges of soul with a sublime serenade,
Under the care of sun and rain
My leaves have unfurled
My buds have burst forth
My own will has been done
This was my beginning
Through the seasons
Spring brought me to life
Summer grew me to new heights
The fall must come sometime
The frost will encase my barbs
And I will return to meditation
Waiting patiently for my rebirth
For your light to peek through clouds
Your moon to hold me within night
When spring returns...
I will dance in the wind
A never ending flower
It is the old man from the threefold of life
To whom I have taken control on this
But the poet whatever
The cause should be
The one who must walk
Along the concept
For which beauty fades from
Measure of apparent
Size of naturalistic explanations
Regardless how rich your heart is
And none of us is able pass through.
It is the poet who is living
Psychologically into this burrow of guesses
And paradises within him
With reflection and with correction
Of life this creates such
A record that commands he must live or die.
She walks away.
Girlish and glorious
like a kite on a string
tautly slipping through tightened fingers,
burning a little,
and slicing through
if ever left unattended,
so preciously tensioned
against the cold
Tears begin to flow
but I do not know . . .
or the wind?
If my heart, then am I sad
to be here on the ground
to be watching the kite
In answer, a quivering.
"She will not fall or float away while I hold her thus.
She will be beautiful for me."
Commitment is the life of doves; they never stray apart.
Unlike humans, their oneness has meaning enough to bind them.
Forever till death, they mate; accomplishing more than humans.
Life is precious , therefore he cultivates it
it's vastness among all his compositions
they flow like an aria from many instruments
you are excellent , oh my beloved
your handiwork threads all that surrounds me
the displays of your gifts
our rooms are overflowing and the table
with every good and perfect present
all completed by the workmanship of your hands
your visions perceive the finality
before even the crafting of it has begun
amply actualized by the fertility
of your own mind
your occupations are productive
as the lathes of heaven they turn
upon the axis of your thoughts
formulation upon formulation
their energies inexorable
the molding painting weaving casting
carving shaping and engraving
of the objects to be constructed
the movements of your mind
stretches into the grand designs
the substance of wealth
and nothing that does not delight
Your furnishings occupy the expanses
the depth of your artistry
the pressure of your furnaces
mold our gems and ornaments
whose color radiates their clarity
the vaults are well lit
each rooms lighted chandeliers are suspended
in their canopies
each room sprayed abundantly with blooms
their fragrances permeate my soul
our curtains a covering in every shade
surrounding our homes
you have carpeted its surfaces with a mosaic
of brilliant treasures and whose form
is harmonious and pleasing
here every beautiful creature
play among their pillars
you have chiseled out the high ranges
the carvings of many sculptures
their dominion overshadows the landscapes
with an awl you split open the rock face
and release the mantles of the deep
where the water courses rush
to the well watered resting places
you churn the soil until it is fertile
and the tender sprouts spread
like legions of armies
every touch by you is nourishing and flourishes
those whom you apprentice
are bound to the ways
of the Master
where creativity has no boundaries
and every field is full
of life's expressions
Your instructions are in precision
and your skills you effectively teach
your productions are exquisite
your activity is ceaseless
as the burning energy of a Son
Genesis 1 Proverbs 8 John 1:1-18 Colossians 1:16
COPYRIGHT © 2015 C Michael Miller
Poetry of Providence
When the sky bleeds solitude
like a wounded weeping heart and
the horizon’s embrace wraps valleys about eternity,
then, only then, can the bountiful earth find love.
Crimson dawns feed the artist eye, and poet’s pen
for all that’s green and wonderful must bleed, and rise, and die.
Each reflection rainbowed in cirrus cloud’s caress
or white capped ocean wave combine
Blue bloods of forest’s fringe between earth and sky,
meadowlark and nightingale
a wedding bell of bliss,
the mornings brings…
How grand it is when blue sky meets the sea,
may sky and sand and water ever be,
reflected in this topsy-turvy lea.
Oh, let the stars fall down, and over we.
Will you meet me where the foam froths and roils,
where waves pound upon glistening soil,
and seagull's squawk in mismatched harmony;
oh, let the stars fall down, and over we.
Sea tossed, the dross shines upon the strand.
Gemstones are born, where the sky meets the land.
meet me down by the rush of lulling sea;
oh, let the stars fall down, and over we.
Here we will lie for all eternity,
with life and death, and our love of the sea.
Scenic Point by Robert Butler
Confetti flutters the sky
A bride dressed in pearly white
Footprints pave bright virgin snow
Steps to her future
She is the muse to her own sorrow;
She is the digger of her grave.
She is the painter of her ocean view
and every fatal wave.
She is the shadow of her Father;
She is the darkness in your sight.
She is the night without the stars
surrounding pale moonlight.
She is the music with no words;
She is sweet love without the reason.
She is your dreamer with submission
cold by warmth with every season.
She is your pet with cold intentions;
She is your baby scared and shaken.
She is the bold and pure- the lost and found,
She is a soul awakened.
I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...
Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed,
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised.
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate? If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us.
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow.
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you.
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep
I am the spirit of satin stardust
and the antiquities of golden memories alive
I call to you from the rising warmth of the sun
and greet you in the misty morning light
I am the steady and rolling drum beat
echoing from the jagged heights above
I am the mysterious curves of the raging waters'
and the freedom birds of love
I rise above the white summer clouds
in lilting songs of grace
and roam with the western tail-winds
to take you home again
I am a Spirit of our gracious Lord God Almighty
of love hope and faith
I have come to tell
Dedicated To P.D.
Morning breaks in cheerful warm brilliance,
pale sapphire sky pristine.
Grey-white gulls glide vociferously above
in search of firma bound fare.
Reflections of Sol’s arms vault from the sea,
smooth but for zephyr stroked folds;
pure, sugar white sand kissed softly
by persistent waves subtle roll.
Soft ghosts of tepid breeze course random,
sensually caressing what be;
long thin-bladed grasses sway lightly
in synchrony and shameless delight.
With bonnet in hand an aged woman strolls
beside the vast Gulf of blue;
damp, firm sand squeaks soothingly
against the soles of her tired bare feet.
Her large eyes of brown focus ahead,
bear no witness to her days and shine;
fine flowing hair of luminous white
draped over shoulders so slight.
A pause, though brief, in quiet reflection,
her gaze upon the distant view
and mind in stoic reminiscence
of past friends and loves and wonder.
His strong arms hold her close tightly,
warmth of body and soul unite,
while gaiety in unbound laughter
disclose love once again renewed.
A tender brush of hand upon cheek
raises fiery passion in both,
as excited young eyes meet in ardor
essence link in eternal embrace.
One warm briny tear born of these thoughts
streams slowly down her cheek,
she slowly walks on as sand squeaks soothingly
against the soles of her tired bare feet.
By ears and whiskers, ain't no more
A sadder thing that being in the dog house,
On a rainy day.
Make no bones about it, when momma's
Mad I'm hanging my head low.
Jo dirt has nothing on how bad this hound feels,
But honestly instincts roller, over road wisdom's,
Howling, but I'd mean it dearest sweet mommy.
With woofs and kisses can I make it all better,
It's lonely on this side of the doorway.
With you out there and me in here.
Kibbles my bits I'd give up my
Of bacon bits for a true heart felt,
That a good boy one more time.
If I could I'd bring you a beer,
Just to see that frown disappear.
Perking these two ears up to here,
Your laughter ring out at bed time.
Or a soft whispers friendly voice, speaking
Good night dear old friend.
All four paws down I won't do it again,
Cross this canine's fury little heart.
But the rain keeps falling,
As outside the sunshine is calling,
Our names to be together,
There's no tears like these rainy days.
So I'll sit patiently,
For the sun to rise again in your heart,
When ever that maybe,
Because simply put I'm loyalties pup,
Just waiting for you to bring me
On the right side of
The door once more.
To sit beside thee again.
A companion and dearest friend,
Always letting the sun to shine down
On us forever more.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Moon’s Pilgrimage … Across The Sky To Praise
The Maker and All His Wondrous Ways
Moon’s Pilgrimage … Rises High, In Grace
Yet, Still In A Humble – Pilgrim’s Place
Moon’s Pilgrimage … Will Not Betray
All The Moonlight, GOD Lets Display
Tho’ She Moves In His Cosmic-Stage-Play
From His Theme-Theatre, She Will Not Stray
My Pilgrimage … Thru Deep, Dark Space
With Silver-Wings and Beams, I Chase
The Unknown and Known Questions Raised
Will Be Answered, When The Maker Says …
My Pilgrimage … To Touch Heaven’s Face
That Beauteous, Elusive, Mysterious Trace
Borne At The Blessed-Beginning’s Base
My Pilgrimage … Takes Me There To Pray …
My Pilgrimage … Takes Me There To Pay –
My Vows, My Voice, In Vesper-Vase
As This Moon, Is In Harvest – Phase
And Beams Brighter Now … Tho’ Slanted-Gaze
… The Moon … Glowing Ochre-Gold Or Silver
The Moon … Is Making Pilgrimage, Remember
The Moon … Is Trying To Help Deliver
Lost-Souls, Who Can Not Find … Moon River …
… Moon’s Pilgrimage … Keeps Steady Pace
Even Climbing Thru Dense, Cloudy-Lace
Moon’s Pilgrimage … Is Like A Dance, That Sways
Moon’s Pilgrimage … Into The Night’s Embrace … …
Enter a storybook tale
Where I can be
The heroine you hail
Lucid dreams of soft reflection
A touch heated with lust and desired protection
A breathe a gasp as we succeed
Join the fairytale with me
Valiant night within dark eyes
the right movement and I make them shine
like moonlight on the steamy hot spring
care to follow for a little dip with me
Trailing like the water at my fingertips
Grasp me around my hips
As close as the breeze on my skin
Whisper lies as I let you in
Lips mumbling up my thighs
bare heart exposed to the sky
fire burning in my veins
Am I a mistress of this lust or simply a slave
Trembling with desire
Take me till we've lost count of the hours
enter this storybook tale
Where I can be the heroine you hail
Extraordinary, I am
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding the gift I shouldn't fought
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
The food of my soul
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart
Singing happy song
Love in its purity bonding
Daddy slips into the arms of another woman
Although it’s neither here or there
I do love the mountain air
Fresh and crisp with its own bite
The river flows through the blanket of white
It’s all in life that is pure and clean
The river sparkles with it’s own sheen
Up here in the air that is lighter than light
I open my soul through the words I write
Through my words I write out a show
For those who have never seen the snow
Every breath you take is like a dream
With eyes amazed at the beauty they have seen
You close your eyes to process it all
And realize we are rather small
Morning bird’s prayer,
Worship from a pew of gold:
The rising sun throws it’s first beams
across the morning glade.
These waking hours are as it seems
to me the strength of day.
I stop and take in as I walk
the newness of the sights:
the deer feeding among the stalks,
the hawk up high in flight.
For me this quiet time of day
is sanctuary here.
In this reprieve I want to stay,
in this, where God is near.
O Lost and Weary Knight
A heavy heart has led you to this hidden grove
This fortress nestled in warm darkness
Come to me; collapse into my outstretched arms
We will fall among the tender bluebells
Rest your tired head upon my lap
And feel ... With every breath exhaled
The sorrows weighing upon your anguished brow
Disappearing ... Taking to flight on agile wings
Dissolving... into trickling rays of sunlight
I will collect each happiness we discover together
String them along, into a glimmering crown for your head
Clasp your hand in mine
Allow me ... to kiss away those cold, heavy tears
As I cradle you to sleep with gentle lullabies
While time ... Slowly fades away into nothing
And locks us eternally in our hidden fortress ...
I will give you peace, my Lost and Weary Knight
I would like,ardently,to paint a meadow
standing on its center,an old weeping willow
engraving some letters, on its thick stem
I write your name,as a heart-shaped gem
I want to draw,the blue of your eyes
those tempting seas of,tearful lullabies
adrift in my thoughts,ready to admit
to gamble for love, to win or to quit
I picture...,the smiles in your lips
lick your kisses' nectar as it drips
stare at them,till they call my name
lingering to end up,the glory, I claim
I draw a heart,with compassion and love
gift-wrap it then, with, red petals my love
sending my devotion,for you alone to own
unless you turn it into,my love's tombstone
Tomorrow’s times are in these eyes of mine.
Away and far my world shall part.
The Seas shall rise from their depths of deep.
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will weep.
The Sun will rise as my days still come,
The glory, the power, it is the rains with Sun.
Tomorrow’s times are in these days of mine.
Far and gone my world shall bond.
The Mountains will fall from their heights they climb.
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will shine.
Tomorrow’s times are in these thoughts of mine.
Gone and here my world shall fear.
The Lands will separate the world by Sea,
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will be.
Tomorrow’s times I know are mine.
Here it is that I fear I’m near.
My Land, my Seas, my Mountains of plain sight,
And in the glow of the shadows the willows shall shed their light.
®Registered: Ann Rich 1998