Before there was a world or a word
there was unfathomable loneliness
in the gaseous expanse of pin pricked night
an infinite course of vibrations, sound
nascent, coalescing, gestating,
until planets ripening birthed with souls.
There was only the orb, the throbbing soul
and an unknown longing for word,
conduits formed synapses gestating
to wavelengths of crystalline loneliness,
the aching white noise, static, lack of sound,
and the wanderers of celestial night.
Man was born to such a daunting midnight
aqueous eyes and conical ears for soul
to shattering din’s discordant sound,
no bird song, no harmony, no words,
just an aging, aching, aloneness,
of random thoughts thus wordless gestating.
A rhythm of circular gestation
formed the day and lingering became night
and thus weakened, warmed the loneliness
with woman kind He brought her soul.
Ether resounded with sheet lightening, words
for those sounds were to souls, the God sound.
Strong, silibant streams of understood sound
released from the oval egg of gestation
songs formed as man combined the God like words
croonings of passion fill the nubile night
as joinings rolled-tidal of mated souls.
Word all powerful had freed loneliness.
Each creature gifted an end to loneliness
earth, water, fire ,wind, all given sound,
all graced beloved with shimmering souls,
hatched from the dragon’s egg, life gestates
into the bountiful passage of night.
Cherish the ever present presence of the Word.
No longer alone, a sound vibrating within
each atom relates to the soul, gestation continues
in the night's never-ending cycle of the Word's life.
*My PASSION is SONG
* Many lines have internal RHYME as well as
the end rhyme achieved by the use of the same words.
*Dedicated to inspiration achieved
through the writings of L'Nass Shango & David Smalling
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2010
To every zephyr comes a bold quest
and every squall can whisper regret.
Those who will take the deeper breath
are those who gain a discerning spirit.
The eye of a storm loves the calm
while the vortex lives for the clash.
When two people sense a coming clash
because they’re on a divergent quest.
One may keep peace, remaining calm
while the other has no regret
for baring an onery spirit -
hell-bent, ranting with “baited” breath.
The pacifist, holding his breath,
prefers to downscale any clash
disowning the negative spirit.
The personality of quest
depends on one’s view of regret.
Cold is how the gutsy perceive calm.
Some get uptight when life is too calm;
conflict leaves another gasping for breath.
Satisfaction versus regret -
can both be balanced without clash?
Is there a more productive quest
for passive and proactive spirits?
With open mind, the hostile spirit
can work at finding a sense of calm.
When threatened with a thorny request,
count to ten and take a deep breath.
At the invitation to clash,
do not attend; send your regrets.
If you are one who shrinks from regret
confronting an in-your-face spirit,
do not forgo the challenging clash.
Count to ten; dismantle your normal calm
and debate ‘til you’re out-of-breath.
Learn the thrill of making the conquest.
The question of regret counts off death's calm.
Trying unchecked spirits with waiting breath
welcome both the clash and the quieter quest.
Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2014
Strangers undulating with rhythmic ease
Igniting the air with ecstasy
While lights flash in spectacular colour
Hot breath creates an intensity
Of steam rising up through delirious sound;
While damp, red silk caresses my skin
Sweat beading on my baking skin
As I slip through the spaces with practiced ease
I am captured by the rapturous sound
Of collective want and ecstasy
Immersed in a world of fevered intensity
Exchanging black and white for oblivious colour
Feeling the music radiate wild colour
As I slide across his skin
His gaze, unmasking my passion and intensity,
Holds me with confident ease
Contact sparking transfixing ecstasy
Our words are lost in booming sound
The vibrations of his voice, a captivating sound
My eyes temporarily blinded by colour
I am clothed in a shiver of ecstasy
As his breath strokes my skin
Pulled together with incredible ease
By impetuous desire’s intensity
Our breath shallow, we move with intensity
Lost in overwhelming sound
Moving together with unfamiliar ease
Overtaken by scent, sensation and colour
Passion radiates from our skin
Building in agonizing ecstasy
The particles between us electric with ecstasy
The pumping music loses its intensity
As we lose the barriers between our skins
Touching with breathless sound
I feel the rising heat and colour
As our lips come together with ease
Our touching skin deadening all external sound
In the intensity of dark-lit colour
Our passionate ecstasy gives way to comforting ease
Copyright © Jenni Munn | Year Posted 2011
My incentive, you provide
Behind me, your seat was
My mind, stolen by your thought
To help was my ask, accepted you did
Animosity, was it all in my mind
A fool like me, you are not
Stressed was I, as my entrance was made
A book, had I ignored its presence
Claiming that difficulty, there was none
Your settlement, showed no panic
Stability, was yours to own
Calmness did your sight, share
My questions, did I pose
Seeking answers, was I not
Importance were they little, to me
Your voice, the only motive for my ask
To hate, you showed no intent
My ignorance had not dissuaded your care
Glances, did I steal many
Awkwardness was it a conception
Your beauty, a pride in itself
My wishes to bring back what was, intensified
A norm did I want renewed
Change was my belief, not you
To write my paper, were there no obstacles
My passion, no longer constricted by an absence I moulded
A shackled heart, unshackled by you being
Forgetting you, was a choice no more
Art would be nonexistent, if your image was smoldered
A driven pen am I, when my side is not alone
Confidence was my bask, a length
Idiocy had you relieved me of, through purity
My actions had you not reflected
A wrath remembered by myself, but forgiven in your eyes
Study did I, conceding that your genius was of heart
Whilst mine, a stem of love
Changed had my pen's drive, only
Dissuasion of my love, had I attempted through belief
Your sight a root of the potential, a fool claims
Copyright © Keshan Govender | Year Posted 2016
When love was innocently
given and this once gorgeous boy, merely fourteen,
choose a red-haired girl
to be his special friend;
he offered her a smooch sweeter than honey,
to find delight on her rosy cheek...
She smiled back and shyly kissed me,
I plucked a blue lily from a meadow painted in green,
and put it in her soft hair resembling Autumn's auburn leaves;
some warm raindrops fell on her brown eyes so pretty,
decorating her lovely face with happy tears:
while a robin, with yellow wings, spied on us with curiosity...
Sweetheart, you certainly were surprised and much pleased
by the performance of my first, phenomenal kiss,
which lasted longer than it should have, indeed;
you thought I wasn't old enough to feel both affection and bliss:
without knowing the meaning of their profundity,
but I felt a desire that couldn't wait until I reached puberty....
My adorable darling, adolescence has endured, not passed,
and age has made you extremely charming and beautiful!
I have grown and look as handsome as a fair prince,
recalling that moment which never slipped into a time so vast:
a memory cherished by a thought so fond and reachable,
to relive that gallant gesture of warmth and innocence...
When love was innocently given and kisses
were the fragrance of delicate roses,
these lips touched to share tenderness;
oh, those young hearts were not vain, greedy and shallow;
all the spontaneous smiles were genuine surprises:
adolescents sharing laughter, cuddling under the splendid rainbow!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009
Today, after waking from an impatient sleep
I went to the window and threw open the shade,
remembering that I had promises made.
There were those promises to my new lady.
Recent, torrid, and a little bit shady.
Yet there were glorious feelings to reap.
I promised her my love forever,
all my respect and attention, whenever
and vow to close my distance from this maid.
I would ply her with poems and rhymes,
with chocolates, and odes repeated a thousand times
and remembering my promises to keep.
My respect, devotion and all my attention
to her, I give freely and with true invention,
a trust that I do not dare evade.
I will lift myself up to her and offer my heart
only if she returns love none can pull apart.
It's difficult to make such a leap
But deep inside I have not swayed.
Copyright © Thomas Pitre | Year Posted 2007