The emblem of my sovereignty,
A dagger through a heart.
The sovereignty of incarceration,
A flight over an aery dell.
The incarceration is as a royal charter
In the fidelity of a vendetta.
At noonday, the words purporting
A coarse tumult of the local milieu,
In the sea of ethereal bitterness.
And, there is no one more to impress!
If but some pallid fairy would reach,
For the cavern missed by the dagger,
If but some grey wolf would save me,
From this agony in the pavilion of orbs,
Then as avenged as a lonesome beggar
I’d dare to plot a different course.
If but some fate trader would put hope
On the beam scale to judge a chance,
If but the One could say yes to me
I would tango for two, or any dance.
It's freaking cold in outer space, minus 458 degrees
Where does it begin, 62 miles up before hitting deep freeze
Most space is empty
A vacuum quite aery
Mainly hydrogen, helium and some bundled up fleas
It's freaking cold in outer space, minus 458 degrees
Where does it begin, just 62 miles before hitting deep freeze
Most space is empty
A vacuum quite aery
Mainly hydrogen, helium and some helmeted fleas
May be the silky shivers you love
The hairy warmness you wish so close
The golden hue from our overflowing cup
Get reduced to dew on a rose
The petals you deeply smell today
The current of air you love in the quay
Holding the boat in intense sway
Tomorrow in vacuum pass away
No need to cry to God and seek
A magic return of your warm fireplace
Nothing once gone does come again
Our life is such a bitter loveliness
I shall still be in raindrops
Doing designs on your windowpane
Looking at your grey full stops
Wishing to enter your bluish vein
Look for me not in the howling wind
Nor in the shades of willow tree
I shall be in the flower on your hair pinned
On the swing you would share with me
Enjoy everything that you would love to
I shall be in peace and content seeing you vibrant
Such beautiful life you will never again pass through
Celebrate and let me be an aery observant
_________________________________________________
May 22, 2016
For: Weepy Quatrain – Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Butterflies-Competition
(Mosaic Butterflies)
Behold! Sunny spots sprayed on
Filigreed ebony wings
Encaged in
A golden frame.
An artistic delight!
Didst the cruel hands
That caught
The sacrifical victims's soul
Not get painted
With Psyche's
Multi coloured hues?
Thou dainty aery winged breath
I doth know thou flappest
Thy beauteous wings
Restlessly fluttering from one
Radiant bloom to another
Sighing but for the
Sweet nectar of
Thy amorous Eros.
But hark! Appease thy
Love lorn passion for
Bountiful honey yet
Shut thine eyes to
The beauty of flowers
They not be thy Amor
Who sleeps in
The deepest of slumbers
Ignorant of his Psyche
Being wafted into beguiling hands
For mortals to enkindle
Her peerless beauty
To be mounted on
Mosaic beds for museums.
SIXTH
Balveen Cheema
August 12, 2015
Basketball
I stand, pump fake,
Step up and back,
dribbling back and forth.
Lifting each step, like the petal of a rose,
Prancing in the dim light upon its floor.
As I rise, in the still-waking sleep of a lion’s den,
Its ferocity to the air in unity, withal and within.
Like a thief, with quick hands,
I steal to its door,
Knocking softly on the door of titans,
Lifting each step, like the aery lightness of a feather
Cascading the floor with a shadow in the dim light of its victory,
And I rise again, in the hallways of legends,
The memory to the air as a banner of youth.