I've used up nearly all the primes of my life,
Heard all the whistles, bells, and chimes of my life,
And traced the seasons and the times of my life
Through the ambiances and climes of my life.
The squandered nickels and the dimes of my life,
The acts of goodness and the crimes of my life,
The dark despairs and bright sublimes of my life,
The loves, the laughs, the grimes, and slimes of my life,
The noisy words and pantomimes of my life
Make up the reasons and the rhymes of my life.
Author's note: This piece, dear readers, is, if you will, a sort of sequel to "The Seasons of My Life"
With each passing season, there comes inspiration
Painting joy and love on the heart, soul and spirit
In colorful hues of scarlet, violet and gold
Spring's brilliance flows silently, a caress
With sunny vibrance, the moments are pulsating
Summer's whisper laughs expectantly over the senses
Cloaked in exciting shades of amber, orange and gold
Autumn's kiss expresses sensations like a song
Under the feathery flakes of quiet snowfall
Winter hesitates to bring down its chilling charms
Under the prayerful rays
Of an intoxicating sunrise
Faith seems to arouse
Flames of passion and praise
Beneath the robin’s egg blue sky
Ambiances of dreams, hypnotic, mesmerizing
Fall silently across my spirit
Rocking me into oblivion
As fantasy fulfills me
With a love of nature
That awakens my appreciation
For the blessing of God’s creation
Let’s Mix It Up Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
October 8, 2021
Timid, almost without sound
A raindrop kisses my naked skin
And I feel the joy of knowing
Ambiances only God could shower
As this soft rain falls quietly
Serenity seems to whisper proudly…
Grace abounds in the rainfall
Silent as the moon and stars
Graceful beyond what I can recall
Feathery flurries bruise the sky
With whispery sighs breathed
Across the moments, kissing
Brilliant rays piercing the air
On hopes that linger in prayers
Hidden beneath shadows of flakes
Gliding, gracing, adorning our lives
With a milky white promise of joy
Soaring, sailing, hovering on blossoms
Caressing the petals with elaborate strokes
Melting away dew that has fallen
With succulent tendrils of desire, a fire
For brilliant, vibrant flowers in hues
Of passionate promises, sweet grace
Dancing on the wings so alive, blazing
Radiating the sweeping praises
Of a lovely, winged creature… the butterfly
These are merely a few of the simple things
That paint my heart in beautiful dreams
Whisper to my spirit of light, laughter and love
Feelings both past and present, penetrating
The soul with pleasures so exquisite!
Splattering, splashing, sputtering
Droplets wet everything, everywhere
Spraying waters in wishes, reflections
Captured amid the depths of puddles
Mirroring the gentle flow of liquid
With hues of dampened, drenching
Sentiments, sensations, sweet soothing
Sounds of rain covering the surface
Of cool, black earth – running away
On seas of flowing energies, soul
Quenching streams of translucent
Vitality, power and strength, vibrancy
Coming alive in the hues of soaked
Impressions, ambiances, perceptions
Of glorious grace, praying in the swells
Of pools filled with light caresses
Fondling, kissing away all melancholy
With damp dreams of a future joy
Rising across the azure sky, echoing
In rays of a fresh, stirring sunshine
Lighting the way for morning praises
From the heart of one who knows
God lives in the rain as well as the sun
Leaving His signature in the arc
Of that vibrant, intriguing bow
After the clouds have moved on
Genesis 9:16 - And the bow shall be in the cloud; and I will look upon it, that I may remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that [is] upon the earth.
The Imaginative Lad
The blissful boy at the kitchen
table,delineating his Christmas list.
His Pomeranian puppy licking his cold,
growing, beautiful toes.
Hot chocolate ambiances and
wheat toast, zephyrs up his nose.
He is a prodigious child,with a
temperament, so marvelously mild.
Learning from grandmother to
write classic poetry.
"No one-liner poems from you,"
pronounced she.
"Use your heritage, our beautiful
English language!"
On Christmas Day, Grandmother
received a book of sonnets, which
he authored!
In a green velvet notebook with
a red satin ribbon outstanding upon it.
Grandmother had passed on the
glory of English!
For his Christmas,he was given books
of the Poetry Masters.
Wrapped in loving gold under the great
scented, Balsam tree.
He unwrapped them with joy.
Words to live with him.
For decades, ever after.
November 23, 2019
Why life has to suffer these innumerable pain to Herculean death, the
Market of souls prestigious concise with crystal cry, ambiances where
People glorify which guarantee not any soul to solve it galaxies of answers.
The sweetness of life is light flash with strong pulses not to be trusted
to truth of defiant men and women in this skeletal world the denial of love
Among families shaded ink drop.
Dozens of lives have been drank like imagination in these senseless wars
Engulf the world, the shape of the night with sleepless mums wallowing in
Their worlds full of imagination and despicable memories to the loss of their beloved heroes.
The alphabetical they taught their kids full of funneled despotic hands
Suggesting who will stretch through the night for answers that haven't
Colored it base of realization, since nails are the only options they have
And will have all the time to the time being.
Hoping if I return there will be an open home
I don’t want to be alone
The shut door that locked me out
Do anyone have a key until I figure what this is about
I’m emotionally damaged like an original sin
Eliminating the silence so whose going to let me in
I’m still searching for an open door
It seems so familiar like I’ve been here before
I know I’m in need of love that everlasting spark
Needing faith full words before my vision grows dark
With my last breath I beg forgiveness
I cry for God to heal my sickness
Without you Jesus in my life use to be difficult
It was my self-pity….It was my fault
I craved for relief and for sanctuary
Inside my soul I felt colder than January
The Lord’s hand grabbed me from the dark ambiances that tried to drag me to its core
Thank you Jesus for opening that close door
Isaiah 41:10 'Do not fear, for I am with you; Do not anxiously look about you, for I am your God I will strengthen you, surely I will help you, Surely I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.'
Psalm 144:7 Stretch forth Your hand from on high; Rescue me and deliver me out of great waters, Out of the hand of aliens
A Vibrant Night
At night
When the city is
Lit with lights and literature
Locals and visitors
Ambiances and silhouettes
Dances with the wet backdrop
And the foreground
Maybe a new York playground
The smell of the sound of savory sausage
Sizzling on the nights grill
Salivating tongues and painters pallets
Dancing trees an autumn light breeze
Brushes by as the train underneath
Zooms pass passengers asleep
It's so unique
The smell that permeates
Pizzarias and eateries
It's so late....but that's okay
Let the night be our theater
Now who's that musical man over there
Playing his sultry song all night long
He sounds like Carnegie hall
Her dress is fighting the wind
His necktie is flagging the taxi
She's tipsy, he's dancing like Fred Astaire
Keeping her balanced,
Smells the mocha in her hair
Their equilibrium meets with the stare of each other
Falling into each other embracing humming that man's song smiling...
Anton Brockenbrough
NATURE by Jeanette Jones based on the Portrait No. 2 of Carol Nye Rhoades (Robinson) by Kathrine Nash Rhoades (1915)
NATURE
My feet, my feet chilled to the bone,
as I sit, sitting here alone.
Sharpening itself, the wind embraced;
slicing a piece of me, starting at my face.
Think not of cold, only hot, I say.
Now, I can’t move, can’t move, can’t you see;
the coldness of the wind’s gotten the best of me.
The ambiances of skies at my back
cautions me for more is to come
as Winter will turn to Spring.
My feet, my feet aching to the bone
as I sit, sitting here alone.
Sharpening itself, the storm embraced;
Slicing a piece of me, starting at my face.
Think not of wet, only dry.
Now I can’t move, can’t move, can’t you see;
the influence of the storm’s gotten the best of me;
A new season calls once again, Winter to Spring,
then Summer to Fall; everlasting love,
my face bares it all.
By Gilbert Mapengo Mwanguku
Unable to stand the horrendous cacophony
that comes with the holly typhoons from the west
A dwindling struggle for life with a riffle
while the edges smuggle maggots and goats
Red eye is the destined transition
yet blue is the nature of the pupil
yellow drops pour endlessly
The pillar is pregnant again
Now with triplets like pets
Melancholy, foray and agony
Tied up in a wagon of bygones
trying to define a smile in times of a calamity
glory written on the faces of ants
they have found a home
yet in the other dark crack is a rat
worried about the impending fate
in case the pillar is pronounced late
Then the earth sonorously quakes
the wheels of wind roll
like the rapid blood flow from the gallows
Darkest clouds in rage converge
In the background pounding ambiances heard
Sober minds and sombre moods pass the time
Thunder cracks, and the pillar is down kissing mother earth
I
In the solitary hours
my ears play tricks on me.
Call this a confession if you will.
I hear things that I don't want to,
People talking indescriptively,
Electronic tones and beeps.
There are no voices in my head
Except my own,
The occasional lyrics of a catchy song,
And the imagined calling
Of my name in public places.
And I wonder at the chance
That I am not alone in this,
That others hear the things not there,
The mischief of pixies that dance in the ear.
II
Dress quickly!
Your lover leaves to errand
Promptly upon awakening to the late morning.
You must flee with him
So that the house remains in stabbing silence.
It is not so complete though
When capsuling the off rhythm ping
Of the radiators, the cracks of old walls
When the wind should dare to test them.
The refrigerator and the toilet
Take turns refreshing themselves,
But those ambiances only serve to exclaim
The sinister silence that reigns over all else.