Sun-streaked topaz,
of faint silhouette,
woman gulping phrases,
uncanny mirror’s orbital,
of resonance,
in blind recess,
seeing, hearing icicled image,
psychic blobs melt,
in close locus,
hair-raising halo,
hallucinate my opal eyes,
sultry smokescape,
furnace of,
walnut garland,
from ambling weeper,
whose shaken trauma,
I shudder and pine for,
at red coal pit of,
my abdominal agony,
this lava veiled,
human’s sideswipe,
“you remind me of someone,”
whilst being eclipsed,
by vanilla vapours,
in a hazy billow,
rippling stream heart,
inducing isthmus of,
harrowing bereavement,
blue vault fluke
surreal concoction,
shrouded in mystique,
enigmatic shroud,
shrouded pang,
otherworldly episode
Sun-streaked topaz,
of faint silhouette,
woman gulping phrases,
uncanny mirror’s orbital,
of resonance,
in blind recess,
seeing, hearing icicled image,
psychic blobs melt,
in close locus,
hair-raising halo,
hallucinate my opal eyes,
sultry smokescape,
furnace of,
walnut garland,
from ambling weeper,
whose shaken trauma,
I shudder and pine for,
at red coal pit of,
my abdominal agony,
this lava veiled,
human’s sideswipe,
“you remind me of someone,”
whilst being eclipsed,
by vanilla vapours,
in a hazy billow,
Constance La France's Epiphany Contest
Ambling through brittle cobblestone
of an alley...thorns cutting
my soles, the icy wind pinches this flesh. blinded by haze of duskfall...
And yet I persist-
wondering if this heart still
hungers for life...
Remnants of my seasons
are withering in the kiln
of time's cinders-- a shadow play
dimming through the indolence of chapters--
I Iaze around a complacent world,
defined by apathy--
A drifter without cause , my bone and marrow
remain unperturbed by the thrill
of moments' ceremonies...
Fading away into a rugged trail
I reach the edge of a forest track
to find through a hole
how the sky turns wildly red and alive...
hearing the laughter of earth
and the moon kissing summer
on my lips...
the grace of epiphany unknown to me
unfurls all budding flowers.
Vociferous but most unkind, this bee's bead has seen the vine, and grapes of wrath shouldn't press, those enemies are gone unrest, so honey bee procure the honey the bee's bead is filled with funnies and molded impish sleuths so steer like ambling with forest deer, and bee's do gather round this bead, to celebrate and eponymously greet.
Heart’s at peace in our sunset years,
which is no mere figure of speech,
since reduced are desires and fears
and heaven’s light seems within reach.
Ambling along in witness mode,
heart’s at peace in our sunset years,
wherein singing to love an ode,
we’re suffused with bliss that endears.
Our destiny God Himself steers,
for now with ego cravings gone,
heart’s at peace in our sunset years,
with each life breath ushering dawn.
According to conscience consent,
going wherever bliss throb spears,
simply by following the scent,
heart’s at peace in our sunset years.
If you ask me who my favorite artist is,
I’d say you’d find his canvases in my archive.
In framed landscapes of the auburn meadow,
pathways are swathed by sheath of amber leaves.
The blooming garden lined by the winding frail fence,
fading away in the horizon like the miasma of memory,
trailing the contours of fashioned imagery to the infinity.
The sunburst sky shimmers with the absorbed silence,
soaked up by the ambling clumps of crimson clouds.
A lone bird flies infatuated over the tinged thicket,
the wrought wings scaling the sapphire sky still.
The ardent portraits of nameless vibrant faces,
capture the poignant motif of anguish and ecstasy.
Feminine beauty fixated in chromatic motif of fervor,
dazzles with the passionate hues of the artist’s obsession.
If you ask me who the fervent artist is,
I’d say he is the possessed me.
Feared odds would be insurmountable,
Almighty winds somehow drifted in our favour.
Longed we did for more harmonious conditions,
Lulls in the chaos of our lives.
Ideal conditions out there in the fog,
Nebulous at best ~ no horizon in sight,
Gambling we did on a sunny outcome.
Ironic ~ all chips on red or black
Never allowing despair to run its course.
Thinking we dare conquer turbulence,
Oceans calmed with dreamy blues.
Yesterday all seemed mad disarray.
Our eyes fixed on a distant oasis,
Undaunted we stayed the course.
AP: 1st place 2026, 1st place 2026
uphill climb,
rigorously relentless
with ambling ambitions
and schematic stratagem,
blueprinted blatantly
on the blank
parchment of marooned mind,
sketched skillfully
with chameleon color shift,
transiently transfixed.
gripping gravity
of transcendental time
of the loaded past
pulls back incessantly
the strings of present,
fastening in retrospect
the incoherent network
of faltering footsteps
at the refurbished root
of existential essence.
intent inertia
of living force
creates proactive
causal momentum
of tumultuous time configured,
permeates the perception
of the fourth dimension.
construed continuum
of elusive eternity
strives to unveil ineffectually
the shrouded acuity
at the summit of actuality,
emotionally evasive,
abortive climb connotes
futile foray
to somewhere intangible.
>b>“The srutis—such as "That thou art" prove to thee thou art indeed That, devoid of adjuncts and the same in all. Why dost thou, who art the identity in all, grieve in thy heart?”
Simply know this: we are not body-mind
All manifestations are unreal
Simply be with pulse of bliss beats aligned
Ambling through life with boundless zest and zeal
As light that lights all lights, whose touch does heal
To get to this knowing simply be still
All voids within will in timeless time fill
Our central vein is like a band of steel
As such, how may we speak of chakra points
Upon ego death we begin to heal
In a oneness field where God’s touch anoints
Embodying the light within we see
Boundaries drawn were merely thought constructs
Our pristine consciousness is always free
Known clearly when lower mind self-destructs
Manifestation is a wisp of smoke
Dancing as just do, puppets on a string
When fires of desire we cease to stoke
In the void of silence, we alone sing
Chakras was what we were talking about ~
That in truth nothing exists, have no doubt
That in truth nothing exists, have no doubt
Yet in life’s lucid dream of we but pause
Stuporous mind stilled and our heart devout
Clear light dawns as our identity thaws
In early days chakras were in focus
Representing realms we needed to cross
But ambling gently along love’s locus
Prayer on our lips, we discard the gross
In time nodes entwine, with God’s will align
That with map of our consciousness redrawn
We become the flame that carries His sign
As transcendental light that ushers dawn
On ceasing thinking we begin to feel ~
Our central vein is like a band of steel
My Way
I saw the three tenors sing “I did it my way,” mind, the fat one died,
and the two others hate each other and never appear in public if
They can avoid it. Of the two, one looks like an aging matinée idol
The other suffers from being mobbed at school and looks scared
has nightmares and takes to tears before going on stage.
I still like Frank Sinatra`s rendition of that song better; he sang
It was so relaxed with a clear diction, and made me think of a man
With six a pack ambling on his way home, he too is dead to
“My Way” is about human hubris; we believe we are masters of our
destiny when we are leaves blowing along a wet asphalt road
in the autumnal half-light.
Thinking back, I can afford to, I never got a thing my way, which, when
Young caused me bitterness, the highest prize eluded me, kismet knew
I could not handle illustriousness; it would have made me look absurd
a swaggering fool hated by colleagues, at the stage of life. Yet, when
dancing the tango at a nightclub in Buenos Aires, 54 years ago
The applause I received still rings sweetly in my ears.
Life after life, ego shape shifts its form,
flitting about from desire to desire,
for endless are objects heart does aspire,
like a rebel, choosing not to conform,
to pulsations of grace, loving and warm,
till a day comes when ego too does tire,
when lust consigned to the funeral fire,
we find ourself centred in a bliss storm.
By itself, ego has no existence,
drawing its power from the light of Self,
so it falls like a dead leaf from a tree,
whereupon we reclaim our quintessence,
being living light that glows by itself,
free from bondage, ambling through life carefree.
The existence of ego depends on thought,
a magical illusion conjured by mind,
web of incessant motion in which we’re caught
but if we drop desires and leave fears behind,
in the void of silence we become self-taught,
no longer floundering about as though blind.
Attuned with the soft pulsations of our heart,
in restful watchfulness God search we jump start.
As an actor in the dream we’ve manifest,
we take as real, the domain created,
the dream ending only when thought comes to rest,
which occurs when we’re not by desires baited,
that then ambling through life in light hearted jest,
the truth of Self is by heart validated.
When thought flow stops, we are then dehypnotized
whence truth of our true being is realised.
The railway train ambling along its tracks
Thousands of years echoing in harmony
Shadows receding among lush foliage
Aurora, your strides are always confident
________________
13 September 2025
Bring your sin and the ugliness within
It’s all we bring: our part of the equation
But He quickens us to Christ
This Desire of every nation
The ingredients found in the preparation
Is the recipe for God’s vindication
It’s more than a metaphor
It’s an intimate union prepared by the Lord
And as we doubt and fall, sinking as did Peter
Let us cry out to our Overcomer and Leader
(And daily we need our Savior because of our behavior)
“Mein Körper und mein Blut” says Martin Luther
But it’s more than just elements
But we have faith (and sin we exchange)
For our development
(It’s a spiritual imbibing of Jesus Christ
Needed for the Christians ambling through this life)
Myriads and myriads of angels
Descending and ascending on Jacob’s Ladder
For periods and periods in eternal life
We will live this faith (with each other), and for our Master
(In closing hear the pastor’s call, to all)
The Law and The Gospel, they work in tandem
As the Old Testament handed the brush, the New Testament paints
This is our faith that’s not contrary to reason
And the reason for reason is The King of the saints
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