conscious
paraphrased
episodics
outwardly
inward
&
in
disquiet
stylistics
endanger
existence
of affinity
with
occasioned
emphasis
abandoning
the
peripherals
a montage
subjugating
&
reconciling
symbolic
concepts
of
apposite
eclectics
Anita Page's image wore well,
Rustling silk having carried her
But beneath her celluloid gaiety
And the nuance of her blonde curls.
I sensed something more apposite
The glint in her eye,
Reminding me of a mood dance,
Lasting deep into the scene.
A fluid transition into interpretation,
She felt the spoken word could not convey
Time strokes the wrinkled canvas,
the ancient spider in twilight hour
weaves the senility web,
the empty eyes wander in the wasteland.
The hedonist psyche refuses
to gauge the grief of loss.
The face morphs into metaphor
for the past panorama dislodged,
captured in the snapshot
of the narcissist impulse congealed
in the portrait I make of me.
It’s made of latent lattice of delicate design,
lines on lines contour my body.
The vibrant epitome of expression align
with the pattern of unique look personified.
An insular captive of my mental making,
I’m an inimitable loner within me,
defined by the entrenched essence singular,
scared to face the crowded world.
I get driven by the self-obsessed urge
to uplift my sagging morale,
clothe the portrait with an apposite attire.
I open the sparse closet to select a T-shirt
with the walking punchline
“Be Brave, Be You” inscribed bold.
It makes a simple style statement
for me coming out of the lonesome shell.
INTERLUDE
When a short break is considered apposite
It could be to inhale and just take a breath
But no silence for too long, so keep it tight
As to walk away would be a kind of death
Aware when resumption staggers into sight
Music rules, dispelling any shibboleth
Treat it as an infill with relaxation
Applied with firm intent, not hesitation
Anita Page's image wore well,
Rustling silk having carried her
But beneath her celluloid gaiety
And the nuance of her blonde curls.
I sensed something more apposite
The glint in her eye,
Reminding me of a mood dance,
Lasting deep into the scene.
A fluid transition into interpretation,
She felt the spoken word could not convey.
TREASURES
mesmerising
asides
reside
to
display
the
extraordinary
&
delicate
blooms
a choice
narrative
survives
gently
resides
in
patterned
fragments
swirling
in the
spectacular
detail
so
apposite
&
contemporary
a foraged
signifiance
monumental
precious
of
intention
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Everything in its season,concentrated and alive stray objects ripple across the view and solitary imagination is its scale.Recollections of things past,so apposite for self-expression sieved to retain the essentials.Exaggeration modified, ignorance contemplated and constrained. Atmospheres of yesterday translated loom & sound so, unique as a snowflake to speak to the ear.Our inner make-up exposed as poetry in pictures,hearing colours,a synthesis of myriad detail &circumstance.With uniquely added value we browse here & there outside our comfort zone where timing is all.making a mark on eternity
the straight jacket
of convention
bring
random
consolations,
so
apposite:
the drawback
of the trivial,
underlined
by the inauthentic,
unruffled
by the marginal,
proxy-proof
in the schemes
of man...
distilled by the
sieve
of the commonplace
A balmy day in February,
A flash of yellow's all I saw,
A welcome harbinger of Spring –
A paper bird upon the wing.
By name, a brimstone butterfly,
So apposite, its sulphur hue
Glows brightly, fresh, upon the eye,
Light as a feather it flits on by.
I watch it settle on a briar,
Presumably in search of food,
In vain – the rose-hips glow like fire :
No flowers, no nectar, just bare wood.
Fluttering on it sails away,
Skipping a lively wind-born dance.
I fear it may not last the day
Unless it finds some sustenance.
Don’t take life like a game
Nothing is easy everything hard
Awake the soul and make win
Someone sending you her bless
Believe true bless always work
Only need is concentration on your work
Move on path with your vision
And get touch of real reason
Try to control apposite flow
Anyone can swim in normal flow
Develop a habit to live in hard condition
After long possess coal turn in jewels
Stay in the touch of burning sky
Your work will appear you in limelight
Believe on this you are not creator
You are just working on the natural art
Why I say welcome new day
When every day is same
Why I say good night to night
Which I have to spend on bed
I want make a deference
But j don’t know how and what
Who admire my work?
She live in my heart
But physically she live too far
So no one with me
Who understood my feeling?
Who do care of me?
What to do in apposite condition
Now I stop to view dream
I am happy with lonely wiling’s
She was all lost;fantasized a world
On the bitumen ,none resembled her
Binnacles kept empty;let gusty waves guide her
Bid goodbye to a silent night under the mistletoe ;scrounging for serendipity
Stars were callous;she--- an embodiment of callowness ,distracted by camellia;could not find a way out of her perplexity
Deranged by the deathly silence ,she hurried down the rails
Nothing more than a lost shadow,catching her own steps
Oblivion to the dogma "It's all between the mirrors she is walking".
Ecstatically held a door;optimism would fail soon
Concussion in mind took a brutal turn
Damsel in a distress;she lost the sight of the shore
Once again journey to end
Defiant,stood in an apposite way
Masts were low,no camellia this time
Envisaged, red horizon covered the ocean, no sign of life
Dismayed;developed aversion towards the scenery
Cried hard but what could be heard above the dead soul was....silence..
UNSPOKEN SOUL
She was all lost; fantasized a world
On the bitumen, none resembled her
Binnacles kept empty; let gusty waves guide her
Bid goodbye to a silent night under the mistletoe ; scrounging for serendipity
Stars were callous ; she- an embodiment of callowness , distracted by camellia could not find a way out of her perplexity
Deranged by the deathly silence, she hurried down the rails
Nothing more than a lost shadow, catching her own steps
Oblivion to the dogma-‘’It was all between mirrors, she was walking.’’
Ecstatically held a door; optimism would fail soon
Concussion in mind took a brutal turn
Damsel in distress, lost the sight of the shore
Once again journey to end
Defiant; stood in an apposite way
Masts were low, no camellia this time
Envisaged…..red horizon covered the ocean, no sign of life
Dismayed; developed an aversion towards the scenery
Cried hard, but what could be heard above the dead soul was just –“SILENCE”.
Returning home is always a bitter path.
Some say it’s warm and soft, it’s healing.
These words are said before the aftermath
Which brings an acute pain, which’s drilling.
It smashes down the soul inside your ring.
All thoughts are apposite to you in this rebellion.
The mind’s infected with a memory sting.
It yells that there’s the other side of the medallion.
Every cute moment is shadowed by sorrow.
This crow just flies turning all into dark
The way you’ve done, the way you’re living now.
It’s darken, eaten by a wormy mind shark.
But there’s no need to be afraid of this,
Cause in the end it leaves a white sheet.
It’s like a rubber cleans you with its kiss,
So you become a man without wormy mind ****.
COMMONPLACE PHRASIS IX
Everything in its season,concentrated
and alive stray objects ripple across
the view and solitary imagination
is its scale.Recollections of things
past,so apposite for self-expression
sieved to retain the essentials.
Exaggeration modified,ignorance
contemplated and constrained.
Atmospheres of yesterday translated
loom & sound so, unique as a
snowflake to speak to the ear.
Our inner make-up,exposed as poetry in
pictures,hearing colours,a synthesis
of myriad detail&circumstance.With
uniquely added value we browse here
& there outside our comfort zone where
timing is all.making a mark on eternity.
From Retrospective a commonplace book 2009
Listen to me recite this part phrasis on youtube under my pen name ichthys chiro
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