September Sun
The sultry summer wind softly whispers her name basking in the early September sun. Eyes aglow with limpid beauty radiating with relentless compassion arduously preserved and adamantly protected. Humbly healing hardened hearts resurecting passion with a single winsome smile. Gentle reflection elevates and eviscerates indiscriminately exposing souls with sensitive grace. Chrystaline elegance of early morning dew reflecting brilliance beyond ever before imagined. Deep discerning emotions generously disseminated as the sunhine dancing through locks of gold. A moment in time etched upon my soul with the blood and pain of my past gently floating away in the early September sun.
Somewhere in the wind
Rattling the song “Buzzy empty lane”
Hovering the small settlements
With so many loves and romances
The shady banyan tree
Exuding the cool shade
And the flower-laden milkwood
Infusing the night
With heavenly fragrance
passersby
Oh, passerby who would not care
Taking a look at the tropical almond
That is lightly fusing the air
With its long and yellow and so fragile flower
In a small, quiet corner
There is an young man
Arduously repairing the antique European clocks
Of which past glories and myths are reflected in each second hand
Oh, these little lanes
What are they secretly hiding?
In their deep paths
A Metaverse matrix
Yes, like a metaverse matrix
In an arctic, there lives a girl
The neighborhood sometimes wonders
Why has this pretty girl not settled down?
She must well be over forty
And time will not wait
Oh, that girl’s heart
Who knows
Has been committed to the luther
Everyday
Oh, everyday
She hangs her scallop paper life
On its notes of emptiness.
Pigmented leather, indeed, make sure it is clean of belongings,
especially bodies with clothes. Search overhead and underneath
for the precious tots. Leave no one behind. Search arduously.
Though the time spent bores you to tears, you’d be wrung out
if you forget to do your spot check. Then forever after you’ll ride
that bus, in daydreams and nightmares, always searching. Search!
LIFE'S PIECES
Life is like an art or mirror;
Yet some are oblivious of the interior.
Never think it's a light-walk;
Life isn't a finished work but an artwork
Just like a mirror, check yourself,
Like art, draw or paint yourself,
Design, scoop or screw yourself.
If I was a scattered face of aesthetic being,
a resplendent or magnificent thing,
would you meticulously find me,
would you painstakingly fix me?
If life is arduously hard enough
Be thorough and tough enough,
If life is rosy and too soft,
Don't be posey and too puffed.
VickManuelPoetry {VMP}
Copyright©2022
#LifesPieces
It is often said you get paid
in your own coin you arduously accumulate,
which happens when the table turns,
and destiny rolls the wrong dice for you.
You strive to climb the ivory tower,
the price you pay with the money you pile up,
often making designed forays
on dubious course into the realms of grey.
You try to fill treasure in the vacuum,
may end up in the end being one.
You deceive none other than yourself,
let your priceless self-esteem devalue.
You stockpile the wealth for the future,
that never comes, and you depart.
Let the conscience act in the present,
help the needy with your benevolence.
You’d then find place in many hearts,
and get paid in the coin of reverence.
June 13, 2021
Contest : $
Sponsor : Anthony Biaanco
The one stuck in the tunnel dug in desert of deprivation,
doesn’t know what in notion the rationale of the thing
people of perception define as the art of living,
perceived under free sunshine in the haven of oasis.
Survival struggle kicks the languished life into dark abyss,
breaking the fragile frame of the fleeting future,
the shards are thrown in the debris of abject rejection,
unable to rise from the chasm, even if arduously tried.
Failing to invent the mirage of escape, can’t kindle hope
to light up the receding unseen end of the dark tunnel,
but self-preservation instinct lingering in the bleak confine
motivates to crawl desperately to the illusion of future.
The sordid present suffocates in the nightmare of agony,
turning life into a consumed candle in the dark night.
As the defiled existence is denied the rays of the rising sun,
dented conscience murders the soul in the tunnel of time.
January 31, 2021
Judged (N-A) : February 12, 2021
April 25, 2021
Contest : Your 2021 N-A Choice
Sponsor : William Kekaula
A bud cradled within two tiny leaves
A dulcet design of tantalizing trinity
The proud plant tenderly conceives.
A flower blooming between two tinged leaves
A pristine picture of fervent fulfillment
The passionate plant arduously achieves.
A bridge binding two banks on land lonely
A suturing structure of crafted closeness
In the rhapsodic river euphoria flows freely.
A dormant desire twinning two hearts innately
A child creates the link in paired possession
The triad configures the epitome of life completely.
February 12, 20121
I chose to make 3-line stanza for the contest
Contest : 3
Sponsor : Anthony Biaanco
April 28, 2021
Contest : All Yours (Apr 28)
Sponsor : Brian Strand
The one stuck in the tunnel dug in desert of deprivation,
doesn’t know what in notion the rationale of the thing
people of perception define as the art of living,
perceived under free sunshine in the haven of oasis.
Survival struggle kicks the languished life into dark abyss,
breaking the fragile frame of the fleeting future,
the shards are thrown in the debris of abject rejection,
unable to rise from the chasm, even if arduously tried.
Failing to invent the mirage of escape, can’t kindle hope
to light up the receding unseen end of the dark tunnel,
but self-preservation instinct lingering in the bleak confine
motivates to crawl desperately to the illusion of future.
The sordid present suffocates in the nightmare of agony,
turning life into a consumed candle in the dark night.
As the defiled existence is denied the rays of the rising sun,
dented conscience murders the soul in the tunnel of time.
January 31, 2021
Contest : All Yours (May 5)
Sponsor : Brian Strand
There's an intrinsic dimension deep within my heart.
Its capacity for love and pain, I cannot explain or measure,
but when love takes hold of it, it refuses to be swayed
from taking an emotional journey, arduously pursued.
It's said a heart can be treacherous. I know that to be true.
I've been wounded more than once by my heart's betrayal.
Its pulse is strong, never missing a rhythmic beat,
but to its fragility, I can solemnly attest. It breaks, easily.
Though caged to protect it from physical harm,
pangs from emotional loss traverses through the bars.
My heart never hesitates to ask what if or, should I...
Its sails full speed ahead, despite whirlpools and eddies.
It can motivate me to laugh at life's joys found each day,
but it allows tears to fall in rivulets when it's wounded.
Love's thorns stab much too deep and heal too slowly.
There’s two sides to every story
A little bit of pain and a little bit of glory
Love and hate become so often entwined
Wrapping so tightly the heart that they bind
There’s two parts in every duet
A chorus of hope and a verse of regret
Sometimes you’re the singer sometimes the song
Getting the tune right but the rhythm all wrong
There are two directions that this path has
Left to finish first the right to finish last
One way is a smooth course the other is rough
Your journey brief or arduously tough
There’s humility in winning honour in defeat
There is always two versions of everyone we meet
Justice is served with discrimination on the side
Dished up immediately or after a goodbye
I sit in the middle of the scales of life
Contemplating ,empathising,on the tip of a knife
At times I’m understood and at others I am not
I am part of the universe, an insignificant dot
VOICES RISE FROM DUST
The uphill path rigorous and arduously rough,
obsessed fervor’s effort to climb the mountain,
in aspiring life’s progression agonizingly tough,
drove me unimpeded for sky of success to attain.
Above the blaring stratum of mundane cacophony
I rose testing my perseverance in sheared sense.
Those who crossed my path realized their folly,
for they were waylaid outside my egoistic fence.
Suffused with the euphoria of reaching the summit
the aura of success congealed the heart in thin air.
Those who held hands adoring me beyond the limit,
discarded, they fell back in obscurity, I didn’t care.
In the twilight hours when the journey is downhill
along the lone path, crossed all bridges but the last,
in the deafening silence of the petrified night still
I hear the stifled voices of nemesis rise for the dust.
Written : December 5, 2018
January 19, 2020
Contest : Strand No 650, Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor : Brian Strand
There is a stain
unscathed by time
where elders' hands
were left behind
with scars of gropes
and breach of trust
upon dear Innocence
guilt was thrust
The pattern was set
The victim was made
But wisdom grew
with love and age
New Innocence
climbed arduously out
from underneath the shade
by reclaiming the self
the essence he stole
the nightmares she finally stayed
long at last
to awaken whole
Innocence smiled
warmed by the light of this day.
Finally, my inventions did pay,
Your music, often got air-play,
Life had been extremely good,
Even though day-by-day,
We often misunderstood,
Why the road was so arduously laden,
With the affairs our lives had undertaken.
Somehow, we weathered that turbulent storm,
Deceiving ourselves, this was the norm,
Now that the tempest has faded,
And our memories are considerably jaded,
Is there any possible way?
Our love could ever be reborn?
Let me see the stars twinkling bright
hidden in the shadows of a cold dark night.
Measure the distance of where you be
to a point directly focused above me
stretching open arms across the sea.
Here my voice whispering among stars I claim
speaking your familiar beloved name.
Let the wind carry my heart to your wait
to that place where you arduously create
smiling, waiting at the garden gate.
Breathe in the jasmine and magnolia
scent the air sweet and unashamed in ambrosia
graced by the color and simple grandeur of a nova..
Let me see the stars where angels fear to tread
and as I raise my hand to my head
share a selfish moment or two or three in your bed.
Cataclysmic Lovers Spirit,
Love, lover, you arrive and tame the wild spirit inside,
Set the pace, it slows to a walk to observe and feel and look and notice,
Drops of dew on a rose petal,
Pink sunsets sets, high above in a sun punched sky over a shorn green David Hockney lawn,
Cool glasses of clear perfect water quench a thirst,
And mammoth plates glass windows reflect our youthful smiles,
And our wild spirits slow to love, a simmering boil
They unfold graciously, kindly, admiringly,
And time remakes space,
Entropy changes landscapes, city-scapes, and topography
And you and me,
And the spirit’s restless,
The spirit sets a marathon at sprinters pace,
Seeking solidarity in the wilderness as the rain sets in,
Lichen covered blackened, branches and brackish water slake you now,
You arduously seek thunderous storms in stretches of cold cruel terrain,
And your spirit tumbles in long dark stretches of formidable mother Nature,
once you crashed into me, like thunder, once you pulled away from the wreckage
Stretching your spirit like a Giacometti bronze,
A spirit as Forlorn as Femme aux Bras Croisés
bereft of Joy
simple joy such as dew on a rose petal.
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