The sea laps the shore,
whilst the sand receeds into
its cold blue temptress.
Oystercatchers sqwark,
their long beaks beaconing
the summer solstice.
Upon the clifftops,
weathered walkers feel the breeze,
adrift by sundown.
Day 0 - End to End Trip Poetry Works.
04.30.2025
Angels are almost silent
Subtle
treadbare steppers
subliminal stalkers
determinedly quiet
except at choir
a pair of cherubic hums
can equivalate
to the drones
of a billion bees.
Can you separate
the noises
of bouncing sparrows
on wet sands,
from belly-down
thin-skinned slitherers
roaming in beds of grass -
obscenely dense,
from burglarizing ants at a picnic party?
Angels are seen
since they come to visit.
Unannounced,
but friendly faces
beaconing
like lighthouses.
Their halogen coronets
fulgurate and exorcise
diabolical agency.
Other angels may be noticed.
An invasive host
shod in threatening boots
dangling peace and safety
but entangling angles
strangle.
Hopes
course
in descension:
brambles
boulders
ports of fire.
asleep to awake in the
dreamless world of dreams,
where perception and reality,
have merged and lost their identity,
where the mist of reason is so thick,
that delusions guide the way,
purpose and direction is unknown,
but the journey is still made,
slowly through treacherous paths,
fear of death lurks but dread of life is more,
in those undefined vague wanderings
is a kindle of hope, that something
somewhere will jolt things to be right,
making reason takeover, and some
divine wisdom would light up,
the muffled silence in the ears
would be greeted by bird songs,
the paths will open up into green apple orchards,
a river would flow to its own rhythm,
and life would pulsate to reassure again,
that life is real, there are no dreams,
reason smiles like a lipsticked beautiful damsel,
beaconing to follow her to new opportunities.
And I follow as told….. to find,
cessation! Cessation of mangled uncertainty,
and glimpse of a new hope, a new beginning.
"Whole Wheat"
Trench coats
Pantyhose
Riding lo
Knee high
Nehi soft
Drink
Drunk
Drinkers
Drunk on a
Plasibo
Please no
Tell me it's no
Lie
Laying on like
Mayo laid on
I'm toasted
Tomato
Lettuce but no
Bacon beaconing that
I'm vegan BURP
My lactose
Baby
Can we hang
Out before
I kill the
Ah...
Conversation
Turning to views
Of political intrigue
Triggering
My AK-47
Mouth to
Shout
Out out loud
Loudly tattarrattat
Meaning
Absolutely
Unrefutably
And
As usual
Casually
Nothing
In any of the
USA God save
The queen of the
King James
Joyce hidden
In Gideon Bible
Phrases proclaiming
A swerve of short
Of a short to a
Bend
A way
A lone
At last
Loved
Loved long
As Adam and Eve
Long
And for
Always will
And always will
Cyclically forever
Endlesslessly ever
Be
Along a distant path,
Rife with fog and and glimmers of plant life
A melodic sting slices through the heavy air.
The high notes almost pinch ones eardrums,
The low notes luring you to sleep.
Lines on a page forming one unknown melody,
Filled with highs and lows,
Fast and slow,
A story only some can hear.
The melody teases the ones walking,
Beaconing them to follow but always staying away
Hidden among the hanging willow leaves.
Only the ones who can read every peak or drop,
To figure out the maze,
Can find the source among the wisps.
Music is found to entertain,
To raise you up and push you down,
To encourage.
But only some can feel what really goes into a piece,
To be able to flow with the lines,
To forget the page and leave reality behind.
To find themselves floating in a forgotten fantasy,
Forming that unknown melody,
Tempting others to follow,
And to join.
The God has gifted in shower
With intensed innocence in you.
I behold you in awed silence,
For you promise ecstasy in me.
I connect my forehead on yours
In thanking the God for gifting you.
Moreso, it connects our sublime hearts,
Building the subtle bond unbreakable.
I trust you dear, in completeness,
And mumble prayers for you, sincerely.
God in me shall keep beaconing you,
In guiding and crafting you.
The statue in you shall I sculpt
Into the perfect form, refining you,
For you are the confidence and the truth
Must lay hands for better humanity.
For the God gifted you, my dear, to me,
This is the gift that I give you with all my heart.
30/06/2021 Mystic Rose Rose The Gift That I Give You Poetry Contest
Paths..
We meander through the appearing paths of our days.
Paths appear as other paths disappear.
The path less traveled often offered as sage advice.
Finding our own unique path is another prompt.
And there are some stops suggesting our need for rest.
So many paths with beaconing ends..and the clock ticking.
Awaiting, apparently, a simple sign on some path some day:
This is it..!!
Luscious leaves brush against my face,
pulsing veins deep enough to trace
time with a wind gust embrace.
Maroon, copper, gold they dangle
glistening to sunset's angle
with zeal of wind chime's bangle.
Lully leaves descend freestyle
becoming a striking pile
beaconing a playful smile.
Before dried crunches can accrue,
lively, I toss a pile at you
and you become a child too.
1/21/2021
The Glance.
A casual glance across a crowded street
Amid all the hustle and bustle of tramping feet.
Unblinking eyes that hold...but do not stare
Twinkling hello...without a care.
Glossy lips part and pucker...at the start of a smile
But this does not form...for many a while.
Painted fingers flex and bend at the start of a wave
Then decide...I am not that brave.
An arrogant shake...a toss of the head sending long brown hair
Cascading...beaconing...and saying...just what are you doing over there.
That casual glance across that crowded street
What a shame that we shall never...ever...meet.
I never have the right words to say..
It feels the people i look up to, look at me then look away..
Im not formal enough, nice enough..
just blunt and straight up in a world that's f**ked up
Maybe im like RZA and just dont give a F**k
Might as well go silent as im treated invisible anyway
Like the girl i crushed on in 11th grade..
She only loathed me and made my sky feel gray
My voice doesnt mean anything to anyone as i shout out the pain in black matter
A cosmic stir inside my soul storms and sends my heart beats off course
The sun flares like the ends of my hair, bringing to life my own personal nightmares
A gift to the world for the loneliness i feel
Or maybe its just a coincidence and i need to be blue pilled...
All i know is im breaking on the inside as the outside markings stain my skin
Tattoos from my reminiscence of days spent
Sevens they look like as i ponder it... Skyrim shout words of power..something i wish my soul could do as i hold the pain within
Another perfectly vain, veiny friend.
Another thing they will mock me for im sure
Until the end
Your coffee locks as soft as silk,
incensed with rich vanilla milk,
exotic as southern isles
extend for nautical miles
against tamarind skin flowing,
like radiant sunbeams glowing
upon my dreamy fixation,
beaconing my exploration.
1-3-2020
Wandering out in silence
I was waiting in a section
To be transferred to a better one, I think.
They found me gentle and sober, I hope.
The other night, a girl freaked out
In our daily group meet-up
She was calm after a while, and she had to.
I was about to listen to a song
Sound of silence, a myth, I believe
Much later, than before.
Blindness bleeds in darkness, fed by silence,crave for beauty, hungry even more.
Cold places in darkness keep on beaconing a fragile, vulnerable prophecy.
Did they see Guantánamo Bay?
Flip the side, or else
Adore the silence
In an inevitable inability of communication.
7/25/2019
Sound of silence Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
"Water is the gift of life,
That makes things grow just right
So full of energy and power,
Providing light to every home and tower
By itself it can cleanse,
Dirt or an original sin
Sometimes we find ourselves in hot water,
By creating some kind of bother
Occasionally we are on thin ice,
For behavior not so nice
I prefer smooth still water,
Like a heartfelt moment that matters
Or a misty rain that falls,
Beaconing me with its call
To witness the nourishment it brings,
To every plant, tree or living thing
Including me ,
With a buoyancy
That keeps my head above water,
And a confidence I won’t falter
Because the water in the river accepts,
My burdens without regret
Floating them away,
So I am free, today"
Loves Event Horizons (Choka)
Wind that fills your sails.
Sea of madness causing swell.
What is in you that propels.
That surges beneath.
Urge of invisible reach.
Marionettes under string.
We, the puppet pawns.
Those who stand with faces drawn.
Pathetic, prophetic, long.
Beseiged, all along.
Heart-gate cogs, drawn open, maw.
Waiting, spinning our heart-wheels
For that shining feel.
To take upon us it's steel.
Take us under whirlpools draw.
Thief, sage, shortest straw.
Open unto us, seventh seal.
Port cull us, then stare in awe.
At needs' muscle beach.
Greed's lusty salt of the sea.
Jason and Jill's Odyssey.
We, Sirening deep.
Eyes like searchlights beaconing.
Tide-holds-never-weakening.
07/09/2019
Jude Fernando Herrick
( MrFernando )
Image #2
Proud pirate flag, peacock, pumpernickel pie,
Perfumed prairie pinwheels, paper two-ply.
Happy hanging homebody having healthy hi.
Heaving hitting heartfelt Harry hopping high.
Ballooning blissful blossoms beaconing blue Babe,
Luxurious lumberjack licking lemonade.
Merry mashing marshmallows mysteriously made.
Fine frolicking French frankfurters fearful and afraid.
It is fun to throw some alliteration into a poem like this.
My brain is laughing at the silliness, it’s like a gentle kiss.
So when you think I have no more ideas, I am simply out.
Make a list of P words, or K words, and give a little shout.
Your ready muse will be happy that you are writing anything down.
It might not make any sense at first, but it will stop a little frown.
The thing is to keep the pen moving or the fingers across the keys.
Your muse so excited, when you make cute little poems like these.
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