Best Ambit Poems
It's never anything big, just a nagging defeat
Of wanting to be exclusive in your ambit,
For in your eyes, I see an opportune disguise
Living as a friend of genuine vibes gone awry.
It was the zealous-moon you adored with glee
When romantic vibes you scripted about me,
Fussing about moon-spot of slight imperfection
Looking at my face, hinting coy comparison.
When I lauded our pond's white lotus flowers
You admired silence of the ripples in water
Singing praises of existence so ephemeral,
Never denying you compared it to our love.
Being impulsive, you stole a rose from garden
Handing it to me like borrowed ardent charm.
As I held it in gratitude for its delicate beauty
It pierced my heart with its anguished thorns.
You take me places, pleasantly well-meaning
But when I get there, I'm left feeling alone
For you traverse a lone-orbit on your own
Leaving me to tangle by your rotational force.
When you ask me, if love still burns our flame,
I simply want to say, love has changed its name
For time has falsified what we once meant,
No more can I bear brokenhearted sunsets.
January 29, 2018
First place: One in five contest by Joseph May
Placed 2nd: Strand select 11 by Brian Strand
Categories:
ambit, heartbreak, love hurts,
Form:
Free verse
Four walls
Sat destitute
within four walls
of her citadel,
Embellished in gold
and pricey diamonds,
Adorable silky cher
in vast ambit,
Waiting and waiting,
days after days
till the war will end,
For her prince to return
victorious, in jubilance.
Longing soft heart,
Abandoned in walls
of riches, dignity
kindness and valiance,
With no privilege
of freedom,
A tearful soul
eating her heart.
Not a mere breath,
She is an esprit
with subtle thrust,
She is an essence
beyond four walls,
That else embalm
and macadamize.
Written Feb 24th, 2016
For contest by Chase
Now entered for "Any poem #38" poetry contest by PD A
Categories:
ambit, angst, freedom, happiness,
Form:
Free verse
First blush fountain azimuth of hued rays
wet patio shrub basket in the haze
zealous heartland tower cry as life force
celebrate and savour August rare days
Magenta skylines cluster silken clouds
blue ocean colour eyes that worship shrouds
a fancy surreal canvass so divine
it mesmerises jubilant bright crowds
Summer fun arcades stoke our dream world mind
gasps of red tint bliss a peak season find
earthbound poise dilates refulgent cascade
rocking beach tune fare blurs dark strain purblind
Sapphire plinths that anchor stoic ambit
vision on parade my high rise gambit
traipse amid the dahlia euphoric
seventh heaven rapture’s cloud nine orbit
Categories:
ambit, beautiful, birth, celebration, dream,
Form:
Rubaiyat
Written: January 04, 2025 For Contest Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Line of inquiry:
“free from conditioned belief
no agenda on our shelf
vibrant as the light of Self
life flows on all by itself”
________________________________
Our peaceful place is a serene stillness,
Freed of a firm grasp of the familiar isthmus.
No steered ambit, no behests to satiate,
No truncated quest, or toils for tribal vitiate.
Sepia slate chutzpah, the soul's shining spark,
Diaphanous slivers and mullions pinpoint its stark.
Life lingers as leaping strides send quads convulsions,
A ceaseless cascade, a haunting mix of red, casts visions.
In the serene sanctuary, spirits shall plane,
Freed from the fetters of borrowed strain.
A stream surges, unscathed by dim schemes,
Radiating tinsel, reflecting radiant gleams.
Bathed in moonbeams, velvet drapes create a pearly gleam,
Amid enticing melody, toads hatched a fantastic dream.
This tale, a paper-thin silken gown of a gliding string,
A seed root segment fixed to the probe, splendidly cling.
Like leaves rowdy from autumn's fickle breath,
We shed imposed beliefs, escape false death.
Roots reach deep where truth alone can mend,
Untouched by fears that others' wills may send.
No nagging neuroses of self-control and vanity,
Gleefully fair breathing, obnoxious bully of inanity.
Liberated from loads, major culprits in building tension,
Unbridled, freed seaworthiness of untested dissension.
A quiet loot, winning gentleness upon a serene face,
Liberty lolls, luster trails hemmed in balsam firs and grace.
No view marred, no stance clutched, just paideia and piety,
Simply splendid, no spiders in their webs or anxiety.
Categories:
ambit, analogy, freedom, spiritual,
Form:
Rhyme
The earliest thought- I was a blind rock: mineral feeling of an uncut idol, my pressed wings induce a false sleep. I don't trust me as part of a building because my frozen nerves are still related to bloody business and my stability depends on old things' roots. Like a snail in the memory's spiral I make slow circles in a Levantine tower, living places are overlapping to form an upright native land, a growing mirror with all my moments in a wintery evangelical succession, annular heads raising from a well where peoples' liquid mind mix. I can hardly bear it, wearing fancy clothes I try to cover the mythological Meat, the inhuman side of the flesh, the anatomic stains. Drinking tea I clean my conscience, oh, lovely furniture and fine art objects, do you realize that I'm completely happy in your abstract presence? Do you realize that you keep my eternity in precious fragile eggs? You bloom at the end of the matter, you touch the other sky, the brown heavy sky polished by silvery cats-indefinite slippery ideas about beauty, the intimate effort of a deeply ploughed woman in order to cicatrize herself. The meadow's malachite door is open, I can see the primary glaucos mass of terrible friends, butterfly marrow, the viscous veins of raw angels, my negative steps under the ruined house, our unforgettable bodies swimming in the magma. So, I'm a resting beast between fish and bird, nothing is totally seen or totally heard, this light Protection, the transparent humanism is the only glamour of the organism.
Categories:
ambit, analogy, angel, art, beauty,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
STILL WATERS
Cautious on a determined curious observation
Ceaselessly burying my mind in the grave of fables
A believe that truth lies within the ambit of rumours
Obsessed with this stupid incessant search for the truth
Stupid! They said; more stupid it visibly appears
Only the death of the faithful will be laid at the feet of the unfaithful.
There is an escape path; but we always come back
No matter how far we run; the truth runs after us
It will only take a day to restore normality; just a wish
Maybe if wishes were horses; the destitute could ride
Just as wishes keep being wishes; the poor becomes poorer
Imagination is more important than knowledge; the patterns are invisible.
The early warnings came earlier than expected
We read the will to forgive our enemies; not our friends
She is harmless; at least, so I assumed for long
She is one of a kind; one not capable of deceit; I thought
In for more than a surprise; she did the unthinkable
The sayings now understood; still waters run deep...
Lordvip
Categories:
ambit, art, truth,
Form:
Blitz
swift, creeping cat, bellying
lightlessly across
the backyards by night
a Cimmerian shadow with dun
short-haired quickness
not
so easily
caught
along the mottled sidewalk
the bounds of the city blocks, cast slight
beneath the dappling yellow of the
street lamps
a coloring
almost unseen ( for its own sake,
unseen )
a feline faith
dining on mice heads and rape wine, and
long adapting
daydreams
desire but bits and baubles of unfettered
fate
free and stupid to winnow its own blue
ambit and way, its own quirky
arc
blue guitars tuned with cat gut, oh
strings of mouser stomachs and bladders
twisted, tight weaves to
seized and
plucked
notes
( by fingers that once strung the
bow )
Categories:
ambit, allegory, allusion, america, anger,
Form:
Free verse
Matris Dei caeli et terrae
Quam dulce, quam sancte, quam pulchra es
In quo mihi quotidie cupit
Veni ad me saties gratiarum
Illud etiam nunc in omnibus!
Solium tuum perstat in caelo
Nemo potest vincere.
Tempore evertens tua potentia est
Quisque subsunt sua.
Radix est ante saecula,
*****non capere potest.
Tua auctoritas ambit omnia,
Nemo potest ponere terminum.
Your essentia et esse est infinita,
Non est qui semper superstes potest!
O mater dolor
Exaudiat te genuit
Terra autem occiderunt vos
Per tuum, et vivam dolor in terra
Donec requiescat in sinu tuo?
Categories:
ambit, birth, devotion, earth, heaven,
Form:
Free verse
To love or not to love a woman? Which
is better? To love and love well is good
so long they who love love without falsehood
as their twain hearts so compel and make rich
love's treasures. As friend, she's best: never pitch
a lady-friend into a lover, should
her all precious friendship and lady-hood
be injured and make her a hateful witch.
But, alas, to love God is best! Not I,
but the aims of this life and Destiny
make it so that men like me must decry
love's ambit for a life of poverty.
Although, if God wills it, love will find me
in heaven's field,--in heaven's golden lea!
Categories:
ambit, friendship, god, heaven, love,
Form:
Sonnet
Out of the pot of Nature's Heritage we were created.
The taste of originality to savor, such novelty to behold.
Fearfully and wonderfully adorned with a spirit nurtured as a replica of our being.
A magnificent culture of beauty who have under-taken as a task,
In the misconception of thousand ways to keep such aesthetics alight.
Rather than lived out the beauty of our souls,
Focusing on the weightier matters, are fastened on outward frivolities.
Baked earth marked with easy simplicity and freedom from artificiality.
Rather left a congenital appearance to be remarked, remodeled and redesigned with embellishments.
Who can find a virtuous woman, for her price is far above rubies.
Consider the great beauty in the heart of the Queen of many Queens.
One of Esther, a fair and beautiful maid of whom the royal crown was placed upon her head.
Bore and carried upon her shoulder the pains and burdens of her people, travailed much but overcame.
Abigail, a woman of good understanding and a beautiful countenance with graciousness,
Averted the mischief wrought by Nabal her churlish husband.
Reflect on the beauty of the courage Deborah seised, serving as a judge to the Lord's people.
Fought in the face of danger as Sisera was sold into her hands.
Contemplate the amount of love Tabitha a woman full of good works and alms-deed possessed,
That even at death her folks would rather she lived again than lay helpless to death.
Ex-cogitate the excellency of the fulfillment of everlasting covenant,
The lord established through a seed from the barren womb of Sarah.
Ruminate over the determination of a virtuous Ruth,
From a low estate Mary, blessed among all women of whose seed is the king of kings.
A chew-over ambit an acquisition of a quintessential perspective.
Categories:
ambit, beautiful, beauty, bible, christian,
Form:
Didactic
Far from the madding crowd
I treasure the myths you gone through
Once I walk down the streets of legends
Even the weeping dusts reminds me of
Bloods, who immolated their lives to you.
Oh Calcutta! You live with a pride
For ages you are loved
They valued glory above life itself
When they speak of valiance
And guns are still fired in the air
Withal due respect of those souls
Who deserved their nascence
In the realm of your freedom.
Oh Calcutta! You live with an honesty
Not because of the madding crowd
Because you are blessed with eternity
As she flows with her gentle ripples
That streams the ambit of almighty purity
When I voyage down the river
I breathe the air of immortality.
Far from the madding crowd
I travel down the busy streets of the city,
The antique edifices still provides me with
The evidence of such superiority,
Walls still fends against the political conspiracy.
Oh Calcutta! You live with prosperity
Though affected by the madding political crowd
Once you were ruled by the dwellers
Now your sanity being destroyed immensely
By your own posterity
Living in the land of divinity
Of goddesses Durga and Kali
And they still feigned that they are native.
Oh Calcutta! You live with heritages
Not beacuse of the busy primal edifices
But you have the world known aged cantilever bridge
And over a century living the tramways.
Your marbles are still gloried by the dwellers
And they still wonder the hand pulled rickshaws
And admire for the age old alleys.
Far from the madding crowd
I still come across the pavements by the busy roads
Coins dropping with bimetallic sounds in the beggar's bowl
The vendors hallooing with prices on a rhythmical prose
And as I step ahead, I find my foot stuck in the crud mid of the road.
Oh Calcutta! You still live with diversity
Not beacuse of the poor and rich
But you still have few people left helping you in needs
You still have one culture you were born with
Hindu-Muslims celebrating together both Id and Autumn fests
Joining their hands with the christians when December ends.
Oh Calcutta! You still live with your beauty
Not only beacuse you have the beautiful bengali adorned brides
But you still have the chapters of noetic minds
You still exist with love and peace
Only when I find you far from the madding crowded streets.
Categories:
ambit, dedication, nostalgia, people, urban,
Form:
Free verse
Penumbric Fringe
David J Walker
The lateness of the hour
Measured in the meter of the
News-mans message
The Hour is Late
But not come
Cries the downtown crier
The lateness of the hour
With unrealized power
From the sun
But then
They will be they
Won’t they
They are the one-word
Future
The lateness of the hour
Is Time
And time again
Repeated in
Ambit chaos
Within the penumbric fringe
Categories:
ambit, allegory,
Form:
Rhyme
Here I stare
And sketch myself living
Timing every breath
But the clock remains still
Not a moment passes
An entire existence to spare
One complete
And nothing
Nowhere or time to go
Trapped here
In this ominous setting
Afloat in this once purgatory
Then once more and again
Impalpable designs charcoaled
Shading my ambit in silhouettes
Every turn I take muted
By the shadows of obscurity
Categories:
ambit, introspection, life, people, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
(In the late 1300's, veteran painter Barna of Siena
was killed when he fell from the scaffolding whilst
working on "The Crucifixion", the final panel of his
fresco cycle in the Church of the Collegiata, in San
Gimignano, central Italy.)
I'll mount the scaffold first, sir. Mind the rail -
at one point there, it's not reliable.
Oh, careful, sir. I'm flattered you should come
from - Monteriggione, is it? - here
to view the work in progress. As you see,
- that rail, sir - the scheme is an ambitious one.
You have the standard scriptural episodes
arranged before you. Here, my Crucifixion
- unfinished, need I say? - in pride of place.
The pinnacle, and culminating piece!
Oh sir, you're kind. You like the cobalt ground?
I know my limitations. No, it's true.
I'm past the time in life when confident morn
returns upon the awareness, like a song
remembered. See my hair? Once chestnut-gold,
where now it is not knotted with hard paint,
the years have slowly snowed the color off.
I'll never go to Florence now. No, no,
I mean it. I'm no longer sure I want to.
We work on this commission - there's my son
below, mixing the plaster - which is fine.
I'm not an angel. God chose not to shower
astounding gifts on me - no, hear me, sir! -
as on his Chosen Ones. I don't resent it
- not now. For man, there's no escape from work.
Our ambit was determined by The Fall.
And if I do this task, and do it well,
do I not please my God? And think again -
a thousand toilers in December mud
in earshot of these bells would switch with me
tomorrow, counting themselves blessed. Here
I'm quiet, I direct the work, and if
not warm, I'm neither rained nor spat upon -
that's something. No, I can't say that I'm happy.
It seems to me that few are born to that,
lead lucky lives, have touched the Savior's hem.
Who of the rest of us, if honest, can
claim to be happy? Well, I certainly can't.
Categories:
ambit,
Form:
Blank verse
The mind fractures
and motes grow roots
beneath fabrication.
These are my eyes that see
another reality, where shadows crawl
like fingers upon a chalk board,
and torrent that spews from my tongue
is a voice I’ve never heard,
all that history buried beneath pseudo-reality
an angel mum who folded her wings
to ride the devil bare-back
and a sister who seduced
her father, her brother, a façade mother
releasing this monster in me.
He did no wrong
just stepped a little to close,
shattered the ambit of personal space
until I could lick his cologne,
-bastard-
fouling my shroud, threatening my superiority.
(why is it always surprise
that leaks from their eyes,
when bone and blade are fused)
I am negative god,
shearing a rib to take life;
returning all to dust
and steel is my power, my glory
for ever and ever.. amen.
His (my) fear lingered,
staining the air infecting my (his) lungs;
his (my) screams lightning in my brain
as I carved sin from his (my) smile.
There was flesh, red, raw flesh,
like road-kill scattered across the golden mile;
a menstruation of moonless blood,
pooled with sweat and urine.
-so sweet, sensual-
[This wasn’t me]
Quickly now,
spear the eyes like lollipops;
“see no evil”
Split the tool of lies;
“speak no evil”
Take the possibility of truth;
“hear no evil”
This man (me?),
lining the gutter like an unfinished take-away,
the main course of rats buffet,
with a long crooked smile
beneath the place it ought to be,
and I,
floundering in a maelstrom
of ecstasy from this person
that is (not) me.
Categories:
ambit, death
Form:
Free verse