Best Ascensions Poems
TWINFLAMES
Obsidian oscillated into lava
slid across syntactic streams
tumbled thick greenwood thickets
impenetrability an intricate illusion wicked
shattering splintered sassy sinkers
Lord Ashtar himself lifted gnarled garbage
two big broken black bags to Source
split seconds of screaming searing sores
then baby posture soaked singular satin
Prophet Daniel’s prison-free prediction
Coloured lava languid loosened
yin-yang of yesteryear’s yarrows
as Watchfulness wedded yearnings
no black bumblebees boomeranged bombs
rainbow hands belled belly beckoning
Solar flares ignited twin hearts atoning
corona emissions spilling splashing space
sodalite sprinkled sundrenched shores
kaleidoscope pupils pleasing pulsing fate
Hearts purely placed on golden plate
Four eyes fathomed Guy Fawkes fickle
feuding onto a fervid foolproof floor
Stonehenge now sturdily steadily stood
sedating simple silent sleep suavely
Axis acceded alchemical ascensions
Missions matched mottoed moulded mountains
timelines merged in mossy musical movement
Justice jumping jibbing Jungian jurisdiction
Presence posied a present perfection
Dreams delivered dictums to Duet
Delicious domed desserts diffusing !
©GhairoDanielsPoetry&Song
2024
There is a body stronger than the flesh alone
it is the body of your love, that temple built of desire's stone
quarried from the chaos of your erotic emotions, shaped by destiny's moan,
where neurotic nerves, psychotic passions, fanatical faith and romantic rose chrome
are imported from the four corners of your heart, brought to the mount of your soul zone
upon here, obedience and freedom, submission and domination chalk and chisel to the bone,
the flame of Shekinah seduces spirit within and without your psychic cyclone
as age becomes an aggregate of obsession's ascensions and avalanches in cycles for you to atone,
Egyptian magicians and Phoenician mariners could only dream of your pulsing fortune,
what do magic rites and the mines of Ophir have to entice with compared to your throne
Hiram, the builder of holy royal bastions would seek the secrets of your star storm home -
J.A.B.
Oh Sweet Island! Thou tropical paradise:
Miles have I traced upon thy ceaseless reach
Of ocean-choked shorelines owed Heav’nly device
Sheltering I, this marooned guest on thine endless beach.
Safe House against left alone misery;
Whereby, alongside thine evergreen canopies full
Darwinian mysteries perched high atop their home,
Do I maintain nourished in flesh ‘n faculty
And keep this wit sharpened when blunted dull
Should become elements awash reduced but to roam;
Added all, all for sake of thine increased covenance,
That keener my eyes and keener my tongue
When my throat succumbs thine euphoric abundance;
Pink spilled over warmth -
Else-wise myself, by self, selfishly by now would’ve hung;
For if not for that which is thy sun (may thy sun also hear praise)
My sight might yet be withheld those rare flockish friends
Who keep in time the shared sweetness of functioning words;
Therefore to thee, and to they of thee, whom of wing’ed realm I appraise
As reason unsought are frenzied neurotic ends;
True thanks directed thee and thy mystic splendors; thy talking birds.
Alas, sadly, not even thou distills lunar ascensions
By which subside hopeful rays in thy sobering night;
Nor be those which aviate above as homing pigeons
With beaks to carry silent pleas where may come ends to my plight.
Thus, this I ask thee; What good is time spent when time’s spent alone?
Yes, thou provides: plentiful shelter, plentiful warmth, plentiful food
As well as fiery fuel to fend off critters of strife –
But, this be thy kingdom, not mine. Here, I sit on a remembered throne
Where days threaten months threatened by years in which strangers brood –
Oh, Sweet Warden; Relinquish me! I beg thee on behalf of slipping sanity;
Let this rambling sentence end
So I, once again, may stand by my daughter and wife.
1/28/2017
Submitted for: Tropical Island
I feel this jump start,
Then a squeeze in my heart
All because I heard you laugh
Well, any time you laughed.
Yours…
Beauty beyond reach
So I sulk in solitude of wish
I wish! I wish! I wish!
For in you alone, I cherish
This glorious scent of thine
If I can’t taste,
Let me at least perceive
I am blood of warriors
I am fully man. Not put to quail
Line of ancestral heritage,
Even the enemies’ hail
Who make men’s back staircase
For throne’s ascensions
I am Azungwu!
So my recoil is not fear
But invincible heart piercing spear
I know not how to bear
Your eyes spark like crystals
Its lenses can melt metals
Yet, I desire your kiss over medals
You are “Agbara Nwayi”
Beauty with no equal
Goddesses grumble and drawl
Envious of your exalt
But I cant help it
To theirs…
I prefer your feet
I love the shape of it
You are the last Amazon
I swear it!
The last time rain fell on you
Your silky clothes stuck like glue
I saw the full shape of you
Your twin volcanic cones
Towards me, dangle and beckons
You saw me. We saw us
You knew, you made me hot
You followed my eyes,
It rested on your honey pot
Your land of no return
Giving me a hard on
You looked up and smiled
I breathe in and died
Frank Lane
1877-1913
RS was my best friend,
A friend ever to the end.
Together we footed and mounted
The pliant limbs of the Hybrid Tree
On County Road,
And wetfully whistled,
As with birds in the warm zephyrs
Of summer solstice,
At the lassies down below,
With young and perfumed necks naked,
Ready and shivering,
For the ghost dance.
Together we skipped smooth stones,
Upon the staid surfaces
Of the state school pond,
Out back among the chicken coops
And the pig pens;
We howled and hollered,
As with hysterical night beasts,
Wild under the stars!
Together we passed scented posies to Lottie Gordon,
Our intended island of private discovery,
Our intended treasure,
Our intended Holy Grail!
And with silent tandem ascensions,
There in the enticing moon shadows,
RS and I found a home in the Gordon heights,
Inside the inviting spread-out mansion,
Of a hundred breathless whispers.
A friend asked this simple?? question,
which provoked this universal answer session.
Why wake and get out of bed each morn?
My goddess!! I adore each fresh dawn.
For starters - there's life,
each day a chance to lessen strife.
Pour loving oil on ideas for war,
til each one's a satisfied locked door.
Every heart that's broken,
can be given a healing token.
dark entities that games enjoy,
our emotional ties to employ,
In devious slavers' play subtle,
my golden threads do easily scuttle.
and that's just before my 3rd dimensional coffee break,
while in bed starting physical actions to wake.
To align all within the gestalt's design,
the body must to the day's mandala resign.
Release the need society's matter brings,
Let NOW through and destiny's purpose sings.
Now, coffee imbibed there's work to do
3 breaths and bulwarks of protection are strengthened too.
this day needs - a dozen souls to be freed,
in several more, ascensions goals to seed.
but I hope you get the drift,
this is my list to shift.
Yours is unique to your own soul,
Intention is all that is needed to fill that bowl.
Ask and it will be given,
Concede to serve and despair will be riven.
Useful joy will companion your days,
this is what universal Source says.
777
Written 22 June 2018 in response of a special lady's question on Facebook.
Submitted to Contest by Dear Heart
Your favourite poem for June 2018
,
Tonight I died Cold and lonely,
Caught between regret and peace.
Life hereafter for me will cease,
but not from existence;
Rather from cruel intentions,
inflected pain from a host of honorable mentions.
journeys of ascensions and descents into madness;
Surely they are my birth right.
For Fortnights I have contemplated,
Indecisive with the notion;
Poisoned by dreams and haunted by quotation.
The part of me that has passed shall no longer be mourned;
Goodbye dear self, hello dear scorned.
Form:
Anti-Poem — “Baxter Street Monday”
me trudging walking
gripping onward forward
traipsing baxter street monday
and its steep inclines
going up like a dizzy sparrow
passing vertical merry go rounds
the sly moulin rouge turnabouts
that sip spit with maraschino endives
scanning thighs ripe with hard-ons
the stoner pink boys
lost in rainbow cul-de-sacs
lost amidst the traffic tirades
the propelling grind of accelerators
up up and onward everlasting
floating hovering over shy ascensions
in ravenous echo park
me scratching grinding like steel death
holding tight the skin wheel
trudging baxter street monday
the morning reality suspensions
the daily cyclotron of kidney exertions
of ascending footsteps moving skinward
now racing down baxter street monday
descending and plummeting
passing vertical merry go rounds
the sly moulin rouge turnabouts
i see my sista rosa gonzalez
she be screaming down with wet wings
sending love bouquets to my los angeles
A time for atonement is finally here,
where Jews become reflective about
their lives,
wondering if they have been too critical
or permissive with lies,
Forgiveness and a change of heart come into play,
Purging, and cleansings help to ensure better days,
The awareness to atone is huge and monumental,
wiping the slates clean from being harsh ad judgemental,
The mind becomes free from all its prejudices and unfair assumptions,
A day of atonement allows spirits their own liberations and ascensions.
Peeling Back the Bubble Wrap
Peeling back the bubble wrap on the ancient of days,
Back to when Nixon was still presiding,
He, leading with paranoid deliberations,
Sold his yeses to the Goldbricks, and the Mustard Men;
And while he was dipping into the rubbery tides of the latex surfers,
I found your shadowy pointing breasts, shivering outside my backdoor.
You were standing in the dark, waiting for me to turn the key…
1973 was the year you taught me how to love a woman;
You, at 21 years, and me, ensconced in the stereo-lit darkness,
Of my dimly-lit bedroom on Hoover street;
You, wearing a wool skirt and that ruffled low-curving blouse,
With those tan buttons, like a half dozen corks, ready to be popped,
And you, sitting at my black upright piano,
The 1907 Schumann, made of stubborn black mahogany, and
You, with your long curved nails, femininely tapping the ivories,
Soliciting an intimate song I have since forgotten, but can still hear,
Your cylindrical tan legs pressing the piano pedals,
Like a fragile dancer made of fine glass, and
You, exploring human desire with determined pressings.
And then, into your garlanded home we strolled,
Hand in hand; And with our lips, we cleared the stoney path
Leading into the sun garden, amongst the cats and the posies,
And found astonished silhouettes behind the peephole.
Still peeling back the bubble wrap on the ancient of days,
Back to when my door was locked, and a green candle burned therein;
I saw you in the naked flickering, riding the tree of silver ascensions,
And with five pulsing fingers, I eagerly picked your finest flowers, over there,
Inside the throbbing, sun-lit bed of this poised sun garden; then,
You told me you loved me. Told me what I never wanted to hear,
“Even now, with me on top of you, in this silent grinding darkness,
I cannot bring myself to lie and say, ‘I love you.’
There is something about you I don’t want to know.
Yours is a long and complicated book I do not wish to read.
Your mind I cannot calibrate, or truly understand, so…I am sorry.
I deserve to be called an ass, deserve to be brushed off like a gnat, but
With you, my shoes never seemed to fit. My ears never seemed to hear.”
...when the copter went down, witnesses heard you scream…
“I am truly sorry.”
I have climbed the highest mountains
I have stepped into the lowest valleys
my ascensions high
my devotions high
In my Lord my God
my sadness I lay low twix the horizon
Embraced high in the arms of my God
I lay down dormant for sleep under the sun
on top of land
And if I perish in my slumber
this I will remember
In The arms Of God I am
1/31/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
slanting sun
kissing the ocean
her face torn
uncertainty
wide open eyes
arched eyebrows
an old bridge
life is beautiful
we were drinking
fermented red grapes
the passion the warmth
hidden the fire under the
clear skin
i could feel i am resisting
temptation is passion
a fire wild fire of
yellowish red
spreading
the need
to unite
what is sin
is love a sin
we are scared to love
genital fire
nocturnal ascensions
in the empowering garden
of darkness
tiny lights of the dying city
across the near silent
lakes
we are confessing to each other
open yet controlled
what is a sin
Form:
overwhelming ascensions
unrevealed pretensions
shrouded mystery
the tall trees are speaking
insects are coming
repelling chemicals
shared experience
alien language
rigorous experiments
of ardent love
Form:
I have climb ed the highest mountain I stepped down to the lowest valley
My ascensions nigh?
My devotion it's set on high
2/3/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
sirius moving closer
aligning in orion's belt
we are whirling in the
galactic center of love
accelerations and ascensions
of higher vibrations
new codes of love
wheels of energy
synchronised
we are healing our wounds
through forgiveness
aug 9 2016
Form: