Best Bioluminescent Poems
Become my air,
pursuing my scent
in sweet fragrant fields,
where devouring tastes
of bohemian spirit,
delicately descend
in subsistent sighs.
Distracting the
tones of silence,
from subtle susurrus echoes,
like a tender
sakura breeze
kissing fresh
lavender blossoms.
Set adrift in
shades of yesterday,
dandelions bloom
in flourishing orchards,
prostrating to the
mercy of your grace.
But tread carefully
through
the hall of
dream crashers,
where strange streams
from nightmarish tears,
drizzle down,
composing
somber serenades,
choreographed
from an
enchanted symphony.
For l've seen the
invisible reality,
twinkling across streetlights
of sumptuous stars.
Distance is
an unspoken truth,
just a rainbow
away from roaming freely,
within an
evergreen paradise
above bougainvillea skies.
If this was the last poem,
before my last sigh,
today will be the day,
red of rose will
kill my bleeding ink,
so let lyrical acrolect
of poetry fill your thoughts,
look for 'you' and 'I
in the island of love,
where there's no
thunder without lightning,
nor “sea" without 'waves of us'
These distractions
of desolated dunes
are mere signs
of the wounded warrior
within me.
I'm waltzing through
vibrant valleys of white lilies,
in the hope of finding
lost gravity,
which overcomes trials and trepidation.
l'll always be your
lighthouse on lonely nights,
at the edge of
bioluminescent sand lines.
A haven where your
clusters of couplets,
will transcribe an
alchemist's poetic remedy.
Each verse will portray the
personal poem of my soul,
infused in a
profusion of soothing
cosmic hues.
As raindrops kiss
your face, they'll heal
those lamenting
leather lips-
for you are
the wind carrying clouds,
I am the ripples
crying to touch your sky.
Between paper-soft
worlds of fragile
imaginations,
I float upon those
gossamer tulips
that split every
second of saccharine
musings and
eclipsed confessions,
distinguishing all
photoelectric synonyms
of lachrymose
stimuli towards
glassy manipulations
of blood-fragranced sun.
Everything that is
sown in sweetened
textures of afterglow-soil,
always blossoms upon
decayed fossils of
frivolous fates, as
balanced bullets have
forever pierced
through the pulpy
sheaths of nature's
rainbow-blankets,
but their aged roots
always adorn nourishing
gemstones of
ephemeral healing,
to spread their wise
branches across earth's
mirrors, as the thin
veil disappears.
What is the raven-spade
-hearted impulse
without its nascent yet
succulently flowing
snow-white mist?
What if, reality speaks
of those skies smitten with
hypnotic illusions of
chess-shaped horizons?
Have yin and yang ever
repelled each other's
rusty-maroon notes
that they whisper in
immortal prelude?
We have remained
skillfully blindfolded to
the isles of inceptions,
swirling amidst ripples
of diamond-kismet
estuaries, washing away
consciences with
diplomatic dewdrops
of frosty maple fog.
Tending to forget that,
we are mere syzygy knights,
crawling along
slanting seesaws as
bioluminescent bishops.
Our schizophrenic
threads have been
tied to the aroma of
poisoned satin within
these final alphabets of
enchante´ epitaphs,
where life will be
the last organ grinder
of karma, playing
an evanescent checkmate
which shall ascend
every soulful spirit
beyond Persephone's
penumbral embrace.
In the middle of the night,
when the butterflies
dance to the moon's song,
I create constellations
with the map of my soul,
allowing astral lights
across feathery skies
to guide my chrysalis
heart back to an avenue
of cosmic reveries.
I lay in a bed of
delicate petals,
and dream-catchers
designed in emerald
swallowtails.
They remind me
of how I found my home
in the gossamer warmth
of your lunar
struck presence.
And when sirens echo,
across silent seas,
distant muse ebb and
flow symphonies of
mystical mermaids-
grieving at the
outskirts of
bioluminescent shores.
For in your absence,
I long to hear your voice,
as the crystal clear
crescent glimmers,
amidst the fragile truth,
floating above
a flurry of glass-winged
jitters, that camouflage
with hypnotic tales
lost in the air.
Tonight I’ll lock
my pollen dusted
dreams in slumberland..
where peacock pansies
interwoven with
pastel peonies,
would be tucked
beneath sweet
scented sheets..
Your love is the
perennial blanket
to all my
nocturnal fears,
as hieroglyphic runes
of life rhapsodize
a lyrical elixir for the
shifting spheres,
whilst change is cloaked
in mellifluous hues,
unraveling a choir
of nature,
orchestrating a
celestial chorus-
to illustrate
cloudless mornings.
My muse is a poetic flower garden,
blooming lilacs in barren meadows,
but I still remember
how I heeded haunting heartbeats
in paradise, whilst praying
for your lustrous light,
to descend onto my hazy horizons.
Your eyes like captivating sunsets,
made me dream away,
recalling shells lost in a forgotten
coral reef, castaway upon
an elusive island,
where the paths have no name,
but the oceanic breeze
calls yours so softly.
I was killing time,
scribbling elegies
on distant musical shores,
where spotted eagle rays
and flying fish were my only mentors.
Nocturnal reef sharks unfolded tales
beneath lonesome skies,
illustrating a secretive stairway
that would lead me
to the scintillating stars.
Deep within my heart,
I knew in the darkest
night you are the light
that would illuminate
my breathless sighs
with blazing ballads
rewriting my fate,
reawakening my
need to thrive through these
endless melancholic monsoons;
surfing through vast oceans.
Your cosmic radiance pulled
this chocolate mermaid,
from the bioluminescent
ripples of sorrow,
empathising with
endless streams from
my volcanic mind
and harmonious heart,
which was in dire
need of healing,
from draconian depleted
ideologies imprinted within
a labyrinth of
narcissistic daffodils,
emanating deceptive fragrances
resembling the devil's disciple,
claiming me as nothing,
but a mere self
confessed queen
on a conquest to conquer
the uncontrollable calling
to a land of virtual hypocrisy.
If only they knew
I no longer desired
to rule a kingdom of
tumultuous pretense.
I was waiting for the
return of the butterflies,
tearing apart the fragile
walls of its cocoon.
I knew if Romeo did not die,
I would be living Juliet's desires.
I was a poetess
searching for
a purpose, with no sense
to shelter, watching the
last icicle
of winter melt away.
Truth deserves a narrative
that has no ending,
though I question the universe.
Where do the
lost poets reside?
Is it where the
moon chooses to hide,
disguising dreariness
within dazzling blankets
of dancing moonscapes,
or will this be how
this sleepless soul
seizes its faultless lunar tide?
T i m e stops for no one,
as searing seconds swerve
through seasonal squalls,
thawing frost that sleeps upon
the necks of onyx roses,
where pain is etched in skeletal sins~
across pruned plumes,
fleeting through amethyst air,
merged in changing frequencies
of wind and waves,
carrying ballads of a bruised bluebird.
But I have long known grief,
and I’ve tasted the bittersweet
cocktails of life and love.
I am s i l e n c e,
swirling amidst the wheels
of dusk and dawn,
like the unseen flares
of blazing boulevards,
for I am made from ashes of steel,
strong to the eyes
that see not beyond bleeding sighs.
I waltz faster than
my fears can grasp,
the obsidian t e a r s of petals,
leaving each abstract sunset
sketched in acrylics
on murky meadows,
thriving with grieving geraniums.
O beloved moon,
I see lakes of Elysium
through the chained windows
of my tortured tower.
I breathe against the
crystalline concoctions
composed from the ink
of curved constellations,
erasing kismet calligraphies,
cluttered with chaotic conclusions,
sailing toward an astrological sphere,
where colors of love
run free against
the gravity of diabolical dust,
designed on rings of rust.
So let me save the twilight sage,
before the last drop of wintry rage
is no longer tamed by the
treacherous tongue of fate,
for I am armored against
the demonic drumrolls,
luring the splitting sea-surge
to a bioluminescent shore
where Lucifer’s footsteps linger,
caressing the edges of snakeskin,
mimicking merciless mantras
of Medusa melodies,
orchestrated in seething strings,
oblivious to the t r u t h
that I am more than
a wounded warrior,
dressed in whimsical wisterias.
I’ve learned to let go
of every faltering feather,
that blinded me,
pushing my patience
into a labyrinth of tilted tulips,
tainted with twisted tones
and hues of hypocrisy.
Remember,
I am more than the splitting paranoia,
running through corridors of uncertainty,
I am flashlights in the monsoon sky~
emanating petrichor pastels
upon nocturnal nightingales,
singing without words,
dreaming amidst trickling chords.
~ and this is the truth of trembling t i m e
that halts not for the sleeping supernovas ~
"Light Waves"
we are bioluminescent
a glimmer of hope
stardust sentient
isolated in our fate
from and through the Sun
Light waves
echoes of sound
refractions of once were
transparent
born before begun
drawn back
through the loop
baptismal
on the killshot
towards the
equal
place
the open heart
of One
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
Let your imagination take a dive
Dismiss those voices willing it to soar,
Explore the secrets hidden to mankind
And gaze at sights you've never seen before.
Take a deep breath then silently descend;
Leave restless shores and anxious thoughts behind.
Deep in the fearless ocean's azure realm,
Enchanted landscapes captivate your mind.
A world of wonders passes slowly by
As free from bonds of gravity you glide.
Through living waters rich in vibrant life
Kaleidoscopic colours coincide.
Fine gossamer of fragile life cascades
Down to the luring coral reef below,
A ballet of exotic fish parade
As bioluminescent starfish glow.
When life's adventures dangle out of reach,
Imagination holds the magic key
Just close your eyes and dare to take the plunge
To open seas of possibility.
23.08.19
'Wow me poetry contest' sponsored by Nina Parmenter
I walk along the shores of dead daffodils and daisies,
tangled in cursed roses and beach bones, in your absence~
reminiscing redolent sparks of skeletal silence,
while my heart aches to be within the arms of your midnight phrases.
But our love has stolen the moonbeams from the air,
only to be cast amongst the demons that fare,
fragmented fangs ready to inflict unearthly pain,
dancing in ritualistic reveries under the suffocating rain.
I still weave sequins of serenity into the tortured twilight,
to illuminate blazing bruises between blushing starlight.
For in this island of desolated shores,
I dream of spider veins,
screaming for a release from the tides of toxic refrains,
mirroring the voodoo iris~
within the somber soul of Medusa.
So let crimson remnants of our romance
carpet seething shells grieving~
in the bioluminescent haven of fallen angels,
where whispers of woes and abandoned ink,
translate the aroma of decomposing pleasures.
Remember I am thunder, singing the songs of the storm,
dressed in skin of sea and sorrow.
I wear the ocean like armor;
maybe one day, from the eerie sandcastles,
left along the corpse corals and plankton,
you’ll find my bleeding pendulum ~
buried in ivory stillness.
Sometimes I feel a loosening,
not a rise or fall
but a sideways slip
into the body’s secret dream~
the one it keeps folded
behind the pulse.
Inside, everything is surreal.
The ribs bloom like pale petals,
opening and closing
with a slow botanical breath.
Capillaries curl like red vines,
twining around thoughts
I haven’t had yet.
I wander deeper,
past the soft machinery
of muscle and memory,
where neurons spark
like tiny bioluminescent fish
darting through a midnight reef.
The heart meanders by~
not beating, but floating,
a warm, wandering lantern
in search of its own echo.
I follow its glow
into a chamber~
where cells gather like pilgrims,
trading stories in chemical syllables
I almost understand.
Here, my body feels ancient~
a living archive
of every dream, wound, wonder
I’ve ever carried.
And as I move through it,
I realize I’m not leaving myself
but meeting myself
in places I never knew existed.
An inner-body experience~
not escape,
but entry
into the surreal biology
that has held me
all these years.
The southern slope kept a secret—
a slight tear where a shadow learns to grow.
I felt the pulse that pulled me in,
past where the daylight breaks,
down to where the cold, clear water flows.
The entrance wore a veil of living lace,
stretched tight across the limestone seams.
My hand caught the web—snap.
A sound like a severed nerve,
a frantic flight of silk in the dark.
A thousand eyes of jet* looked back at me,
skittish guardians shifting in the bend.
They sensed the weight I carried,
the heavy, hollow ache of winter’s end,
and pulled away into the rock’s silence.
I moved the stone, one by one,
shimmying into the throat of the hill.
Leaving the world of coffee and schedules,
of letters never sent and cold, still rooms,
to trade the sun for the smell of wet flint.
The air grew thick—a history held in breath.
The mountain drank the noise of my life,
the schedules, the fears, the static of days,
until the gravity beneath my feet shifted,
as if the earth were re-calibrating its mantle.
Deep inside, it was not empty.
It breathed in a bioluminescent hum—
walls bleeding a spectral, bruised blue.
A path snaked away, a vein of light
offered by a world that had forgotten me.
The cavern opened—a limestone cathedral.
There, glyphs bled from the stone,
a language of weight, of tectonic patience,
etched by hands that knew the cooling of the crust.
The "Litany of Compression"—the agony of eons.
The "Silent Watchers" warned of the breathers,
the map of veins reaching toward the mantle.
I knelt in the dirt, finding the charcoal
the ancients left for the next ghost to arrive.
I did not write a name, or a date, or a prayer.
I traced the suture of my own breath
into the wall, a frantic, uneven line.
My body began to chime with the cave.
Limbs turning to cold, heavy mineral;
skin thickening, pores sealed with dust.
I was lifted to the ceiling, a slow drift,
tethered to a sister-spire of quartz,
the two of us holding up the dark,
holding up the sky of the hill.
Outside, the spiders return to their work.
They knit the entrance shut with elastic silk,
weaving the wound of my entry back into stone,
hiding the secret from the reach of the sun.
The hill holds its peace.
And I, finally, have found my own.
* Jet black eyes of 125 spiders
Such is the universal language -
if music is Love,
and if thy deity is indeed Love,
then surely the language of that 1,
that resides inside,
that inner I am,
is not The Word, as such,
but that, which is The Song
of angels heard somewhere close
far inside and sung
Such is the universal language,
if music is Love,
and if there is another risen world
dwelling inside the vibrationary fallen heart of all,
to be saved, the universal body of life,
the generations gifted, that water and blood
from the Other 1, well ensconsed, yet,
hidden in plain sight, then what is heard - is not The Word -
but something Other, divine, its notes are not read, yet,
they are sent and heard, the tone felt,
from a vibrationary level far above,
then,
what comes from the inner voice
in time of fast closing closure
when mouths like doors are gasping wide open
to let out their flocks of banished Night Creatures
for better sounds like symphonies
of bioluminescent beings walking the theta waves
to alight on new shores lapping their heavenly beaches
of certainty, then what is heard
is not The Word, as such,
but that, which is The Song
of angels heard, singing the hidden Him
somewhere close inside, that vibration long forgotten,
now entirely felt and seen as understood
such is the universal language of Love
Candide Diderot. ‘24
INRI
Easter
ubi caritas/latin translation.
inri/latin translation. (not the christogram).
Under the sea plays a colorful show,
Of bioluminescent jelly fish that glow,
In corals reefs with psychedelic hues,
Glittering in reds, pinks, greens, and blues,
Fascinating creatures both speckled and striped,
Swim down to the deep that's absent of light,
And here is where there lurks for man,
A world he has yet to understand,
With bottomless currents that tug and flow,
To where only the imagination and mermaids can go-
I still follow
the blinking spells
of the rose wine sunsets
before surging sandstorms,
believing in the euphoric breeze
floating across the
shivering skyline,
echoing vermilion voices,
lost in the limestone grains,
as questions of change
interrogate the empathy
encrypted within
my inhibited intuition,
like spices of kismet flames,
swirling to the fluid fluency
of sentimental keys
in saxophone tunes…
But in the midst of moving monsoons,
I feel the eagle feathers of Zeus
rain upon the crystalline swing,
crooning songs of tameless time~
wrapped in the crescent cocoon
of silent splendor,
as I rise, dressed in steel and silver.
I hear the bluebird dream
in symphonies of the karmic sea,
streaming with specters
of star-struck ghosts…
O majestic marine jewel,
change is a promised ocean.
It’s sprouting coral blues
from reefs of ambergris embers,
awaiting floods of onyx tears
and jagged thistles,
like a tsunami of smeared streaks
reflecting the smoke
and swollen stains of the red sun.
Tonight, I erase the last mistake;
a scribbled imitation
of my aching past,
for I could not veil the scars,
failing to seize the
splitting clusters of
slate and garnets,
burning between
sleepless lakes,
drenched in midnight terrors,
as satanic waves
blur the turquoise surfing
through the limitless twilight.
Yet, I hear the mermaid moon
call my name in magical refrains,
steering my iridescent silhouette
to an ivory shore
where ebony hints of ink
would home the hermit castles,
where you and I can breathe~
as soulmates destined
to draw neon lifelines from
bioluminescent sparkles…
So let the bluebird drift into an orchid dream
where karma is the poet~
draped in deep violet,
writing elegies
to the eclipsed eyes of the red sun
that stole the silk and sage
of summer sighs…
And change is more than just a mere rhyme,
it is the ultimate essence
to rearrange
whimsical words
woven within wind
from honey and gold
of a
dulcet
dawn.
Jenna lived in rural Wyoming lands,
where grass rolled over small ridges and buttes,
a small town way out in the cow country,
where the ranchers still throw lassos in loops.
She was driving out to see her boyfriend,
who owned a ten thousand-acre large spread,
he had a big house, riders and a herd,
and was a keeper, all her girlfriends said.
It struck her funny that he'd done so well,
since her man had not been born around here,
they said when we came here eight years ago
he'd shied away from a mustang in fear!
She supposed he must've overcome that,
since now he rode like a weathered cowboy,
he'd bought his own place, made himself a name,
and had brought Jenna no small bit of joy.
He wasn't expecting to see her now,
but she knew that Calvin would understand,
the diner had been sheer hell this morning,
she'd even been groped by a sketchy man.
She needed a break, to hash this all out,
Calvin always had a way to comfort,
and he liked to say that she was his world,
she was sure that he would be there for her.
When she pulled up the whole ranch was quiet,
the hands must have been all out in the hills,
but she saw Calvin's horse at the corral,
had he decided to just hang back and chill?
If that was the case, it was good for her,
she would've hated being here all alone,
so Jenna walked up the big farmer's porch
and noiselessly entered her boyfriend's home.
She was tied, didn't bother to yell,
just padded upstairs to his big bedroom,
the lights were off but a translucent glow
seemed to pierce through the darkness and the gloom.
Inside she saw a bipedal figure
dressed all up in Calvin's battered work duds,
a flat-faced being with a slit for a mouth,
and two huge eyes, both the color of mud.
The skin was smooth, with no human blemish,
a vibrant, bioluminescent green,
and when the figure turned to see Jenna
she loud out a truly terrified scream!
“Jenna, what--”the creature began to say,
speaking the words in Calvin's own voice,
then slumped down and muttered to itself,
“Well I guess no I don't have any choice.”
There before her eyes the green skin shifted,
the figure became Calvin once again,
he frowned and awkwardly looked to his feet...
“Well, I guess I should explain all this then...
CONTINUES IN PART II
Slow and silent steps with a sword in the dark
the killer longs for fine scarlet wine
while taking sadistic joy in ending one's arc
to taste the scarlet blade in the night at nine
Another stab into the heart of an innocent
at midnight under the white cresent
as overwhelming insanity is present
to the point where the bloodlust is bioluminescent