Best Ceaselessly Poems
POTD 2 July 2018
Humans are capable of ‘Changing their State’. At times, a stressful, negative fusillade can be encountered from an individual wishing to subvert a person for whatever reason.
Lady Gaga so aptly describes this in her video clip above - and she should know through experience.
Kindness is a sentiment no one can ultimately reject.
Hard to do you say? - It’s easy.
Firstly, refuse your alter ego permission to react immediately.
(Your alter ego is programmed to protect your from a ‘painful’ situation)
The brain is a Bio-computer and can easily be reset to ‘Default’ by breathing into your abdomen (not into your lungs), - hold and then exhale, each action performed slowly to the count of 6.
Accusatory fingers pointing ~ eyes glowing hate
Seeds of venom spewing forth slanderous lies
Jealousy in all its inglorious green eyed splendor
Wool clothed wolves with undetectable smiles
Any tick of the clock it creeps up upon you
Evil plays no favorite it’s any man’s game
Seeming to push you up that stairway of victory
Then perniciously denigrates ~ disavowing any blame
Damned if you do ~ Damned if you don’t
Kindness perceived as weakness gets cast out the door
Tendencies to vacillate creates chinks in your armour
Resolutely walk the tight rope ~ lest your knees hit the floor
Eyes wide shut to the Evil all around us
Detach from this Chaotic Web in which we dwell
Be the Peace that ceaselessly penetrates the darkness
YOUR prerogative is to choose either ~ Heaven or HellPOTD 2 July 2018
Categories:
ceaselessly, inspirational, uplifting,
Form:
Rhyme
I want to swim in the golden rivers
of your heavenly haven,
wading through every swirl and twirl flowing in splendiferous streams.
Taste of your warmth courses down ruffles within my ribs,
pulsating your name in assonant motions.
In your moonlit eyes I’ve found the lost poem,
missing from my once hollow heart.
You are the metaphorical master,
with a plethora of poetic keys,
deciphering hieroglyphics syllables,
ceaselessly obscuring vehement vanity,
endured through violent torrents of torment.
In your arms I found a euphonious sanctuary,
calming stormy edges from a malignant abyss,
there I saw grey on silvery nights,
until you breathed poetry into my fingertips.
Words began to bloom amongst
deep ruby wine dahlias,
where seasons never wilt internal imagination.
I still remember the night we embraced a new year,
as fireworks lit up the highest mountains between us.
Revealing incandescent morning stars,
with your infectious smile,
I knew then, you were the acrylic home
I was sketching on sunflower panoramas.
In your voice I've already seen spring,
sowing seeds of hibiscus promises,
hydrating delicate dreams—
drifting with withering ferns and flowers,
imprinted from roots of fate,
ascending mauve memories to cloud nine,
where clipped feathers attain nirvana,
to love until the sun burns into ashes.
Categories:
ceaselessly, absence, deep, love, military,
Form:
Free verse
While moon makes place for sun
dark sky duvet pushed back
stars close their eyes
The restless few
their beady eyes
small marbles
see all
and everything
hip ceaselessly
don't find peace
The intellectuals
philosophize the dark away
invent intricate
solutions
to external worldly
problems
and internal
personal dark
Morning light
moves deep inside
propped up on walls
shines a soft glow
that brings peace
if only for a short while
***
October 15, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Categories:
ceaselessly, appreciation, friendship, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
Painting dream-scapes upon canvas of vermilion skies,
O, time! how you elevate my dawn in periwinkle sunrise,
As day’s footprints, glistening amber tapestries rise,
When rhythms of birds, with musical winds harmonize.
O, immortal aura of time! has anyone ever seen you?
Spectacular at birth: wasn’t the big-bang your debut?
What your omnipresence looks like, I have nary a clue,
Ruling my existence, as seamlessly you pass through.
Mockery of love you make, fading it over your domain,
Hurting hearts once enamored, feeling pain of your reign,
O, time! you changed me~ who I was, I’m not the same,
Robbing my vigor as I age, sadly my exuberance you tame.
You transform themes of now, into dreams of morrow,
Planting seeds of hope, healing my wounds of sorrow,
As through your wintry woes rise, avid spring meadows,
Shining motifs of today, glinting yesterday’s shadows.
Moments you take, as earth rotates, turning into days,
Yearning for infinity as you traverse into eternal haze;
Audaciously presupposing your empire shall never end,
As ceaselessly through heaven and earth you transcend.
Categories:
ceaselessly, time,
Form:
Personification
I sit with the wall against my back. The wall refuses to move despite endless requests.
The door opens and closes its mouth, it wishes to say something, but nothing comes of it, only its letterbox chatters ceaselessly and without any deep meaning to it, drops hints every now and then.
The wall is annoyed with the door, but I am fed up with the noise. I stand to try and look out the window, but...
This place hushed in shadow. If only I can remember where I went this night, they did throw me in, away from light.
I roll up the walls like a Persian rug, smother the clatter of the metallic letterbox that tries to say goodbye in a thousand words. I hear its muffled apologies. I see a hundred neatly white, folded paper sheets fall at my feet, covered in coloured sentences.
I throw shadows at the wall, words at the door, colours at the ceiling; demons increase my estrangement in the small room, then the walls suddenly turn soft and white, my arms are bound behind my back.
Fog dissolves in faithful whispers. Demons grow faces and white clothes. Mouths with broad smiles talk in tongues (heard, understood), carry syringes and multi-coloured pills.
And day begins.
***
May 1, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Categories:
ceaselessly, allusion, anxiety, mental illness,
Form:
Narrative
At times when the night glows so dark
And dawning too rises clouding the arc
Be the street lamp ceaselessly bright
Be the candle with halo of angelic light
When travails of life flood teary eyes
And forlorn hearts pulse in sullen cries
Be the echo of solace from hills divine
Be the hymn of grace tolling in shrine
Where guns of war embroil, stilling time
And lives struggle on impassable climb
Be not the one among callously supine
Be not voice of unsung to meekly resign
Hear homeless-bawl on troubled streets
Feel the discordant wail of hunger beats
Be the day that glistens hope of sunshine
Burn brightly the flame of love genuine
Be a mighty pillar to plight of the weak
Be a luminant purveyor on blight bleak
Be the omnipresent twinkle of stellar sign
Be the eternal glory of ubiquitous shine
April 14, 2021
Writing prompt-shine-poetry contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Categories:
ceaselessly, inspirational,
Form:
Rhyme
Written: September 1st, 2023
Would You Love Me If I Wasn't A Poet? Sponsored by: Silent One
______________________________________________________________
If my words lacked flow, unadorned, and dry,
In the minds of those who mope and roam.
Poetry purls and parades its philharmonic prose.
If my ink dwindled, leaving pages bare.
Should you still sense my soul's splendor?
Where waltzing words entwine and endeavor
Would you still cherish me sans the poet's guise?
A stunning seemliness, a seraphic stake.
Now, we anticipate this mutual toast.
It's a tradition we've upheld, you and me.
for countless years.
However, what if I never compose?
What if my verses abruptly cease?
Will you still inure infatuation for me?
If my words no longer intertwine?
Will my verses strive to heave delight?
Even if they lack their former bright?
You offer unwavering support, truly!
My muse is born from deep happiness.
Delight in my dulcet discord—a deed
Without your input, my words carry no value.
It feels as if you favor my fantastic flexibility.
Poetry is in my blood; that verity is obvious.
Even if terms at times tangle.
I'm afraid you'll amplify apathy one day.
face futile files and fragmented facts
Still, your urging ubiquity dulls my iniquity.
A placid pithead packed with pride and purity.
Despite the ups and downs
You ceaselessly stood by me.
As my skills strive to strike success.
You are my source of strength.
In each verse I write, you praise
My poems find solace in your gaze.
But what if I stop being a poet?
Will you cast a blind eye?
Will my words still be worthwhile?
If I can't glide amid the lyrical birds,
I long for our ties to rise beyond rhyme.
May our love defy the flow of time.
You admire me beyond words.
But your mate is utterly unattainable.
Our steadfast solidarity supersedes art.
Categories:
ceaselessly, analogy, appreciation, love, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
"And you, O my Soul, where you stand,
Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing -
seeking the spheres, to connect them;
Till the bridge, you will need, be formed -
till the ductile anchor hold;
Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere,
O my soul." (Walt Whitman, 1819-1892, A Noiseless, Patient Spider)
_____________________________________________
silence is like a beautiful flower
a rose blooming within my heart. . .
true silence is not about turning off the noise of life
like the television . . . radio . . . music
or turning off the computer and cell phone but it is more
it is the hunger of being just me
and having my own secret quiet- silent place
for me it all happens with meditation
meditation means bliss . . .
it is not something that is happening outside me
but deep within . . . it is a hunger I must feed often
I will call it an "inside" spiritual journey
a journey toward silence
I cannot take you along with me
or share it with you
you must make your own journey . . .
all connection with the outside world is broken
and all bridges back seem gone
the whole world disappears
it does not exist in my silence place
I think of my yoga mat as a magic carpet
that takes me where it will
the silence is profound . . .
yet there seems a wind blowing me up and away
no worldly noise penetrates
I need courage . . . I must let go of all fear
and I float to the center of my mind
where I am a bird singing in the distance
just singing . . .
I am a cloud full of rain ready to burst
then, I am the rain falling
I am a flower with petals opening in the sun
and I drift on a smooth ocean heading for my true north
in utter and beautiful silence . . .
____________________________
July 22, 2019
Poetry/Free Verse/'my hunger for silence'
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1223-382-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to Strand Select D Contest
Brian Strand
Third Place
Categories:
ceaselessly, silence,
Form:
Free verse
Unassailable purity, a cognition divine of venerated mind,
Proffers promise inviolable, beneficence sacred aligned,
With force invincible emanating from goodwill of heart
Forming precepts impeccable, teachings benevolent impart.
Purity of thought and action~ a worthy and righteous goal,
Resounds indomitable from kindred voice of resolute soul;
A heavenly call of compassion, extolling sanctity of love,
Lifting tenor of gloomy dawns~ soothing refrains of dove.
Unassailable purity in life, a road map of directions to hope,
Sacrosanct are its valiant acts, vowing ceaselessly to cope,
Performing with mighty resolve, deeds inducing pride;
Serving humbly as invisible hand of irreproachable guide.
Assisting destitute is the sermon, tolling bells of prayer,
Beckoning the weary, indigent, to shelter and welfare;
Comforting grief of despair with words enlightened, aware,
Consoling cry of nothingness, bequeathing love and care.
It exemplifies within her selfless smile, purity of her eyes,
Reassuring her children, bliss of mother’s love never dies;
Its rectitude unassailable, eternal as the reign of time,
A gift precious, paramount to life~ ethereal and sublime.
Categories:
ceaselessly, inspirational, meaningful, perspective,
Form:
Rhyme
“Arms Full of Linnet Wings”
In the garden
that afternoon
she planted seeds
in their ripe minds
their eyes looking
up to hers their
irises dazzling
in the late afternoon
sunshine wide open
as if waiting hungrily
for more food
she dropped words into
their mouths which
they swollowed whole
jewels like memories
nebulous little darlings to grow
perhaps too young
but maybe one old enough
for the story to stitch
and in time graft
and re-sow
all her little goslings
in a row, eventually
swans, black or white
she could not tell
would never know
she held tight
to the moment
that Summer all a glimmer
and noon a purple glow
arms full of linnet's wings
she never ever wanted to let go
too soon
she would leave
the nest
long before them
she wondered
ceaselessly
about the three fates
and how they’d
grow
the seeds
she’d planted
in their minds
bloomed an entire
wild garden
undernourished
yet overgrown
(LadyLabyrinth)
for Lynette, with Love
“The linnet and the drush say
I love, I love” (PJ Harvey)
“To see a world in a grain of sand
and a Heaven in a wild flower
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
and Eternity in an hour
A Robin Redbreast in a cage
puts all Heaven in a rage
A Dove house filled
with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thr’ all its regions”
(William Blake)
“I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.”
(William Butler Yeats)
Categories:
ceaselessly, love, mother daughter, muse,
Form:
Narrative
She pleaded to me with a blushed body,
ready readily for the holiday my maintinance could muster for her pink engine,
the electricity my overtime bedtime love ryhme induces, innerbody outerbody attention,
my woman pled and I fed, her skin smelled like sweet leather, expensive and exotic,
her taste, oh her taste,
a salt infused with inimitable vanilla extract of erotica,
shes my virgin tonight, shes my soul purpose, my handicraft her sole investment,
my rough hands ceaselessly surveying the surface of her vulnerable and vital being,
no flaws are found, because no flaws are sought, no resistense, nothing fought,
upright together, gripping her nape, kissing the pulse on throat,
flaxen hair swiming across my focused face, one arm around lower curve of back,
in unison the slots inbetween my thumb and index sweep upon her breast
cleverly turning & tightning into nipples elevated for enclosing excitment,
eyelashes grazing my cheek and her moist mouth on earlobe
elicit the need for perpendicular laying, for ramming motion ritual,
I unfold her, with fingers lovingly clasped on that nimble neck of hers
as I insert and glide with a job to do, a love to pursue,
the words came latter, instinct inspired now -
J.A.B.
Categories:
ceaselessly, dream,
Form:
Romanticism
If heaven permits
I will be a robin
Perching
Up on a sunlit branch of a tree
Gazing at the far-off light
That flourishes out on the vanilla sky
I will sing
From June to the merry month of May
Every flat
Every sharp
Every note of poetic symphony
That glitters ceaselessly
I will fly
Rough and tough
Beyond ferns and herbs
At odds with
The whirling wind
That might spoil my beauty
And yes
I will soar
Steeper than the milky way
As long as the world breathes
Until heaven
Forbids me
not.
Author’s Note and Inspiration.
- Free Verse Introspection International Poetry Contest
Contest Winner- Honorable Mention(4th place)
March 15, 2008
Contest Sponsor: Deborah Simpson-Author of the Chronicles of a Sage: Spiritual Revelations
via Canto.
- The Celebrating You International Poetry Contest
Contest winner- 1st place
March 15, 2008
Sponsored by Kristine Reynolds
Categories:
ceaselessly, happiness, introspection, upliftingpoetry,
Form:
Free verse
Nestled in a mountain town,
Enclosed in downs of clouds,
Flows a dancing stream
Spiraling, bouncing,
Swaying along with the mountain breeze
Winding through trees, rocks and bushes,
Supporting vibrant foliage,
She voyages through forest
Jabbering, hopping
Swaying along with the mountain breeze
Dazzling in the sun
Shining thousands of sparkling diamonds
She springs over rocks and pebbles
Bubbling, splashing,
Swaying along with the mountain breeze
Attending to the whispers of the sky
And wheezing winds
She travels catching pearls of raindrops
Clinking, twirling
Swaying along with the mountain breeze
Entertaining and providing to peoples
And friends from the wild
She drifts ceaselessly with vitality
Spiraling, bouncing,
Swaying along with the mountain breeze
Categories:
ceaselessly, nature, river,
Form:
Personification
Mute
but immutable.
Unmoving, unmoveable;
timeless, yet tireless.
Solitary stalwart sentinel
surveils undulating horizon.
Aberrant, achromatic clouds
pock-mark the skies, as distant
rumblings herald his adversary's
latest gambit in their age-old conflict.
The wrath of a thousand crashing,
clashing, thrashing fists batter
against the beleaguered sentry.
Ceaselessly, remorselessly,
the maelstrom assails him.
But the foundations are firm and
noble gatekeeper stands steadfast.
Single-minded of purpose, placid
custodian morphs into combatant as
his luminous, voluminous blade carves
luminescent arcs through chthonic cloak.
Tenebrous tendrils wither and dissipate,
impotent under intense lambent onslaught.
His victory is only fleeting, as vanquished
foes are summarily supplanted by more of
their ilk in a seemingly continual surge.
Again and again, over and over, tormentor
presses the attack, exploiting any weakness.
Over and over, again and again, valiant warden
repels the barrage and despatches his enemies.
And so the pattern repeats endlessly, unabated,
as these eternal opponents jostle for position
in a perpetual cycle of aggression and defence.
Until eventually, finally, ultimately, the stale-mate
is broken; when Tempest's tantrum is tamed and
Blizzard's battalions have been banished, all is calm.
Tranquillity is able to reassert herself and order has
finally been restored; at least for the foreseeable future.
Obligations fulfilled, the triumphant Guardian can now rest.
Until the need arises again, until he's called upon once more,
he will wait patiently, watch diligently, in unflagging vigilance.
Forever resolute, a beacon of sanctuary, a symbol of hope, his is a
thankless task, but the Protector of Mariners will always be needed.
-----------------------------------
(C) John C Michaels, 27 July 2017
For Eve Roper's "Lighthouse" Contest.
(1st Place)
Categories:
ceaselessly, light, metaphor, ocean, sea,
Form:
Free verse
Doth it not thrill thee, Poet,
Dead and dust though thy art,
To feel how I press thy singing
Close to my heart?
As though they were dried palm leaves
In Indian catalogue, your works
I would press so close
To my chest like man's third-leg
Snuggling to the thigh. I count
The beats straineously of the melody,
The vibrations of your works strike
Me to rhapsody. Who am I then?
A little child by the stream
Waiting for your sensual song, bird
To bide me somnolent
In a reveberating cacophony
Redolent of the train swiftly buzzing by,
The train that was you.
I would often sit at the threshold and wait
Till the moon grow to become sickle-thin
And the monstrouos night has sucked away
All the oil in my clay lamp. I still stay on
Like a good sentry, my eyes rummage hungrily
Through the pockets of a page,
Where the blood of your ink was shed-
For your sojourner I have become.
We will go together
In peregrination into the labyrinth
Of all those pages from the cream,
That was your brain.
I will be the mute acolyte,
Benignly I will wend,
Stepping into the trail you left like
Smoke unconcerned about direction,
Its flow turbulent, not the lamina vein
Of subtlety. Sometimes I feel cold,
My garb, goose bumps,
At the stark, sometimes shocking
Reality of your judgements.
You were and still is a victim of truth,
And I gloat at your judgements jealously,
Almost perfect. When not correct, you were
Honest, at least.
I would often dream
Of you smoking your pipe;
Your small, dainty frame silhouette nailed
To the wall by the pyrexed testis
Of electric bulb as Jesus to the cross.
Then your pipe bleed forth smoke
Like blood from fresh wound, seeping out
Ceaselessly, ideas sream forth from your brain
Like liquid from a boiling pot
Frothing over.
So I will proudly say I have
Some portion of your blood in me
To inspire my dazed memory
On those dark gloomy days.
for my uncle and late Nigerian Poet, Chris Okigbo.
(c) Onyebuchi, 2011.
Categories:
ceaselessly, on writing and words,
Form:
Epic