Best Choreograph Poems
It feels like the world
has been struck by a
plague of pathological lies,
where fictional truth
seems to sell better,
the allure of
imitation glistens
even brighter,
while superficial tongues
recite infected mantras,
praising slaves of Satan~
singing corpse lullabies.
And I can feel
my drained soul
descending
into darkness,
as this cathartic
sanctuary
slowly decays,
into odds and ends
of incessant numbness.
Spikes drive through
this splintered ribcage,
shackling my life force,
to silently bleed
in salvation.
I feel the scorching
iron ore entering
my splitting heart,
as they watch
the crimson flow,
mocking my
doomed empathy.
For kindness
is disregarded,
in a cynical world
that has no mercy,
falling into an
abyss of tears,
awaiting eternal sleep,
never to rise to
another devil’s trance,
whilst bleeding in
reckless reckoning.
I am the mistreated
mistress in misery,
stranded in the
midst of an
abandoned island~
cruising through
roaring waves,
in desperate hope
for butterfly bliss.
I trace
deadly deeds
in bloodstained
sea-castles,
pleading the lord,
to tether
the cold walls,
that hide all these
layers of brokenness.
Carvings of
chaos on my skin,
choreograph a
prodigious dance
of death,
commemorating
creased calm,
with prophetic
songs that
have no life.
For the coldest
breeze still
lingers in circles,
from the pits of
an out-burnt mountain,
reluctant to rearrange
dried up poison,
with their cape
of sentiments,
in cold refrains
and resentment.
Yet I question the
cosmic Peridots
scattered between
moonstones in
artless skies.
How can a poet
make the dead
seem beautiful again,
when musty maggots
are the only
fillings they would get?
Breezing purple vibes of nocturnal delight
Eventide’s afterglow blushes sanguine night
As leaves chromatic swirl, waltzing to alight
Bestowing gilded motifs on dreamy sight
Sprinkling ebullience on meadows aglow
Exuberant in celebration of celestial show;
Where crescent moon adorns opaline skies
Staging dancing stars for enchanted eyes
As constellations choreograph stellar art
Enthralling intimations of enamored heart
Embracing invitation of amorous dreams
Enticing sweethearts’ passionate themes.
Farther in distance, ocean ebbs and flows
Strumming rhythms cresting-tides compose
As together we rejoice gift of nature’s glee
On a leisurely walk, meandering carefree,
Tranquil in tease of zephyrs flirting along
Indulgent in euphony of nightingale’s song.
Hosting quietude we amble miles and miles
Adorning happiness glinting vigor of smiles
Engaging revelry, shedding travails of day,
Lauding harmony gracing nature’s pathway,
Purposefully musing in wonderment of time
Thrilling glamor of beauteous night sublime.
November 16, 2022
Poem of the day on November 18, 2022
Placed1st: Beauty of Night Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
Music is an undying
art of soul ~
an abstract eden, where,
euphonious unicorns
glide in strawberry sonatas,
amplifying rhapsody in
ballads of flight,
when fuchsia feathers
tease those
jingling breezes,
infusing breaths
in every lifeless aroma;
where I can soar
beyond the
brushstrokes
of symphonies that
planktons sing to me,
in the requiems of
forsaken pearls,
crooning with
silenced shimmers
beneath wavy blues.
Maybe,
I'm a songwriter
without words,
and my electric fingers
trace the tunes
of serene strings,
when guitars weave
a sonorous guilt
midst ruby runes
of regrets.
I wish to keep
swinging in a
cosmic cadence,
where celestial notes
choreograph
themselves in the
moonwalking
mellifluence of
lunar legacies.
I gossip with
neon nightingales,
laced with neutrinos
and compel them
to chant those
healing incantations
of love and glory,
like the forlorn
princess - Rapunzel,
desiring to feel
the glow of
familiar lanterns,
winged with
hazy syncs of
unsung yesteryears.
I wonder if,
I'm not meant
to compose
crystal canticles
in a Disney duet,
for, I believe,
I'm a soul searcher
in the flesh of
a soloist, concocting
an elixir of my
existence through
cinnamon anthems
of mystical
moonrises, as
they softly unfold,
a million
unheard tempos,
within tranquil
memoirs.
I'm the 'maiden of music'
resting as a floret on
every sepal,
yearning to become
a unique acapella
of nature,
where empathy
has an ethereal
dialect of
nurturing spirits
and tinkles
of magical waterfalls
whisper in
gentle lachrymose lulls
of our ambrosial Mother.
When the harmony
of my voice,
kisses those
ivory keys of
the heart-shaped
piano, they
echo a tipsy secret
in my sunset skin,
making me
believe ~
"I'm everywhere
in the essence,
yet nowhere
to be found...",
like the sweet
scents of
hummingbirds,
smiling behind
that first dusky star.
"In each husky hallelujah
of ribboned halts and replays,
life is a song ~
where every lyric,
phrases an ember of end,
and when passionate heartbeats
shall knit sombre medleys,
I will hum in the last 'chef-d'oeuvre'... "
Ascending towering mountains with the greatest of ease,
laughing as foliage tickles my tummy with soft, feathery leaves.
Endless melodies, I have played, breezing through dangling chimes,
luring enchanted fairies with an orchestra sublime.
Lifting kites of brilliant colors, I choreograph the dance.
Such magnificent, breathtaking moves, never given to chance.
Designer of vast deserts, sculpting massive, lounging dunes.
Artist of the lonely face that rises from the moon.
Donning infinite perfumes; sweetest flowers; savory food,
or the salt of seven seas, when in a traveling mood.
Ghost writer of romantic voyages, sailors and pirates tell;
beached lovers on exotic islands, my gust upon their sail.
I've swooped down through lost canyons, and valleys, emerald green;
lain in meadow's tall lush grass to nap in sun's warm gleam.
My disposition revealed by soft whispers through the trees,
or howls from the north, saddled on winter's cold, pale steed.
Old as God himself, being born of his first breath.
I fill the lungs of eternity, forever evading death.
Somewhere between fallen flares
of an untouchable phoenix~
and the nostalgic red of crimson horizons,
I feel the amethyst embers of longing
illuminate rambling roses
that mourn within my hibiscus heart.
O beloved Love,
I long to be your tulip twilight
adorned with unfading mauve haze,
where green-gold scribbles of sunset
erase interlaced flaws,
to harbor blue-black mists
twirling above tides of tainted topaz…
and I will thrive amidst
storms of insecurities,
as the Swarovski Horse of Poseidon,
crystallized in resilient silver,
gleaming in glowing grace,
beyond dews of darkness,
shifting the aroma of pomegranate’s kiss.
There, peonies of peace
feast upon decadent delicacies
in the barren garden ~
flourishing with jilted jasmines.
I wonder, will these metaphors
woven across my canvas in perfumed ink,
speak the songs of my splintered spirit?
For the moon no longer sings
the melody of my soul,
and I refuse to choreograph
a diabolical dance for resentful ravens,
collecting twigs from tortured trees,
as the crescent smile
wanes into neon nothingness.
Yet while the witching hour beckons
skeletal remnants to rise
as celestial ashes,
I go insane, lose my incandescent light
that glistens in opalescent hues,
leaving my quill to suffocate in solitude,
unable to grasp the musical muse,
to stitch sorrowful sonnets
with seething synonyms.
O stringed sapphires
sailing above the meadow of melancholy,
forgive this coffin curse ~
it holds carvings of a corpse bride,
aching to be seen beyond the kohl shawl~
cloaking the frost-glazed silhouette,
weeping woeful elegies
while slumbering in the
amorous arms of Orpheus,
for in your absence, I cannot breathe,
and sleep screams
like a long-forgotten miracle,
needing an oracle to
alchemize a soothing potion…
So lay me down in a bed
of deep daffodils and thorns,
watch me plead for merciful rain,
to free obsidian tears of terror,
while my psyche bleeds
grammatical mistakes.
I am forever trapped in tremors of agony,
unable to reopen galactic gates
of euphoric escape,
so tonight I’ll let the torrents of torment
embrace inked insanity…
Extolling spring, oh, the robins are singing,
Lauding red-maple, bluebirds are frolicking,
There trills a cardinal fervent in courtship
Where on dogwood soulmate is gawking
And joining the symphony goldfinches fly in
Peeking from redbud, clad in blossoms pink,
Reveling in affirmation: season is blooming;
Some are scouting for earthworms in grass,
Some are building nests, wooing romance,
Playful in blue, red, yellow, and dark brown
Wafting aerial stance sweetest is their sound.
Yes, they’re aware I’m watching their show
Peering through windows, they come and go
And slyly they spy when my beloved arrives—
Orioles now drop-by aiming jealous vibes
As sparrows stealthily pry, hovering close by;
Not till she feeds them, do I hear their sigh,
Swirling in pairs they choreograph up high--
Ah, such a thrill it is to see them merrily fly!
Alas, this friendship is built on fragile bond:
When their nests are empty they’ll be gone--
Rain forests to explore and oceans to cross,
Flexing life’s liberties they’ll span on and on
Perhaps to return to where they came from,
Perhaps to opulence of freedom paramount.
February 26, 2021
Placed 2nd: Spring Birds Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
The forest is where trees nestle
and mushrooms sigh,
spinning electric dreams
from harlequin vines and multicolored roses…
Tonight, ink flows in a hypnotic trance,
my thoughts swirl through the
holographic ethereality,
like a pixie fairy ~ moon-walking,
above the psychedelic wilderness,
engrossed in kaleidoscopic dews,
chasing origami butterflies,
tied to the phoenix crescent,
where I see your midnight eyes
blinking like fervent fireflies,
as the air serenades an enticing anthem,
luring me to a sky sequined with
swirling amulets,
emanating secrets like rainbow raindrops
upon spring-soaked meadows
of neon sprinkles.
I ponder, will you find me
amidst the lilac haze
to paint my skin
with a fluorescent fragrance~
and scribble initials in aurora acrylic,
as this heart keeps pacing,
awaiting a tulip sunrise
while galaxies outline
the saffron rings with unicorn dust,
touching intricate layers of silence
adorned with wishful wisterias?
Perhaps this is what Alice
chased through the rabbit hole,
a violet vortex of undying love,
that lingers in lucid shades
of mosaic melodies,
for in the midst of spiraling vibrance,
my soul remains entwined with the
flickering flames
of your lunar silhouette,
as colors of constellations
choreograph this theatrical romance…
So let me close the windows
of my consciousness
like a sojourner sailing
through seas of musical serenity,
forever forgotten~
tripping in the aesthetic warmth
of your pulsating arms.
The Choreograph of Deliverance
If I were to hold you
With breathless perspiration naked in my arms
Would the vocal ache between us
Speak of desire unabated
In such passion unmasked
Would the anthology of our lives
Bring its lasting conclusion
To throw wide the barricades
And surrender their dreams in exchange for conviction
Would we refuse to hide anymore
Should you lay sleeping beside me
Our hearts in tempo precisely measuring the beat of love
With the brush of your kiss
The verbalization of my caresses
Bring us on to deliverance
Will the light of your eyes then linger
A footnotes mystery yet to discover
And as I ponder on pioneering embraces
Would you also search for the pristine
So we may commune with another language
We would dance to our own choreograph
In place of some other threadbare script
Will we utter words sealed by truth
Would such a marriage of essence and trust
Bring us to each other
Will this aspiration that I place in union
Of unseen and secret connection
Will these whispers of possibility accomplish their task
To one way or another find you
And bring us on to deliverance
Inspire by Weston Gregory
When the sun comes from the east
Shining its beauty through the
leaves,
I'm so inspired by what I see.
Its way though not easy to say
I sigh when the rare jasmine bloom.
I smile at the monarch butterfly
choreograph loops,
and laugh in this lazy afternoon
I all but spy its spectrum hue
and am left mesmerize by its hovering
on the west bound horizon too,
Jamaica is haunted by a spectre of
gloom,
on its fading from sight on Negril west end
soon
As if wishing on a dream
Within the swirl of unsynchronized scenes
our nature predicts tomorrow
Whether serendipitous or nightmarish
horror.
Response well to a global hallow
a prayer;
Goodnight my blossom see you in the morning,
When the sun comes from the east
Shining its beauty through leaves.....
The master forces his clowns to laugh
when polka dots become the wearers.
An audience roars…a pained choreograph;
behind the scene, the wounded howl tears.
What man is he who tugs the moppet strands?
Twisting acts at whim for raunchy tricks
and controlling moves through strict demands,
only to bruise the shame he inflicts.
The crowd hollers as he waves the rope
Oh master gloats; new slapstick begins.
Hushed are the young mimics just to cope,
till one bawls ,” please Dad, we are your kin.”
John Lawless' Puppets Contest
by nette onclaud
12/25/2014
I can't wipe past betrayals away;
those transgressions are here to stay.
And while love holds no guarantee;
at the very least, trust in me.
Failing to reconcile old fears,
questioning love brings only tears.
And building emotional walls,
you ignore the truth when it calls.
Your fears choreograph each move
as if I've something to prove.
And as doubt denigrates your mood,
you act insane, getting unglued.
You think you're being ill-treated;
cursing your fate, you feel cheated.
And sounding completely deranged,
insults get angrily exchanged.
Armed with lies and a bruised ego;
you recoil, the wounded hero.
You don't give love, only receive;
and, in truth, constantly deceive.
When will you ever trust again,
put yours aside, and feel my pain?
Sullying my dreams with regret,
you're losing my love and respect.
Who knows what she thinks?
With a carryon in the bong,
we can all feel a fawn-
an elf or even a lawn,
choreograph the Kong,
won-ton the Chong...
We can all get along,
but with a wrong,
we can’t rewrite the-
without a face we can’t despite against ya.
In an ace there is a heightened –ah?
Like color of lace,
it's a mighty puck,
where it goes is the fight in ya.
With the case of the buyers luck-
the liars had struck the mired guck,
But why must they fire at all of ya?
If I’m inspired,
i’d hire ya,
rewire ta-
bake a higher ****!
Get by or duck!
Ever seen god tired?
he’d leave ya admired,
never forgets it’s the bean stock,
that makes a flock,
and its a shame to spot,
with your fingers,
fibers-
or even your hot,
so why with-stand when tomorrow is starin’ at ya?
Its gods hand that is in the pocket lock,
sheep talk,
or even a reed walk...
Hatein' it in a state of fleeing,
strumming or heating-
blind or not the eye’s are still teeming,
so common common-man get down,
that frown isn’t appealing…
Get yourself a crowd and put a sheet on the bleeding!
Sweltering anger spills raw emotion
dispatching choppers in the air,
intense heat disseminates murmuring voices,
discharging menacing messages packed with fear.
Suddenly the academic mob appears,
and storms up the bullet rigged stairs,
while the deceptive tree watches with opposing eyes
calculating their blazing passion
and ignoring their desparate cries.
Intensity swells,
the sizzling temperature increases,
unflinching voices resonates,
ripping up fortified roof
and penetrate their deep flaming scars.
Footsteps thunder across the room,
while the beguiling tree sits listless
pouring salt into their bleeding wounds.
“Answer us now!” they shouted
“We are tired of your choreograph lies”
but the tree kept uttering deluding words
that were already familiar to their ears.
Mealymouthed explanation coincide with
years of empty promises swims to the surface
and consume their heartfelt sentiments.
Desperation looms over sun scorched faces,
sadness cracked their blazing lips,
tears roll down their stricken faces,
but the tree looked at them with ostentation.
“Tomorrow”, they uttered
“We give you until tomorrow to solve this matter”.
the wind tossed the tree to and fro,
bending its arm and breaking its charm.
Anxiety brewed, tension flares,
but the tree and its entourage disappeared
leaving the academic mob in deep despair.
©2013 Christine Phillips
Understandable... the sensible
(three ringed circuitous) logic
to trumpet necessity
each individual moost heed
bedecking, cloaking donning,
ludicrous interloper facial covering,
(I prefer sporting
latest custom made
invisible máscaras faciales),
when commingling amidst madding crowd,
nevertheless coronavirus (COVID-19)
makes laughingstock kickstarting
maniacal paranoid testing yapping
authoritarians blabber ceaselessly
bleak household pandemic
plagues (sear ring)
robust human specimen,
hence yours truly,
a feckless (gibbon) primate
breathes sigh of relief,
why? cuz he counts himself insignificant
absolute zero worth
versus microscopic prickly orb
aging long haired pencil neck geek
best beat hasty retreat
to his man cave
not necessarily avoiding microbial denizen,
yet any potential suffering
scouting out troubadour woefully
jackknifed inept hideaway
availed no choice
rolls out Harris tweed Scottish matt
courtesy minuscule germ man
greeting me with gotcha!,
I willingly surrender
the only thing at stake iz my life,
which would immediately
ebb fate (mine),
automatically buzzfeed chap
offer no chance
for symbiotic relationship
as pathogens indeed choreograph
(dirty deed done dirt cheap)
loft hilly doth waft
through cellular skeins comprising
garden variety/ generic gent
herewith essentially crafting
his poetic epitaph
before onset disables,
disallows, and disvalues
one humble, intelligent, jesting
kindhearted, literate, modest
nincompoop aimlessly adrift
within Brownian movement
(*****sapiens random motions
viewed miles skyhigh)
ostentatious, piteous, querulous,
ridiculous, superfluous, et cetera,
thus forward donations
and/or pledge
(I promise you -
swear to dog
portion of me ashes)
to favorite charity
and will hoop to visit thee as repurposed
noun, verb, adjective, adverb, pronoun,
preposition, conjunction, interjection,
numeral, article, or determiner...
I can no longer pretend
the lies you tell me are true.
And if they don't quickly end
our relationship is through.
Expecting kisses and beers
you can't make sense of it all.
For you are greeted with tears,
and an emotional wall.
You claim you never cheated,
acting like someone deranged.
And I wasn't mistreated,
citing the vows we exchanged.
Tears choreograph the dance
as forgiveness is pursued.
And you beg another chance
hoping to soften my mood.
But the truth levies a toll
in the form of pain and shame.
And a small part of my soul
feels I'm partially to blame.
10/30/2015