Best Chronicling Poems

Once upon a stranger
A girl A well intentioned woman
With open and adorned soul
Askance behind silvered eyes and sighs,

Revealing her concealed seraphic smiles
In an unending sequence.
Yielded in gleams in day dreams,
With folklores and odes chronicling her unique meekness.

Once upon a moment.
I heard silent whispers fade
Within a...

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As we touch...in the dark,
Our hands read...braille poetry,
Written by ardent goose bumps
...in great romantic sessions.

Chronicling our love,
In stanza after stanza.. 
...of passionate body poems,
filled with indefinite...

............
      .
      .
      .
............


. ...

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22 June 2010

A Breakaway

 
For mankind has the power to think big
History puts them on the pedestal of their career
Aimless drifting until fatally engaged into a drilling rig
Raised a surface at the heart of the sea to exploit oil on its frontier

Oil wells at the...

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What fills your goals, son?

I told you!
Need to get my car rolling [life rolling, love rolling]
yesterday,
if not today...

If I may interrupt
to process mindful resilience
for a bit...

Let me ask again:
Noticing you are concerned about long-winded
and -winding
and -whining 
and -worrying despair
regarding personal and commercial transportation issues,
[but not...

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From depths of magnified sleep, we'd exchange pleasantries;

elated temples inspired love romantically;

Creating colors

no other has

experienced

instrumentally.

We cast amid

purple sea,

our feet

distant from

jealousy; Our eyes,

our lips and our hands set out chronicling this

moment as select memory.(Sigh) Delighted to awake, cradling love bout me!...

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Surrounded by heavy tomes 
Chronicling the history of 
   countless generations 
One can only feel a sense of 
    awe that the weight of 
the past has upon the living 
  A brief look around me 
allows me to...

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Where does one find humour?

Everywhere one looks... at least I do

Others may not see it like me

But maybe I'm just built differently

I was blessed with an oversized giggle gene

It's certainly not a bad thing I guess

Could have turned out to be a serial killer

Often thought...

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These poems I've been chronicling
Are for my children's sake
If I  die tomorrow
I want them to have the skills
to watch out for false love
That through my journey of healing
from the sociopath that is their father
They gain understanding and insight
For them to see I truly love...

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(Apropos of Black Poetic Griots)

We may not be deemed apostolic recorders
But we poets, guided with divine wisdom, are
The lay scribes thereof in the chronicling of
Our life’s sojourn in the shadowing times
we spend here on this parcel of what is
An example of planetary creation;

And we Poet-Griots...

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An outdoor scholar,
Chronicling nature’s truths.
Once rebelled against authority,
Way back in his youth.

With a love for soil,
He relocated to Tuscany.
Over by the mountains,
Of Lunigiana Italy.

A photographer at heart,
With a knack to disperse.
In retail I mean but
Gives his heart in verse. 

He is Nigel Fawcett,
The one and...

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Passing a cemetery gate I walked in I could see all the epitaphs chronicling deaths,
The dates were all times and seasons and there were little graves for little babies,
Daisies mark children's resting places their small hands used to make them into chains,
Other huge graves showed...

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I remember every poem
Mental pencils scribble
Out in your honour as if they’re
Written on real not mental
Paper like the marks your 
Eyes leave on my soul
Moments spent lost
In thought writing endless
Lines caging in words to 
Mask any feeling

Still scribbling in my mind
My mental scrap book filled...

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In a dreamlike setting,
Illustrated with dark drab browns
And deep shades of gold, lightly shading 
A bursting clock.

Action is suspended,
In a cloud of broken clock pieces,
From the moment of explosion.
Chronicling a time of immense pressure.







Inspired by the, 
“Soft Watch at the Moment of First Explosion"
By Salvador...

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It’s the study of our past, 
the entirety of events that made us who we’ve come to be…
but I’ve come to think we made a mistake by calling it ‘History’.

History is not only the good…but the bad we’ve done…
for there is a lesson to be...

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Fresh home from therapy,
     and resonate with zeal
tush air cerebral cogs a turn'n
     analogous to and pinion wheel

hence attempt made to bare soul,
     sans thru poetry re: veal
ling avidity, asper barreling neurological
 ...

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