Best Conducts Poems
There is a poem in my heart,
that beats in different dialects.
Da ist ein Gedicht in meinem Herzen,
which flows freely through my veins.
Il y à un poème dans mon cœur,
that tickles the tip of my tongue.
Existe um poema no meu coração,
which dances with a million sighs.
Wo xinzhong, youyi shou shi,
that is suppressed by emotionless expression.
Mery dil mein bi aik nazam hai,
silent, as it cannot be heard through speech.
Jest wiersz w moim sercu,
unwritten, as it cannot be read through words.
Am o poezie in inima mea,
that hides behind a dynasty of lyrics.
Det er et dikt i mitt hjerte,
which only serenades internal chambers.
Yparxei ena poihma sthn kardia mou,
that conducts symphonies with my mind.
V moemy serzi jyve poezia,
which may never be understood.
Mei wor echo kèn non ngasangasei,
that whispers words for my beloved.
There is a poem in my heart,
because my heart is a poem.
The Silent One
25 April 2018
The backdrop of frost
A lone daffodil conducts
Winter's Requiem .
For Carol's Spring Haiku contest ..
It is a sun splashed day; the air is silent with the sound of waves
from an ocean moving to the rhythm of crying gulls.
The sand underneath my feet is warm and soothing.
The crashing waters from a wind sculpted waterfall swims
into the arms of its mother sea.
It is a private beach at a spot in the world
were the Caribbean Sea and The Atlantic Ocean hug.
It is a strange sensation of hot then cold, that tease the senses.
The young woman with me is my lover of four years.
The golden rays of light from the bright morning star
lives in the flow of her platinum blond hair.
In her eyes I can see the bright clear blue ocean, warm,
but with a piercing love glare that sends shivers up my spine.
We are young, in love and safe
inside a perfect glossy postcard background.
Her red lips and light drenched skin glows
with the beauty of this perfect Jamaican day.
Without a thought I grab the back of her head,
jerking my lover's whole body towards me
locking her in the strength of my grasp
inviting her to quench my desire.
I bite her lips before engaging in a deep passionate kiss
and remove a barely there bikini from her statuesque figure.
She embraces me as I lift her in my arms
naked for all the Gods to observe.
I set her down under the refreshing flow of the rushing waterfall.
She attempts to pull at me, but I deny her.
I hold back both her arms and use my mouth
to suckle her all the time absorbing the beating waters
that kneads my flesh, like so much dough.
Suddenly I set my angel free. She pounces on me,
like a lioness in heat famished for the taste of flesh.
The world disappears and I find myself willingly trapped in a void.
Nature's voice conducts an orchestra of emotion.
We writhe in the ecstasy of touch.
With the strokes of a divinity fingers paint a portrait of rapture.
We dance now to the precise notes
of an escape into the arms of serenity.
In one fluid movement, our bodies become one.
There is no end to the divine flavors we share.
Cooling waters flame our sins.
We explode like a building
imploding gracefully to the roar of infinite sound.
Until eventually we pass out naked
locked in each others arms.
We find ourselves lying on the warmth
of the fine white sand beach when we awaken,
tattooed in the telling shades of a Jamaican suntan.
"Larger than a Universe"
Space to be alone
take it, take
all the space
you want
silence
becomes you
inside conducts
a symphony
music speaks
loud and clear
pushes forward
across the table
the keys
to doors
and foot
flat to the floor
driving
targa top gears
upward shifting
racing towards
the stratosphere
you let go
of the wheel,
and the noise of
bickering black crows
swiftly disappear,
with no place to go
all the little darlings
murdered
shadows
become
reflections
in time
the sun
pushes
the clouds
aside
something
larger
than
a universe
takes over the self
takes control
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Inspired by Friedrich Von Schiller’s poem,
The birth to a tumultuous...orchestral bliss.
The flicks of his wand was the rhythm he heard,
A call for dramatic attention...an extraordinary passage.
As he pulls...he demands...rejecting the three movements,
A dense prelude to what is to come softly emerges.
The lower strings of the orchestra sadly...grope,
And transcend into a new melody...a higher plateau.
Intermingling yet surprisingly...exploding into full orchestra,
The rhythm leaves his wand...to the choral of ode to joy.
A musical patriot with passionate poise...conducts in silence.
His soul’s final composition permeates from the gestures of his wand.
A deaf body with a mindful soul...fatigued and battered,
Deprived to listen to the thunderous applause...of his life’s magnum opus.
She Fights like a Warrior
Her performance is Outstanding
She slogs like Men
She conducts herself like an Actress
She sings like a Nightingale
In the world of Education,
She is a Teacher.
In the world of Heaven,
She is an Angel.
In the world of War,
She is a Sword.
In the world of peace,
She is a Dove,
In the world of Science,
She is a Fact.
In the world of Darkness,
She is the light.
In the world of Drought,
She is a Rain Drop.
She is none other than a WOMAN.
She is the source of all generation.
She makes impossible the possible.
PROUD TO BE A WOMAN.
The eminent breeze slips through the trees,
multitudes of scrawny fingers guided by stout limbs,
conducts the aria.
the trill of daybreak
whilst the morning star shines bright
the moon on the wane
Oh! Sweet Merle your irrepressible melody defies all that is logic,
one understands these balmy mornings of summer, yet deepest frost
wailing winds from the Southern Ocean does not discourage your
daily performance.
each ceaseless morning
nature succour from her sleep
stands the lone bugler
© Harry J Horsman 2020
Timeless lyrical,
compassionate dance,
a shifting effect
of light and color,
the glowing full moon
conducts in folk tune.
Indispensable
distant humble stars
spring a russet, sign.
White unfolded wings
flitter wayward round
a rhythmic beating
in shadow, chill, air.
The spike tuft ears owl
melodies hooting,
influence passion.
A lovers' heartbeat
keeping steady rhythm.
A starlight guides the
way by windswept night.
The air carries winter's bite
To the ear, the nose and fingers
- But the day is full of light,
A golden shine that falls and lingers
Upon the warf and woof of everything.
The apricity all 'round is why the birds yet sing
Upon their icy perches.
A ghostly touch of warmth lies all about
As the heart conducts its silent searches
Through the deeps of cold and doubt.
Tears bring the eyes its shivering spangle of stars
In liquid pools dilating light
The firmament spiraled to bandage time’s scars
Shining in empty bowls night
And sometimes the common carbon of the air
In soul deep fires like butterflies
Becomes the diamonds from our despair
Uncut by innocence to prudent eyes.
And you from your shining White House saw
The fluid dreams of frigid seasons
Bent to touch us, and in your warmth to thaw
The icy conducts of pride’s false reasons
We had only eyes to tell the luster of our glee
Muted with wonder at your love
Bridging the callous constellations of history
To dent the songless cages for each dove
How shall we thank you for feathering our dreams
To vault the pole-less blue of sky
Dear First Lady, the joy that in us stuttering gleams
Make us the jewels of your eye
You bring us hope, you shining tiara of the sultry past
You jeweller setting us to shine
Against rabid scorn of white winters' withering blast
No cheap rubble again, the stones you leave behind.
October approaches with sharp bursting color
that awes senses with majesty.
Cool winds blow with vitality
and I become God’s most reverent extoller.
October conducts a symphony of feeling
that uplifts and inspires my heart.
I implore my soul to impart
my full obedience in prayerful kneeling.
October caresses the spirit and essence
of my being, and I am humbled.
From earthly existence tumbled
a moment, I humbly bow in acquiescence.
October promises the coming of the harvest
that this year’s scattered sowing brings.
The worker’s voice in the field sings
impassioned praises to Him for this bounty blessed.
My heart is filled with the miracle of it all,
and the divine revelation
that I am of His creation.
I pray I transform and worthy of His Last Call.
PITA BREAD
Go in the Portal to read.
It is just a vestibule to perceive, to conceive, to form beliefs, to establish creeds.
This world is in a make-believe that government is to bring subordinates to their knees.
They lack the power to achieve the leadership they seek.
Inform yourself that you are not that weak.
You will accomplish eradication of cruelty in the Middle East.
A man must be for his cause.
He must depict his adversaries to move forward.
When he is for what is right, you see the passion in his eyes.
No one has suggested a greater faith.
The beheadings, the amputations, the etcetera is annihilation.
Injustice atrocities will not bring structure but constructive abomination of the people
that conducts the killings.
A man, a woman, and a child will become extended by the God they believe in.
A change must come in the Middle East.
_________________________________________________________________________|
Penned 02/22/2015!
I Clear Water Mirror
Clear water mirrors the trees;
caressing shades of green dress them still.
Of late, the evenings hold a chill;
the season bend approaches;
ending summer's stronger scented flowers
along the lane nod and point to God.
II First Tang of Leaves
Dying leaves' first tang tints the air,
crisp, pungent flavor of late August haze;
soon their fall will glaze the pond
with riotous, colorful display.
Nature raises her director's wand
and conducts the insects' praise.
© Faye Lanham Gibson, August 17, 2015
In a house by a highway by a railroad
Eyes open to a self-set sleep-destroying buzzer
That waking mind impudently pretends
To ignore.
Penetrating the window barrier
The air conducts a heavy diesel lullaby.
Over wealthier suburbs slips a transport,
Supersonic, though no sweeter music,
For rich and poor alike a boon to sleep;
Heard only by more wicked insomniacs
For whom the watch's competent hum is a dirge.
Descending in a shower of metallic disintegration
Three men ignite the atmospheric blindfold, survive,
Do not plunge white-hot into the sea, a common meteor,
But drift coolly down on nylon wings
To the waiting Carrier of the 300 lb. Angelfood.
The mind shrinks
From the prospect of that confrontation,
From the phallic disruption of Christian paradise,
Then cries,
'Oh, let there be nothing on earth but leavings,
Nothing but star-ships on a photon sea…'
Now begins man's search for a Southland.
Yet, as light passes venetian blinds,
Like music through classical guitar strings,
Touching the softened form of familiar Love,
The rods of the eye wander adagio
Along the bars of a century-old sight before rising,
'Dethrone the convict from electric eclipse,
Redress the squalid in disposable, dust-free clothing,
Release the lovers to their denouement…'
The earth womb trembles in the last pains
Of the dark hour,
Heralding man's difficult birth.
The poetry slave, ah that talented slave
she who utters sweet nothings with skill
That intelligent fool, ah that talented knave
the illiterate never have their fill
For her the pen dances, the ballet of the page
a grace that comes without any attention or focus
And though she is locked behind bar, behind cage
she is far to enraptured to notice
Tis a musicless song, a tintinnabulation
she conducts without music, without measure, and score
She gains with her verses such sweet admiration
yet still they insist upon more
The poetry slave, ah that talented slave
Forced to write without her consent
That intelligent fool, ah that talented knave
under lock and key but content