Best Crystallised Poems
"If you're really in love, appearances aren't important. The best house is the one you build in each other's hearts."
Jung Yu jin
Autumn's alliterations amplified an acoustic of death.
Stillness of internal instrumentals silenced my acapella.
Words like wildflowers withered in winter wickedness,
without voice or verse I vanished behind a visible veil.
I was like a lifeless crystallised burnt sienna leaf,
as bitter breaths froze my brittle soul's ink.
Fatigued fingertips trembled from numbness -
without a purpose upon a speechless stage.
Afraid of crisp crying rain, which fell like a refrain.
my summer eyes turned amaurotic.
Life resembled a blank music sheet,
among an abandoned piano covered in iced cobwebs.
In solitude my music remained unwritten,
as I slept in a shivery silent slumber - tone deaf,
finding fading apricity in stolen daylight.
Until a silvery silhouette appeared. - sparkling.
Placed my hands into her warm glove-like hands,
wrapped me in an emphatic scarf-like embrace.
Her rose gold lips echoed in Orphic tones,
reviving my somnolent mute muse.
Blessed with vibrations from her vision,
senses awoke to rhythms of her heavenly harmony -
strumming an enchanting lover's lullaby.
Were you a gift from an orchestra of operatic angels,
sent to place hymns of hallelujah deep into my heart?
As her mystical mystery began to unfold.
In union our lyrics amplified into a rhapsody of romance.
Vibrant tunes from her intimate strings composed a
seraphic serenade, as we drifted into a dream world.
Today,
as we dance under emerald velvet northern lights,
snowfall covers our paths like an ivory blanket.
Soft flakes, like pearls glisten under tinsel moonlight,
as we leave poetic footprints behind in soothing snow -
a chorus of constellations glow to the tempo of our glorious sonata.
His scarlet head droops
towards his soulless emerald chest.
Perched upon a fruitless branch,
his spiritless eyes stare
at the emptiness of freedom.
Above, streaks of ruby hints
flow among coral flamingo shades,
as golden streaks swim through
crystallised kaleidoscopic skies -
but he feels no enthusiasm to fly.
What he thought would set him free,
has left his heart a companion-less hostage.
A lovebird without a purpose,
he is unable to warble a melody,
nor whistle for the love he left behind.
Raindrops splash his forlorn feathers,
he is too scared stiff to spread his wings.
His heart thumps like thunder,
as flashbacks of sitting, singing and locking beaks,
with feasts of berries, apples and seeds,
are regretful reminders of his misjudgement.
As he falls,
his last thoughts -
maybe freedom is not all that it seems..
Silent One
22 September 2019
Porcelain doll, with a face so pretty
a country gal, ran away to the city
Worked in a bar, dancing on tables
beat shovelling sh-it, in Pa’s stables
Looks for love, but only finds bums
lowlife gamblers, in rundown slums
Go back home
not a chance
One day soon
find romance
Porcelain doll, life’s becoming gritty
rent’s due, ain’t nothing in her kitty
All knocked up, mascara streaking
bloodshot eyes, skin’s unappealing
Sleeps in the pines, winter it snows
crystallised tears, angel eyes froze
Barely alive
baby’s dead
No way back
no warm bed
Porcelain doll, face’s the committee
lunatic asylum, nobody shows pity
Shock treatment, four hourly dose’s
prison guard lesbians, with halitosis
broken doll, made one bad decision
they chipped her head, thin incision
Eyes don’t blink
stare at space
No expression
just a doll’s face
By
David Kavanagh
Her persona is like
a portrait
of picturesque perfection,
embalmed in
bittersweet lavender,
unseen within depths
of tributaries of elixir.
If only they knew
the chaos that flows,
constrained in
a confined
gallery of grief.
Not everyone is
a master painter.
Some brush with brutal
bruised strokes,
provoking timeless
streams of
implicit secrets,
from crimson stains
on ivory satin,
where scents of juniper
evoke phases of
unpredicted phenomenons,
oblivious to chronicles
of forsaken tales,
which hide
beneath barriers,
many have struggled
to venture within.
But there is an artist
with a
pastel on his palette,
that can correct
her disfigured pigment.
He holds cryptic
calligraphic engravings,
veiled behind the inflamed
chamber of her heart.
He understands that her
spirit drowns when
winds are forceful.
How her
delicateness has
been sleeping
on withered roses,
wilted by
cruelest rays of a
summer
mourning
morning star,
Where bedtime stories
were puppeteered
by hurricanes
feeding on
fenceless vulnerabilities.
yet when
sleepless silence sings,
it can disturb
in reverberating
heavy metal screams.
So she echoes her trauma
through hurtful hisses,
poisoning with
vicious venom.
Her aura alters in
acrimonious attitudes
from serene sunshine
to furious gales.
She remains without
a grip on untamable
seasons of
unholy torture,
Only he knows the poem
in her eyes is the
last train home,
so he calms her
tempest temperament,
enabling hidden rainbows
in her mind to reappear.
He is a soothing
gemini night-flower,
even with outcries
of midnight thunder,
his patience resembles
raining jasmine water,
purifying
her murky waters,
into a crystallised milky-way
of kyanite desires,
guiding her
to swirl and swoon
into
whirlwinds of closure.
First Placing : Poetry Marathon 2025
Sponsor: Mark Toney
{ FREEDOM “We may want to linger, to stay, to arrest the flow and talk about it, photograph it, lyricize it. Yet this beauty is mercurial and we must let it go, for it is already slipping away to be replaced by the new.” -Stuart Sovatsky }
YELLOW FIELD OF WHEAT
Angel of Death skims blacker than tar
a skeletal knock overturning bowl of oats
smelling of frankincense and ashes
to carry you to a yellow field of wheat
where you will dance radiant waltzes
haloed free
your laughter pranced across blue walls with
Michael Jackson, Spider-Man, cheeky elves
relishing Kentucky Fried Chicken as you
played scrabble with forlorn neighbour
bony body birthing revolutions of
roulette with green life and grey death
how you endured those precision needles
wanting to drum tapered fingers on
waiting desk overflowing with car sketches
your thirteen year old bald head smiling
veins on an enchanting spring moon as our
hidden tears crystallised hospital sheets
we tried to keep up with you scoffing
encyclopaedias, Dickens and muffins alike
cancer like a chess game mastered chemo
doctors and nurses becoming kings or pawns
time was now or endless pathos stalking minds
Laurel and Hardy keeping hearts unlocked
on Merlin’s star-patterned couch you will
jokingly converse with Pele and his team
soccer ball silent under quiescent table
my ink cannot pen sad lines as I feel
your lips still sucking dripping nipple
freedom moonwalks on a
yellow field of wheat
Silent sighs hide inside breath clouds
exhaled into sentimental air
as brisk winds summon twilight,
tinting innocent horizons.
Oxygen dances with atmospheric particles
creating a plethora of chemical reactions.
Enchantment illuminates in flashes of
colourful magnificence.
Celeste sapphire hints indulge
through violet shades of lavender hues.
Streaks of scarlet crimson petals
flow among coral flamingo shades
as golden streaks swim through
emerald crystallised skies,
seeking sanctuary within the realms
of infatuated devotion.
and that was the first time I saw her eyes
her perfect gift to the world.
Silent One
26 October 2017
Simple musing
"I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) I am never without it"
Quote _ by E.E. Cummings
From deep within the womb of vibrant space,
The elder from my soul group crystallised
His luminous form on earth by God's grace,
To guide me that I be self-realised.
Descent into matter, a sacrifice,
Choosing to ensoul an organic form,
For nothing less than his touch would suffice,
To engulf my body in a bliss storm.
Oft during evening walks, we would confer,
Purpose of earth life for our soul's ascent.
His highest wisdom with which I concur,
Was to surrender, granting love consent.
'Stand still', he exclaimed ‘and rest thoughts nimble'
'Love alone's real, God’s sacred symbol.'
02-September-2022
Lost to Heaven ~ Friend
Writing Challenge- In My Heart- S Forms - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
I realised today
that haste is the greatest enemy of Truth,
that acting without necessary Cause
is just creating More Noise!
I realised today
that letting something go before it dies away
is just as bad as picking it before it is ripe:
that things come and pass as they please
and playing God is simply playing the fool.
I realised today
that everything I don;'t like about you
is a reflection of something I don't like in me.
For I can't really perceive anything outside myself:
I am everything I see and feel.
I realised today
that Time is just the gap
between Thought and Manifestation,
that what I think, I create,
and Time is just the Gap which allows me to see that.
I realised today
that it's only when I get back in touch with my Feelings
that I know Truth:
for neutrality is just a game
the Ego plays to avoid Hurt.
I realised today
that my Mind is full of games,
that I want Out,
that I want to be Still
and Feel what I know to be True.....
for Truth is what I Feel
not what I Think:
thoughts crumble upon closer inspection
but Feelings persist,
leading me to Higher and Higher awareness.....
and whatever I do,
nothing can become more sacred
than this Magic Moment of stillness
I hold between each breath:
this eternity which passes from me every second,
the Universe crystallised in one tiny pulse......
Kundalini life force,
Chi or Holy Spirit
or say, power of God,
pervades each cell of form;
why then are we not awed?
Kundalini life force,
crystallised living light,
is our soul’s true essence,
energy kinetic,
awakened by conscience.
Kundalini life force,
rises from root to crown,
entwining us with space,
that in bliss mists we drown,
if open to His grace.
Kundalini life force,
stirs when our soul’s ready
to imbibe magnetism,
filling all voids within
our this here body prism.
06-July-2022
Notes: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kundalini
Words
verbs
aimless
adjectives
amalgams of verse
unshaped until
imagination's birth
bursts
fly free
on unfettered wings
blown to
&fro
to settle
long
forgotten dreams
as words floating
as petals
on a stream
a fragrance that lingers
a passage of light
inspiration
delineated
as
a thought
ribbon
originality
conceived perceived
crystallised
in relief
Benign Bliss Burn
A gentle mist of divine origin
osmotically pierces body-mind,
rapturous caress, each nuance virgin,
releasing erst fears and desires that bind.
We invite grace invoking magnetism,
innate, aglow and pulsating within;
rainbow in full view, in our body prism,
throbbing with bliss and playing on our skin.
As living light, crystallised within form,
soul's attributes burst forth in full glory,
manifesting thus, a benign bliss storm,
scripting our earth life's beautiful story.
The flame of love ignites mind-body urn ~
As bliss engulfs us, we willingly burn
16-October-2022
Inspired by the Bridal painting of the Empress Elisabeth of the 19th century Austro-Hungarian Empire -
Elegance, strength as elegance,
elegance of spirit personified as if this extraordinary elegance
was born to be, beyond the devestation of mortals,
so far outside the boundries of the base & banal ravishings
prevelant within peoples' passions and purposes,
escaping expectations of equality,
graciousness was alive within her
like a landscape loved & leavened by a monogamous moonlight,
ebony overcome by the invigoration of ivory,
realising that genuine grace is a monument
of courage confronting chaos, crystallised composure,
she being a template and temple for hopefuls,
in all my experience I have witnessed no woman more ready for power,
more savoring for sacrafice, more able to abate avarice & acrimony,
Elisabeth, the emerald of an Empire,
Mother to minions, mistress of the misery & magnificence of the multitudes,
Master of the stout & savant,
such precocious puissance of personality, regal resilience,
my imagination renders eagles delivering sustenance to her,
bees bringing heavenscent -
J.A.B.
It was a cold morning, but stubborn sunlight shone through dusty blinds on condensated windows. Their crystallised effect shimmered on decaying leaves of a dehydrated indoor plant. By chance, I caught his reflection in the mirror. His pale face was a palette of charcoal circles and pigments of black mixed with beige. I had never seen his eyes so lost, but I recognised his smile peering over an untidy 'George Clooney' stubble. He was staring at two doves sitting on mossy branches of an Autumn tree. Maybe he related to its vulnerability or the empty nests, left behind by departing birds.
dewdrops on moss stains -
damp feathers softly floating
away from bare branch
I was always too afraid to ask questions, so I turned on the radio to break the silence and 'Purple Rain' began to play with 'I never meant to cause you any sorrow, never meant to cause you any pain.' The lyrics of the song seemed to connect, as he mumbled the chorus, "Purple Rain.... Purple Rain," but then paused, as the lyrics became complicated. His voice was like an eerie echo in a misty valley. He exhaled a deep sigh, like he was relating to the song and with a heavy heart sat down staring at the grey walls of his room. 'Fast Car' by Tracy Chapman began to play to his distaste. He started to switch through the channels, until he heard 'November Rain.' In a tired tone he repeated the line, " Everybody needs some time alone...." A tear slowly rolled down his cheek, he wiped it away quickly, so that no one would notice. I sang the next lines, "I know it's hard to keep an open heart, when even friends seem out to harm you, but if you could heal a broken heart, wouldn't time be out to charm you? There was no response. I was always good at reaching out to people, but struggled with him. As the song came to an end, I could hear several monotonous sighs, until he got up, turned off the radio and walked out of the room... Dragging me with him, as he put on his smile.
emotions like stars
fade from black to red to blue -
changing like the sky
I remember living in one room dingy and dire
with old lino on its rotting wooden floor.
I remember crystallised spit dangling from guard at the fire;
as mother cleaned, he'd only honk the more.
I recall how we went hungry, waiting for the paltry sum
he allowed us for board and keep, the cheap fink,
and how he served apprenticeship to becoming a true bum
by treating as priorities his fags and drink.
I remember all the rows he caused demanding back the cash
which was supposed to feed and clothe his we’ans
I remember every Christmas morn' the gifts received were trash
because he'd pissed the present-money down the drain.
I recall one awful night my mother hunting high and low
with a hungry bedraggled child on either hand,
she finally catching that boozy stinker sate in the Dungloe.
How he fumed, outraged that food she dared demand.
I remember his begrudgement of those sparse few days away–
one hour upon the beach or at the fair:
how just when we were relaxing would be dragged from play.
Homeward-bound: him the ‘bookies', us despair.
I remember trudging up to Creggan to the ‘Housing Place'
every week with mother and sister, come rain or hail,
and how that worthless, selfish, monster did not even have the grace
to commend her dedication, instead railed.
I can picture his expression when she got herself a job,
determined not to lose her new clean home.
I remember his wild tantrums when she'd saved up for a hob–
the delivery man was perplexed at oral foam.
I remember those miserable times as if they were today,
how he made odd help with homework living hell–
so that now a friend's assistance, however gracefully
put, grates my tortured psyche so much I cannot tell.
When we started working, my sister dear and I,
it seemed for him a licence to give less.
Many weeks he'd keep house-money and, as the months went by,
we discovered he'd drunk the rent; that was a mess.
So now sot has retired, and it seems his mind has gone–
for he's telling all how great he was those years:
he built house on the prairie. He was such a con:
the only thing he constructed was a legacy of fear.
The mass production of coal is dead,
Buried infer lamps carried on the head,
Halogen miners sang the unforgiving dirge,
With fragments of flaky particles emerge,
Drilling hammers that smote the ground,
Never again to hear its rumbling sound.
Voices roar like dragons in damp vapour,
Highlighted the dangerous drudgery caper.
Its miners turn to face the cold idle breeze
Lusty diggers of cave brought to their knees.
Dust off running tears in nocturnal eyes
Sparkled pay in dissonant redundancies.
Tipping poison pouring out of their coat,
Coals brightly burn diamonds in the heat.
Hem and skirt tossed away in good wave,
The blockade collapsing stairs of the brave.
Sad hearts dramatically ending the way of life,
Kiss the face pioneers abandon with cheek.
Dirty power of bygone industrial revolution,
The demise ends centuries of veiled tradition.
Looks that is lost on the cloudy grey glare,
Tunnels bearing signature of the slender tear.
Tattoo rippled down on jagged wall mirrors,
Romantic fires to stare at the mantle towers.
Underground roads in loops of fuel suspended,
Prison row of tombs lay silently on the cold bed.
Rock fractals calling from cold depth of earth,
Snuffed out the foggy union in oblivious wrath.
Dripping tar brooms lay on the dormant floor,
Once supplied daily ration meals for the poor.
Now the pit is shut leaving the empty trucks,
Pulling the souvenirs bearing burden buckets.
Into the nostril part of murky breath exhale,
Indifference steps crystallised among the stubble.
Can we face climate change of clean living?
In the beautiful candescent global warming.