Best Depthless Poems
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The last tint of orange sunset faded
into hints of lilacs and blues
trailing the depthless paths
of a promising horizon
On the glistening sand I lay
into the first hours of twilight
My eyes reverting from early stars
to follow soft gentle ripples
of playful waves lapping
onto the silent shore
The scent of salt~ spray
and margeuritas
wafted in the air
'Neath the moonglow
that seperates our lands
...And I thought of you
...Of your last letter
Of every pulse of your heartbeat
pouring crimson in a cup
of rose-petal water
Yes,once more I thought of you
like I always do
And everything was beautiful
and everything went still
till the trickling drops of crystal dew
welcomed dawn.
Hollow odes lament where waves crash depthless
Oh! How ocean lacking light spills woe so!
Lackluster grays wail unkempt longingness
Lone stander bleeds the dreams of times ago
O'er the screaming wind, a seagull's bleak cries
weeps of cloudiness usurping the day
Heaven's warmth obscured, and now coldness vies,
overwhelming where vast emptiness slays
Left purposeless, wavering dark takes hold
looping tight a lynch-like corrosive noose
Otiose life sucks vim where sharks enfold,
wrecked in sunless abyss of night let loose
But Sol, unconquerable, beams once more
and the lighthouse sings, full of birds from shore!
(6/10/18)
lavender tendrils
ripples on depthless water
deer snaps his head up
5/24/2018
Yesterday, sociable sun embellished,
desires of my poetic garden heart.
Spreading sweet scents of serenity,
elegantly and enchantly, echoing,
vivid visions from my vibrant vocabulary,
but, such is the nature of the muse,
without refreshment, it's petal like mood cried
for raindrops of ink to nourish and flourish its
sensitive sleeping seeds, shielded by my soul.
But, howling winds arrived with bitter rain.
Their rapid rage of gusts so forceful,
fumed furiously at my simple words.
Hysterical and bloodthirsty,
their wrath devoured my delicate artistry,
all day and throughout the night -
for the first time, I felt empathy for the moon.
The morning after, I awoke to find my
flower garden resembling Greek ruins.
My cherry blossom tree is now bare,
her pink buds floating in depthless puddles.
Tulips are headless, with their perished petals,
laying lifeless along my purple slate path,
as rose bushes slump,
arching and aching from brutal blows.
Unsociable sun did not appear today,
maybe too afraid, maybe too shy.
In my state of despair, I wonder;
Is there beauty, in such a tragedy?
Is there hope in such an unfair travesty?
But raindrops keep pouring,
physically, emotionally and metaphorically.
not just a dream, but heaven.
songs of merry
throughout and upward heaven
in the inland garden,
luscious lavender hills,
dipped in flickering
white mountain caps
I sit near the river's edge,
bathing in the brilliant sunshine
whilst my feet splash
the blue mirrored hedge
watching the swirls
on the depthless water,
the in and out of bees, butterflies,
and hummingbird flutter
to savor the nectar
from the chalice
of fragrance of flowers.
smelling the wild spray
of dandelions, tiger lilies, bearberries
in the calm melody of dance
as the breeze weaves
through trees
and upon green blade
of the herbal sweet sedge,
whilst children in lively play.
a life of forever,
no death or suffering,
but
love.
6/2/2020
Heaven Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina Riddle
You can travel the four thousand miles of the Nile
to its source and never find it.
You can climb the five highest peaks of the Himalayas
and never recognize it.
You can gaze through the largest telescope
and never see it.
Arthur Sze
To be a part of landscape
From a distance landscape has a
recognizable outline.
A skin mite, grazing fleshy meadows
grotesque microscopic cow,
has no concept of the human form it feeds from.
Just as a mountain in close proximity
is no longer symbolic of its form,
romance and the imagination of it
is reduced to a frozen, physical obstruction
that is a challenge to survival.
The skin mite tumbles, a huge force
has torn it's clawlike hooves from
living apertures, it falls
with flakes of dead turf into a
depthless void, unoticed
by the scratcher,
and the mountain climber sees the
blinding wall of snow that
flashes by him as he falls,
unoticed by the mountain.
You’re an enduring eclipse of quotidian winsomeness,
Existing in front of all others, compelling the aforesaid into your shadow:
My Beautiful One…
Surpassing their talent for beauty,
By allowing the world to witness your gift for it:
My Beautiful One…
Rejuvenating a word once relegated to becoming depthless,
Its affects near fleeting, Beautiful showed few signs of standing peerless as it once did,
Though within your presence, Beautiful is brought back to its quintessence, to its inception,
Shown the miracle it was conceived in, you’ve promoted its ordinance even over that of the beholder’s vision:
My Beautiful One…
In your arms, embosomed by you, Beautiful is free from its superficial cellar,
No longer just vernacular, the “B” word for pretty, or merely our lexicon’s adornment.
No, My Beautiful One…
In your face, Beautiful finally returns nature’s true reflection,
Your facial features burn incandescently and uncontrollably, fueled by a lifetime of beauty all in one place.
My Beautiful One anoints Beautiful with her grace, returning its virtue,
Granting it renewed potency…thought lost for always…
Written in Afghanistan -27 OCT 2013
Guilt overflows
with a spark of revilement
its decay spreads like fire,
blinding...conniving...
binding up in its sticky debris
still surviving
tangled whispers bleeding through me
reminders of a depthless past...
listen to the sobs beneath me,
the hardness of your ears meet my lips at last
deep inside a heap of lies,
refusing my cries
you can never see how binded I am...
how blinded I am.
you too cannot see...you cannot see
though your eyes meet me,
still, you cannot see.
the least you can do is listen
listen carefully,
sight is mere illusion,
follow the voice intently,
it cries softly, oh so softly...
before it dies away unnoticed
It whispers steadily,
Remember me,
Remember me...
A gaping mouth, desperate to, in the end, consume all else
The Beelzebub that knows its place and, once denied, is felt
Lays open all the questions that can lead to what we knew
And answers what could never, though empiric, be untrue
This blood of apathy
Drains to a depthless sea
The voices deep inside
Embedded, cannot lie
The other soul knows of itself
More than the mind can comprehend
The other soul cannot be felt
But neither soul can still transcend
So fanciful, desires to create, to but control
To overlord, to master what we think we cannot know
"Play God, Play God" the demons cry
"Enough, enough", we can't deny
"Sublime, sublime, extrapolate
Transcend, transcend, corrupt and sate"
The horror, horror, demons' cry
Beneath the fathoms of the mind
The real demon, that am I
My devil is my heart
The lightly torn apart
The darkness
The darkness
The horror
The horror
The end
To end
All
Productions, no raw material,
visions infinate, born ethereal.
Imaginations memory,
cojouring thoughts where they dwell.
Images taken, the empty minds void,
depthless well,we poets the weavers,
of timeless spells.
Tommorows muse not present or past,
imortality, ink made fast,
when future poets study whats passed.
When a Man Loves a Woman
He awoke, unaware of what ailed him,
lay blissfully stupid upon the bed.
They had exchanged numbers. “Perhaps?” “We’ll see?”
yet now, by trailing scent of her, he's led.
“Twas but the fleeting brush of flaxen hair
filaments of gold this spidery maze
soft pouty kiss left hanging on the air
stunned prey held motionless ‘mid moonlit gaze.
Yet deep within the urge to run, to flee
deny the heated blood within his veins
escape the tentacles of what might be
while on the wind the rapture slowly wanes.
And yet he'll search each night those depthless eyes
arrayed within the nuance of disguise.
12/15/2016
When a Woman Loves a Man
She awakens cognizant of love’s start
rolls lazily on pillowed fantasy
longing to hear the thunder of their hearts
walking the silent rim of ecstasy.
All else is but a dreamy Princess theme
cold rain become the dripping tears of joy
cavorting in the mist of passion’s scheme
short dalliance with longing’s clever ploy.
Retreat, defend the castle, lest it fall
become but subjugate to passion’s King
live in the shadow of love’s passing thrall
wander in search of windblown scented spring.
Yet does the fervor of her heart conceive
a love no doubtful passion can unweave.
12/16/2016
Slithering in the depthless waters
We find the eel—never blinking
Rarely has he seen the sun
Encompassed with mistrust
He’s a soloist of the deep
Calm burning in his soul,
We find his home
Serenely built on the quietude of his spirit
He melts into his cold tunnels
He’s the keeper of the ocean’s secrets
Frowning and gaping
He lifts his slimy head
Watching the strangers swimming along
Catching interest in one or two
Only to assist them in knowing—he’s the devourer of whomever he pleases to
overthrow
He’s so unobtrusive, this little creature
Yet fire seems to burn from within
As if by coming a little closer…
He’d reveal his secrets from beneath the fin
In awe the eel will slither back in his throne of emptiness
Silent desperation was never described so discreetly
Yet he conquers all completely
And survives longer than his kind could ever appreciate
Soloist of the sea
I doubt you desire me to observe
Your slimy, despicable existence
But you are worthy of acknowledgement—
Much worthier than I myself
For truly, my eely presence in these lines
Is diminutive against your profound, human-like indifference
I sit at the end of the wooden pier near the river's edge,
my feet splashing the blue mirrored hedge
watching the swirls on the depthless water.
In my hand a wild spray of dandelions, tiger lilies, bearberries
and parchment. Cool current veers unhindered away from the ledge
by nature's land; behind the trees where elves, pixies, and fairies
dwell upon green blade of the herbal sweet sedge.
Dip in freckle orange tiger lily crinkle hats and veg
flitting around from tree to tree, peer beautiful sensual pixies.
In the calm melody of dance all trim in fluff and buff fairies
in their yellow dandelion bellow skirts and soft chicks fledge.
The old Elf poet sings and reaches for parchment and ink bearberry bushes.
In and out the bees, butterflies, and hummingbird flutter
to savor the nectar from the chalice of fragrance of flowers.
The brilliant sunshine finds its way behind the trees and shudders.
Sleepy, I rose and walked home to the river's edge.
5/15/2018
He is himself a painting,
Sitting there on a painters stool upon the cliff's edge
jutting out over a vista to the envy of gods
where the skies reach down to touch, to but experience
this view to capture the soul,
Where one could but look into the distance
to drift across the world and savor it’s every pleasure
and forever be free:
With but a look,
And he is himself a painting
this man who sits with brush in hand, and like a shipwrecked sailor
parched and dying of thirst
sees before him ocean waters of crystal blue and honey dew
and cups in his hands a depthless morsel
raises it to yearning lips
to drink from the ocean,
Just so - this man he lifts his brush
and with every stroke
his parched tongue laps up the sweetest drops of honeyed milk
as indulgent brush laps along the canvas
and paint sinks deep into every pore
This man, he drinks the ocean;
Yet he is himself the painting
and when he is done, when his throat is sated
He picks up yon coveted ocean
and tosses it over the picturesque cliff-
down and down it tumbles...
..to crack and shatter upon a mountain of like paintings
and this man, who is he himself the painting
is a man alone with his scenery
A man alone, and he paints for no one
and this picture, this lone man with none to savour his plight
Sends his brush and his soul over the vista
and drowns in the ocean.
I see you in my dreams
An unravelled seam,
A faded place,
Struggling to resurface,
An irrefutable alteration in my life's plan,
Branded and irrevocable throughout my lifespan
Leaving tear-stained cheekbones
And whispered tones
Depthless emptiness in my trembling heart
Trails of scar tissue as you depart
Stilling the voices in my melancholic mind,
Memory I see has truly been unkind
For here you were and here you are not
My heart and my soul remains besot
As I glide through the mires and murky without care,
Your cruelty has erased my concept of fear,
There is no life in these arms to reach forth,
No craving or wanting to be sought,
If there is a thing to cure what is ailing me,
Darkness dictates that even that will fail me.