Best Dusts Poems
When the
moon muses
to the
melody of memories,
roaming wisps
of vanilla gently
flow through
space and time.
Your voice
echoes through
scintillating
sheets of
unwavering waves,
like lullabies laced
into silver nightfalls.
Within my
mourning sight,
invisible feathers
form into
clouds appearing
as wings,
swiftly swerving
and reflecting
perfumed “ forget-me-nots.”
A reminder
that you’ll always
be gracing our horizons
from
dusk till dawn.
I’ll savor your
memoirs within
pastel colored pages of
my purple journal.
I’ll recite
your favorite poem,
like
starlight over groves
of
silk and ebony.
Tomorrow before
the sky
tumbles down,
let the
sunflower stillness speak.
When these
tears are unlocked,
rain serenades symphonies
of
sentimental seconds,
lost to the
ticking truth
of fleeting
grains from
sinister silence.
You’ll feel my words
rising and
reaching
the seventh sky,
beyond unwritten
woes and throes,
as you
sway upon a
golden swing
engraved with
diamond dusts
and
daphne dreamcatchers.
When rooted promises shift through dusts of seasonal change,
from a kyanite blue breeze to whirling wisps of lilac longing.
Memories live on, as nothing of value is ever lost.
My mind is a puzzle of cryptic metaphors.
whilst searching for my sanity,
I've become my own worst enemy.
In this cauldron of despair,
time is like sand in my hand -
an oxymoron poetic
paradox of cruel compassion.
Sadistic green eyes bring my demise,
as my sighs are captured by the wind,
slowly morphed into madness and travesty.
I sit alone on the throne of midnight illusions,
cursed by dark imaginations
lingering like mouldy air,
as vivid flashing images
engrave inkstained imprints.
Dripping lament from a
palette of black and white,
colouring in the emptiness of my sensitive soul.
In echoing whispers of weeping violins,
whimsical vibratos from wooden wind-chimes,
steadily orchestrate instrumental sonatas,
ringing through my strained metallic heart,
whilst I try to strum strangled strings,
harmonizing an inconsistent symphony of a tragedy.
Fate has me stranded within a monotonous loop of uncertainties,
for when twilight’s last breath piercingly eclipsed over
lyrical edges of my insomniac shadow,
it awoke restless beasts of nocturnal nights -
in nightmares I wondered does no one hear my screams?
i can see dazzling dusts of black diamonds,
drizzle manuscripts of maniac irony
translating dialects hidden behind unshed tears
that gleam like shooting stars,
as i sing mystical moonbeams,
sewn with silver sequins of euphonious memories on refrain,
chorused from nameless tunes of timeless tomorrows,
as the magic of the maestro,
residing in the highest bridge of sanguine skies,
guides these electric fears, trapped between
synchronized layers of my unsettled skin.
I'm tired from intangible tears in the mirror,
slowly sinking me in swirls of sorrow,
like a bruised creature
seeking shelter in a silk cocoon,
so this aurora's smile is no longer a masquerade.
I hunger for rays of sunlight to paint my skin
in a plethora of pastels,
so this golden bronze queen,
can once again glitter
in a crown of illuminating heartbeats.
Inhaling, hushed, from hashed cigars
my mind implodes in Malimar
where Naiads bathe in caviar -
I dream of dwarves and three-eyed tsars.
The captive kiss of Princess Mars
(who talks in tongues at seminars)
burns red beyond Her blue boudoir -
I writhe within Her pale peignoir.
Her Maids gloss lips with cinnabar,
bedizen cheeks in dusts that mar,
serve teas beside the reservoir -
I sip them from a samovar.
Disguised in smoke and lamps of spar
Her Genies gender gold dinars,
evoking flames in ginger jars -
I plea before the Commissar.
At Princess’ neighbourhood bazaar,
white shadows slip through doors ajar
to drape my dreams in ash and char -
I long await the Avatar.
Her Merchants (preening, proud Hussars)
paint pretty scenes on VCR’s
while sailing ships to Zanzibar -
I strum the strings of warped sitars.
Her Prophets sometimes cruise in cars
else while at each and every bar
to speak of space and time bizarre -
I pass my pride for small pourboires.
Her Necromancers trace in tar
tall tales of wisdom flung afar,
transported by the Registrars -
I hitchhike on their handlebars.
Her seers conjure repertoires
where She and I are on a par
in infinite surreal memoirs -
I sometimes sense the void is ours.
My Princess never sees the scars
cut by Her whispered “au revoirs” -
I often wake to ask ‘who are
these Gods that sail the distant stars?’
Crisp end of winter morning,
my shovel digs the soil,
turning over weeds and worms,
and watch them twist and coil …
hoe the dirt once more again,
until a soft and silky bed,
then plant seeds, where once grew weeds,
and grow vegetables instead.
Watch out for snails!
Watch out for slugs!
Watch out for earwigs!
Watch out for harlequin bugs!
In two weeks or a little more,
shoots of green grow from the seeds,
now fighting for their patch of ground,
but a little later than - the weeds.
And so I’m down upon my knees,
working out what plant is what;
making sure carrot and parsnip,
are growers in this garden plot.
Watch out for sparrows!
Watch out for silver eyes!
Watch out for blackbirds!
Watch out for magpies!
Summer sun and drying winds;
summer storms with chance of hail.
Caterpillars, thrips and aphis,
do their best to have me fail,
but murder - mayhem travel well,
with snail bait, dusts and poison spray,
scarecrows, nets and old wine casks,
to keep marauding birds at bay.
Watch out for virus’!
Watch out for rot!
Watch out for mildew!
Watch out for black spot!
Late summer, autumn and the plants
are looking rather worn.
The leaves are dry, stems are dead,
as nature typifies her scorn,
for death will come with winter cold,
but thankfully the harvest flesh,
has been worth the season trials,
to dine on garden fresh.
Her dreams entangled in twisted ropes
perturbed fate of banished desires
innocence shriveled in raging fires
they haven't known her bubbling hopes.
Her existence exhausted in spiral cobwebs
blazing her world in exploding scars
yet wounded faith reaches soothing stars
in her festering pain from tides to ebbs.
Her harmless thoughts chained in fears
seemingly offensive to societal norms
will find an abiding shore through storms
history screams the truth over her tears.
She immerses herself in fearful showers
hurtful memories drowning her rugged mind
beneath oceans of paranoia she will find
enclaves of scarlet heavenly augmented powers.
Her frozen blood begins bubbling her cries
simmered courage sprinkled in layered hues
crushed valor floats in mellows of ashes to fuse
beyond afflicted pain in freedom she will rise.
Divinity reflects through her crystal eyes
splashing colors of flaming crimson tune
perfumed kindness drenching sapphire dune
she dusts her wings, like a Phoenix she will rise.
July 31, 2020
Be Inspired Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
~Premiere Contest Winner: 2nd Place
A FINDING
A sudden moon
Splashes gold
On evening clouds
And brightly dusts obscurity
Revealing within
Things people and places
Too profoundly hidden
To be forgotten
Call it findings
Those sticky stuffs of soul
Have lay alive and twitching
Through wandering years
Vividly clear happenings
Of childhood
Or (now musing) perhaps
Even another life
Such nocturnal painting
Challenges all meaning
And replaces
Current existence
Like
The crisp night
Lights up! –
A boy and his dog
On the green
Walking toward their home
In the village
On a most magnificent
Autumn day
Dave Austin
Dancing dragons amongst the twilight realm
Wounded warriors appear who stand at the helm
Their spirit attracts the bringers of the dawn
As the sparrows rejoice with merriment and song
They manifest through dimensional drift
Bringing with them great powers and wit
Mystic magicians who wave their golden wand
To cries of anguish must they respond
Hands that gently sprinkle dusts of gold
As they make new of what was old
Eyes that glare with infinite light
As their bodies resonate with second sight
Vivid visions that they have seen
The keys that unlock and soon will clean
Spirit soul body and mind
A spiritual sleep to help unwind
Children of light who battle the forces of dark
Heal thy wounds before you embark
Let the unicorns be your guides
As you travel timeless space and heaven's tides.
Feb.09.2016 ^WW^
Silently junked in a dusty corner,
You ended things up in unexpected border
Used me for year and said was so loved,
Carried your things and it was well packed
I was with you walking in school,
You said that I’m so nice coz’ I was so cool
We spent many good times together!
A year of happiness is so like forever
What happen to us my beloved oh pal?
You dumped me so bad and was so emotional
You found someone better than me
Surely forget our sweet memory
Crying so loud with plenty of dusts,
I’ll die so soon until world turn to rust
I guess this is how my life should be!
A school bag won’t last till eternity
I'm just a little particle created so long ago
I swirled with many of me to help your Solar System grow
For many years I spun I thought in never ending spin
From that marvel the nebula your Solar System begins
For those who are not very sure a supernova could have set the reaction
A core attracted me in then collapsing in a fatal attraction
The speed of which this happens picture a skaters arms by their side
Rotational forces so massive spinning in ever glide
This causes the cloud to flatten as me the dust is being drawn in
Around a dense core it travels a star is pulled in to begin
The more mass that is accumulated towards the centre of the disc
Enough energy is now created nuclear reactions react so brisk
In basic simple terms Hydrogen atoms in Helium fuse
Releasing enormous amounts of energy your Solar System sings the blues
The outcome of one of these bursts was the forming of your sun
Granted, it took another ten million years but what you know now has now begun
The next step in the journey of this incredible science feat
Is the formation of the planets that you humans will eventually seek
Eventually us dusts we stuck together to form the many of many rocks
This process is known as accretion created by the science clock
Forming in the flat plane over millions and billions of years
Electrostatic forces allured creating your Solar System spheres
I'm just a little particle created so long ago
I swirled with many of me to help your Solar System grow
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/space-3.php
What knowledge do you have of my home?
Have you taken a walk through the cemetery?
Walking on my tracks, footprints of eternity.
Have you read about the deserts?
Thus roar, thus blow filth,
Have you, met the survivors?
Felt have you, their struggles?
In The dusts that destroy,
That whistled as they sizzled,
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're senselessly irking me,
For a fool that I am not- is the fool that is you.
You believe in the reporter,
Who experienced little of a quarter,
Of the life he broadcasts,
You let the television fool you,
Have you walked the fine line?
Have you let hunger define you?
I did. Oh I did sweat in the dust,
Trekked through the cracks,
And I, stood face up with the sands,
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're senselessly irritating me,
For a fool that I am not- is the fool that is you.
I breathed within a twister of dust,
So you wonder not of my eyes as they carry,
The memories of the old struggle,
So wonder not of my skin either,
As it bears the manuscript of my old life,
Yes I move immaculate, but do you know of my heart?
Let you not be fooled by my slenderness,
My strength far flows beyond my weight,
So I lift a whole continent with my pride,
And if I have to, I will put my life aside,
Just to fix a smile on mama Africa's face,
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're senselessly irking me,
A fool that I am not- is the fool that is you,
Mama is beautiful, yet you only see,
As far as her horn, and the slums,
Where the strongest among us might've been born,
Yes mama is beautiful, yet you neglect to see her exquisiteness,
How could you go to my house,
To only document the cracks on my walls?
Couldn't you walk in to my living room'
And maybe peek in to my kitchen?
Thence you might see the beauty that is my home,
How long will you only look at,
Just the color of this book's exterior?
When will you ever walk in it,
To see the beautiful illustrations within?
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're unreasonably riling me,
Cause the fool that I am not- is the fool that is you.
She’s a poet with no name
A pseudonym her claim to fame.
Without sight she moves countless hearts
When with passion and panache
dusts off her mind,
Swamps the world with allegory
And tells it as it is and when
She touches the joy on cherished lips
Feels the warmth of our smile.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
End Game
Daylight, collected by ancient violins
Breaks a cadaverous rhythm
From dreams of a crashing heart
And all encumbered the features of its crag
Rages pitiful
It is a sigh, which leaves the unsleeping cushion
To bury knuckles in tired eyes
Daylight
With the auspices of its vendetta hanging cryptic
In riddled made promises
By the sun catches
Nothing
The mirror in its jaundice of coffee, continues
And stares melancholy from its own reflection
Hangs bloodless
Daylight
In its search for continuum
And its succession to hope
Clings remorseless
To love
In a steadfast silence
Holds its will to its own faith in strength
And so anchored on peace, the day begins in patience
And cast as grain to the eternal dusts
The ancient chord of violins
With sorrows bow draws upon the strings
Of my heart
Daylight
And with its first thought; turned on love
Reposed in the ghost of light below the dell
Where brunette pine needles and thirsty oak leaves dwell,
The wind hisses in the canopy
Delivering dreams from the crabapple tree:
The cotton white petals flutter toward my lips
But brush on by with soft ginger wisps
That shroud my eyes from the blinking sun,
Then dusts the ground in a snow-like pollen;
Ripe round blooms cup fondly in my hand,
And the flesh blushes while it nears my breath.
The taste revives my memory; I stand,
And float to the tree which marks her death.
Blue velvet caged
Behind rusty bars.
Soul within chars.
Fervent flames raged.
Mighty door creaked
Black-veiled phantoms
Chanting the anthems
Thus the dusts freaked.
All the phantoms read
The holy pages.
The pious sages
For repentance plead.
Life’s last drops
Time’s burning tears.
Soaked deep in fears,
Crushed by crops,
The soul crumples.
Satan’s oracle
Tempting manacle
On heart tramples.
Towers of flesh
Drag my weary bones
As the axe-man hones
His blade afresh
Heard the Devil's voice:
"Crimson Cross!"
My dice to toss
Fate's generous choice!
"Kneel by the altar
Take my rosary,
Or God's pillory.
You have to falter?"
Succumbing feet tread
On scaffold's heart
As the moments part
What's there that they dread?
Nails of Divine love
Prick my palms
Grope for balms
Wails a benign dove
Mocking herd of sheep
Ignorant vultures
The gaze tortures
The wound doth weep.
The Fallen Prince
Roars with laughter:
"The hereafter!?!
Who else to convince?"
"O thou Holy, hark
The Forsaken Son
Has thy Father won?"
All the rest is dark…?