Best Emanations Poems
Elysian ellipses of poetry's pride...
a literary litany that draws from
sunlit and moonlit
eloquent emanations ensuing
silent shadows that follow
mystical movement,
integrating intrigue.
Passion and beauty
fuel fecund imaginations
expressed from a Bard's bucolic
and loquacious,
luscious machinations,
sharing a gem of their soul.
Wrap me in your
timeless treasures and
leave me to bask breathless
in poetry's pride!
4-26-20
Cornucopia Poetry Contest ~Second Place~Premiere contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
April is Poetry Month. Celebrate Poetry!
'Twas a dark and stormy night! (OK - so I'm being a tad histrionic!)
The Earl of Pence was lounging by the fire sipping his gin and tonic.
Lightning flashed and thunder roared sending shivers down his spine.
Even his hound, Lord Percival, was so upset that he began to whine!
'Twas well-known thereabouts that phantoms haunted the earl's castle,
And on such frightful nights they were bound to cause a spooky hassle.
Nefarious deeds had occurred within Penceshire Castle walls in the past,
And were replayed in 'spirited' form leaving generations of earls aghast!
A shriek from the bowels of the castle sent the dog into howling fits,
And brought the earl bounding to his feet, scaring him out of his wits!
The blood-curdling screams were from a former Earl of Pence who in 1642,
Was hung by his thumbs in the dungeon for a fair maiden that he slew!
Suddenly, the ancient organ in the hall began playing eerie chords.
Heard on the floor above was rowdy dancing by ladies, knights and lords.
Ghastly emanations from the past paraded through the terrified earl's room,
Antecedents all, leering and grinning and predicting the anxious earl's doom!
Lord Percival sensing trouble long before, across the moat had bolted!
The storm subsided and the apparitions faded leaving the earl quite jolted!
He felt a bony hand upon his shoulder that took away his final breath.
'Twas his valet who offered a gin and tonic to the earl who now lay in death!
Barefoot on the paving slab chill, concrete
feet feel frostbite emanations in their callused souls;
rooftop mystique clamours silent slate triangles,
perched the stray cat observers, red-eyes smoking coals.
Down to the river's edge where swaying reeds
feed mongrel contemplations with moist whispered words;
rusty oil-slicked surfaces lick the muddy banks,
karma sutra assassins are the predatory birds.
Fixated upon a frozen traffic system, bolt-locked,
dumb-shocked by electric one way streets to dead ends;
barstool poets weep sleep-sozzled cabbage tears
for the closing-time tragedy of long-time absent friends.
Drunkards shamble on beer-stained coliseum floors, grumble,
mumble incomprehensible diatribes into thin air;
the memorial park benches flake skin and rot within,
white spirits rape the dreams that anyone should care.
Deserted boardwalks spool a crooked travel,
unravel with myopic glint and blink, cat's eyes dying, died,
and the desolated song from night's deflated lung
hums doggerel consolation with no meaning left inside.
Illegitimate offspring of fatherless daughters and sons,
buns in sceptic ovens, burnt baked black offerings;
sacrifices on toilet stall altars, to lie in state
no more than ether, aborted ghosts, empty superfluous things.
Saviours ride no pale horses, immaculate white stallions,
galleons never sail to where the sun pristinely sets,
for the purpose of this life resides in its conclusion,
deserve has nothing to do with it and nothing is all it begets
Hope yes we can: a target in the vision of the horizon
Offering here new possibility to embrace omnipotency
People are the motive force of truth, gate to halcyon
Emanations of eternity - the eagle exploits a new history
Yearning unshackled its wings o'er citadel in white disarray
Empowered by the fresh winds of morning, fetters broken
Settle me on a dream to soar again trusting a better haven
Wealth is the magic of ambition, keeling against despair
Etched in the certainty we shall overcome dismantling fear
Constitutional interpretations narrow as Khyber pass, belief
Anchored in alters of liberty, and prosperity through equality
Natured and nurtured us in the new dawn naked of old grief.
On wings of silken webbing, angels fly.
Secret helpers among us, seldom show themselves to
us in, their real forms.
Emanations of light, vibrating in rhythm to God’s music.
Eyes convey in their breaths,
energy emanations from the soul.
To listen to the eyes requires
ears of the soul; listen mode.
shattered glass
glints of sunlight
on a once whole window
no more to look through
no more to illuminate
the swirling afternoon's
clouds of rising tobacco smoke
the now cold cup of coffee
the doorbell that doesn't know
to ring
the knocks that never arrive
the sturdy home of countless years
now only a sad memory
of an old, ailing man
no more to sit, amazed
enthralled by falling snow
no more to keep the chill
from a love laden home
I hold a tiny, shattered
piece of glass
sole remnant of what was
a once mighty bastion,
protector against the wind
but comforting admitter
of nature and life
of lives and loves, and lies combined
do they still resonate within
just beyond my view?
which is real?
sparkling emanations of the past
or my disconnection from my
once so different reality?
the snows of my memory are warm,
soft, cushiony powdered flakes of time
the icy chill of "now" seems most ghostly
the sinking ship
rudderless, anchorless
drifting towards
the rocks of fate
and its ultimate end
I pick up a shard of glass
I squeeze it in my palm
a sad smile of remembrance
a surrender to fate,
crosses my face
I squeeze the piece in my palm
blood drips
the life essence flows
the window is once again open
I can see clearly now.
Angels of the choir
Is this the sound of heaven?
Such sweet emanations’
Heaven sings out
Each note
Plucks at my heart
Lifts my soul
Then elevates me
Carrying me away
On a choral wave
Of sweet rapture
Then upon the final note
Of purest clarity
I return to earth
On certain days, I’m moved only by a tailwind,
The breathing of the sky, the cadence of my heart.
On special days, I know only the imagined,
The sanguine waltz cascading from the start.
Some days, I just inhale the spice of powder earth,
The emanations of every life force I behold.
I dwell in iterations, the treasures of life I unearth,
Each moment is serendipitous, so wondrous, and bold.
On given days, I inhabit my core quiet, my still pond,
In touch with my tranquil repose, my smooth slumber.
I center in my soothing moment, never looking beyond,
I may be circumspect in my introspection, but never somber.
On different days, I drift on tidal dreams of many moons,
The wash of whispering oceans, and undiscovered seas.
I breathe in the briny fever of green, my private lagoons.
I savor the firmament, all the pleasures felt with ease.
On other days, I carry the chorus of every endearing flame,
Every deep carnal craving recalled, renewed, and revived,
I regret all the lost loves for which I am solely to blame.
Repairing my past, I long to heal all those I have deprived.
On certain days, I’m moved only by a tailwind,
I touch my reset button to live all my life in the imagined.
The mind is what you make it
The mind is a blank book at the time of birth
We are the authors we write what we will
the mind
the mind is like clay
shaped by every
encounter question
doubt and desire
the mind
the mind
We create the allusion We make
the addiction We spark the nervous break down
and unnecessarily bite our nails in reaction to events
We the authors of our mind We create the false and
truth in our mind My truth is not your truth and your
truth isn't mine
the mind
the mind
What you may see in a tree I may not
see our trees endure the seasons differently We see
the emanations of our mind the image may be ugly or sublime
Time is an allusion make your conclusion From day or night
from naked or dressed we draw conclusions of our own
Most minds over look the simple and accentuate
self made complexities
Thus the next step is complicated
Your mysteries is not my mysteries we both have different history's
Our minds are projectors it casts images on everything we see
I see all amalgamated.
What do you see?
Pastel florals arise and flow,
in hues of tranquil misting seas.
Back light of a sapphire glow,
captivates the heart of glee.
Impassioned crest of rainbow song,
crescendos in the twilight beams.
Where angels walk abreast in throngs,
emanations of hope begin to stream.
Majesty of the cresting wave,
gifts sinewy strings of morning dew.
Mother Nature then engraves,
her claim of incandescent hues.
Gay sings the bird up in the bower;
in observation of the blossoming flowers.
8-3-2021
A Brian Strand Your Choice Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
'Twas a dark and stormy night! (OK! So I'm being a tad histrionic!)
The Earl of Pence was lounging by the fire sipping his gin and tonic.
Lightning flashed and thunder roared sending shivers down his spine!
Even his hound, Lord Percival, was so upset that he began to whine!
'Twas well-known thereabouts that phantoms haunted the earl's castle,
And on such frightful nights they were bound to cause spooky hassle!
Nefarious deeds had occurred within Penceford Castle walls in the past,
And were replayed in 'spirited' form leaving generations of earls aghast!
A shriek from the bowels of the castle sent the dog into howling fits,
And brought the earl bounding to his feet, scaring him out of his wits!
The blood-curdling screams were from a former Earl of Pence who in 1642,
Was hung by this thumbs in the dungeon for a fair maiden that he slew!
Suddenly, the ancient organ in the hall began playing eerie chords.
Heard on the floor above was rowdy dancing by ladies, knights and lords!
Ghastly emanations from the past paraded through the terrified earl's room,
Antecedents all, leering and grinning predicting the anxious earl's doom!
Lord Percival sensing trouble long before for the door had bolted!
The storm subsided and the apparitions faded leaving the earl quite jolted!
The earl felt a bony hand upon his shoulder that took away his final breath.
'Twas his valet who offered a gin and tonic to the earl who now lay in death!
Entry for Tania Kitchin's "One Night in A Haunted Manor" Contest
(8 January 2019)
In the night sky of floating
ice, burning rocks, emerges
a disk of pale quartz, lit
by halcyon sun lamp;
in the wings, floodlights-
glassy emanations of
white diamonds squeeze
from the charcoal mantle
twinkling hot flashes
of digested plasma;
on the dark perimeter,
hoary stalagmites with
strobe lights powered
by a solar battery
spin in their planetary orbits;
shooting across ethereal
bow, cannon balls- igneous
boulders of ice and dust
with fiery dragon tails
stream into the murky,
dark sea of oblivion
Once there was an elder who possessed a fortune vast.
He was the proprietor of lands he had amassed,
dwellings and retainers and a mansion huge and wide
but with just a single doorway to depart outside.
Though this house was broad and spacious, it was in decay.
Yet it teemed with countless people, plus a large array
of living creatures big and small, all about the place.
While in the halls the pillars were rotten at the base.
The plaster and foundations were cracking all around.
Its rooftops and verandas were falling to the ground.
With crumbling walls, beams and rafters crookedly askew,
that building was quite dangerous, as the elder knew.
The fencing round the house was broken-down and twisted.
Emanations human-faced eerily existed,
evermore antagonistic, with humongous greed,
trampling on one another in their reckless speed.
There was filthy matter scattered all about the site.
Various beasts were snarling and lusting for a fight,
quarreling, snatching food out of the mouths of others,
showing total disregard for their sons or brothers.
Poisonous bugs and snakes made it more repellent seem.
That mansion had degenerated, to the extreme.
Thus demons had settled in to dwell, that devoured
the vitality of men, hence to be empowered…
The aged man was in decline, nearing his demise.
He was prudent, very seldom taken by surprise.
Suddenly, fire broke out and set the house in flames.
His sons and daughters were within, playing at their games.
That father always felt concern for his children dear.
Seeing this inferno, he was overcome with fear.
Tongues of flame flared up in all directions round about.
With only just one access, how would they make it out?
[Continued in Part Two]
~ Harley White
Listen to sterile silence
nursing homebound fans
wavering white noiselessness
of silent futile passing
Absence of passion
hope
care
happiness
or creased
and reasoned
nearing deceased sadness.
Hear this void of madness,
lack of hunger
or parched thirst
for conversation
splendid nutrition
scandalous emission
empowering immigration
enlightened emigration
or angry fear emanation
of forced solitude migration
Into mortal loss
of sensory reception
political deception
economic perception
theistic inception
septic conception.
Smell nothing.
Taste everything
becomes dust
delustered rust
lust for transcendent
disembodied consummation
omnipresent transportation
omniscient evaporation
full latitude
for fragrance-free
plastic platitudes
feckless attitudes
disdainful blows
against further fertile emanations.
Sing where nothing
settles into rounding octave rings
to never
ever want to dance
in robust spirals
forming springs
Against depressions
felt repressions
thought impressions
known suppressions
unheard deflation
worn through integration
transcultural conflation
Of pantheistic elegant circling Zeroes
absorbed by a monstrous
monopolistic silent
slick supreme One
Listening to sterile silence
nursing homebound fans,
white emptiness
of silent
restless passing.
Glare at isolation.
Rake loneliness in.
Sleep with solitude
if you dare
to care
and share
yet without an inch
or squeezed moment
to spare.