Best Enchanter Poems
SECRETS IN MY PAST
LONG OVER ME, OUTLAST
TRUE I GIVE WITHOUT TAKING
TAKING FROM ANYONE SHAKING
FROM THE EARTHQUAKE
LIFE'S LIES I FORSAKE
TO IGNORE BLISS
BECOMING MERE MIST
MAGIC TRICKS UPON MY DEATH
REASSURING YOUR FAITH
THE CANOE ROWS AWAY
TO THE FLIPPED UNDERWAY
HOLDING AN ENCHANTER GOLDEN TICKET
COMES WITH ITS UNCONTROLLABLE CURSE
AMENABLE YES, BUT NEVER NURSED
COMPLETELY OPTIMISTIC
CHANGING STATISTIC
EXCELLENCE OF ROWING RIVER STREAMS
GIVES ME DELUSIONAL DREAMS
WHERE AM I STANDING
WHO IS THAT CALLING
BACKGROUNDS UNCHANGED
NAIVELY I PURSUE WITH RAGE
FINDING TRUE DARKNESS
FIGHT RELENTLESS
AGAINST MYSELF,THIS UNIVERSE
FOR WE ARE PUPPETS OR A VERSE
TO WHOM & WHATS THE PURPOSE
FANTASIES OF RIVERS FLOWING UPSTREAM
TO THE BEGINNING OF ITS ORIGIN
THAWS MY BRAIN'S RELIGION
EXPECTING TO SEE THE UNSPEAKABLE
The rose, Nature’s fragrant
Enchanter – inspiration of poets
Our preference for themes of romantic
Banter
Embracing her velvety flutes and
And silky arm swirls
Genuflecting servingly at her sacred
Scented altar
Is there more to be said of such
Endearing essence that has not
Already been amorously written
And gushingly read?
-------------------------------------
Perhaps highlight further
Her blood-like red -- rebleed years
Of greenless stems and deeply
Penetrating barbed thorns?
Or simply allow her to be
A manifest less complex rarity
Never linking her heavily to our own
Vein letting excesses and soul shredding
dooms
Affirm royally the Rose’s purpose, above all else
Simply to reside as another of Mother's perfect garden
Blooms --
Vallaha as Valkyries scream from
the depths of hell.
Charging out
into the vacuum
of an unoccupied mind
deafening all who listen
to their monstrous cry
from the bleak wilderness
called Vallaha.
Scream out to Odin
the scourger, charmer, enchanter.
Bewitched sinner sirens,
resonant, ensouling the strings
of unattended souls.
Lyrics whispered into
the trance of an ephemeral ballet
yet, appearing
epic in length and nature.
SCOTLAND
Very big sign on highway A1 going southways
Out of Scotland into England,
Painted with thistles, tartans, bagpipes, says
“Haste ye back to bonnie Scotland”.
The other side of road has a small squat
Stone saying one word - “England” - and that’s that.
I am not Scottish: there’s nobody perfect about.
But I’m the closest thing to I reckon:
I am a Geordie, a Scot with brains knocked out.
But mother often told me I was not born -
But conceived in Scotland - the Trossachs;
But nevertheless, still one of the Sassenachs.
I know Scotland as well as I know my hand:
Have crossed the mighty Forth bridges countless times,
Know the “charms” of Dundee’s sandstone tenement-land,
Breakfasted at the huge dining table with clock chimes
In Carbisdale Castle youth hostel, at ease;
And sawed logs for firewood from its fir trees.
I’ve hitched with Glaswegian drivers on the Campsie Moors
And listened to their pleasant chatter
In heavy dialect for twa hoors
Without understanding a word, for that matter;
And often had a dram and been merry
With the crewmen on the Ballachulish ferry.
The fact is that Scotland is the most
Beautiful part of the world I’ve ever known
And the Scots are a warm generous host
Always pleased to help a stranger on his own.
A pub-reading of Burns’ Tam O’ Shanter
From a soft Scots lilt is a real enchanter.
And when you go south on the A1,
All you find is just England.
That’s probably why they want
You to haste back to their bonnie land.
Kilts and haggis, the list is endless:
And while you’re there you won’t be friendless.
Like dark chocolate,
She is my favorite.
A redefined taste of perfection and originality,
An embodiment of beauty,
Not in some quantity,
But with endowed with plenty and quality.
Dark creamed co lour,
Enchanter with a pleasant oozing odor,
Giving her epicures an experience
Of absolute brilliance.
O! She is like a unique sample,
Her lips are very tasty samples.
The sun gives her skin a sparky shine,
Like the gold of king Solomon mines.
A bit of her lips are like pure honey.
The feel of her skin is more desirable than money
She is black and beautiful
Her beauty is so edible.
As her looks implies.
She is a beauty simplified
In a complex sense that can not be decipher.
She is a beauty that is a miracle
She is black and beautiful...
HAVEN INTRO.
*I am a lover of vampire stories and movies. So, I have decided to try it on for size,
and create a free verse series, on my own conjuring Vamp love story…Hope you
enjoy!! ~Miranda~
NOTE: a new chapter will be added once a week, stay tuned!
Aberration defines this creature
He walks among us all
Although he blends quite well
Is only seen at nightfall…
>“Master DeRay, I’ve found doubt in myself,”
Says Tate, in cold confusion
“My eyes beheld a beauty, her blood…
Smelled so luxurious, I WANTED IT,
I YEARNED for it, but some urge against myself
Restricted me from her taste…”
His mind pondered his words- he uttered slowly,
“…as if she was favored against me.”
DeRay alarmed, sifted swiftly toward Tate
Face so filled with hatred
Scornful looks, that could pierce Tate’s granite form.
“So you’ve been consumed by infatuation, eh…”
Words like venom from the tongue
“An ignited flame in the devil him self:
The enchanter has been enchanted.
Have you reached the un-dead senile age?”
DeRay belted a screech of laughter
From the pit of his empty stomach…
“Ah, but the strong finds his weakness…
After 335 long years…
What do you propose I do with you now?”
Tate leans closer, his eyes a twisted noir
“ What do you wish...master…brother?”
A taunt towards DeRay, as he whispers the reply,
“ Leave me Tate, I ban you from this court,
If I see you again, you know I must
Bring your everlasting life to it’s end”
Tate shot a saddened glare
Which brought shivers to DeRay’s spine
“I will not stand below you DeRay,
Your power, Is an equal to mine. Just as you say
We can’t feel, yet I do,
I will show you we can live without
The need to kill.”
DeRay turns to respond,
But, Tate obeyed his will.
A young woman he seeks.
An un-beating heart fulfilled….<
NEXT****Chapter 1: Miss Raliegh Eila Beydritch
Est. submit date: 3/18/2011 6 pm
In Marked Territory 10-28-24 - Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In Marked Territory
Midnight tightly clasps the darkness,
Like a wounded heart,
In between topaz edges of twilight
And pastels of first light.
Jealous of its cosmos
Shoos away the master of the day
Turning the face of the daystar
To other skies
To claim small hours.
Guardian of vanishing infinities
Speaks
Indigo borders
For moonlight
Moonbows
And wishes on the first brave star
Where waves of the galaxy
Break
Over unseen edges of stellar sands.
Lit only by celestial lanterns
Enchanter
Conjures sovereign spells
Declaring jurisdiction over platinum roses
And
Lover’s sighs
That wax then wane under polar stars.
Night rules this welkin magic,
A sorcerer hiding a book of spells,
This realm under the starry arch
The moonrise
The nebulae decorating the firmament,
Where gravity hems in epiphanies.
Who can view me behind the fence ferrous!
Those infiltrating eyes bear me desirous!
Unveiling what was previously hidden.
Keeping this same watcher has striven.
I figure you should say, "What's in plain view!"
Penny for your ideas as they decay in a dark row.
Truth is a precursor to the hotly slated freedom.
The spilling from torn gum is giving a storm!
Am I a true enchanter worthy of notice?
I feel you crying, so please, let me focus.
I never set up in front of an audience.
I starve to escape the irritating sequence.
But does it work to retain me from leaving?
This clutter adds to the overall styling.
Do they have any considerable difference?
Do I cave in, or do I dazzle with my openness?
What has me scared! How am I striving to hide?
None, however, can bear reality inside.
After the Inquest, I cast the net vast and bleak.
Induce them all to cave up the skill to peek!
Written: October 3, 2021
Bereft of the poetry of his soul
The knight took refuge in the house of death
Into darkness he went with his mind crushed
Wandering lust gone and with his own trust.
The enchanter gone
And disenchantment entered
And the land of La Mancha
Slowly turned to dust & cinders.
Talisman of allurements or of feasts
Chimeras of windmills or of fabulous beasts
Golden liquors and the shining decanters
Tales of poets sorcerers and of wizards
Adieu to stillness and the romance
Tryst and other typographical stance.
His merry madness had to go
And sanguine sanity had to be constructed
Don Quixote had to be demolished
And Alfonso had to be resurrected.
Alas! there is no poetry left now
In the lands of the Al Toboso
And no veils of Dulcinea now accrues
Across the knight of the mournful rue.
I sit, listening to the whisper in my breath,
shaping my expressions is safer than meth.
A voice among others, I am poet progenitor.
Do you see what I have wrought?
Heavens to metaphor!
As originator and instigator, I wordsmith
like a predator,
a panther ready to pounce,
an enchanter you might denounce.
Do you fear what I have brought?
Heavens to metaphor!
Finding fluid flourishes like jewels,
writing often without rules.
The singing cantor of candor,
A traveling troubadour
you never asked for.
Do you like what I have taught?
Heavens to metaphor!
In these days of isolation,
tenderness must be no aberration.
Here my casual parlance dances,
offering intimacy new chances,
for all your cares it enhances.
Do you welcome what I have sought?
Heavens to metaphor!
Behind closed doors
and red exits
we must all come
with our teeth gritted
our eyes slitted
Before yellow bushes
and maple desks
we have all been
to face the tormentor
to see the enchanter
Sacred hope
you who lies buried
beyond the oleander tree
arise and guide us
to the final path
Amen
Like dark chocolate,
She is my favorite.
A redefined taste of perfection and originality,
An embodiment of beauty,
Not in some quantity,
But with endowed with plenty and quality.
Dark creamed co lour,
Enchanter with a pleasant oozing odor,
Giving her epicures an experience
Of absolute brilliance.
O! She is like a unique sample,
Her lips are very tasty samples.
The sun gives her skin a sparky shine,
Like the gold of king Solomon mines.
A bit of her lips are like pure honey.
The feel of her skin is more desirable than money
She is black and beautiful
Her beauty is so edible.
As her looks implies.
She is a beauty simplified
In a complex sense that can not be decipher.
She is a beauty that is a miracle
She is black and beautiful...
The Good Artist: Carl Barks
(1901-2000)
(for Donald Duck)
The wry old enchanter wove dreams
For the thousands of children now grown,
Immortal fun enjoyment that seems
The dearest that we’ve ever known.
He took us to everywhere fun
Atlantis—the moon—at top speed
And now his last pages are done
We read and re-read and re-read.
He made sure the heroes prevailed,
At least every time that he could;
Though sometimes they stumbled or failed,
The laughter, and lessons felt good.
Lessons To Learn
There are so many lessons to learn
Like being nice guy and taking turn
And to old lady should offer seat
Next time on bus again repeat
People's feelings start to discern.
In middle of sea, we were adrift
Smelled an aroma that we whiffed
At an enchanter isle we would arrive
Our souls and spirits all came alive
Tide was slack and started to shift.
Ship rocked and rolled on vacation
We ended up needing some sedation
And on myself had to get a grip
Both of us slept through whole trip
This was beginning of a new tradition.
Jim Horn
The rolling hill leads to the castle wall
The fresh air and beauty of the landscape brings ache to your soul
The wall leads past the meadow to mountainous pass
Before the traveler there is sea of grass
There is a huge oak on top of the hill
Its energy and spirit traveler can feel
As the traveler sits underneath the towering oak
In his essence divine energy traveler will soak
Traveler has in his hand a tasty fruit
And in the other a flute
He begins to play the flute
The power of his music even Gods cannot dispute
If one listens closely one can hear cheetah chase gazelle on distant shore
One can hear Lion and Tiger Roar
One can hear exploding volcano set the land on fire
Or most beautiful face of a women which fills with wild desire
But the true beauty
Of the symphony
Its true majesty
Only a careful ear can hear and eye see
The music transcends time and space
And puts the listener in dream like place
It lifts him beyond the writing of laws of imagination
Into magical incantation
Beyond entropy beyond time
Into absolutely sublime
It brings forth divine desire
Until your very soul is on fire
But even that is not enough to write one’s own destiny
However if this magic is not enough to design destiny
How powerful would be magic that gives the enchanter the key
To have full control of his destiny
And this ability is found in music of this flute
That can spring to playing constellation of Lute
And all this is a base
To launch spirit with its music to owned by clock master of purple light place