Best Engravings Poems
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.
Technological age.
Advancement of advancement,
Digital acceleration unlimited.
Gifted and pocketed,
This watch,
Dull dark silver,
True and tested mechanic,
Short and sturdy chain,
Analogue accuracy.
It fits comfortably in my jeans pocket,
Ages alongside my creasing lines with wear marks,
Time isn't well kept with its adolescent sporadic tock,
Certain to be set to be kept at a minute ahead,
I am directed to watch this future unfold,
While it clings to my pocket lining and present time,
And the engravings pull me back to the past,
You told me not to let this time pass me by,
As you held me tight before you passed me by,
And I never kept very good time like this
Fresh watch that sticks close to my side,
I cannot say that you were lost,
For the path you had set was more set than stone,
No improper implication should be allowed,
The wallowing whispers that beg me every which way,
They told me to go away from the very place
That I had interest to stay and investigate,
The stars sway with no stationary complaint,
Our night sky that's not so city bright,
Contains a dim white plate in-between its phase,
Much like my pocket of space it hangs,
A witless glow behind the cloudy night.
I am no more than I was except for a simple realization,
To look back and find I am not the same as I was,
Commonly known as growing up and moving on,
But I know I'll be happy in just a few short years,
Just glad I am not the same as I am now.
A. W. Nutter
Monotonous music assaults my ears
The beat, becoming a hypnotic tone
To half clad men as nighttime nears
Dancing around their prayer stone
Worshiping the ancient engravings
A Lycan, portrayed as the master
The human reduced to groveling
Begging for mercy from his captor
The music increases in intensity
Chanting from the dancers begins
Working themselves into a frenzy
Ready to release the beast within
Random killing, is not their mission
The Trinities plan must be defiled
To destroy mans hope of salvation
The pack, seeks Bethlehem's child
As soon as transformation begins
The right hand of God will fall
Saving the son from demons sins
Gods warriors, answering the call
The mens faces begin distorting
Howls of pain, fills the night air
Signal given, warriors descending
Lycans trapped within our snare
Swords are drawn, blood is spilled
The head Lycan, begging for mercy
Raising my sword prophesy fulfilled
Last of the breed killed for his heresy
Through the gates of a mysterious garden,
Eyes glinting in the moon,
A sudden wind caught my hair,
Dark chambers, a choking sound in the shadows,
Unlatching the threads of a defiled soul.
Feet cold on the grass,
And I stood listening.
The darkling seas beyond moan,
Unearthing the sepultures,
Secretly buried in their womb.
Torn petals upon my palms lay,
Engravings shrunken and old,
Of some forgotten verse.
The boughs were dancing there,
The night sky, their flowers mirrored shimmering,
Echoing their song of some broken dream.
((... I walked away from the ancient ruins,, a glimpse at those hidden hollows,, slipping into the silence.))
The hope of the living
None would hope, like a destitute, by the roadside to rot,
With their eyes and other vitals, by the vultures pecked out,
Oozing a cocktail of body fluids, unsightly like yellowy snot,
And their putrid stench pervading the air, around and about.
But, most would hope, though with a morbid fear of the end,
That a garland at least, or an array of floral comeliness,
Would from an acquaintance, a relative, or a good friend,
Adorn the dark envelope, of their cold and silent loneliness.
That, dark clouds of grief; torrents of tears, their signage,
Would thicken the air with anguish, as the news is broken,
That their journey had ended, if even with a high mileage,
And threnodies would be sung; words of their good spoken.
That, as the wreath(s), though freshly made, goes withering;
Memories of them, slowly, yet surely, goes into the obscure,
That of their good, even the winds would go on whispering,
As weeping usher their metamorphosis into organic manure.
Yet, most by their lives, do not on any place such a burden,
Or, on the elements, tales of good to convey throughout time.
Positive impacts, as engravings on steel quenched to harden,
We all must first have on people, to justify such hope, as a prime!
Oct. 1, 2017
I know the Bible says REJOICE
but still I have lost my PEACE
silence has become my loudest SHOUT,
because of the screaming voices within me I couldn't let OUT
fear and anxiety invaded my HEART
while pain and sadness ensnared my MIND
maybe that's why I feel so Lost
cause they all marked me from BEHIND
I don't understand myself ANYMORE
because of what I have been THROUGH
silence has become my new NORMAL
cause my voice has failed to escape my darkest inner ROOM
please don't laugh at me when am silent
cause it wasn't my CHOICE
pain made me shout out the loudest
and since then I have lost my VOICE
yes, I still hear the cries of my soul deep WITHIN
trapped BETWEEN
the horrific walls of heart with scarry emotional ENGRAVINGS
Stop! people for once just listen to ME
Silence is turning me into a beast and am no longer who I used to BE
Lord come to my aid sooner or my chest will BURST
cause pain,sadness, and stress has filled it to the FULLEST
I am indeed helpless,
afraid to look even in the mirror cause it reflects my WORST
now I have finally opened up that when it comes to pretending, am just not the BEST
back then my mouth used to be wide open like the uncovered POT
shouting too much while my peaceful personality began to ROT
But I am now tired of hearing internal CRIES
so I have to go in and make peace with the VOICES
It is slowly juxtaposition,
an oldies reith for an acoustic-ness-
and we make a mock,
drain the corner stores mox....
Engravings in luck and harmonious-
they take a tail for a toc,
malevolence out of the box,
on the streets-
in levy and over the acropolis,
like crumbly even and corny thermopolis-
how the havens in heaven must shine inside...
How many travels say they coincide?
Even in a sailing away against all storm's periphery,
dynamite at the dreamy renditions are trickery-
a pleasure of the presence is no outer measure of some other type of compression!
Turning on favorites
All the firsts of things
Felling in depth
Being unaware
Not giving a care
Letting go on roller coaster
Learn
Catalog page
Turns
From one thing to another
Paint brush flow
In even strokes
Then in all directions
Engravings fitting
For Summers affections
If the power of the mystery of Existence
And life
Did whisper truth to my ears
Why, it would seem that the one to save my soul
Is just a heartbeat away!
Yes, for my cause, he fell
From the abode of grace and stability
For my love
He accepted to let go of his ruling ego
And he did, so subtly,
Infiltrate into my own macrocosm
To totally submerge my ethos
With the many butterflies swirling
In mad ecstatic glee in his own microcosm!
Why, it would seem that he holds the key
To the padlock of my heart
It would seem that he knows how to take me
There, to that land found beyond the clouds
There, from where we fell
There, the abode all earthlings yearn for
There, where we shall go after our journey ends here!
Pray, if only, if only I could be given an entry point
Into his heart
I would have read and noted all the engravings
Found on the walls thereof
And I would have made of them, the stories of our lives!
Yes, if only I could let my senses be submerged in
The engulfing essence therein
I would have penned more elevating words of poetry
Pray, if I could just wriggle myself in
Propelled by a warm touch and by an equivalent desire
Why, I could have created for us,
An abode on Earth, same as the one from which we fell
To allow us both
To live in sooth and to make of our stay
Worthy of being humanity's love's balm!
Why, to allow the taste of my savior's rapture
To stay forever imprinted in the very depth of my soul
I shall even renounce the world
Yes, for, of what use is a temporary and fluctuating world
When the glory of eternity shines forth!
For Contest Let me Into Your Heart
Written on 16 August 2017
(continued from part I)
And I would have said I love you
And I could have held your hand
And I could have promised all the clichès
About the moon and the stars and all the eyes can see
And I could have labored with sweat and blood
So as to weave you a life from the tapestry of your dreams
And there would have been children
And he or she would have had the intricacies of my mind
Or he or she would have had the enchantment of your smile
And I could have been there when time
Has filled our faces with engravings of its years
And I would have been there to offer flowers to the earth
When it has come to claim you
And I would have been there to witness your soul fly
I only wish I could have told you of all these.
Yet Fate is but a mischievous child
Playing the possibility as if it was a toy
The further want amidst contentment,
Whilst tied to a bondage
From which freedom is death, and death is freedom.
Punishment is a unquenchable thirst, a glass of water
Ice-cold, Unreachable at arms-length;
And we have stood before face to face.
Resigned, there is only wishing
That if reincarnation is true
By the next existence there is then
Awareness; somewhere, somehow, you are.
And with thus begin the search
Even in ends that have never been traversed
For even the slightest chance at a consummation
That was never for this lifetime.
I only wish I could have told you of all these.
If my mind is a room, its walls shall be a mural,
A collage of photographs of every single moment
Where you were;
And every angle, every corner, when gazed upon
At any second, any minute, any hour of the day
Shall be a reason for felicity.
Yet irony of ironies, if yours was a room,
Its walls shall be a mural; a collage of photographs
Of every felicitous moment where you were.
I, however, shall not be in any of those.
I was never in any of yours.
Looking outside my sill at the stardust waiting to fall,
I see Cashmere, my ivory horse, ready to leave the stall.
I remember the days when simplicity was all I knew,
when I would consider my good intentions in all I say and do.
For there is no greater love than the love I had with you.
Emptiness fills my essence and days no longer bring joy,
and to know it all started with the loss of our little boy.
I can’t find relief knowing I brought you such pain,
filled my soul with the damage of anger and disdain.
Now only engravings of sadness seem to remain.
We were building a future filled with happy reminiscing,
now your gentle embrace is all I seem to be missing.
As I consider why you left I see now I was at fault,
and can comprehend why your adoration came to a halt.
In between the warmth and cold I was definitely caught.
I knew no boundaries with my anguish and woe,
and caused you such misery making it hard to let go.
I now see atonement for me will not be obtained,
I know why your fondness diminished and refrained.
The ceasing of gratitude; no respect can be contained.
Please forgive me with sympathy, so very sorry am I,
I just can’t get over these losses no matter how hard I try.
Eight Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Robert Haigh
March 1, 2018
Grave Yards
A walk into the grave yard of my memories hoard.
Life’s journeys, experiences, recollections are stored.
Tombstones lay in wait, years have eroded the engravings,
Nothing left of excursions but dust upon thoughts one is saving.
Difficult to recall, especially in old age, all that has been written
upon the pages of my history books, stories of having been smitten
during life and so long ago, memories to let go of, memories to behold,
of many relationship, platonic, meaningful, friendships forever to hold,
laying within files, in the deep, dark depths of my memories reserve.
I have to wonder, as time slips by, just how many I will preserve
during what years are left to this old soul, that will come to consciousness
and how many will live on, enlighten, brighten, or become forgetfulness.
B. J. “A ” 2
May 6th, 2022
Dedicated to a Lover, from so far away and four plus decades ago.
A Friend, for forty eight years who is shrouded by the devastation of dementia .
OBSERVATIONS
a dream
of truth
deserving
enthusiasm
in
never-to-be- forgotten
expectations
predictions
adornments
engravings
with
compositions
reiterating
appropriate
images
alongside
continuity
of
viewpoints
divisive
diminished
prospects
destabilise
stability
&
benefit
the
sympathetic
Somewhere in her white house
There was a gray future spouse
Looking for cheese
Doing as he please
Enchanting accent came from the mouth
A drawing sound noting the south
Filled with luring charm
Made a home by telling many a yarn
Living in a guest quarter
Which he could barely afford her
Making his ways through academic halls
Everyone studying engravings on the walls
Defending peaceful thoughts interacting throughout student’s mall
Coming to a relaxing place
Seeing Carolina’s face
“They are making their case”
The blue angel said
About the reason she should not wed
And take a lifelong committed man into her first bed
“We have a right
During our fight
To cross our stripes
Challenging city slicker’s type
Slanting our color navy being no fool
While having a civil feud”
Wanting a comfort shot he stood calm
Listening to reality going on
This was love not a raunchy affair
Where revenge was the dare
“We made an X for a reason
It was not an ax that was treason
Wanting out of the union
Northerner’s knew not what they were doing
Money here money there
We belles had land everywhere”
Now this fellow
Understood his bride’s bellow
And wanted a few minutes to mellow
“Look at the sun
It is almost done
Orange skies
You are marrying a beautiful guy
I am a gamecock
Early morning riser with nice stock
While you are a Tar Heel
When hearts were a major steal
Our relationship is very real
Friends and family will watch us seal
This romantic deal
Then enjoy a joyful meal”
Hearing his soothing voice
She knew he was the proper choice
“Our United States is at war
Diplomatic rhetoric acting out having the stage floor
Rotten as a big apple at the core”
Honest feelings had truth
Questionable just like the Yankee spectacle Babe Ruth
“Remember when physical interaction was deemed a sin
Gossip talking where the two have been
After our vows and we are alone
Shutting off all Ma Bell phones
I will state to only you
Never will we be through”
Below the Mason Dixon line
Where others are treated very kind
Moon reminded them where they met
No longer was the daylight set
Darkness figured out this was the perfect get
Lunar glare smiling watching the innocent talk
Hoping they will be happy after the matrimony walk
Doth if not thrill thee, Poet,
Dead and dust though thy art,
To feel how I press thy singing
Close to my heart?
By Richard Le Gallienne
(The Passionate Reader To His Poet)
O greatest father of poetry
To you I dedicate this write
All through human history
Your poems showed the light
The Lamb paved the way
Of divinity and glory
In the little child’s heart lay
Truth and purity
In Tyger you portrayed
The might of a beautiful being
The part that Almighty played
In forming this mysterious thing
Your life-like engravings
And the world of images
Your sensitive etching
Every poet praises
In school I first met you
Through pages of a textbook
And with you my imagination flew
When the path of poetry I took
Your simple words and feelings
Your spirituality and devotion
My muse you brought meaning
And a channel for my emotion