Best Entreaties Poems
To eyes that see spiritually,
prayers at their most ardent
appear like random meteors
or lightening flashes,
ascending suddenly
amidst the myriad of points of light,
creations' more common invocations.
Burgeoning in sky as glitter dreams
or solemn supplications, and some
as fervent pleas from dangers' depths,
they rise and soar. . .
to the glorious celestial door.
Seraphs at the portals,
besieged by beautiful entreaties,
strive to answer each and every one,
but heaven's ways can be mysterious. . .
Ardent prayers unanswered
drift back down,
returned not to their supplicants,
but rather to earth's angels
clothed in flesh,
who prompted by the Spirit,
and at the time ordained,
help fulfill the Father's will.
DUET TO PLEASURE
B a b y...
How can I get you out of my mind
When It's you I only want to twine?
Shall I befall to some lovers
When it's you I treasure none other?
B a b y...
Don't play too hard to get
You already know
Your face and wit, I can't forget...
Come, baby, come
I tell you...
What you can become
Ocean skies to underwater trysts
My baby... you got all the gifts
From tantalizing green eyes
To pouty cherry full lips
Baby,you got me straight on bullseye
Your an oasis to my desert life
With you by my side,
Thorns I will completely abide.
Surrender to me, my desire.
Keep those blushes alive
And together let's duet to perspire!
Entangle long on sizzling Madonna moves;
Ahhh and ohhhh our dual adoring grooves
As we glide in autumn memoirs of ecstasy
To reach a volcanic explosion of chemistry.
Interstellar prime vows uttered bright,
Glowing anew as we kiss so contrite
Oh, baby, won't you try to comply?
Don't deny, it's I you also desire...
Sunset may endow a door to endings
but it's also a window to beginnings.
So baby, now or never
Let's start our pleasure...
©
October 28, 2014; 10:43 pm
Carpe Diem in the form of Entreaties
Oh, mythical fairy, how bashfully you woo me tonight
Attuning love’s lyrics to music of the passionate night
Alluring astral delight, the moon and stars you invite
Dazzling passions emanating from your enticing eyes
Twinkling celestial heights in scintillating smitten skies
Seducing tenor of fiery night, as sparks of love ignite
Inflaming sensuous hearts under opulent moonlight
As the lady of mystique embraces her beloved knight.
Whirling rhythms of my tempo in glamorous dance
My desires you waltz beaming glances of romance
Hypnotizing me brazenly in clutches of exotic stance
Arousing flirtatious entreaties clamoring to conceive
Tantalizing sensibilities yearnings of bosoms weave
In forbidden web of transgressions, longing to unseal
Secrets of fantasy world, titillating your occult zeal,
As essence of love’s enigma surrenders to my appeal.
Savor my dear, elixir of life, before it’s time to depart
Painting portrait of this union on canvas of my heart
Narrating love poetically, reminiscent of Rumi’s glory
Adorning fable-eternal, scripting rhapsodic allegory
Beholden to doting night, unwilling to meet the dawn,
As echoes of our heart-bells endlessly toll on and on
Urging for this dream to live on, stilling reign of time,
Cuddling pleasures divine, satiating fantasies sublime.
September 24, 2020
Placed 2nd: The night of passion and desire poetry contest
Sponsor: Faraz Ajmal
That was Then, and This is Now
In the crypt of our loves memory, we danced so free,
Our romance, a cursed flame, burned with spectral glow.
But secrets, whispers from the damned, you see,
Now haunt this desolate heart with bitter, icy woe.
Thy deceitful touch, a venomous bite, I now know,
That hath passed from then, to now.
Thy laughter once, a haunting dirge so sweet,
Our dreams of an eternal union, pure and true.
But lies now stain the sacred vows we'd greet,
And trust, like a shattered vase, lies strewn askew.
Thy beloved promises now broken, I avow,
That hath passed from then, to now.
The poison upon thy lips, the accursed kiss still stings,
Each deceitful syllable, a phantom’s scream, tears my soul.
In the pit of despair, echoes of love's anthem rings,
Now consumed by the lies that devour it whole.
Thy pleas for moral absolution, I disallow,
That hath passed from then, to now.
As the raven of betrayal seeks to amend its weary prey,
Thy sharp talons, ripping out my heart's core.
Once deemed invincible, our love, now rent in disarray,
Drifting further apart, forevermore.
No longer shall I heed thy entreaties, in sorrow we shall bow,
That hath passed from then, to now.
Memories of our cursed love, linger in the mist,
I'll forge ahead, embracing the darkness that we sow.
For in the ruins of our buried love, lost to a fateful tryst,
The price of your betrayal, in blood, I shall bestow.
Thus, that hath been us then, and this is I now!
Usually, I fall behind
Where I’m supposed to be.
One step back (or more), I am
In perpetuity.
Papers pose in giant piles,
Awaiting my perusal.
All entreaties for removal
Meet with my refusal.
Clothes stack up in massive heaps
In hushed anticipation –
Will the washer or the drawers
Be their next destination?
Catalogues lay scattershot,
Their pages marked and folded.
If I were a child, I would expect
That I’d be scolded.
Luckily, my favorite shows
I summon on-demand.
Watching them the first time ‘round
I never could have planned.
Still, I get to everything;
I’ve got it all controlled,
Although I’m often reading news
That’s two or three weeks old!
Well, here I am again, Lord, a-knockin' on Your door,
With a prayer of thanksgivin' and a few entreaties to implore.
Lord, I thank You for sustainin' me along life's rocky road,
And for the blessin's upon this undeservin' soul You've bestowed!
For this comin' year, I pray not for an accumulation of pelf,
But for good health for my family, neighbors and myself.
May the things I do this year bring honor and glory to You,
And may I heed Your guidance in ever'thing I do.
I pray for peace that the world may be free from strife,
And that humankind will refine its sense of respect for life.
Protect our soldiers, those gallant souls so brave and strong.
I pray they'll be reunited with kin, at home where they belong!
I pray for our leaders and the myriad of challenges they face.
May they serve the people with honor, integrity and grace.
My plea is that the nation's respect for You will be restored,
For 'tis said, "Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord!"
Lord, I pray for those who are hungry, homeless and depressed,
The lonely, ailing, hopeless and those who are oppressed.
For Your steadfast love and answer to prayer I have no doubt.
Seems I'm always pesterin' You, but thanks for hearin' me out!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
A Devotion Poem, FATE
(Written for my husband, Jim)
My beloved and I, with our hearts not only
aligned in love, but also in the empathy and
compassion grown in the fruits of our years
together, in needy as well as hopeful times,
hold in sight each other. Embrace.
At many points death could have come: there
was his heart attack and then my coma.
We have moved now, side close to side,
into the downstairs living room.
We have realized and shared that when
one of us is absent (perhaps being hospitalized)
, then there comes a void in the room,
affecting every difficult breath to
feelings of a hanging emptiness
in heart and soul. The walls stand cold
...but for God’s comfort, above and near,
present through our entreaties in prayer. Clutching.
And it is Fate with Faith that keeps those days
of missing each other from yet becoming
days of grieving any final loss.
We walk our days like a pair of massive,
aging elephants with our gray trunks
entwined; so large, the ground quivers
as we journey; and the absence of either one
of us seems to strike hours and poetry
out from the equation of life. Empty.
Since our meeting 40 years ago, to
our present togetherness and alertness
to each other’s needs, I wonder
if it was God’s planned fate for us
to be staying these years
together in His gracing love, helping
us through hard times, sculpting us
with our thanksgings. Revived.
We live a melody composed
by our omnipotent Lord. It has involved
no random accidents. The lyrics are
concise and rhymed. There are
many more refrains to sound
before the final note.
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(c) sally young Eslinger 5/12/21
Thanks be to God
I am the Garden
in me all things live
in me nothing is forgotten
here we enter
after being done with the Serpent
flamed or in darkness
when the Cross enters from below
we die, never to be reborn
Over naked breasts and belly
shadows dissolve in milk and manna
transmuted to rainbows of gold
in the body of the Magdalena
droplets dance fiery ice
where Power is gained through
entry into the Garden of the Heart
another way then becomes the forgotten
Nothing more entices, no fleshly desire lingers
wisdom is my key to the
Gate of Chrysanthemum Purity
where Patience is enthroned at the
fulcrum of two spheres
after we’ve climbed ladders of courage
listened to mournful entreaties, tolling gongs
shook hands with Keepers of Freedom
Our giving becomes our taking
Separation, the Union
the going, a returning
returning, our resting where the
Centre of Silvery Strands is Stillness
born of angels and white doves
as Truth cloaks, after paying
in sweat and tight purple silences
Few know how the Garden imbues
or how matrix minds dissolved or
what a tiny imprint is hidden in the
Palm of God-Goddess where the
Palm of Blood and Thorns
washed us from the shores of
ancient lands into the
moistness of I N F I N I T Y
Gentling verses, like softly spoken dawns,
Pour out rhythms, releasing hungers,
Stirring hearts to breathe, restoring hopes,
Prayerful moments trembling,
Echoing, glistening shafts of heated praises,
Mysteries in shadows, embracing – erasing
Shades of inspiration, focusing on joys
Alive like the dancing winds, traipsing
Through autumn, leaves crisp and light – waltzing
Colors – boldest scarlet, tangerine and gold,
Laughing whispers who respond to the skies
Rich with cerulean grace, risking the lazuline lines
In attractive fogs, mists rising over the mountains
Where memories blur the past with now,
Lighting the way for passions to cry out…
Inside the wall of pines, which could tell of so much more
Than memories could hold, more laughter,
More love, more entreaties to God who knows us
Like the ordinary groanings, who release burdens
Too heavy for souls, too difficult for moments when
Blessings rain down through the tears,
Liquid prayers, alive with feelings and fears,
Enemies of perfection but best friends with relinquishment,
Fulfilling wishes, bold and pleasant as the stars
Winking at the moon, holding burdens too heavy
With inklings of fiery melodies, tender
Like the noon when bees travel from rose to lily,
Milking the nectar, fostering frames – tiny
Gospels told by those who remember the sting,
Singing through the song, revealing
Purpose in the hurt, when the tingle – the throbbing
Inspires light to fade, weakening, dying …
Insipid, gushing, rhapsodizing a night when stars hide,
Exposing the naked truth – just like the sun
Who births light and reveals every new dawn, baring
With it – a beautiful far more soothing than the moon’s,
A beautiful that abides in the new day, the new smile,
The newness of a hope, a prayer, a dream…
Releasing vanilla sighs to signal the moon
That, yes, oh yes…
It is time for rest, time to test the skies
Who are eternally blessed with God’s wondrous light!
Just when you have abandoned all hope
You have tried everything, and nope
She's ignored all entreaties...
Just then your true sweetie
The gal you'll call wife
Into your life
The wind blows --
Love grows --
~ Hope!
Jesse Forbes
1893 – 1911
Black Canyon.
Now, there was a place to be!
It is true I was born a brute in a Quaker Town.
Born a bad-tempered brute of a boy
In the two-room digs on Bailey Street and Comstock..
My father fathered two other families,
Unbeknownst to his wife..
And I was the first one disowned.
But my father was a great believer,
And I loved the man like a fool.
I took up the milkin’ business at fourteen,
And made my morning way from Orange Drive down to Penn Street.
Delivering the dozens of clinking milk bottles.
Delivering the dozens of morning salutations,
To neighbors and friends in the glad and dismal days.
I had but one romantic interlude in my short stay,
Just one futile attempt at Carpe Diem.
But was left slapped and standing by a disheveled Ethel Hurst
There in the dark shade of Black Canyon
That inauspicious August day in 1910.
Ethel Hurst did not accept the entreaties of a 17 year old brute.
Did not accept my wild stares
Or my insanely puckered lips.
It was to my surprise that I died.
Died so young and so unready.
Still desiring the perfumed kisses of Ethel Hurst,
Still desiring her heart-quenching embraces,
There, in the dark shade of Black Canyon.
A crippled mass of beggars
Each at the corner of every street
Deformed by cruel and greedy hands
They perform their daily feat
Of scrounging from the passers by
The people in their cars
Their pathetic, doleful entreaties
Oh, how my heart it scars
Yet who is the beneficiary
In this profit-full career?
I'm sure it's not these limbless souls
Whose lives are not there nor here.......
Whose plight we don’t wish to hear
*Image of Little Boy Fishing by Mutual Art
Cape Cod Boy
A warring feat
expands beneath
petite and huge contends,
a unique line
tugging the brine
taunting as it suspends,
a juvenile
bear naught a smile
a glimpse enigma lends,
too close to shore
new hopes implore
that cod and haddock wends,
true tasty meats
fresh scene unseats
entreaties pleased extends,
aspect well made
fulfilled persuade
the wait, the catch godsends.
Love is not known and
can never be known, for
love cannot be weighed
like bullion or flour,
love cannot be roped:
a wild mustang running
free, never tethered,
never corralled, freer
than the North Wind....
Love has its own mind:
it comes when it comes,
will not hear entreaties,
will not beg its bread...
for love rules all worlds
and love soaks all life.
Love is a gangster,
obeying no laws,
taking what it wants.
And love is a priest,
making holy life's dirt,
redeeming then the
wreckage of hope by
pouring its holy water,
quenching all longing.
Love is a magician,
appearing in two hearts
at once, transforming
the beast into a man,
a girl into a woman:
an alchemist always
changing lead into gold....
And love can never die.
When the heart it holds
beats its last beat, then
love will soar with soul
to the next world...
for love is the only key
that can pry open
heaven's heavy door.
Love is not known and
can never be known,
for love is God,
and God is Love:
love without end....
[rec'd N/A in Brian Strand's 'All Yours' contest, 4/23]
So we cross this threshold of war as awful friends in freefall,
and with these trumpets and drums shaking the graves
of ancient days we bring forth instruments of death's call
through our very own homeland where the music of valor plays,
songs, poems and parades are already being written in the pulse of the people,
only the names of the victors and vanquished remain unknown,
yet both will be Roman, both will bleed, and both will reveal their soul's steel,
pallisades, seige towers and ballistas of big stones thrown
from town to town, from Arminium, Corfinium and to the Bay of Brundisium
the Italians of Rome have said to the Legions of Caesar save our home
seek no throne, carry not a crown, show the world that cruelty can be outdone
scourge the vile with the virtue of Clementia, make the Senate atone,
make not widows of Rome's daughters nor orphans of the innocent
bring a heartbeat of holiness back to these halls and hills where peace has been absent,
Bring a heartbeat of holiness back to these halls and hills where peace has been absent,
you've heard these honest entreaties and endearments
from mothers and elders, citizens, priests and from the militant,
we are not men who march on dreams,
we have not marched into Greece to starve and grovel
under the ritual yoke of this pseudo Republican army
headed by an overhyped hothead acting under an upper class spell,
I believe we were born to be on this battlefield's history,
we are inspired by unequalled Evocati leadership
veterans venomous in brute brilliance,
they have a myriad of mercenaries whose cause is only for coin on the hip
they outnumber us 6 to 1 on horse and 2 to 1 in the lines
most of Pompey's Legates have learned warfare from talk and books,
we've been taught the terror of triumph from where the heart looks...
J.A.B.