Best Envisage Poems
I begin as a covet, dulcet demure
pure in play, unbound to a dogma or tablature, a luscious lure,
I find that nerve of passion's verve nestled 'neath narcissistic comfiture
a covey of tingles taunting the ambition you serve, swift and swill I swerve,
in you I introduce a tempo of truth trailing a kiss along your spine's curve
a persuasion of perversion purring patiently in almighty allure,
reaching your pinnacle pulse I assure,
Entwining myself around your libido with nibbling nurture
binding you to the alter of painstaking pleasure I relieve with analgesic swelter
hoodwinking your will with a delicate dominance I am the prima donna capture,
embellishing the envisage of eros, I burnish organs keen with aphrodisiac welter
you become a devout captive to me, the divine dominator,
I am the matador confronting your impulsive power
the target of your sexual tremor,
spear tipped with warm vigor
into you I pound a wonder,
vice and virtue surrender
to principle superior in passionate plunder, for you become the conquer's lover,
taking my spirit from specter to flesh victor,
I will make a woman the vessel of volcanic velvet,
revolutionize female thighs, simmering the sighs in eyes,
make the wrap of a man's arms a hearth of healing heat soul felt,
his tongue a torch pinging with paced pause within mouths magnetized,
A coup de tat taken to your Shangrila,
weaknesses my wayfaring, strengths the servants of my junta
my sweet magic of mayhem laid upon your lithesome lips, the coup de grace -
J.A.B.
I had a dozen of black bangles
Carried for tingles
Sign of a benign presage
Wore to envisage
Beauty; but not the ugly
Taking toll for a fight
Dad called me black
Mom gave a sympathetic glance
Unaware I was till then
Believed in the beauty of night till then
Adored the unpredictability of darkness till then
Believed in the good omen of my black bangles till then
Oblivious of the apartheid
Seow a seed of insecurity,
A hidden fear
Of rejection, of ban
Broken bangles and shattered dreams
Were all I saw in the greens
Till someone said, “Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder”
And it holds true
For you are my reflections
For the world contained in me
And I am in you
Now I have a dozen of black bangles
Carrying for tingles
Sign of a benign presage
Wearing to envisage
Beauty; but not the ugly
I see you beautiful
Beyond your skin and bones
Beyond your veins and cells
Where your soul lies!
-puvi-
(13/10/2015)
I wander the landscapes of solitude
Unchecked and unhealed,
Beneath heavens speared with bamboo rain,
A blade on my back concealed
Beyond where the eye can envisage and see,
Deserts burning dry,
Beyond where the temples sink in the dust,
Under a storm laden sky.
There is no one to swear allegiance to,
The loneliest decree,
To walk the earth as the years dissolve
And land crumbles into sea.
I wander the heartlands of yesterday,
Of feudal souls no more,
Where the killing fields were hearth and home,
My brothers men of war.
No master to slip the chains and unleash
Honour and ferocity,
Belonging to nothing, beloved of none,
Rootless, accursed and free.
Floating fluttering fleurs
are jewels in fuchsia and magenta
transmuting into taffy hue
with the kiss of dappled sunlight
like her cheeks that blush in pink
with his wondering wink.
The willows are stalactites
seducing newly bloomed nympheas
slumbering in Egyptian blue water
like her shaggy windswept hair
teasing her beloved's face
beneath the dancing moonlight.
Oh, Monet,
your 'en plein air' emphyrean elegance
awakens my sacrosanct senses
as I envisage a Filbert brush
glazing each pearly petal
highlighting sun's luster
on emerald to lime leaves,
on cyan to admiral water,
reflecting cerulean sky
in consummate chiaroscuro.
7 April 2022
A Briand Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
8th place
Notes:
In 1893, Monet, a passionate horticulturist, purchased land with a pond near his property in Giverny, intending to build something "for the pleasure of the eye and also for motifs to paint." The Water Lilies is a 1919 painting by impressionist Claude Monet, one of his Water Lilies series. The painting, the left hand panel of a large pair, depicts a scene in Monet's French pond showing light reflecting off the water with water lilies on the surface.
(www.metmuseum.org)
*plein-air painting, in its strictest sense, the practice of painting landscape pictures out-of-doors; more loosely, the achievement of an intense impression of the open air (French: plein air) in a landscape painting(www.britannica.com).
When a child if gifted with a book it transforms into a key to unlock the mind. The gate to the secret garden of imagination is pried from its forgiving hinges and the child is free to expand their imagination to galaxy proportions.
The simple pages of a book provide a passport for a passenger seat next to the likes of Captain Biggles in his Tibetan adventures to locate the forbidden city of Shangri Lah, or a magical flight to Neverland with Pan and the lost boys. Who knows how each “child’s mind’s eye will envisage the loathsome creature that is Mr Hyde or the demure Dr Jekyll?
It captures the heart of a parent to witness their young boy, lying on his bed, engrossed in the pages of Stevenson’s Kidnapped. His imaginings transform him into the character of David Balfour, fighting alongside the Jacobite rebel, Alan Stewart. Such a comforting vision is a young girl, lounging on the couch on a rain soaked winters afternoon, fanning through a copy of Anne of Green Gables, engrossed in the character of Anne Shirley, wishing to emulate her outgoing spirit and giving nature.
The abundant bread basket of literary expositions act as a conduit, unlocking a child’s ability to make judgements about morality, injustices and an understanding of consequences in decision making. All the while the simple act of quietly reading procures an incalculable and surreptitious response to education for a lifetime to come.
The nostalgic aroma of floral vanilla and almonds that emit from the pages of an old book invokes a sense of anticipation to the imaginary adventures about to be embarked upon, creating an atmosphere of ambivalence.
An implore to parents across the globe to leave the television set and so-called social media, bombarding a child’s mind like a tidal wave, leaving in its wake a desolate landscape of nothingness. Embrace the tactile feel of pages in hand, gently stroking the mind, embedding feelings of, wonder and imagination. Read to your children every day and encourage them to jamb their noses into literary masterpieces from the likes of Stevenson, Doyle, Dickens and many more worthy exponents that have stood the test of time.
Dull As A Disease
I am sitting in my Dorchester lair,
Behind the door I do feel your mien,
When my poetic muse is in apt flair
You look real as life, my amore mia.
When I am surfing on the internet,
You are there in my click I envisage,
When I initiate to scribe sonnet,
I see you duly embossed on the page.
Sighing, wry face, lips as dry as a leaf
Your green blue deep eyes upraised fully,
Neither the death kills me, nor does the life,
Your very silence eats my soul and body.
Dull as a disease, I die of a thought,
Do not you fancy the same as I ought?.
============================
Date 21-10-13
Dr. Ram Mehta
Third place win
Contest: I Recall by Frank H.
I am sitting in my Dorchester lair,
And behind the door I do feel your mien,
When my poetic muse is in the air,
You look real as life to me, “Amore Mio”.
When I am surfing on the internet,
You are there in my click I envisage,
I initiate to scribe a sonnet,
And lo! I see you embossed on the page.
Sighing, wry face, the lips as a dried leaf,
Your greenish deep eyes upraised fully,
Neither death kills me, nor does lonely life,
But your silence eats my soul and body.
Numb as a disease, I die of a thought,
My love, don’t you sense the same as I aught?
=========================
A Shakespearian sonnet in Iambic Pentameter (ABAB CDCD EFEF GG)
Contest: Loneliness 7Th place win
A Soul grown cold repenting for the lies to come,
lays cast in addiction laced stains of anguished fantasies.
With a tortured logic knowing the only way out is further in,
the Beast awaits its dawn, waking only to be fed again.
A circle that never arcs, scheming to envisage a new identity.
Withered and weary pretenses that are no longer attended,
never ending till the last taste is savored.
Maybe tomorrow...
02/26/2020
Blasphemy
Blatantly ephemeral or plain outright naughty and lustful
Praying for beauty in the eye of beholding passionate Gods
Angles and half dome shaped wishes curve balls and all
~ Those who write by the sword are judged by the Lord ~
Thanatos and Libido a close shave of mounds of Vesuvius
The Vatican going up in one shattering search of its smoke
Church towers like phalli or bayonets decree choice in the matter
~ Trust thy neighbor in her cove’s coveted olives and mangos go forth
Veiled femme fatals embrace their shadows cover the flame
The Muezzin shouts from his minaret calls for service and love
Lingerie adorned by copula’s cusp bosomed for nibbles
~ Wet shirt competition in the heat of the spiritual moment ~
An elegant elephant with trumpeting trunks moaning and groaning
Free flowing love on the banks of the Ganges under cloth of the loin
Where Hindu meets Buddha on sheets and streets of Kolkata
~ Begging for mercy as wars of religions and nations battle in vain ~
Crosses to bear half moons to envisage and Karma to please
One woman’s humid humour is another man’s satirical crime
Whose God is to command me what is right and what thong
~ But once the bloody atheist kneels on the altar faith is restored ~
03rd May
So why do stars only twinkle for you not me?
Are they only for good people that believe, pray?
To me they're not luminous, insignificant,
not how you describe them, you say, they are lovely,
magical like sparkling sequins in bright sunlight,
like moonlight shimmering gently on calm waters,
without you night skies to me would never exist
wouldn't be able to envisage or imagine
their beauty or significance to our planet,
I ask why do I not feel gentle warmth from our
stars as I do from our wondrous celestial star?
You say they are much further away than our sun
yet you still describe our stars with such elegance,
please tell me why our stars are only coloured white,
red or blue, never ever green, brown or yellow?
You explain so poetically, images
fed from your beautiful melodic vocal tones,
from my innermost thoughts I see bright wonderful
stars, exceptional images of great delight,.
now I know why stars twinkle for you, and now due
to you the stars twinkle for a blind man like me.
6/25/2018
Why are there stars contest
Sponsored by Julia Ward.
Tup tup tup, Her flimsy wings flutter
Tik tik tik, She knocks the inner door
Appears to connote life lessons
Could be heard only if we listen
Tethered her body and mind inside dark chrysalis
But blissful life, her soul envisaged and analysed
Soon emerges from a monochrome cocoon
And gracefully dances to the heavenly tune
Jumps across the colorful ixora flowers
Life saving quotes swiftly she showers
"When your mind confronts stress and tension
Just Control your emotions and be patient
And hope and envisage for a better life
And you would be free from present strives"
Is not life a mystery too deep to fathom
and is not man, a part of the cosmic soul?
passing through stages four,
human life completes its cyclic scroll
starting with innocent childhood,
in time, our life passes through youth and middle age
and ends up in crippling old age,
precisely as the seasons envisage!
each stage has its thrills and fills
marked by distinct traits and quirk
if childhood is an age of play,
youth, a transition from play to work.
middle age- a time when passions are tempered
and old age, time for a shift from work to rest.
Thus, life in time sprouts, blooms, fades and ebbs away,
as plants through the four seasons manifest!
each stage is a link in the long chain of life
and birth and death, just doorways in and out
life after completing its earthly round,
shall enter a world beyond the reach of thought.
can we still say life is an empty dream?
sure, we wake to sleep and sleep to wake
and the cycle goes on and on relentless
just as the seasons repeat without mistake!
“I've missed more than 9000 shots in my career. I've lost almost 300 games. 26 times, I've been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I've failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed.”
Michael Jordan
Every time I have lamented over something lost,
I have managed to do without it at little cost.
Getting over a loss is success, I don’t envisage much strife.
But what doesn’t apply - in the box could not be a human life.
When all the Earth's a bed & all the world's asleep,
When you dream of conquering the world,then shove away the thought & let the unheard alarm go beep, because obviously,big dreams require longer sleep,
When you dim your lights despite the birds chirping outside,
When you concur that sleeping beauty was a beauty obviously because of getting years of beauty sleep, you need it too..
But you refuse to give in,
Till the last receptor of ur brain percepts the last signal,
Till the last lash of your eye meets the eyelid,
Till the last words of the text start appearing hazy,
You won't give in..
Then,you're more than just a student,my friend..
You're much more..
You're the HEROINE of your life.
When all the forces in the universe act like a stimulus to put you to bed,
When the sunrays feel like a burden to your eyes ,& they feel heavy
When you can envisage the cozy embrace of your blanket during the cold,
And that's not all..when that pleasant romantic weather outside is not a reason enough for you to get out of your bed,
But you refuse to give in,
Till the scent of spring justt fails to tempt you,
Till your last temptation can be suppressed,
Till the vigour inside you is still alive,
You won't give in..
Then,you're more than just a student,my friend
You're much more..
You're the heroine of your life.
When the noises around don't matter,
When the constant parental nagging won't bother,
When you refuse all your friends urging you to party,because (let's face it)..people are temporary,sleep is permanent.
When it hurts because your sleep is in a relationship with everyone else but you,you feel jealous..
But you refuse to give in,
Till you're conscious enough to not fall into the toilet,
Till you can hold yourself a stabilised position,
Till you can convince yourself that coffee will help,although it doesn't..
You refuse to give in..
Then you're more than just a student,my friend
You're much more..
You're the heroine of your life.
~ To My Brother~
When I live in the darkness for days and nights I don't
envisage to write a poem,but here I am crying over
the loss of my brother who died on Easter Sunday,
I stopped allowing my roses to come and sit by my side,
I left them those dozens of exotic colors to die,
I don't throw them away my living room with the china
vase looks dead,even the colors have faded away,I watch
my China table its on the verge of closing on itself,
just to get away not to breath from my grieving air.
Tonight I am in pain,my vision is overflowing with
endless tears,I am alone because my brother left me
and went away,he didn't even say goodbye,I didn't hear
him cry or even try to live as he knew he had to go away
in silence,carrying with him his lung cancer disease.
He died alone on a hospital bed his heart betrayed him
Why,he was still young 70 is not old,what was he feeling
we will never know,was he afraid,was he sad,was he
suffering,he was screaming they told me out of pain,
he was struggling maybe wanting to remain alive to
come back to see us at least one more time before his
final breath will give up on him,was he delusional
the whole morning till 6 30 PM when his soul became
muted,sad,as God wanted him to join his late brother
mother and father.
My pain is not only I miss him,its in what state of mind he
was in when he gave up, we will never know.
This endless emptiness he left behind will linger forever.
Now only I can wish you a goodbye.My children & I
Will always Love you.
Therese Bacha
14/4/2013