Best Estuaries Poems
When the
seaside sepulchre
of a kingdom,
without its queen,
is smeared with
screams of lighting,
I wish to crackle
these slivers
of silver shakle,
and devour
that consoling
taste of balsamic
twilight, which
drapes every
ritual of woe with
maleficent vows.
I wonder, if
the thievery of
of my soul, will
enhance the
crawling of
raven sun
or, bestow power
upon the baptised
mannequin,
by slaying those
jealous lilies,
floating in
summery
estuaries of
my stolen destiny.
As these sage flames
fly across the
chambers of
my castle,
petrifying those
puerile promises
of life, I seak to
be an amaranth,
rising beyond
oak skies as
I engulf those
taunting meteors that
enshroud my
solitude and
dethrone every
essence of
false light, that
consumed those
waltzing scents
of my sangria spring.
Has my heart
become a
fickle thorn,
who will keep
bleeding guidance
in moonlight or
shall this
fortnight be
traced by the last
streak of treacherous
bloodline?
Perhaps,
'The Goddess
of Thunder'
is unfurling
those flaming
rose' maidens,
who wish
to splash ebons
of roaring wreath,
across the
woeful vaults of
my ribcage,
which concealed
their silence
in sentinels of
sacrifice.
I don't assert
the want of
swathing myself
in the perfumed
petrichor of
heinous healing,
as I don't want to
quench this
rage that
is carving a
strife to
refuse my
surrender towards
this succumbing
darkness.
" I wish to be
the soul of a marionette's
pearly pupa,
satiated by fiery halo
of chrysalis,
and slowly weaving
silken hymns of
desperate hope,
desiring to emerge
from the emeralds,
that betray every eye... "
The only fear of this stubborn lion heart
is to beat - unheard, without the blessings of your sighs.
In the absence of your affection,
severe silence spins cobwebs upon mossy fences,
you have built across your sky full of blackness
and I ponder
when my soul ascends with sunrise,
why do you veil yourself until twilight reflects moonlight?
Am I the personification of a tree,
under which you no longer need shelter.
A message in a bottle,
no longer upon your mantelpiece.
That love sonnet to which you found so much joy,
but now torn from pages of your poetic anthology.
When romance arrived at your doorstep,
blooming like cherry blossoms,
you pressed each petal in a book you called - love,
but now it collects dust - unread,
wilting like an unnourished bouquet,
so here my hopes lay,
like a 'pearls cradle' upon unwanted shores,
preparing to be washed away with the tide.
Footsteps in the sand remain -
although nothing will keep us together.
I know you are the most beautiful thing,
I'll never get to call my own,
so should I still whisper vows into the void,
or allow upcoming waves to wane our bond?
If only you would flow to me
like tropical drops from waterfalls,
eventually kissing frozen estuaries
then I would place you in the cusp of my hands
to refresh my lips, which crave your touch.
It seems this year there was no spring,
no daffodils, no sunshine - only rain,
so downhearted robins did not sing,
but I captured the last feather from your exodus.
I know a premature summer
will only bloom anaemic sunflowers
but, I still sow their seeds -
hoping you will appear.
Simple Sunday Musing
Between paper-soft
worlds of fragile
imaginations,
I float upon those
gossamer tulips
that split every
second of saccharine
musings and
eclipsed confessions,
distinguishing all
photoelectric synonyms
of lachrymose
stimuli towards
glassy manipulations
of blood-fragranced sun.
Everything that is
sown in sweetened
textures of afterglow-soil,
always blossoms upon
decayed fossils of
frivolous fates, as
balanced bullets have
forever pierced
through the pulpy
sheaths of nature's
rainbow-blankets,
but their aged roots
always adorn nourishing
gemstones of
ephemeral healing,
to spread their wise
branches across earth's
mirrors, as the thin
veil disappears.
What is the raven-spade
-hearted impulse
without its nascent yet
succulently flowing
snow-white mist?
What if, reality speaks
of those skies smitten with
hypnotic illusions of
chess-shaped horizons?
Have yin and yang ever
repelled each other's
rusty-maroon notes
that they whisper in
immortal prelude?
We have remained
skillfully blindfolded to
the isles of inceptions,
swirling amidst ripples
of diamond-kismet
estuaries, washing away
consciences with
diplomatic dewdrops
of frosty maple fog.
Tending to forget that,
we are mere syzygy knights,
crawling along
slanting seesaws as
bioluminescent bishops.
Our schizophrenic
threads have been
tied to the aroma of
poisoned satin within
these final alphabets of
enchante´ epitaphs,
where life will be
the last organ grinder
of karma, playing
an evanescent checkmate
which shall ascend
every soulful spirit
beyond Persephone's
penumbral embrace.
This Aphrodite rose
slowly unfurls
pink ombre balms
of sun-kissed
springfalls,
as the luminous
lake of tears
cascade in
exotic wreaths
of honey-soaked
velvety sepals,
there succulent seeds
of zestful dawns adorned
our silken sheets
across luscious meadows
sprinkled with
glistening cosmic dust.
Yet neon streaks
of longing unveiled;
romanticized rainbows
engrossed within
fire opal clouds,
awaiting to drizzle
pleasing odes,
amalgamated with
drops of opium
meant to reveal
skeletons and secrets,
sculptured as
sultry souvenirs
of seasonal streams.
But ripples of reminiscences
reflect how
you and I
weathered howling winds
through unseelie storms
of oppressed lovers,
gliding in sync
to the echoes
of midnight screams,
rising from
sumptuous seas.
So, tonight, as curtains
fall in
hues of dusky dews,
cover me in sunrise
when the bleeding heart,
of blue-laced estuaries,
rhymes with
sangria vesper time,
where tomorrow’s
ocean ferries
purge prose
that never denies.
Let fervent
pearls pulverize
my colossal tarp
as the morning glows;
I ponder,
do mourning petals show,
the folly of
moonlit melancholy?
For you’ve devoured
the alluring depths
of campfire stories,
burning
untouched edges
within our twin souls,
whilst
cosmos
trembled
and sighed
in poetic ecstasy ~
we seized our
unsung melody…
For this
remains
as an
untold version
of our
dangerous glory~
etched on cupid’s
amethyst arrow.
In English we say, I am hurting,
but in poetry we say ~
I am windswept wave
weeping weathered roses
upon the haunting heart of drowsy dunes,
kissed by the mineralized melancholy
of wounded wadis,
for love forgot the fated flow,
nevermore feeling the forlorn skin
of b l e e d i n g ink…
I seize the scorpion crushed weight
of crestfallen crystals,
once voiced
through painless passion.
Devouring the distress
cutting through lips splitting,
I taste nothingness
amidst raining ruby-winged butterflies,
mirroring the bruise
burning in sync with extreme dolor…
O beloved, would you still recognize
the rippling riddles of soul’s river,
or has distance
dried the wild-lilies
dressed in dramatic scents
of dangerous devotion,
like the syllables I spilled
between the spaces that
held the poetry we once breathed?
Would you still hear the
undreamed chimeras ~
chapters channelled
now choking the reveries
I home in morbid muteness,
or has the nerving nadir
jinxed the sparks of Jupiter ablaze,
numbing ringed-jewels of strength
we once believed faithfully
would
never phase
nor decay…
I wonder if your skies serenade
soft blue soliloquies ~
sunrise soaked in honeysuckle hymns.
Do they drizzle
densely designed darkness
draped in dissonance,
or do you find comfort
in painting me with solemn ashes
as the black-fanged Empusa ~
one that inflicted
nothing but misery,
injected like liquid lethal lament
that suffocated
the arteries of midnight?
2:22 ~ angel omen ~
do with this what you will,
I overwrite to outrun the emotions,
refusing to be overtaken
by disillusionment.
I speak not to lure the stars across
your cerulean seclusion,
but to heal as I seal the envelope
of unanswered thoughts,
wishing the pulse of p a t i e n c e
would no longer
push and pull the string
of my weakness
like ice-hot estuaries
rushing against the ache of want...
O detached desires,
forgive my need to release.
I am not restless,
I am not reactionary,
I am merely reminiscing in resilience,
to rise again
as the seamstress
of scarless sonnets….
Within the creeping shadows,
do you think you can find me?
Before chaos implodes my soul ~
I’m lost amongst childhood
memories, pounded to ash and dust,
clouding my sight,
as silence stifles my screams.
Whilst rivulets of water collect
around cracked soles,
cold liquid rushes
with each word left unsaid,
rising as foreboding
talons scrape against the ballast
stones of despair.
Spiritual hunger gnaws at my insides,
pain filling a closing throat.
O Helios Flare,
burning the crystalline odyssey,
sailing through sinister sapphires ~
I let my muse
spill cues of clemency,
allowing the salt of stillness
to kiss the bronze bones
beneath my quivering skin.
As I taste the f e a r s ,
the trembling turmeric
of the sun I once loved ~
soaked in
t e a r s of the dragon,
for you and for me.
Yet will the green-eyed gales
ever know, ever feel,
the truth I have traced?
The caged nightmare
that bound my gossamer,
leaf-like wings,
taming me to a gruesome game
of bleeding blame and bruises,
as though I were fated
by the blaze of kismet ~
to be the chained dreamer,
drowning in darkness,
choking on unspoken sorrow,
suffocating on splitting stars,
oblivious to the opalescent
shimmers of moonlight
singing within these vain veins…
So tonight, in muted midnight,
I write ~ and I weave ~
swaying to sulfur-laced,
gustless breezes,
all whilst the choir of dead dreams
serenades abounded hopes,
departed in fractured equilibrium.
No longer able to stay
afloat amongst raging riptides
of repressed trauma, I plummet
into the seas of tranquility,
hoping to emerge
b a p t i z e d by the
empathetic estuaries
flowing through heavens...
An echo of footsteps fill the serene salty air,
muffled thuds like faint taps in slow motion,
moving in a somber sonata over a creaking pier.
The bitter breeze is a harbinger of forthcoming storms,
but in an empty promenade the silence is soothing.
My anchor heart finds comfort at the sun shimmering,
upon a lullaby of waves calming the senses,
I lose my thoughts, almost forget myself,
as they softly caress moist sands,
sinking deep into trodden grains,
each ripple touching my hollow soul
like messengers of prophecies,
with sweet premonitions of pleasure and treasure,
but some resemble embers eternally burning,
leaving behind a directory of debris,
engraving intensely, as each fragment
weighs me down like burdens from a wreckage.
The mind ponders,
how I am a northern shore
whilst my life is a southern coastline.
What could have been and what will be,
what is mine and what is not,
what I actually deserve and what I have got.
In these internal fragilities,
we are like estuaries without an embankment.
But in this stillness the sunset is evidence
how the end can be graceful.
I gaze towards the ceaseless seas,
wishing the tide could carry me away,
but I am a broken boat left to rot
upon cold sands on a winters day.
Sunday Scribble
I'm a sinister shell,
lost in bygone
deepwaters of
gravity-less
cerulean tears,
that saturate
molten sundrops,
falling from
zinc-plated skies,
as heliophilic snow,
melts frosted
memories in
white-washed waves,
and the moon-
kissed paint of
chamomile dusk
seeps in
cataclysmic bruises of
cloudburst refrains.
Perhaps, phosphenes
perfumed with
blueth poppies,
splashing neon drops
upon midnight shores
of crystallized
coastal lashes,
left pearlescent
ice-drop stains
of fervent lies
and cupid's lampshade.
I was never a
flamboyant fleur flower,
for my rufescent roots
were induced with
evil effervescence
of elusive lambent love.
Dormant heavens
of cursed fairies,
are now bleeding
mahonia mist of
cocooned truths
and deserted dreams
in periwinkle
poetic estuaries,
where doomed
driftwoods float
as ash grey
carnival-canoes.
In werifesteria of
alchemist's
expensive jewels,
amidst soiled seagrass,
this heart slumbers
in silicon rain,
that drips from
lime-scented
starfish-shaped leaves,
when pain escalates
to tangled treetops,
blooming ~
scarlet sun-shells,
infused with
my smoldering
sinister soul.
Upon her last sighs, she narrates cosmic
sagas flowing within poetic veins.
She still remembers
those idyllic evenings,
engrossed in raining confessions,
influenced by her shipwrecked heart,
expressing scarlet
sentiments that sail in silence,
across unruffled ink-stained waves,
amidst the endless oceans between
their untouched silhouettes.
Her every desire to reunite and
cast away midnight blues,
float within perfumed love notes
written by the silky seashore,
placed in crystalline bottles
of timeless lyrics,
that shall be carried through
estuaries that lead her
to his sacred island
with everlasting roses~
where pearlized shells reflect
saline left as tropical memories
of tomorrow with him by
her sun-kissed innocence.
Freedom ~ an inked kingdom
of macabre mirrors,
a vermiform lie
veiling the vehement suffering
amidst serpent estuaries,
surging within strangled skin,
as if I am the living sin,
jinxed by the crawling creatures
in the lamented labyrinth
of deceitful dreams,
inhaling venomous vapors
rising from the cursed creeks
that failed to caress
the brittle bones of delirious dawn,
where the nocturnal owl
sits, phasing stellar phantoms
on tattered twigs,
oblivious to the piercing pain I breathe,
as poetry feels like
a somatic hallucination,
a reflection of the phoenix crescent,
a dialect the naive can never comprehend,
the voice of truth,
the jaded outline of mortality,
can never interpret~
as the last sacred light of twilight
r e m a i n s
unmarked and lost to the Earth.
O wicked wind beneath
the crestfallen wings
of cruising constellations,
will this piece of paper save me
from the maleficent violets
in the spitfire blaze
of stigmatized stars?
I am stuck ~ hell-bound,
troubled placing my
tongue on Freyja’s chalice of tears,
for I feel oblivion closer than death,
I taste the flames of Tartarus,
I dance with demons,
I sing to the malevolent moon,
I see in distorted dimensions.
But would the ignorant know
I hear beyond what’s spoken,
in search of Eden and love?
I give gratitude to your God,
but the veiled care not~
this is beyond the making
of a self-forged inferno.
I am the harbinger of harmony,
my soul aches
to paint your scarlet spheres
in butterfly bliss,
praying in secret
that the deviant daggers in my spine
would blossom into russet roses,
their petals ~ like an elixir
to my paranoid psyche,
paralyzed in the
catacomb chaos of insanity,
as the scorpion Sun
k i s s e s
me one more time
with sweetened poison.
While you,
the spectators of this twisted spectacle,
condemn my insomniac aura
to stain the essence of my existence
with condescending colors,
unaware that
introspection is a powerful weapon~
all blood is blue,
and we breathe hypocrisy
scrutinizing the unknown....
"He who looks outside, dreams. He who looks inside, awakens."
Carl Gustave Jung
Be not manacled, bound or tightly tethered
to a paradigm that appears to be status quo
Being mired in quicksand made of torpor
will observe you drowning in an undertow
Look inside yourself to become a flowing river
willing to accept waters of many tributaries
those that offer new elements of enrichment
Awaken your mind to the 'what ifs' of estuaries
Don't wallow or flounder about in muck and silt
Widen your banks until they expand without edge
Let your thoughts become ripples on your surface
then follow them to seek wisdom and knowledge
Do battle with the stagnation of complacency
It's a human fault we often label, "satisfaction"
but if truth be told, it should be called "passivity"
Always push one step further by taking action
Escape from entrapment in dungeons of darkness
Brush away the leaden clouds from your vision
that may be guilty of having obscured your insight
Make a breakthrough by creating a simple revision
Delusions and blurred illusions will soon fade away
You don't have to leap building of soaring height
You're not Super Man, but don't allow your apathy
and laidback demeanor to become your kryptonite
Setting sail on the solar wind,
got a good photon jet stream,
so let the star voyage begin
Trillions of light-years
on the vast cosmic sea
Navigate through fierce magnetic storms,
coast through calm nebula estuaries
Quasars,
pulsars
Music of the spheres,
symphony of the stars
Watching baroque binary partners
move in their endless elliptical dance
Asteroid shoals travel in silence
across the ever expanding expanse
Taking a cruise on a star voyage,
across oceans of stars
and gentle waves of gaseous galaxies
Time enough to take time forever ...
let the universe open up to me
all of its mysteries
To Rivers Running To Freedom
(Apropos The Underground Railroad)
With eyes wide open
And souls burning,
While they rested
We were running—
Running dreams
To visions like rivers:
Cascading estuaries;
Wide open seas.
Running dreams
Under star decked heavens;
In the rivers God has troubled free.
Running dreamers
Running and running;
Laying down trace tracks of visions;
Highlighting paths to free flowing
River waters. Seeking depths
Of freedom’s ways:
Where there’s no more slavery
Over me;
And the weary too!
With eyes wide open
And souls burning,
While they rested
We just keep on a’running:
Running waters of rivers freely.
And now our children
Wade, bathe and baptize in the rivers
God has troubled free.
Now, life has almost passed us by,
and peaceful resignation reigns;
the beach, a spawning ground of old,
shrieks mournfully in sea gull tones.
The neap tide’s come to lull the shore;
crab moltings own the water’s edge.
Forewarned, am I, of nature’s course
in grains of gray and casings banked.
Now hand in hand, we lovers walk-on;
each throbbing with the pull of tide.
We sink in sands both wet and warm
soothed by the skies now overcast.
As faithful as the moon on high,
between the water lines, they spawn;
in estuaries at peace, they nest;
eggs as small as grains of sand.
Will you come when the moon is round
and leave your molted shell beside me?
Will you sense the celestial call
or let the scavengers find me?
First Published by Page and Spine
I was born at great heights,
For the peak of morning rays and the glacial snowy nights ,
I never listen to my parents nor their way,
And when my mother holds me I escape and melt away,
At the verge of pride I fall,
Like a giant silvery foaming waterfall,
With huge sound and lustrous array,
I pound the rocks with bubbles of spray,
Always showing my blue and white smiles
I travel long and long miles,
From a frisky satin shower
To a turbulent young river,
Sometimes I run under your feet like a acquifer,
And sometimes over your head - along the hillside of peach and juniper,
I am swift, I am rapid and now a women of magnificent features,
With bends and curves called beautiful meanders,
Shhhhh! I have fallen in love and my man name is Tributary,
We joined at confluence with slow dilatory,
And now I am a Mother – mother of countless tiny rivulets
Forming a whimsical family living in a small hamlet
Sometimes when angry I cut off a loop for wrong,
Shortening the channel and forming a billabong.
My anger travels deeper and deeper for long
Leading to gorges and grand canyon,
I work from dawn to dusk without rest,
And carry on my back minerals and alluvium rust,
I have promised to deposit them on the banks
Not the commercial one but the river banks,
Alongside the bed of a river, creek, or stream.
Marsh, swamp, slough estuaries of beautiful dreams
After much travel I decide to retire as deltas
Even at senectitude I look like evergreen esmerelda,
My journey finally ends in touching the feet of Poseidon,
The Olympian God of the Oceans and king of the sea lions
When I turn back to see my own travel,
I have crossed so many floods and baffles,
But still I have provided fertile Agricultural lands,
And served as habitats for ubiquitous freshwater animals and plants
Although a river I keep moving even if I fall,
Why not humans who are the best creation of all.
22 May, 2016