Best Glyphs Poems
T i m e ~ you are the spark
that tips the scales
of lovestruck heartbeats,
ricocheting glyphs of fairness,
etched with gold and silver.
Yet seasons of smoke fail to
trace the unexpressed emotions
woven with ultraviolet beams.
Perhaps the ticking truth of intoxicated haze,
is a resonance of pained pulses:
a poem without a title,
a sonnet without a rhyme,
a melody without a rhythm,
a palette without a dream,
cosmically tied, yet torn by space,
pondering:
what if these implicit metaphors
heal the beautifully bruised,
paint the scars with flares of serenity,
turn bleeding wounds into sterling specks,
and draw hope with swirling sunflowers?
As I am a wordless wanderer,
facing the heat of sultry skin within starlight,
tasting the milky flickers of quartz
as they seep into the warm arms
of blushing twilight.
These fingers curate chronicles
from archaic archives,
scintillating souvenirs,
like a forest library with shimmering shelves
touched by sunlit rays
and mauve memories merging
with evening mists.
For I am the mistress
of your amethyst afterglow,
engrossed in the ambrosial luminescence
of soft-spoken verses,
as alluring auroras emanate
burning thistles of thirsting galaxies~
the delicate dews of dancing diamonds
caressing the silk of stars to drizzle
one last drop of your pining poetry,
while I await the return of
Romeo’s rhapsody,
like Juliet on the tantalizing tip of throes,
counting Cupid's jewels of nightfall,
wishing upon the dusk of craving.
For in your absence,
I am but a poet with no abstract speech,
but doleful desires,
longing to kiss the final phase of Luna’s sigh
catching crooning comets,
lost in the hypnotic moon-gaze
of immortal love...
Categories:
glyphs, deep, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
One must imagine Sisyphus’s
boulder, marble-sized these days
And Ozymandias’ plaque,
spinning despair into praise
Look on, ye hypocrites,
and sneer at my undoing
Your universe is a giant sandpit,
entropy accruing
Their legacies long crumbled,
eroded by rust
Gods built the wrong way,
on scaffolds of dust
Virtue or vice register
equally the same
Except between stars,
there’s space for one more grain
Down here, we clock in daily,
stack hours like prayer
Worship strong Wi-Fi,
evangelize on thin air
Imagine heavenly echoes,
because the silence isn’t fair
Some develop connection,
others a thousand-yard stare
Our Earth splits naturally,
along seismic lines
Greenwich claims centre stage,
only for the meantime
Sisyphus, still aching,
gets an epidural at last
But only in hindsight,
for his hump blocks the past
Redrawn are our own lines,
watchtowers in the sand
Sketching new borders,
carving up the promised land
Exhume ancient treasure,
and black, viscous stuff
Addicted to all things buried,
as if our dead weren’t enough
Still we write blindly,
tracing glyphs already faded
Helps lift the mood
when depressed and jaded
Gods stand on shaky ground,
myth holds them together
In schisms that bind billions,
then sever forever
Oh, look on—ye poet
Sisyphus now rolls his eyes
He’s seen the apps, wars,
hoodies, and cable ties
His hamster wheel’s a meme
for gods who merely try
Small wonder he mutters,
at least Ozymandias gets to die
And sometimes I pray to gods,
or maybe their ghosts
About versions of me
I’ve been missing the most
They don’t directly answer,
but do leave this guess
In the end, to keep on rolling
may be my passing success
By David Kavanagh
Categories:
glyphs, how i feel, life,
Form:
Rhyme
This heart~ a lovesick talisman
f l a r e s fallen sparks,
seeking Mayan glyphs of hope
amidst layered lace of halcyon,
illuminated with tears
of black diamonds,
for the empires ruined
by the self-righteous kings
throned in greed,
draped in galactic gold,
while ceremonial pyramids
adorned with copper footprints,
face the Venus star like sacred trees,
engrossed in sacrificial salt,
threading through ancient roots,
r e m i n i s c i n g
prophetic light of twin flames…
But beneath the storm
of wistful wildflowers
carrying pollen-etched promises,
there I revisit the book of soul,
with laws of lethal lies,
and ponder what
must have the
world witnessed
when mysteries of life were
mindlessly manipulated
from vermilion vines in
the vindictive valley of stone,
where civilizations were cremated
with smoke of hypocrisy,
and pages of destruction…
So, in this dejected domain of truth,
I question green-eyed dragonflies
fluttering in caves of confusion.
Will devotees of the antique moon
feel the sunrise within these words,
woven in white?
For I am the veiled bride,
wearing shells and feathers,
chained to the phasing cycles of Luna,
chasing the aura
of passing planets…
A paradise painted with rhinestone riches
and insincere ink
can never
last for an eternity,
but will be written as
a
f i n a l surrender
to roses that breathe
the forgotten fragrance
of the forsaken forest,
perhaps through
poignant tales of the past,
I will find the frayed spirit
of withered sagas,
the essence of broken vows
embalmed with
ancestral rain...
Categories:
glyphs, magic,
Form:
Free verse
In Lochness, an undulating giant lives;
legendary Nessie; giant oarfish or
prehistoric remnant?
No one knows for certain,
but he bothers no one; leave him be.
In mountainous terrain, walks the Yeti.
Part man; part beast; perhaps the missing link?
Science said of its remains,
“It is a relative of ancient polar bears”; perhaps.
In Jersey woods, people say a, “Devil” hides;
a new species or an experiment in genetics, gone awry?
There are many Doctor Moreau’s and Frankenstein’s,
in this world and they do,
abandon their mistakes.
Regardless, life is life and
it must be respected,
for harmony to reign.
What if cryptids aren’t myth?
People say, “You can’t cross a rabbit with a cat”,
but it has been done.
Perhaps humankind has made,
the mistakes of ancient ancestors;
maybe centaurs and fauns were once…real?
On such an old planet…whom can be certain?
Ancient texts and glyphs, speak of many things,
mythical and legendary and history does…repeat.
Someone had to tamper with genetics,
to discover that pig arteries,
can work in the human body;
that cow plasma, could too.
The human explores its world;
exploiting even ravaging other species,
without concern for the end result.
Perhaps, humans should leave, well enough alone.
“Nessie”, “Yeti”, “Jersey Devil”; cryptids,
like all life, should be free to live.
The human species,
is the most deadly and destructive,
of all predators.
Clearly, not the smartest, at times;
Not even with regard to, its other siblings.
Humans seem to obliterate everything, they touch;
never caring for the harm that they do…until it’s too late.
Even then, some never lend anymore thought, to their deeds.
Categories:
glyphs, animal, mystery, nature, poems,
Form:
Prose
The moon's eclipse hangs copper red
against the heavens, dark as lead.
Its face bears missives from the skies,
and secrets kept 'neath burnished eyes.
If omen, portent, sign of doom,
or bard of vague and futile gloom
why send man warnings in the night,
proclaim such edicts while in flight?
We gaze perplexed decoding glyphs,
from dark, obscure, prophetic myths.
Your course arcs through the endless deep,
blood-red enigmas yours to keep.
Blood Moon
April 2014
Categories:
glyphs, moon, night, sky,
Form:
Quatrain
2/2/21
"Ever since"
Ever since
I was six
The best for my family and friends I wish
This is about as real as it gets
Reached the top of the cliffs
Then I continued to lift
Upon the clouds I sit
In a state of bliss
Just when I began to reminisce
It all went amiss
The wind and whispers of folks sounding like a hiss
When I got struck by a species that was venomous
Struggling to nix
Always getting my fix
Couldn't ever call it quits
Fell into several rifts
Sunk into an abyss
Then I was entranced by glyphs
Always in a self induced haze
In attempts to reduce the pain
Been at the top of the food chain
From Wednesday to Tuesday
After the same game or some new prey
Old school and also new age
Similar yet so different from Bruce Wayne
I am, but others are not humane
Could've led to doomsday
You dug the grave, and are the only one to blame
I won or I loss and said touché
Nights where the moon waned
Days of sun shining or bouts of afternoon rains
Soon came
Continual products made with Butane
And yet another new strain
Many so quick to, but honestly who's to say
If any very few may
Understand that they'll remain true or stray
It's just not always going to be a two-way
Categories:
glyphs, dark, deep, life, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
Quantum Glyphs
A particle’s not a particle,
a wave is not a wave.
It’s more or less equations,
of the way that they behave.
The particles aren't our focus,
of the why and for the how.
No... everything’s the Field,
that describes the then and now.
A beauty of probabilities,
a guess where they may be.
Real or just imagined,
for particle velocity.
The jump, the spike, a double jet,
to calculate creations.
How intricate the formulas,
of mutual annihilations.
But it’s not a vacuum of particles,
that hoover up the Field!
It’s the undulating Field itself,
in the blanket of the yield.
The surf is up, the trough is down,
the pattern’s on the Wall.
They shoot the curl, or wipe it out,
the field’s in caterwaul.
Then we draw analogies,
of what it must be like.
But something from the nothing...
classic logic takes a hike.
We try to tell what’s happening,
with speech not adequate.
Some forbid the lexicon,
of the maths in duplicate.
Yet it seems, to quantify,
in a language of it’s own.
And we can hear it chatter,
though its meaning’s not full blown.
We know Hadrons are the nouns,
and the Leptons are the verbs.
The Bosons are the adjectives,
and the Field is all the words.
The particles aren't our focus,
No... it’s to the Field we truck.
Wading in our Wellington’s,
in the fog and quantum muck.
A particle’s not a particle,
a wave is not a wave.
It’s more or less equations,
of the way that they behave.
By -Edlynn Nau
©March 1, 2019
If you’ve ever studied Quantum Mechanics, or tried to understand reality from the subatomic level, or follow new particles found at CERN, then you understand that analogies are about impossible for a science that just isn’t classical. This was meant to be fun and underscore the difficulty of the English language in not being able to translate the maths.
Categories:
glyphs, analogy, imagery, language, science,
Form:
Rhyme
Words forming stories on my mind-canvas…
The written words, letters drawn upon a page are, power;
a force to be celebrated and dreaded.
The images of the artist;
words paint profound stories within paintings.
Communication illustrated to teach;
from these seeds we all grow.
Words sketched with pen and brush can move mountains, change a life or heal;
the Cadillac of tools for those who see and
know how to utilize them in any situation.
They are universally, multilingual.
Words initiate communication,
interaction is vital to the survival of all species.
Symbols, images, a glance or gesture are
all forms of word-art; cosmic graffiti.
Words bond and obliterate,
evoke emotion and soothe the soul.
Words are invaluable allies and formidable enemies;
both the life-of-the-party and a safe place to hide.
Memoirs, adventures, challenges,
hopes and dreams are all shared by words.
Stories and tales experienced by
writer and reader alike.
The ultimate superheroes
enabling their creators with the power to
change the world or an entire universe.
These inter-dimensional characters
tumble from pen and brush to the page.
When read out loud or spoken they serve as
transformational powers.
This trans-formative cosmic dust,
a sacred gift used by rich and poor, alike.
Uniform cuneiform's, precious petro glyphs and
hybrid hieroglyphs
paint eons of growth and wisdom.
The human condition at-a-glance,
making a vibrantly painted record of life.
4-11-2021
ALL YOURS (APR11) Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
Categories:
glyphs, poems, poetry, words, writing,
Form:
Free verse
Here we are,
my Bright-Light -
The Slow Discotheque.
Connect your contacts to the mob-mind,
dig the soft-focus that feels like an old future.
Leave your shoes and stockings
by the door,
my Bright-Light -
the spongy fungi carpet
will leave your feet cleaner
than when we came in.
Try the honeysuckle,
my Bright-Light -
it comes in three flavors,
hard to describe without glyphs.
The dialects of the discotheques
drift from ecosystem to enchanted ecosystem.
Drink deep -
or do not -
the tab is infinite
as long as we’re alive.
Our payment is our body heat.
The plants eat infrared here.
Nothing leaves here hungry.
Everything gets its fill.
Take off that vestige of a bustle,
my Bright-Light,
We’re about to dance,
and the nettles need something to prick.
The music is very slow here,
my Bright-Light -
only the plants
dance to it raw.
We get it filtered,
but if you tune in to the right trail,
and breathe deep,
you catch something like phrases -
phrases of thanks.
They bask in us,
here in our near-dark
of The Slow Discotheque -
their adapted-dawn
of The Slow Discotheque.
Let us...trade,
my Bright-Light,
exchange
energy for music,
waste heat for wonder,
sweat for sweet nectar.
Let us...dance,
my Bright-Light,
in microscopic movements,
mambas whose grooves
only slime mold can nod to.
And at the break,
my Bright-Light,
spoon with me,
my Bright-Light,
on the fungal floor
of this Slow Discotheque,
Let us rest awhile,
let the hyphae taste us,
imprint our receipt -
their thanks -
upon us
in spore patterns
blazing in the ultraviolet.
Let us go now,
my Bright-Light,
covered in information,
craving the next disco
(what lovely lie, never leaving hungry)
Let us kiss,
go home,
do the waggle-dance
to remember where we were.
Let us go,
my Bright-Light,
and spread the spores.
Let us go,
and boogie slowly
to the hits
of the hot plants.
Categories:
glyphs, dance, future, imagination, insect,
Form:
Free verse
Lightning throbs
Sending rain pelting
Through me
Joyously soaking my soul
Home now-
Clothes hanging on iron glyphs;
Soon to adorn my garden
The sun peaks out-
Bright red pinecones are forming
Like little green
Tipped clubs on the Norway Pine
Outside my window;
My heart entwined with the
Budding pinecones
Absorbing hope
Categories:
glyphs, spring,
Form:
Lyric
“Rainy day, dream away
Ah let the sun take a holiday
Flowers bathe an' ah see the children play
Lay back and groove on a rainy day”
Jimi Hendrix 1968
A weep at first
to cure a thirst
becomes a cloud bursts fray
the earth sips deep
of questionings glyphs
a mind soon returns to
youthful puddle playing daze
the dream’ intend is
for a drought to end
a return to stationary and
normal weather ways
the clouds return, the
soil stops burning a relief
is provided by providence or
bye chance one’s yearnings
the grifting natures; of humanity
in a “Three Card Monty” played
a slight of hand does so stand
against the awe of simpler times
the rain now comes
with the gusting winds
a bind to bond twined powers play
into a more potent and fearsome slam
the hours pass, the rain at last
becomes that three in one parley
a rage, a warn, a worry;
uncompromisingly formed
the banks of clouds
as the banks becloud
a swirling weather pool
of raging flood potential
the water falls
like the “Bridal Veil”
a most profoundly fear filled sight
especially at late snow thaw’s height
the imaginations reared
by a downpour’ tears
a Heaven scent or Hell is
on, in an unrelenting pain
the mix of these
astounds one’s ease
a lament; for in pain
is drinking water gained
the odds are indeed
and in an oddity
a tit-for-tat; “the good
for bad, gets ugly”
the rain, a pleasure’ sheen or
on this day death and wet demons
a fiasco; living’ fresco; an echo
slimmed or splendored
the conflict bred of want
or life’s simple needs
a gift in sweetness given, or a
warning from the highest Heavens
the rain; without, no doubts, we die;
no other options are given
a thought therefore
proves necessarily necessary
the truth is a daze
our world is ablaze
a rainy daze redemption’s
bless is daringly caring
the source from which
these blessings flow
a Heavenly respite; a gift
this day and night
the result therefore
is thinking’s cower
a reaction to reaction’;
its time for profound reflections
fore the daze to come, have all
“passed as this; so many times before”.
Categories:
glyphs, analogy, change, community, devotion,
Form:
Free verse
Amulet graced by gems
clad for stratum prow
tawny glyphs
margin of witticism
& quagmire
extravagant dictum
trivialize shores trails
summer ousted
& waves of wrangles
sundered the ocean
& swapped my spirit
in crimson burst
swirl to scatter
In demolishing ruins
& twilight crumble
slump of man
glittering Phoenix fire trail
scribble a cyan-xantos rhyme.
bore a shallow rostrum
defective soothsayer
haunts dreams?
hilltops & both
oceans & skies
cyclone of emotions
&
lethargic sadness
soul storm mulling.
5TH Place Contest winner
Written: July 19, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Categories:
glyphs, analogy, dedication, humanity, inspirational,
Form:
Free verse
An artifact juts from the dirt
with glib glyphs and weird words
A man holding a snake
and the outline of a lake
Seem to warn present day man
with scrawl from a caveman
Is it cryptic scribble-scrabble?
Is it ancient psycho-babble?
One finger points to the sky
Does it mean the time is nigh?
A broken ankh and a scarab
And an angry looking cherub
Seem to say, "Don't forget,
You came from the One who begets.."
Or maybe it's just a prehistoric cartoon
Drawn by some crazy loon
Categories:
glyphs, analogy, angel, art, creation,
Form:
Rhyme
Slowly I walk to the window as I am attracted by the light
What could cause such brightness before my day becomes bright
I step out on the balcony, my eyes lured towards the sky
Spaceships of various sizes, is this our world in nigh
In the sky above Central Park, appears the daddy of them all
Whilst all around are smaller ones in deliberate hover fall
Just off to my right I hear explosions and screaming cries
Then suddenly down below, one hovers and catches my eye
Inscriptions on it's side, remind me of 2nd century glyphs
Can it be that they have been here before, and banish alien myth
The writings that I see are similar to the Mayan race
From the site at Naranjo, yes, Guatemala being the place
My mind in wheels of confusion as to why today has arrived
Leads me to think that this happening is genius in contrive
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-17.php
Categories:
glyphs, fantasy, history, hope, people,
Form:
Sonnet
All I've seen is a black star in the night sky,
We fell asleep after our cross-country awry.
In my dream, I saw weak, cynical starlight,
Subtle as a map packed toward the plight.
City by the Bay up against our New York,
Oh, guys burn you agile with real torque!
A dull star of little utility in the night sky,
Leaving them burning was unwisely sway.
New Mexico in Texas when USS Arizona sank,
Stashing our shame, bold lads raced to the tank.
Idaho's air arrives at Ohio and the Great Lakes,
Twilights and nooks assist with filling the brakes.
My Florida is blazing in sight of your blue Picayune,
Reddish dryads stand out against the black Moon.
Your Eastern Time Zone is striving to attack mine,
Meander into Her shadows, the watching divine.
My highland concept and your primary time,
Right-side dawn, the sun on my wing is sublime.
The yard's satyr emerges as stern and bleak,
Strings and woodwinds adapt to the beak.
As the moon soared, she met four cardinal glyphs,
Orioles swoop over us while writhing in the cliffs.
Our states and cities merged into one community,
Resilient and devoted to justice for all and liberty.
I know where streams chime of giggling flow,
I know the wellspring where tears grow.
I know where dwells the inconspicuous star,
I know what words are yelled and how winds scar.
Written: August 14, 2022
Categories:
glyphs, america, analogy, appreciation, community,
Form:
Rhyme