Best Gulfs Poems
O souls of the Island,
I have silently
heard through
tropical torrents
and surpassed
a million miles
of the milky seas,
away from
mint-marine
silhouettes of my
utopian wonderland,
as strawberry
ripples and
coconut-scented
musings called
upon my
flamboyant spirit,
to explore those
ebony-emeralds
of universe and
envelop my hope in
creamy pink shells.
I have soaked in
sepia impressions,
ebbing as
crepe currents
on splitting shores
and windsurfed
through the
hibiscus rays
of life by forbidding
heartache hymns
of yesteryears,
from lurking in
jewelled hours
of today
and built a
kryptonite kayak
to sail in the
turquoise times
of tomorrow.
For, now I know
that the
opalescent ocean
has chosen me,
to return the
riveting spirit
of sage-rufescent
rivulets back to
the 'Heart of
Humanity's Cosmos',
shaped in
soft serenades
of seraphim.
When the
whispers of a
mauve french-rose,
blooming within,
will uncurl their
farthest wish
in silken twinkles,
my eyes will always
remember these
watercolor heights
splashing crayon dusks
and revealing
silver moon truths,
for there's more
beyond the
neon networks
of syzygy pearl skies
and chestnut reefs,
yearning to be
cherished by the
blonde alchemy of love.
So, I abandon
those sooty
regrets that snorkel
with their fragile fins in
kohl-lily gulfs
and observe these
constellations
of intuitions, formed
by the star-kissed
manta rays and
sketch sagacious
saudades laced
with hope, as a
halo around the
lilac Pole Star.
In this mortal
seascape of
the seventh heaven,
every orphan
of darkness
shimmers as
the beacon
of lustrous
sugar-scintilla that
shapes this world,
in ivory-smitten
spheres of
magically
diaphanous helix,
waltzing in whispers
of wind and water.
Every lava-skinned,
feminine flame
of doleful daffodils
was once a glittered
cherry-red gardenia,
laced with
cardinal buds,
who nurtured
velvet seeds
in the womb of
celeste compassion
and edenic empathy.
And like myself,
every sea-maiden of
sequined lush ruminations,
crowned with
purple plumerias,
is a whimsical wayfinder,
wishing for ~
white bells of serenity
and blue-star petals of peace.
Too slow is the speed of life,
so we try to outrun avalanches and race sounds,
flee into roaring tubes of hungry water,
brave invisible waves in the sky.
Too barren is the landscape of life,
so we take shelter in surly jungles and unruly gulfs,
set out to survive deserts where even memories die,
trespass peaks reserved for birds and clouds.
Too bloodless are the aesthetics of life,
so we declare emotional asylum in the turmoil of music,
find refuge in the jarring, scarring beauty of poetry,
ask to be abducted into the haunted wilderness of art.
Too transactional are the relationships of life,
so we pawn our souls for the drugs of cults and creeds,
trust in friends or their imposters,
risk heartbreak for a few moments when the world spins.
Too fraught is life with the danger of safety,
so we seek salvation in a rush of adrenalin,
or a trickle of madness.
Empty-handed is no way to leave.
We’ll hitch a ride on those spikes along that flatline.
Or be impaled upon them.
LOVERS LEAPb>
How long the days of lovers cleft
The brittle feel of nights bereft
Where restless wind through cedar claws
The rasping void of canyon jaws.
The close up call of raptor hoot
Distant tolls to our melancholic mood
Cobalt darkness gulfs o’er world's unseen
And conjures voids where we'd lonely been.
Can this be fair we soft beseech
Our love away and out of reach
And more like us there surely is
A crowded rim ‘round bleak abyss.
We try for slumber the soothing balm
A haven sought, a merciful calm
A place of refuge where torments laid
To rest, if only, if only our thoughts allayed.
But sleep won't come our cherished goal
Instead accelerates this mindless roll
Whirligigged mind but of pleasure void
We ride again this tormenting toy.
Is this the way of minds unhinged
Sleep deprived and nerves well singed
Of thoughts ensnared beyond release
More woven now than bovine fleece.
Dawn creeps in, an early siren wails
Our hollow eyes are pits or gaols
But sounds there are, a creeping swell
To rescue minds near lost pell-mell.
Team Work
alteration between success and failure
astuteness to win challenges
ability to direct individual accomplishments toward organizational objectives
ability to work together toward a common hallucination
drive that allows common people to attain infrequent results
distinct obligation to a group determination
different commitment to group efforts
to divides the task and double the success
adeptness to work together towards a collective vision
ability to direct individual accomplishments toward organizational objectives
hush-hush that makes common people achieve special outcomes
create the innovations that defines our professions
moving forward together
group of many hands but of one mind
the fulcrum in long term achievement
accomplishments of an organization are the results of the combined effort
gulfs the chore and doubles the success
the power of the team is each single participant
is to lift a shingle with more limbs
T.E.A.M. = Together Everyone Achieves More
Below earth, streams release the arteries
of the undersea teeming with precious
abalone, granite and shells,
as a roulette of lotus defies gravity
soaking on the chlorine of a wind
only piles of sand can bestow…
and gentle the wavelets murmuring
hymns of serenity , somewhat delicate
as ocean mouth is to fish lips in the moist pulse
of swelling spaces for wooden fleets
to beckon the blue.
Like so, guardian of water observes the cruise
of a ship rustling a masthead…
intrusive vessels are aliens
to the underworld: greedy eyes, black hands
that rake mothers of pearl and babes of dolphins.
Fierce dugongs roll along, shaking the basement
of hunters’ boats on inlets
to pound doors of Neptune’s bed,
reflecting mirrors of an island scented
with coconut and tresses of women
bathing along coasts of such innocent gulfs.
Below earth, a divide between friends and foes
is honored; that beyond words,
a sea keeper rises to acknowledge
the kindness of strangers,
if they are kind enough to respect the gift of privacy.
10/2/2015
Chase Trevi's Contest:
Open Sea - Sailing, Creatures, Treasures
Strange, yet a reality none the less:
the oppressed destroying themselves
for the sake of the oppressor.
The battle of creatures of the sea
has now become that of the humanity
of the conquered land. A bizarre misguided
catharsis born out of guided mind bending
of victims killing selves for the sake
of molded daily bread of the oppressor.
The dehumanizing of common human bond
etched into souls by Middle Passage bondage
and stitched into long landed psyche, has
yet to be extricated from psychological slave mentality.
Its debasing scraping—like the depths of the sea—continues
to run deep and wide as the long ago Passage.
The sea that spat upon the shores of a strange land,
swallowed the anchors of satanic ships laden
with remnants of the booty of their sooty cargo;
a sooty cargo whose songs made no sense in a strange land.
Shackles may be broken and fall clanging from their physical
grasping; but minds may remain invisibly chained—unaware.
In nature, the causes of demise often remain unseen—veiled.
And liberation becomes a misconceived deception; seasoned
by the salt of the sea—rather than burning with freedom’s fire!
America, a deception in disguise, has revealed herself in reality;
but like Iago’s ego, the true self remains among the unknown.
Yet she rings the bell of justice till it cracks—stilling its silent tongue;
and in veiled blindness hang scales to seek their own balance.
They stripped the heaven-ward pole of its clothing;
but the colors remain in altered stripes and stars—
flushing a noose-like wave in smoke filled skies reeking
with the murderous smell of spiraling gun powder residue
lingering in air as they echo purity while simultaneously
orating mass hued skin perdition.
Though we are of the same seed of our brother, Othello,
we shall not let this adopted land ‘…roast in sulphur…’
nor be washed ‘…in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire.’
Nay. We are of the soul of the phoenix—
rising black doves roosting—plucking feathers of injustice
from the bleeding breast of a forgiven nation.
5/19/17
Things considered occult
Near and far from kids, teens and adults
Working with mulch
Above a gulch
Had to turn into the Hulk
And catapult
Toward successful results
Then howl at the moon like a wolf
While in and out of gulfs
No good in being in poor form
Or disordered
Got to keep pushing forward
Above and below floorboards
Considered that there will always be more storms
Whether or not it is cold or warm
I just can't spend time in forlorn
Got to take care of business, night or morn
Ready to fight for what I believe is right, with the skills of a warlord
Regardless of if it is what I was born for
Close and beyond traces of lanthanum
I'm coming through with an effective stratagem
Show you something truly masculine
Going full throttle pushing to the maximum
Among pathogens
And antigens
As well as vehicles with headlights that are halogen
When I see an animal or human struggling, I'll lend a hand and not abandon them
By: Dalton Ogletree
The kind of love you deserve is the same
kind of love that the Sun has for the moon
That even as she floats in emptiness
Cold and abandoned
He would stretch himself across gulfs
And around planetary bodies
Touching her with his energy
And making her face light up as he comes
A Self-Tutoring Translation of RIMBAUD's " The Vowels " in Contemporary Terms
(" The Vowels " in the Paul Verlaine (first version) copy in RIMBAUD Œuvres complètes. Ed. by Pierre Brunel. Paris : Livres de Poche/La Pochethèque, 1999, pp. 279-280. Please see notes following the translation. T. Wignesan)
A, black ; E, white ; I, red ; U, green ; O, blue ; vowels,
I'll invoke true to day how your latent forms take shape
A, velvety black corset shiny bluebottles armour-plate ape
Pullule hovering over putrefying carrion stench gruels
By leeway gulfs. E, shimmering of vapours and tents,
Icy surges prideful, white grapes*, fluttering parasols umbellate,
I, purple, spat-out blood, laughter from Synchrotron** lips ondulate
Through anger or from inebriate benumbing of penitents.
U, cycles, the divine vibrations of emerald-green seas
Peaceful grazing grounds teeming with animals, reposeful furrowed pleats
Some alchemically concocted hand imprints on great foreheads studious ;
O ! stentorian Bugle ! the laden strident shriek deranges,
The calmness pierced by disrupting Worlds and Angels…
--- O ! the ultimate Omega, the violet tincture of her eyes !
Notes
* " rais blanc " (" raisin blanc " ?, hence : " raisiné " : blood, claret) ;
** " belles " (" beautiful " is hackneyed and meaningless ; by contrast, the CERN Synchrotron is the most daring, infinitesimally elegant and awe-inspiring human creation) ;
© T. Wignesan - Paris, March 21, 2019
Feet
Disseminated storms.
Nothing dismantled
Everything originated.
Lost blossoms,
Birds,trees,seasons.
Spindle body effused
Thunder and lightning.
Afreshed sky and earth.
Gulfs among mankind
Faded off.
World become a
Toy of kids.
Arms throbbed to hug
The dying earth.
Music effloresced
From the quivering.
Childhood devastated.
Youth wanted to mend.
But death, clowned.
Taught loneliness
In fame and furore.
REAL MUSIC TOO.
By the sour lemon light
through dusty shafts
and cavernous gulfs of darkness for miles,
she crouched.
Examining the find
with a paintbrush, not for painting,
but for delicately brushing away debris.
A find such as this coiled shivers
'round her metal spine.
Shivers of the magnitude of discovery.
Shivers filled with memories of what once was.
Echoes from far off darkness
bounced off her body, sonar style,
and were sent reeling backwards into the black veins.
She concentrated all of her effort on cleaning the find-
there...
and there...
so much debris;
layers of earth, hard packed,
crevices and minute holes, filled with tongue cracking dust,
and the strangest of all -
what looked like some form of ancient, metaled chain,
imbedded 'round and 'round and sunk in the vessel,
covered in gems perhaps held of some value, somewhere.
She worked tirelessly
until the object emerged, took shape
like a hand, attached to an arm,
attached to a groaning for life body,
being pulled out of quicksand.
Finally, after hours of solitude
and immensity of detailed labor,
she stood and stretched her back and her legs in a caterpillar arch.
Tandem memories and emotions lined up to meet her
and she shook hands with them one by one
before again dropping to her knees.
She pulled a neatly folded, white cotton, monogrammed handkerchief
out of her back pocket and wrapped the find with shaking fingers.
When she emerged she had a yellow taste on her tongue
from the depths of the earth and one thought only:
"I wonder what everyone will say, when I tell them I found my heart..."
They copied but we xerox
Our forefathers wrote letters,
Youngsters e-mail
Women were disheveled, disarmed,
Girls model, parlour, potter
Females rinsed,
Eves today mix, swish, swash,
Sagacious scholars counted on fingers,
eggheads now compute them
Birthdays were forgotten,
Today grand celebrations, cheer, spank
Dhotis, kurtas, sarees, blouses prevailed
Now Jeans and Tops , Mobiles and Masterminds
Distance conquered, world has been so piffling
a place to exist in
Gulfs within minds have been abominable
Dismembered, mangled, Crushed souls
Divided, partitioned, psyche; no unity of Being.
The event of tragedy blossomed,
That carnivorous wave of terror,
Caromed through the capital,
Down subways and thoroughfares,
Horrified the gaping senses
And surged through the echoing chasms,
The divides of the unholy,
And the gulfs of the unjust.
In a bleak ricocheted wake,
Left no blank resignation,
Or mere shrugging of shoulders
As if cold blooded and detached;
Evolved a unified populace
Grieving resolute and defiant,
As they arched down in reverence
In that two minute silence.
Swelled the dream iconography
Of human souls in mortal battle,
And the blood-stirring prose
Of the old past master speeches;
Fell a faint dust of resonance
Blown from reminisced prophecies,
Foretelling times when the streets
Run with rivers of blood.
Therein the wake of tragedy stung
In the mourning lungs of the living,
Feeling thorny and vibrant,
Tasting earthy and tart;
Instead of cancer and wasteland
The first blackberry roses bloomed,
In the gardens of futures
Landscaped by the past.
On the dry Prairie and then Mississippi Valley, yahoo buckaroo;
I come out eating choking dust daily, yahoo;
While on the long open range;
This cattle drive I parade;
Moo-be then dar doggies;
Through open Plains and Gulfs in Valley range;
Yippee ki-yay, Yahoo buckaroo doggies;
Got a rope and a horse, hey flowing mange!
Also got a sixth barrel caliber Bang Bang git them bandits;
I ain't going to be in shooting unless it's in self-defense;
Because this keeps me saved me from them Outlaws those dirty varmints;
That corn whiskey on my breath;
I'm a self-proclaimed cowboy;
I'm not afraid of this life or death;
And one day I'm going to be a big-time Lariat Oh, boy;
Screaming yippee ki-yay Yahoo buckaroo wooh!
From the range to the rodeo this is where I'm going to go;
I am a cowboy
1/19/21
Cowboy Poetry Poetry Contest
Rhyme poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
A gulf between us, but we relate,
You're an official, I'm a shepherd,
But we both have bodies, legs,
But you can get better upon illness,
‘Cos upon Pilate you do wait.