Best Immerses Poems
Her dreams entangled in twisted ropes
perturbed fate of banished desires
innocence shriveled in raging fires
they haven't known her bubbling hopes.
Her existence exhausted in spiral cobwebs
blazing her world in exploding scars
yet wounded faith reaches soothing stars
in her festering pain from tides to ebbs.
Her harmless thoughts chained in fears
seemingly offensive to societal norms
will find an abiding shore through storms
history screams the truth over her tears.
She immerses herself in fearful showers
hurtful memories drowning her rugged mind
beneath oceans of paranoia she will find
enclaves of scarlet heavenly augmented powers.
Her frozen blood begins bubbling her cries
simmered courage sprinkled in layered hues
crushed valor floats in mellows of ashes to fuse
beyond afflicted pain in freedom she will rise.
Divinity reflects through her crystal eyes
splashing colors of flaming crimson tune
perfumed kindness drenching sapphire dune
she dusts her wings, like a Phoenix she will rise.
July 31, 2020
Be Inspired Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
~Premiere Contest Winner: 2nd Place
Sweet beautiful butterfly that sails the celestial seas,
With narcotizing nuclei that brings me to my knees…
Spreading gaseous light, throughout the multiverses’,
A scintillating sight, where immortal love immerses.
Benevolent butterfly, bring me to Heaven's shore,
Intoxicating the candy eye, with visions to explore…
Gorgeous galactic wings, movement of the spheres,
Clusters of superstrings, nebulas geometric gears.
According to context of Stars, we are all merely dust,
With moons sharing scars and novae ready to combust…
Amongst the Sands of Time, fast fading away to cinders,
Creating a new paradigm, within God's flourishing fingers.
June.11.2019
Nifty Named Nebula's Poetry
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
Pic #1
Music snippet by... Pendulo-Zayrus Selector Odeon
Placed 5'th...Thank You
Author: Runping Chen
The desk sends forth its particular fragrance
That gladden people’s hearts.
That is the sweet-smelling of the old camphor bodies
And into the impression of my childhood immerses.
The shade extended my fellow villagers’ strolling;
Countless summer nights embraced people’s joyful cooling.
The huge and tabescent trunk held up
The wind and frost for generations’ living.
The refreshing breeze was kissing the head of the tree.
Kindly pulled the old camphor closer
Some strands of cooking smokes
Vaguer and vaguer.
The production teams’ whistles were resounding over the village,
And grownups shouldered the sun and moon
Hurrying to the hills and fields
While the old camphor collected the children’s imaginative yields.
--In its chest
The childhoods would not be lonely and flurried
Counting from the stitches of leaves
Thousands and thousands of suns.
Many rivers of time were flowing around;
With no sense of time, the sadness I’ve known.
Since I was away, many shifts of the sunrise and sunset
I came back home and found the old camphor fallen on the ground.
It’s lying on the ground with no voice and sound,
Being dying and breathing
The merely last fragrance of its life
In front of the horrible carpenters who circled around.
The carpenters held their stainless saws
Ignoring the old camphor’s itches and aches.
On its shoulder was an owl
With the mouth open, and family ruined after all.
Prizing up the mouth for no use of vomiting sadness,
The birds sang no songs any more in the sky
Because they could hardly find back
Houses and household articles among the green leaves.
Children carried in both hands the remains of the old camphor’s bones,
Hating to pile them in the firewood house.
When the setting sun was sliding down the west hill ridges,
I walked back and forth around the old camphor tree.
Her face launched a thousand verses, into the worshipful waves she immerses
With the mermaids, she converses adorned by many in the ultramarine universes
A star child of the celestial seas her warmth blowing benevolently in the breeze
For humanity, she will appease as her tears of joy fall from the terpsichorean trees
A heart bigger than her white smile, as she indulges with the fish on her lost isle
Sailing serendipitously is her only style; touching many a heart admits many a mile
She dances underneath the stars and moon, a Delphian dreamer of twilights tune
Signals of the heart from her lavish lagoon, sending to us on her rainbow balloon
Tender are her words in a heavenly view, morphing with water of the ocean blue
Her heart will help you mend and start anew, with shimmering light shining thru
A beautiful soul loving and living carefree, of this earth an angel of the first degree
As my thoughts sail across the sentimental sea, she will always be a Hero to me.
Nov.18.2017
HERO
Sponsored by: Silent One
This poem is dedicated to Akinna Downing... a beautiful soul and poetess here at the soup...her warmth and kindness have come across in vibes of friendship at times of need...I'm sure you will agree with me...there are many more beautiful female soul poets... I encourage other's to do the same, as I will in the future...thank you again, my dear friend, Akkina...for your warmth, friendship and white smiles...
dedicated to my deceased only brother, joshua
i'll stay with you,
as long as the wind blows
i'll always be in your heart
you know i didn't leave you all alone
i am of eternal essence
my spirit is within you
live my life for me
do all that i cant do
be the one that i once was
conceal the chances known as a flaws
and if contentment immerses herself
or sorrrow fills the air
you will hear my moral
and you'll know that i am there
there for you when you cant see
theres more to life than missing me
i wish you well, my sister, dear
for keep your chin up and wipe that tear
Love is the blueness of the star sapphire sky
Where the moon bathes upon the indigo oceans
The tenderness of your voice and charismatic cry
Echoing ecstasy's of your ethereal emotions
Love is the strumming of a celestial symphony
Where our hearts pulsate within the violet vortex
Your embellishing embrace an eternal epiphany
The climatic creations of the cerebrum cortex
Love is the exchange of enamored energies
Minds that merge and mount the multi-verses
A sacramental succumbing of salacious synergies
Amidst the nebulous clouds where love immerses
Love is the continuous continuum of you and I
Holding hands beneath the deep sapphire sky.
March.03.2019
What is Love
Sponsored by: Silent One
Placed 1'st...Thank You
The Farm ©
by Trisha Sugarek
Fields of mustard seed
as far and beyond the eye
the farm dogs return
dusted in yellow
The clapboard grey of the old
farm house stands in testimony of
generations of pea farmers,
hunters, fishermen, and cooks
Heady fragrance of a farm dinner
immerses the senses as the screen
door slaps open
The matriarchal voice sings out
‘tea party!’ A call to supper
And the city folk sit around a battered
and scared wooden table laden with
baked chicken, fried steak, mashed potatoes,
green beans and corn that hung from the
vine just minutes ago
Her biscuits and corn bread are the stuff that
dreams are made of
Later they all sit on the warped porch steps
and listen as the geese honk their way in to
the fields and their nightly time of respite
Bats fly across the moon, frogs call out their
secrets, a loon wails its loneliness
The bitter lips of wind kiss veiny petals
between the moon licked eyes so close
it forms a bond of sinew riddles
that only seem to be broken in mornings burst.
Hungry is the man that immerses himself in earth
only to rip from her the fruits of her labor.
Though through his tireless labor
Gaia’s beauty rings true through sun stained petals.
Peace is reached in the embrace of flesh to earth
when worm hugs cling to filthy thumbs, close
at hand. Backyard jungle comes forth bursting,
screaming in the wind her untold riddles.
With seeds the soul is riddled,
left to blossom in spring time bee labor.
Pollinate ideas in soil and watch them burst
forth in an epilogue of firey petals.
Take it in and drink the soul of the earth.
For only in the kiss of earth
may we find an answer to life’s riddles.
When the sun is setting and the moon is close
be proud of your days of labor
and relish in the ginger petals
that gleam for you in star bursts.
The sun will always rise again, bursting
in the robins sky. As yawning earth
stretches sleepy petals
skyward in search of cotton riddles.
Let not the throat run dry for hearted labor
when Eden is so very close.
Clinging to the mirrors edge, don’t close
the door to your sanctum. But burst
instead through vines of gold, the labor
from your hands have beautified earth
you may never solve all the riddles
scratched in sun on soft petals.
Hold the petals close in hand
as riddles burst from sweetened bulbs
joined forever to the earth in loving labor of the soul
He's a versatile "man of all trades,"
pursues anything new, virtually self-made.
He's a photographer, a minister and a poet,
immerses himself totally but before you know it
he's off and running, tackling something new
He's built homes, cell towers, churches, boss of the crew.
He publishes books, serves as president of our group
If something's happening he's never out of the loop.
A proud do-it-yourselfer, he repairs whatever breaks,
services cars, saws down trees, no matter what it takes.
He took voice lessons, learned to fly a plane,
changed the course of my life, but let me explain.
He was teaching, after hours, for extra money
"I'm saving this for a big vacation, honey.
We're going to Africa, we're gonna hunt big game
for a mere eight thousand, we'll have anything you name.
At this ranch in S. Africa, the wife's a gourmet cook,
irons your clothes while hubby shows where to look."
He built me a special gun, said I could learn to shoot;
took me to the practice range, bought pricey hunting boots.
I took Mother west to Casper visiting my younger sister.
We stayed four weeks in Wyoming because Mom missed her.
Returning home to Missouri, I was surprised to see
he'd purchased a quarter-share in a Cherokee.
I didn't mind much, after initial fear had waned;
I enjoyed seeing America, flying the skies in that plane.
We moved out of St. Louis away from all the noise
built our "old folks home" with retirement as the ploy.
Another trip to Wyoming alone, without my mate
That Piper 235 is history; I returned, alas, too late.
He'd sold his beloved plane and purchased something new,
a grand New Holland tractor painted blue, with a neon hue.
Now he's mowing ten acres and grading a gravel road,
plowing up the garden, with me sharing the load.
My life changed drastically with all my options gone.
If you plan to hunt in Africa, don't go to Wyoming alone.
You must listen closely now for the most important factor,
that's how my trip to Africa eventually became a tractor.
I can feel the freezing fright and fear rattling in the marrow of my bones;
It immerses me.
I can feel the vexing uncertainty shrouding me like a black cloud;
It swallows me.
I can feel the baleful worry surrounding me like a pack of ravenous wolves;
It encircles me.
I can feel the awful dread welling and swelling up in me like a violent maelstrom;
It envelops me.
I can feel the cumbersome woe strangling me like a constricting python;
It entangles me.
I can feel the taxing stress crashing and breaking like tsunami waves on the shores of my mind;
It besets me.
I can feel the agonizing anguish beating my beleaguered soul to a bloody pulp;
It besieges me.
I can feel the terrible torment fomenting an emotional breakdown and upheaval;
It encompasses me.
I can feel the perplexing pain plaguing my heart with rancorous delight;
It inundates me.
I can feel the damnable distress torture every fiber of my being;
It binds me.
But I can also feel the wondrous spirit of Hope rising inside me like a spring of faith;
It strengthens me.
*Written for my dad who is now battling kidney cancer. All thoughts, prayers, good
vibes and well-wishes are sincerely appreciated. Thank you ~Chan
Find me when blue waters turn golden,
dusk creeps in, sea immerses the sun.
The soft pebbles and shells on the shore,
shall tell stories when I was there before.
In my heart warmth of your love I carry
and in fond memories you will…. find me.
Jan 18, 2017.
FIND ME AT SIX - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: nette onclaud
Free-fancying through the woods
upon lofty ribbons of airy trees,
I tiptoe along a hidden pathway
where glimmering reeds sing its myth--
that in late nightfall and its starry array
my dream-like state becomes caressed
by feathery, ethereal images in gauze wings.
Clutching the soil until it reverberates
with the tinder- box hymn ( or dance) of life,
my being immerses in nature’s waters :
where pixies flow in ageless twirls of creation.
And to experience all as an inner odyssey,
when the breath of pure spirit blows in wonderment
gossamer flights lift my daze unto infinity--
inhaling that child-god universe beyond oneself,
engrossed in a moment of enchanted play
when glorious evening's stage bursts into a dream!
Mystic Rose Contest: A LOVELY LITTLE DAYDREAM
1..21..2017
Ah, I really know
this poem
from the heart, the
very same way I know my dear wife
in the dawning chill.
Rhyme reaps aged mind,
alliteration immerses
into the emotional sea,
sun rays darting
my skin, tenaciously free of boozes.
Silence in their congregation
Wisdom without translation
Turmoil inhabits infestation
Confounded in fascination
Our unspoken conversation
Immerses such a revelation
Unfold the transformation
As I vanish in imagination
Submerging into the forest I descend
Aspirations freeze and suspend
Oh the glorious woods defend
As the converse energies impend
Without atonement they attend
All fortification shall unbend
Granting psyche virtue of pretend
And branched embrace births my mend
Absent from civilization
Initiate animus revitalization
Oh serenity of isolation
Enamored by the cultivation
Nexus with the vegetation
Being immobilized in jubilation
Ancestry rooted meditation
Trees’ essences kiss reincarnation
Hollow turbine
Hollow turbine moves with its axis power.
Wherein immerses so depth of water.
With its power illuminate my city.
Put a step near my table lamp for creativity.
When stopped for generating power.
Remain there for counting hour.
Peep in window with trapped breath.
Darken night with hoot till power not brings forth.
I am bewildered for crying of wolf near dense bush.
Hissing sound and crawling of unknown tells me power of truth.
Saroj khan[sakha]