Best Intermixed Poems
Realities Unbound
Thru realities unbound and transfixed
Elders open gates of Temporal Time
Layering Multi-Verses intermixed
Portals welcoming the new paradigm
Angelic voices transport thru the mist
Forging fires in dimensional drift
Creations of desires that coexist
Nebulous clouds of lust squeeze thru the rift
Orbs of passion set the pretentious pace
Planets of pleasure align with their sun
Celestial beings watchers of their space
Serving emotions spherically spun
Divinities send us back with a shove
As we master the mysteries of Love.
Sept.15.2018
Beautiful mystery Poetry
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
Sonnet form only. Ten syllables per line
Placed 1'st Premiere Contest
Sept.26.2018
The Burning
It was seven days and seven nights
Or there abouts, I was not so sure
Life was shrouded in the darkness not at all pure
I lost track of dawn, of dusk, of realities fight
To keep me conscious
To keep me right
Comatose, delirious, unmoving slumber
In this dream like state
My desires still existed
Thirsts to be quenched
Passions flared
She was seductively dressed
I, with the eye of a tiger
Wishing to devour her being
To be with her, in her, be her
To taste her very soul
I smelled her nectars inviting scent
The bed sheets become drenched in sweat
The heat of the night ensconced me
A thousand candles and yet one more burned
The heat of passion mixed with the heat of the night
Flames rose from the desires within and without
My subconscious has played evil tricks and fooled me again
Lighting the candles that shall bring me to the beyond
The sheets became brimstone, the fire engulfed me
My mind in hazy confusion smelled roast flock of some sort
A meal after the passions was a succulent dessert
I became dizzy with the lust and the love intermixed
Somehow I am sleepy, dreamy, so very tired
The heat blankets me and I feel a strange foreboding
The reaper is grinning, staring down on my face
I try to wake, but I haven’t the wherewithal
I feel the burning
Painful for but a moment as the smokey flames take me
For one last dance
Burning, burning, searing heat
Blackened and burnt
Dreams
No more
Sunday, at 24 minutes past midnight, firetrucks arrived at an apartment in Dublin, Ireland 24 O’Connell street, and above Murrays pub, a lone tenant was found burnt to a crisp, apparently by a fire cause by candles, the remains have not been identified, and the building is a total loss.
Arthur’s Day in Dublin
Posted on September 24, 2009
To celebrate Arthur’s Day, From 17:59 to 22:00 All Pints of draft beers were €2.50
For Timothy Lee, the Best of Me
Since our first night, I have dreaded the last,
thus my passion tightly fashioned clasp.
You are my one safe harbor, my refuge,
my cure for stress overload and pressed blues.
No matter any day’s shatter and stews,
at night I am consoled right beside you
where your skin soothes me secure again
and our wrapped limbs re-thread joy’s ends.
Some tomorrow’s sorrowful horizon
scripts our final intermixed, heart snuggle.
I cannot help but hope that it is me
who first dies and avoids solitude's struggles.
Our bed of blessed satisfaction defined,
would uncover woe for the rest of time.
Come the end of nights molding with you,
comes the end of our love's active value.
it's usually early
as day starts turning
over
when the air around is as heavy as
seas
in your chest
feelings are intermixed
between despair
and hope
like the sea
when your odds are in a bottle,
scribbled futilities tossed to the waves,
exit on the backside
of tides
until they resurface
with old whale stench
one out of water
tanning
under a hard sun
doves cry
in the shade
of mahogany trees
between noon and three
when my mother's mother's
roundabout
nonsense
lyrics
"Moses speak_God's word
Isaac too"
come fresh
to me
the doleful
doves
portend cardinality
begging adulterers
to repentance
"Feathery Prophets!"
grandmothers had spoken
that death will walk
into this village,
some house, any hour,
more sure than May rain,
taking stock
and mourners...
and choirs...
and pastors preach
and pray you well
while you sleep
later we'll all fall asleep
Like watercolor pictures left out in the rain
Our colors have mingled,yet the originals still remain.
Two watercolor paintings without frames,
Became one picture over time,
Yet two of us still there.
Our colors blended naturally,
Now all the hues are shared.
I love your colors intermixed with mine:
Together they have made a new design.
A Watercolor picture painted by the rain,
We may go, but our Watercolor Love will still remain
Lost Mayans
Ancients who lived long go
Living for the sun and waning moon
Some hoped to be living by noon
Children laughed in the maize fields
As elders struggled for the grasshoppers wisdoms
Life was simple
Daily toils and simple strife
Intermixed with love and social struggles
Lost Mayans
Sifting in my dreams
The ancients have had many a princess
As have I
We both are buried deep within our dreams
Longing for days when love kissed our salty lips
Wine flowed like riverbanks at their brink
Only when the waters ebbed did the sadness make the noon
Now the Mayans are but stories in a book
I often wonder
Who am I?
If not a line
In someone else’s story
Skeletons of love
Inside a burnt out heart
For I myself have nothing to tell
Being lost long ago
Coming
Glass and metal spread across the freeway.
Something like a melon, open, and dragged,
seeds and flesh intermixed on the freeway.
A families dreams, destroyed, on hold, shredded
and ended. What of the slow procession,
passerbys, looky-looks, rubber neckers,
just for a moment does their discussion
cease, their hearts sink at the sight. The wreckers
truck stays their studied interest, do they peek,
Does stomach drop, head spin at the sight or
do they avoid the look they do not seek
to know? It could not apply to them for
they certainly would not be so careless,
and yes,life for them is just marvelous.
And Going
Once passed the horrid carnage of the crash,
as the view receded in the mirror,
the memory too, late meeting, loose lash,
exigencies of the day, perhaps, stir
up the old habits and the gas pedal
goes back down and the race begins anew.
The gore is replaced by heavy metal
on the radio, turned down for a few
minutes but now, thankfully, all things are
normal. And at end of the day when you
are asked by a spouse or a friend, "How far
were you from that crash on 680?" Do
you stop a second, having forgot all.
A family died, maybe hard to recall.
Let's cut our hair
locks lopped off in hopes of
style and convenience
only because everything in the media
had announced it so
to look one of two ways
stupid or not
the dichotomy of breathing
intermixed with thinking
a miscreant's
entreaty
based upon the logarithm of dog drool
of other's crisis mind fux=
a cute bob with fringe
perhaps, a beehive to capture errant thoughts
in clouds of hairspray
like ricky lake eating more cake
like the earthy done shaky
like prickly pear sports shake
like trickling ear sweat bakes
like a crepe
just spend the time
emulsifying the generations
tell stories, freak out the other one
basically, have fun
O yes, that is fine day
For fishing in mountain river
When weather is bad,
And raining from early gray dawn.
When world look so pity and doleful
Maybe for artists and poets
But so nice for big and hefty fishes.
They are swimming out
from deep and cold bottoms and hidden caves
to surface
collecting on shallows,
sometimes one by one
splashing and jumping out watercourse
close to edge
with clear joys and playing ecstasy
as if that silver living marvel
suddenly felt and predicted
the next Great Flood,
or time of Paradise
when all creatures
will coexisted friendly, peacefully and intermixed
Lullabying with one unimaginable divine future.
So its seems that fishes
have tryed set on the benches and wings
of some awesome waterwheel,
more grandeur than London’s or Singaporean’s Eyes,
appearing airily
for the vision of greatest waterfall
between joining Heaven and Earth,
Seas and Skys
in rainy day.
The skillful fishermen
Have good sense and flyer
For such days and luckiest instant.
They early wake up and gone to river
And capture lot of precious fishes,
Plying so naively for own hopes, dreams and ruptures.
Alas, for fishes
But good for intrinsic and great love
That also has such marvelous days
When you captured your reward,
If you early wake up and prepare himself
for catching precious golden
Swimming up from deep and waste waters.
red and gold leaves sway
whirlwind in stores' parking lot....
papers of life stir
Contest: Fall Or Winter Holiday Haiku
Date: 11-14-21
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Holiday day trip about the only holiday we can go on now. Got to eat out..In the parking lot were leaves intermixed with store receipts, chewing gum wrappers, and other small papers from customers.
1red and gold leaves sway 5
2whirlwind in stores' parking lot.... 7
3papers of life stir 5
Syllable Counter.Net
Did you feel that moment?
That unexpected hum of heartbeat in your ears,
the rise of blush upon your cheeks,
the sudden ache within your breast and loins?
Was it merely physical
a chemical imbalance of love and lust intermixed,
of passion that ignited breath and heart and soul?
Wanting and needing you
that was all I needed to know.
Did you feel it
Do you feel it now?
Seize the moment and its passion
come closer
I'm but a breath away.
Do you think I can save all ships in distress?
How wrong you are! Times when I sorely pressed,
Times when my beacon was snuffed out of its glory.
Oh, I can tell you many an adventurous story,
Exciting exploits on the tumultuous and stormy seas
High waves span all around me, ugly with a heavy breeze.
Still, there’s one I would sincerely like to show,
Although it happened a long time ago.
The Greyhound had a young master, rich and mean,
And he dared cross the sea, oh what a scene.
The winds were high and the sky was overcast
Waves were high and terrible. The ship could not last.
Aboard the vessel, I saw the master of the merchant ship,
Carrying slaves and other goods, was a doomed deplorable trip.
Above the dim of wicked waves, clangs of iron I heard,
And screams intermixed with every offensive word.
The man drenched held to the mast, knelt and prayed
Let them be saved, he would renounce his trade.
Years passed and the man gladly his faith he did embrace.
He vowed he’d fight slavery with his “Amazing Grace”.
sunset of colors
oranges, yellows, and strong reds
intermixed as one
Russell Sivey
Winds of change are blowing
Not sure which way it's heading
Directions purely unknown
Reality and dreams intermixed
Endlessly searching life's questions
Finding comfort in new tomorrows
Past left behind future looms ahead
Seeking the evasive truths
The winds of change are blowing
Not sure which way it is heading
04/03/16
In today's world there is so much happening.
What do we believe to be the truth in matters.
Phyl's pondering
My ball, My rules
got ups next game,
kids can be cruel
call names, defame
you push, I push
we fight, and act!
More kids ambush
provoke attack!
You swing, I swing
but no contact
ding ding, bells sing
that fight was whack
Recess is done
Trouble we're in
argue who won
Teacher walks in
Explain our truths
he said, he said
we call a truce
shake hands, break bread
Good friends, we are
old friends let go,
schoolyard memoirs
the status quo
New day we play
the kids in cliques,
away we stay
avoid conflicts
The popular
get all the love
the commoner
get looks and shoves
Irrelevant
we've now become,
past main event
but now, humdrum
The geeks and freaks
gather to play
perceived as weak
perceived as gay
Play truth or dare
A first-time kiss,
My lips prepare
How could I miss?
In the schoolyard,
it's politics
A young vanguard
All intermixed
Written March 24, 2017, for the Schoolyard politics contest