Best Moulding Poems
Another lost noon,
engraved as unforgettable
memoirs within my mind,
I’m rethinking of rewriting
and rewinding revoked
reflections of a love rekindled.
My eager heart
is now hanging in the void,
yearning to swirl
through desert dunes
to exhale one more
dandelion dream
in the same air as you,
where quill and paper
were no longer needed.
For times that I
was inking
meaningless phrases,
were buried
deep down under,
as you were softly
scribbling dewy verses
of desires upon
my desolated skin,
rescuing darkness
with starving sincerity,
illuminating and hydrating
my urges with
prolific praising,
moulding every
imperfection of mine
into an abstract art,
naming them
with prismatic gems
on the night of confession,
beneath a sky full of stars
that were burning.
I’m now left with no
adjectives to alliterate,
how this sunflower
soul’s cry bloomed
within your
healing embrace,
where hailing
emotions were eased;
I knew then,
that’s where
I’ve for so long
wanted to belong.
The whirling gusts of
greedy gardenias
may say
roses aren’t fragrant,
but why am I yearning
to be the Juliet rose
in your graceful garden,
where petals glow
like rainbow-hued stardust,
I’m on a virtual venture,
wishing I had
Aladdin’s vintage lamp;
to grant me my
dose of you and I.
If only I could ride
above Arabian valleys;
on an amethyst
magic carpet,
stitched with
crystalline crescent sequins.
If only you could feel,
I’ve been dreaming
of daisy meadows
and dahlia lawns,
where memories
are fatal,
pushing me into a
labyrinth of
mourning magnolias,
searching for
balanced brightness,
although you
still wander
through a
foreign land~
faraway from “us”.
I hear your wings
adorned with
orchestric ornaments
ascending into
the celestial fields,
leaving me in an
astral connection,
with a jar of memories,
where I still keep
falling for you,
time and time again,
as you are my
beginning and ending,
the amorous poet
that wouldn’t
take love for granted~
like the pirates of
this heart-shaped odyssey.
And I shall forever be reliving
the fabulous February,
spent in your golden presence;
although, days together
were somewhat short
and nights were long,
we will rephrase this romance
relentlessly
into an everlasting love story.
Seduce me in Black and White
You reach toward my face
and touch my lips
Tracing the slightly raised pink curve of them
gently - lightly - before
the urge to kiss me seizes the opportunity
Surrealistic sensations immortalize
as our lips seek and lock
Interchange of strange, new emotions
flow as our tongues entwine
Sun having a siesta under his canopy of clouds sends
sombre golden light slanting through the old colonial blinds
Enough for me to see ~
I want to see ~
Caressing fingers don’t stop as kisses linger
moving in seductive circular motion
Circling - tracing - moulding
twin peaks to unashamed pertness
Tantalising ripples course my body
Like the soft waving flutter of butterflies winged kisses
creating sensuous ripple upon ripple
Of pure undulating pulsating
I want to see ~
Fingers urgently move now to my navel
circling, tracing, tinkling
Like a pianist on his keys
of black and white
Are they really only two colours?
Why then do they lilt a rainbow of colours to my ears?
On my fevered skin caressing fingers script my Rhapsody
The slow whirring beat of the ancient ceiling fan
picks up a harmonic note
of a solitary flute
Wanting to add to the sultry scene
It lends its own mysterious charm
A tantalising urge to arch
I want to feel ~
Impatient now for them to move further
Fiery Desire entices curious fingers to touch
dew that cumulates dusk to dawn on my awakening rose
Exciting, enticing emotions
The aromatic rapture floats me to you
a tortuously slow feeling to satiate
Propels bodies to engage
I want to feel ~ I want to feel ~ I want to feel you
A frog croaks discordantly outdoors
Snapping me out of my reverie
Startling me out of my romantic fantasy
Eyes fall back on monochrome words of my book
I long to dwell in this erotic moment
Weaving the music into a mesmerising crescendo
However
The old wooden blades of the ceiling fan
resume back to the rhythmic measured clickity clack
The spell now broken
I reach for my phone to call my lover
He awaits my call …
Video Clip - Yanni - Romantic piano
Pulling with hands soft and smooth as glazed clay,
Her foot prods the pedal, turning the wheel.
She basks in the bliss of a beautiful mess.
She's learned art is born from that carefree mess.
Moulding with hands caked in layers of clay,
She makes artwork dance on that spinning wheel.
Her bones creak along with the aging wheel,
Silver hair spattered by flecks of sweet mess.
She glazes with hands rough and cracked as dried clay.
Beyond clay and wheel, life spins a fine mess.
*Form: Tritina
I fear not the unknown
but what I cannot unleash and interpret
stifled emotions blur my vision
leaving my looking glass self – unclear
my insides are in disarray, like
shredded confetti propelling in the wind
scattered pieces lose their bearing
leaving my looking glass self - astray
bewilderment surrounds me now, while
revisiting an exhausted road
heavy footprints convey a story
leaving my looking glass self - questioning
life’s sophistication is a struggle, akin to a rubix cube
to succeed with no difficulty - cheat
moulding fate to the desired outcome
leaving my looking glass self - discreditable
I excavate buried courage, and
confront the image gazing back at me
suffering has been endured, however
the reflection stands upright and determined
despite life’s battle, survival has conquered
leaving my looking glass self – intact
written by Diana-Marie Bombardieri
January 11, 2012
Originally written in 1998
Born into this world as a humble, helpless Babe
Christ increased in wisdom and stature
Grew up in favour with both God and man
Baptised publicly by John the Baptist
Tempted by the devil, but overcame him
Preached the gospel of the kingdom of God
Befriended the publicans and the sinners
Turned the water into wine, did miracles
Cast out demons, healed all kinds of diseases
Backed up twelve fishermen as His disciples
Taught them, led them, and washed their feet
Spent three and a half years moulding them
Broken, He prayed in the garden of Gethsemane
His sweat as blood, such spiritual agony
Ready to do the will of God and drink the cup
Beaten and scourged on the way to Calvary
A crown of thorns placed upon His head
Spat upon, mocked, and smote by the soldiers
Bruised, He was crucified on the cruel Cross
He hung there with no form nor comeliness
Reviled by passers-by wagging their heads
Bereft and forsaken by His own Father
Carrying the sins of the entire world
He suffered and bled, but forgave and loved
Beseeching His Heavenly Father to receive His Spirit
Lord Jesus Christ gave up his ghost on the Cross
And the veil of the temple was torn from top to bottom
Buried in a new rock sepulchre, the stone was rolled
The tomb was sealed and the watch was set
But on the third day, as prophesied, our Lord rose up
Behold, there was a great earthquake
The angel of the Lord descended from heaven
And rolled back the stone and sat upon it
Bewildered, the women heard him saying,
“Fear not, ye seek Jesus who was crucified,
He is not here, for He is risen, come see where they laid Him”
Brutal death could not chain our Lord,
He overcame it and appeared to His disciples
And was carried up into heaven
Believe on the Lord Jesus, He was crucified for our sins,
But He resurrected from the dead, never to die again
Now He sits on the right hand of God, interceding for our sins
Beloved, He will come back one day
Not as the Lamb, but as the Lion
To take His loved ones unto Himself
Before it is too late, accept Him into your heart
You will enjoy peace, love and joy, which this world can’t offer
Repent, believe and rejoice for the Lord Jesus Christ is alive.
9th April, 2022
For Regina McIntosh's "Easter" contest
i've seen it several times
someone motioning, flourishing
waggling, swinging, curving
hunching, moulding, stooping
pulling shapes, a twirling
a form, a delineation, shadows
fingers, tree branches, winding creeks
sometimes a head inclines
obstructing the cityscape
what are they listening to?
what are they talking about?
we've done it, we've become greenwood
sometimes a jungle
i've done it alone after dropping you off
cold storage becomes publicised
i've done it
i've done it, yes, i've cried in
the car
alone
Who cares about poets?
Even when they turn difficulty into design
Making worlds with words
Shaping destinies with clauses
Taming language with pauses
Moulding life with form
Who cares about us?
Who cares about poets?
Even when they turn ugly into beauty
Defining ashes like they do gold
Unveiling darkness like they do light
Exposing hatred like they do love
Cutting through grief like they do joy
Who cares about us?
Who cares about poets?
Even when they tone out silence into reasonable sound
Bringing the rumble of oceans on paper
Enterpreting sounds of flowers and thirtles
Making mountains laugh and rivers weep
Shuttinng mouths of lions and making ants wail
Who cares about us?
Who cares about poets?
Even when they reveal bleeding hearts without surgery
Fighting wars without guns
Conquering territories without armies
Ruling empires without thrones
Changing the world with only ink
Who cares about us?
Maybe Poetry Soup does!
Form:
Does it really have to rhyme?
I'm not entirely sure
It simply takes me so much Thyme
Like it's a herbal cure
Perhaps it is to make you laugh
Is merely what is kneeded
Like dough and other moulding stuff
No creativity impeded
Order by offer
Ingredients do matter
Stuck in first trouble
Boiling some flavors
Pudding missed in sweet manner
Moulding successfully failed
Yet we feel give up
Deserve for a second chance
Re-mould done! Relieved...
Sit tight in a fridge
Naughty pudding had a plan
Mission to seduce
Tempted by its look
My husband eat for a slice
Mother-in-law scold
Naughty pudding finally win in its mission, well, one pudding unsold :p
Give praise to the almighty’s work
in His moulding so well my frame
indeed His workings in me so intricate
everyone’s so different not two the same
Great and marvelous are God’s works
nothing man made can any compare
for God is the original creator no doubt
look at His wonders one stands to stare
Truly when one stands and considers it all
the specialty of God’s precise craftsmanship
words fail us to truly describe such splendour
all of earth’s beauty proving divine authorship
(' I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvelous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well.' )Psalm 139 v. 14 (KJV)
Glistening peaks of waves in the moonlight,
soft and tender lapping at water 's edge
as the beach welcomed the incoming.
Anticipating the velocity of tidal thrusts,
sands quivering shifting limbs nervously
as wave after wave bombarded the shoreline.
Lost in motion all indifferent to the cry of pebbles
as waves incessantly lashed rugged rocks
while sea sprays pampered their anguish
from the chiseled process of sculptured stones.
Propulsion of heavy ocean waters entering,
filling every cavern with rocket motions as air
forced out in tensed release culminating
in the screams of blowholes.
In the aftermath, leaving a heady sparkling
trivia of tiny bubbles bursting with joy.
Glistening tears on her cheeks, she waited
Winds whipping her face while dread aged
her breathing as each desire vacillated.
Waiting, yearning for his kiss, that soft touch
of cool sea-mist brushing her lips,
the musky smell of him massaging
her every sense with heady erotic aromas.
As dawn broke, dreams of unrequited love
also shattered against razor-sharp reefs
leaving in splinters, micro-chips from his
wooden heart with coded messages for each
beach damsel awaiting his next surfing of local nets.
Whispers of breakers as tide neared rising,
dwindling hopes of ever birthing her silent
longings, moulding his pleasures with her being.
Waves took not only her hopes but also his shifty
footprints, leaving only froth on fickle sands.
The toy maker sat all alone in his shop
A hammer and chisel, on the wood he would chop
Moulding and shaving
The wood taking shape
Until to his surprise formed a recognisable face
He stopped and he stared
There was no mistake
It was her
He was silent
His voice desperate to speak
But the sound and the movement of his mouth
Failed to meet
In the moonlight by window
He held her up high
His eyes could not contain
Tears burst from inside
Who was this lady?
I am sure you would like to know
She was his mother
Lost many years ago
In times of aloneness
When sadness embarks
The hands often make secret deals with the heart
Sometimes on paper, sometimes out of clay
Expressions appear
When we don't know what to say
For this Toy maker his sorrow was being alone
Until tonight, out of wood as his mother came home.
(APROPOS OF THE MANY OF US: THE GREEN VILLAGE)
PROLOGUE:
Some don’t quite get it…
Life will reveal it to you:
Mothers are of God.
A
Keeping hope alive…
Strong stalwart sable sisters:
These are our mothers.
B
Ebony beauty…
Sustaining us in all things:
God bless our Mothers.
C
Beautiful sable souls…
Audaciously bold in faith:
Praise God for Mamas.
D
Ploughing up our hope…
Tears nourishing our courage:
Moms cultivate men.
E
God’s labouring wombs…
Moulding navels of His love:
Mothers…God’s angels…
EPILOGUE:
Happy Mothers’ Day…
Queens of our eternity:
Navel giving souls…
O! My gentle little Jane
Amazing me with thy brain
Being a writer thou shall gain
When thy writings drip like rain
I shall smile in thy reign
Make it snappy writing pays
Pick thy pen and stop delays
Practise it in all thy days
I shall witness thy heydays
Thou shall live to make headways
Seas and oceans never dry
Garnished lines never shall die
Make them colourful than a dye
Paint like stars would paint the sky
In the end thou shall soar high
I know thou shall pull down rocks
Moulding poetic lines like blocks
Ignore all the talks and mocks
Get thyself a very big box
Where thy foes are kept like cocks
Ensure those lines are worthwhile
They shall marvel at thy style
Thou shall give them a wry smile
When they eat from the trash pile
O! My gentle little Jane
I shall give you a campaign
Thou shall travel in airplane
Being a writer thou shall gain
“If I WAS YOUR QUEEN”
All your dreams fulfilled
Your heart’s desires
Willingly pleased
After a hard day’s work
When I will be home before you
Awaiting your return with open arms
With an, I Love You
Looking deep into your eyes
Welcoming you to the warmth
And pure love in my heart
Run you a warm bath
Scented with love and appreciation
For the unique amazing king that you are
And when you are more relaxed
Your head cradled in my lap
Gently moulding your shoulders to relax
Soothing your mind
With soft instrumental tunes
And my reading of calm poetry