Best Moulds Poems
When Thor struck his hammer
upon the flat ground on Earth
it was the pieces withstood the blow we named rock,
constructs we came to know as the mountains.
Even before that time
I crossed my fingers
wished I'd one day experience
...you.
I knew you before heavenly purity grew wings
before angels blessed hearts
invoking what we now know as love for our brethren .
I held you in the sphere of my understanding
as the lover I'd never meet but always carry
in the most cherished of my thoughts.
When Zeus handed me his quill and inkwell I knew
I would only use his gift for my inspired notes to you.
Though I was not blessed a poets words
like Robert Browning
he who took Elizabeth Barrett into his heart from the first time he read her
so I did with you.
Only laid blood on parchment
to declare the love you inspired in me.
Like a schoolboy's first kiss
was the day my eyes embraced the body of your work.
Before the first pine broke the ground, the first lark sang,
the first orchards rare enchanted the rainforests.
Before the first chameleon blended
into the multicoloured break of dawn.
Before infinite rows of wheat invitingly waved from the fields to greet Hera.
Before liquid rose to separate into
creeks, swamps, rivers, lakes with fish of all kinds
wasn't it me who rode the first seahorse just to make you smile.
Anything, all...
possible
with the swirl of a letter
the turn of a word.
I found an immense love tracking the shores of your fine poetry
always a chill that ran up my back.
No one.
No one!
Only you.
Your fine talent,
gifted,
honed
perfected...flaws and all...
moulds
sculpts,
breathes life into ordinary words,
creates poetry
owns me.
September 26 2016 MY
When stars ascend and illuminate moonlight,
he sits in the midst of childhood confusion,
bricks in ruby quartz, shape pearl-face of twilight,
crafting a castle from artistic vision
where secrets of his heart have unlocked windows;
letters and numbers, no longer mere shadows,
architecting comfort through mini figures
that masquerade ticking truth of lonely hours.
Dyslexic mind moulds an armored foundation,
lego became his true salvation through strife;
reflections of kismet, contrived with passion-
gilded courage framing the frailties of life,
tiny fingers breathe hope through rainbow colors,
whilst imagination carves profound pillars,
stacking the slanted canvas of dreams to rise,
as his strength towers beyond bluest of skies.
She isn't beautiful as Nefertiti was.
And unlike Helen,
her face will never launch a thousand ships.
My Maggie's beauty is more open, than entrancing
more welcoming, than enthralling,
more giving, than demanding,
more durable, than perfect.
Perfection inspires no passion,
no lust.
Nefertiti over Maggie?
Maggie, with her woman's body?
Maggie, with flesh where woman should have flesh?
Maggie, with fullness where love and longing
would suffer nothing else?
Yet she strews a careless beauty all about her,
the tender beauty in her gaze
that holds and softens and moulds
a better man within me
than the one that she first knew,
and the bold, brave beauty of her crooked smile,
her smile that tells me who she is,
and who she does not care to be.
Her smile may never softly kill a single soul
but it warms me, softly warms me
as I hold her spent and gentle body close to mine
it warms me to dream dreams beyond my worth
and aspire beyond my dreams.
Blossoms/Grows out in the wilderness ,in
the dark ,towards the light,
its beauty knows no limits and the frangrance enchanting.
Deep rooted ,strong yet so light and envigorting
and its hue changes as a ray of sun,
from dawn to dusk.
Holds all the colours and yet is colourless.
Is guarded/surrounded by giant serpents,
spewing venom when angered.
Tried their luck to tame and control serpents,
few succeeded and rest fell in their trap.
Word spread across as most unattainable,
many battles and wars,some got scars
some pain and others succumbed to it.
Wild flower, gives the strength to move a mountain,
depth of an ocean.
like from a lump of clay,it moulds to
a shape which one wishes to be.
The nectar of this wild flower is sweet,sour
and bitter,just how one tastes it.
when it fully blossoms,the fragrance is everywhere,
soothing the senses.
Makes one immortal,liberating the soul,
showing the wings to fly and soar high.
As the master potter plies his wonderful trade
To mould the clay his design in his head is now laid
He shapes, he feels and he moulds it with care
The finished piece still in his dreams to be fair.
With his skill and inner eye he sees his masterpiece
But before he throws it, he needs to find inner peace.
His skill in knowing and loving and he has the knack
Making sure with any pressure his piece will not crack.
His piece is here, and now it needs to sit and slowly dry
Before it’s placed in the fire in temperatures so high
A worrying time for the potter, in the heat of the fire
Will his masterpiece survive and it’s his fervent desire.
But the potter with his skill has learnt his trade well
And his piece will survive so he needn’t’ dwell
All the love he has lavished on his masterpiece
Will survive all the heat, and will now bring him peace.
© ~GG~ 27/02/2013
If it be my wish
I'd endeavour
to maketh this heavenly
hunger satisfying kiss
to last forever.
Her welcoming warm arms
to provide sanctuary and safety
that soothes the inner child
I Lose myself in her soft caress
and harbour my heart and soul
She is the sculptress
and I the thing she moulds.
Her tender love to be liken a flowing
calming river
that flows with such invigorating emotion
deep inside of me
Her fragrance as sweet as the honeysuckle
that attracts the flirtatious honey bee.
One love one heart one dream
one flesh until we meet see our final sunset
and take
our last breaths
and rest together
on some grassy land
after our mortal death,
Peter Dome, copyright.2014. Jan.
Indeed old is gold
and so's I'm told
Don't be in a hurry
to have all antiques sold
For this old adage
Todate water it holds.
Indeed the good old days
had some good old ways.
So I'd rather not
exchange
old lamps for new
lest I suffer as in
Aladdin's tale
and lose everything of
value.
For if I lose my old lamps
I haven't a genie to
restore my loss
Thus beware of
modernism's shams
Don't let 'change' be
your boss.
We should know what
best be preserved
So olden values are
granted the respect they
deserved.
For some 'olds' are such
pure golds
that like gold they never
fade nor catch moulds
Likewise some golden
traditions are real
treasures
that can't be left behind
to the past generation
in exchange for surface
new pleasures
For that would be soil,
oops nooh, soul and
culture erosion
Pray keep some olden
golden customs from
such corrosion!
Ah the old mores
they might seem such
bores
but it's they who make
the best folklores!
Change for the better,
not for the worst
Always assess and
analyze any new thing
first.
(my religion has time-
tested valuable time-old
values too.)
gold is old
and old is gold.
Our
India -
An abode
Of rich culture
and tradition.
Shaped by our ancestors -
the moulds of our past
Inspired by Freedom Fighters
martyred wishing for a free Nation
Led by leaders initiating missions to change the world,
India is progressing.. Reaching out towards her goal
Of being the country
she was always meant to be -
A haven of
Harmony and
Peace.
*
Jai
Hind
Written by Sneha RV
Posted on 23/10/2015
For Broken Wings's 'Creative Layouts' Contest
Form used - Shape
The shape of the map of India:
http://www.universallanguagessolution.com/uploads/2/8/6/2/28626567/514811_orig.jpg?1401503482
'Jai Hind' is a salutation, slogan and battle cry most commonly used in India in speeches and communications referring to patriotism towards India (Also known as Hind). It translates to "Hail India"/"Victory to India" or "Long live India".
The past is the past for a reason, nothing’s the same
The past has gone forever, never to return again
The time is now and the future starts here
As time goes by the past will disappear
The past is the past for a reason, it’s just that
Time gone by, still remembered, all fell flat
The past is full of heartache, troubled times for some
But that is just a memory the future has now begun
The past is the past for a reason, it makes us strong
Learning from old mistakes, learning right from wrong
Training for the future, the past is a learning curve
Long and winding roads in which you have to swerve
The past is the past for a reason, or so they say
It shapes and moulds our lives into what it is today
Nothing turns back the hands of time, it’s now gone
No regrets, it’s too late, it’s time to carry on
Robbinsville January 1943, a visionary artist was born to be
Country strong style, is his-story; par-excellence to you and me
Electric guitars just newly seen; would play one day, on music scene's
Where women will swoon, and young girls scream
Hard saved dimes, to his 'turn' would see; at Young Harris, in Towns county.
A Georgia boy made good & some stories, in country-rock/pop R&B!
A world I wouldn't miss, was 'born' to be; under the hands of Ronnie Lee!
Smoky mountain rain fell on our hearts, through cracklin radio's to early starts
'Pure Love' played all its lively parts; at park or mall & in K-marts.
His music echoed in the '70s & '80s, along with chrome mag wheels & feelin free.
Milsap impacts listener land, to date he stirs the soul of man,
His flow is rolling, verging on unplanned, his 'Local Girl' understated-grand
My finding is; my verdict says there's 'more of our guy' on the way!
When I'm feeling weary or senses grey, a 'hit' from Ronnie lifts my day.
Cross Missouri mudflats, on Florida sand; he moulds emotions in his hands.
©JOE MAVERICK 2-11-2015
The flying hills and its tinted gold
Its pyramids and the blinking moulds
Beautiful the night, a city behold
New dawn it was at Bur Dubai
The city that never boasts of mountain
Infertile the land unfriendly the grains
Until comes a dreamer called Maktoum
Muhammed, the son to raise the tune
At the sea end stands nations inertia
In father’s desires, Maktoum built to sky
Descendants of warriors, to sea he claimed
To build the Palms, the earth, for world to hail
This manifestation of colour that springs from a genome , eternal, nourished, weathered and fashioned by a dyadic fornication cradled in time.
A pigment of hues in an utterance of undertoned, ubiquitous discourses, leaves an impression of stereotype and a plethora of lasting self fulfilling prophecies.
Eyes of blue, green, grey, brown and black see a world in chaos from within the dark, see a postcode lottery determine who lives in peace and who’s under attack.
Born from this colossal chaos are children of men, pure beating hearts that know no colour, that know no attack and are born of wonder. Little beating souls, Tabula rasa’s cleansed from the outset by a Nature's nurture and positioned by fate to their eternal mother. LOVE, love is the battle cry of the ages, But Race, creed and colour, somehow becomes loves significant other.
To breathe is to live and to live is to be, but how can one be if their colour determines, fashions and moulds their destiny
This heightened hierarchy, Noble, dynastic and imperial accost the paupers and protect the privileged. This blend of white creates a world of grey just another spectrum added to this Strata’d state of play.
For no colour will protrude into my life for they tried to make it black and white, yet may they see the four seasons come, may they take back and change what they have done in return, for a speedy recovery of an illness yet unknown, as its no longer children who are above their throne. Can they take on their challenges and reveal their day, can they take away their loneliness and their dismay, from this magnanimous world that is diluted with hate, where its profits before margins, it's no social state.
TALENT
For many years, in my infancy
I had always thought, or rather, intuition had me believe that I was the worst there was to life
For because societal values and normative acts had me hypnotized
Then day by day, I degraded into what was believed to be a sordid incapable loser
Over and over again, I had my brain depleted into what was called mental deterioration
In all the years of my infancy, I worked harder than the word hard itself
To try to level with this ideal person society had created
I tried just too hard...,
For some reason I was rather automated, made to believe that only a certain path was the one
But simply because I am human, I was bound to make a mistake, only it’s just in such deserted times and random times that a mistake may be the best thing that happens in life
Because I had failed in the chosen path
And a terrible mistake I had alone or so thought of it as terrible mistake
In that unbelievable way a mistake was miraculous
I discovered in the path I ought not to have taken, My talent
Through being able to regain peace of mind
It is then that thoughts of having the society mock me down for failure to become what they needed me to be were shuttered
I have realized over time that, talent gives you strength when you are hopeless
It moulds you into someone or something when societal ideologies of success render you useless
Find your talent and be thus defined, refined and yes surely you
Every reason equates to both the truth or curtains.
Within the visible light of mind, unveil the blurriness or shade it for certain.
Emotions are as true as the hands that caress it.
The speech that moulds it and the yearning to believe it.
Yet this world seems as corrupt as the mind who sees it.
The darkness that envelops the thought, was taught and trained.
Unknowingly and guided by hands that only crave Power.
Dig in deep in the dissolution of thoughts and bind it with the warmth of Heart's embrace.
Shed the layers of forced ideas and institution and break free the shackles of this illusion.
Or brace the smoke of despair that entrapped the lungs and leave life gasping for air.
Just to survive or let die in hopes that this hardship and lies are forgotten with death.
Released from the burden of life's grasp.
The choke of life that threatens all in a single minute wraith.
That will forever alter our destiny and our path.
Do you know how I got these scars?
I was broken and battered.
Not by swords wielding battles.
No armies that conquered.
Just mere words and pictures that keeps me in shackles.
Every moment, a distinct invention of a monster.
Invoked into my being by images of societal ruptures.
Creating me into something unholy, those taunters.
Like a carcass, advertise me as meat for vultures.
I felt I was branded with faults, discarded by burning.
I felt I was tainted with salt, distasteful and disconcerting,
I feel I am as they visioned me to be, obese, ugly and demeaning.
I felt I was. I feel I am. Believing thus revealing.
Unknown and invisible, I hexed this insecurity.
Unwise and inaudible, perplexed within me.
Unfair and implausible, indexed unworthy.
Until no end, this forbids me to be a part of society.
Do you know how I got these scars?
With my fusion of lyrics and rhythm
There is no confusion that I’m refusing to simply be disillusioned
With intellectual distribution
I do not have hesitation to let you give me recognition
Realising that my vision is empowered by my necessitation of not wanting to simply be the illest
But the illest who conveys parables continuation
Guaranteed expectation of never being word stranded, inspiration
Protection from all lyric dieticians, word anorexia, rhythmic bulimia
Representation of obese lyrical content, larger than life
Not afraid to speak what’s on my mind
Plantation of human strength to express ones feelings with the spoken word
Avoiding repetition of past mistakes
Promotion of inner strength to flourish
Installation of anti-verbal abuse
Living your own dream with motivation and authority on ones lips
Inspiration being drawn from the depths of self
Allowing others to march behind me
You are not motivated?
Self-pity embraces you
Self-pity moulds you
Allow yourself to blossom
Your uniqueness is rare
Only you possess that rareness
Abuse it
Use it
And you will be surprised the person you will become…
Just look at me…..