Best My Musings Poems
Oh beloved,
I'm like Rumi without Shams.
A shivering summer soul,
secretly stalked by wild white winter wolves.
A chiffon child chiselling chimerical calligraphy,
cursed with invisible ink, silent in sentimental sighs.
I've become the son of solitude,
tired from torture and torment,
descending like surreal sinking sunsets shaded in scarlet,
yearning for a dawn where we can blend like sunrise.
I have no desire to write, but you cut my veins to bleed.
What is pain without pleasure,
or a poet without his poetess?
Oh mistress of the night,
I'll forever wait for you to adorn my garden,
to finally inhale the fragrance of my roses.
I'm the oil lamp in all your blackness,
sometimes I may flicker like a candle,
but I will always reignite to create a spark.
The day you stop reading my musings,
my pen will forever slumber.
Oh daughter of darkness,
let me salvage your light, place it into your eyes.
Guide my quill to engrave upon your shores.
Together we will sail away from Satan's spawn.
I'll shield you from twilight's beasts,
protect you from demons with crimson claws,
emancipate your wings to fly from an illusionary island.
Because,
you love the moon, but it's the stars you gaze at,
hoping their stardust will illuminate your heart,
before they fade into nothingness.
Oh my seclusive sweetheart,
I will strum strings of serenity,
so you release tears of tranquillity.
I may not be the most handsome blossom,
nor the most popular prolific poet,
but I gift you my art and alliteration.
Some may say I'm romantic,
but I am no judge of what is exotic or poetic.
We can't put all our faith in petals and poetry.
I'm no emperor who deserves an enchanting empress,
merely a broken butterfly in your precious palms.
Life is an absent bride,
so I'm not afraid to bleed to death,
in the hope of soothing tomorrows.
Silent One
4 December 2022
Sensing and yearning allure of daydreams
My musings amble in meadows of themes,
Sometimes wowing ebullience of dawning,
Sometimes luxuriating in moonlit evening
Gazing lambent skies of stellar twinkling,
Inviting me to echo my inner most feelings;
Of whispers romantic when love is courting,
Of giggling streams and blossoming springs,
Of resplendent autumn’s falling gilded leaves,
Of fate unkind, bawling, in throes of grief,
Of pristine joy beaming from mother’s eyes
Jubilant in delight of child’s innocent smile;
Of ebb and flow to life in seasons undulating
Spurring me to attribute form and meaning.
So, I write verses stemming from core of soul
Striving to capture essence of elusive words,
Exploring assonance, even in rhymeless prose,
Attempting to inspire spirit of wordless woes
As thoughts-poetic heart’s rhythms compose;
Of chromatic sunsets and scintillating dawns,
Of starless nights hosting tenebrous bygones,
Of tales strumming romance, of fables forlorn,
Of ideas enthroned, of paradigms bemoaned,
Of boundless expressions, of passions I own.
August 30, 2022
Placed 2nd: I Write Because Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
A tease on the wings of summer's breeze
A tickle in the touch of whispering winds
A glimpse at the art of museum paintings
A stare in the eyes of flowering spring--
A poem is a song of my innermost feelings.
When I'm lost in confines of my thoughts
Solace I seek from brilliant cosmic stars
Prodding for answers to question marks
Uncovering truth in words of a paradox,
As the beat of poetry reignites my heart.
Verses I compose in fragrance of Jasmines
Linger merrily around blossoms of roses
Listening to voices of fluttering tree leaves
Soliciting rhymes from elate vocabulary,
Evoking the cadence of rhythmic melodies.
A giggle in a stream, a smile in my morning
A romantic kiss in the splendor of evening
An aesthetic dream in my night's revelry
A lonesome tear of my un-consoled grief--
My poetry's the answer to call of my musings.
February 23, 2019
Poem of the day on February 25, 2019
Placed first: Contest #570 by Brian Strand
Placed first: Poetry and me contest by Silent One
Love is a silent emotion,
invisible to open eyes.
But, I saw the naked soul
of her enigma -
my universal truth.
A pristine state of perfection.
As her 'silence' whispered to my soul
in a million ways -
I felt her pangs
As her spirit breathed my oxygen,
my heart forgot about gravity,
feeling immortal in every beat.
Now a small flame kindles in
her chocolate brown eyes -
hotter than wildfire.
I see beyond her invisible veil,
hiding her divinity, wrapped under,
her tanned bronze satin skin.
Smoother than a bed of feathers -
would to touch it, be a sin?
Her fruitful lips of blissful nectar,
are an eternal passage,
covered in ethereal dew,
awaiting my soul with promises
for unseen paradisaical passion -
a taste would leave one intoxicated.
The mind pleads with time to be kind,
for the heart to remain patient -
for distance to not become an adversary.
Because,
nothing could define her elegance,
in any form of artistry;
a poet has no vocabulary,
a musician without a beat to his melody,
a painter without control in his masterstroke.
Her aroma is a rare scent from petals,
my hands could never fathom to blossom.
Her love is like the sun rays of a new dawn,
forever, ascending my heart with warmth.
I am her cloudless sky, for her glory to shine,
the ripples in her deep ocean -
for her to bathe within me.
In my quest to be within her embrace,
I shall keep the vampires from her door,
slay the demons who bring her darkness.
Face Satan in his satanic seas.
Be the whirlwind in her storm,
releasing her from chains of uncertainty.
Once, I gazed at the stars,
wondering where you were.
My musings writing about your arrival.
You appeared to end all seeking,
filling my hollowness with endearment -
became the last drop of my ink.
Yes, that is the role of the Teacher, as Shams was to
me – showing one ‘who they are’, so they can stop
bleating, crying at night, and never again be afraid.
Rumi
Oh beloved,
I'm like Rumi without Shams.
A shivering summer soul,
secretly stalked by wild white winter wolves.
A chiffon child chiselling chimerical calligraphy,
cursed with invisible ink, silent in sentimental sighs.
I've become the son of solitude,
tired from torture and torment,
descending like surreal sinking sunsets shaded in scarlet,
yearning for a dawn where we can blend like sunrise.
I have no desire to write
in your journal of sorrows,
but you cut my veins to bleed.
What is pain without pleasure,
or a poet without his poetess?
Oh mistress of the night,
I'll forever wait for you to adorn my garden,
to finally inhale the fragrance of my roses.
I'm the oil lamp in all your blackness.
Sometimes I may flicker like a candle,
but I will always reignite to create a spark.
Change the eternal chambers of my heart.
The day you stop reading my musings,
my pen will forever slumber.
Oh daughter of darkness,
let me salvage moonlight then place it into your eyes.
Guide my quill to engrave upon your shores.
Together we will sail away from Satan's spawn.
I'll shield you from twilight's beasts,
protect you from demons with crimson claws,
emancipate your wings to fly from an illusionary island.
Because,
you love the moon,
but it's the stars you gaze at,
hoping their stardust will illuminate your heart,
before they fade into nothingness.
Oh my seclusive sweetheart,
I will strum strings of serenity,
so you release tears of tranquillity.
I may not be the most handsome blossom,
nor the most popular prolific poet,
but I gift you my art and alliteration.
Some may say I'm romantic,
but I am no judge of what is exotic or poetic.
We can't put all our faith in petals and poetry.
I'm no emperor who deserves an enchanting empress -
merely a broken butterfly in your precious palms.
Life is an absent bride,
so I'm not afraid to bleed to death,
in the hope of soothing tomorrows.
Rampant rain is ruining
lushness of my lawn.
Helpless I watch
strands of green drown
in shallow puddles.
Swamp like state creates
slush and sludge -
I remain stuck in the mud.
Wondering who will care
for my garden when
I am no more.
What will become of my roses?
Will my dahlia delight in the sun?
Or will I become a forget me not?
However...
I remain content,
knowing erratic elements,
will never kill my words.
Spiteful winds will return crying
bitter raindrops to my musings.
Then they will disappear,
just like me - just like you.
Yet in the silence of death -
written words will forever remain.
Love is a silent emotion,
invisible to open eyes.
But, I saw the naked soul
of her enigma - my universal truth.
A pristine state of perfection.
As her 'silence' whispered to my soul
in a million ways - I felt her pangs.
As her spirit inhaled my oxygen,
my heart forgot about gravity,
feeling immortal in every beat.
Now a small flame kindles in
her chocolate brown eyes -
hotter than wildfire.
I see beyond her invisible veil,
hiding her divinity,
wrapped under her tanned satin skin.
Smoother than a bed of feathers -
would to touch it, be a sin?
Her fruitful lips of blissful nectar,
are an eternal passage,
covered in ethereal dew,
awaiting my soul with promises
for unseen paradisaical passion -
a taste would leave one intoxicated.
The mind pleads with time to be kind,
for the heart to remain patient -
for distance to not become an adversary.
Because,
nothing could define her elegance,
in any form of artistry;
a poet has no vocabulary,
a musician, no beat to their melody,
a painter, no control in their masterstroke -
her aroma is a rare scent from petals,
my hands could never fathom to blossom.
Her love is like the sun rays of a new dawn,
forever, ascending my heart with warmth.
I am her cloudless sky, for her glory to shine,
the ripples in her deep ocean -
for her to bathe within me.
In my quest to be within her embrace,
I shall keep the vampires from her door,
slay the demons who bring her darkness.
Face Satan in his satanic seas.
Be the whirlwind in her storm,
releasing her from chains of uncertainty.
Once, I gazed at the stars,
wondering where you were.
My musings a premonition for your arrival.
You appeared to end all seeking,
filling my hollowness with endearment -
became the last drop of my ink.
I was born a poet not manufactured.
It started with a heart feeling fractured.
Childhood trauma led to built up suppression,
but the soul yearned for creative expression.
For years my poems hid in secret memoirs,
but a battle with cancer left behind deep scars.
Tongue remained silent, but my muse began to pour,
through reflection and introspective candour.
Some use words as weapons to cause sorrow,
but I write to leave a legacy for tomorrow.
I have no desire for applause nor for fame,
so I express my musings using a pen name.
Each verse is written through metaphorical blood,
in hope one day my life will be understood.
The meticulous melody of my musings is she.
Quietly my quill inscribes intrinsic ink upon the paths she walks.
Profoundly postulated in poems I've portrayed her in -
she's inspired ingenious imagery of beaucoup beauty.
I ponder without her what my life would be like?
With determiners of this, that, these and those, she is the
one who guides like an orchestra of street lights at night.
In times of silence I wonder what she is thinking of
when gazing at blue horizons that appear cloudless,
as her exotic eyes always crave for calming climes.
There is no measure in the pleasure of her treasure and
her artistry on a blank canvas turns stanzas radiantly starry,
so I croon a tune hoping to be the moon under her serene skies.
Yet not all lullabies of lovers can ease a melancholic mind and
sometimes it's difficult to write lyrics making sense of it all.
Not all verses compliment strings with an instrumental that's
an emotionally unbalanced mix of tones not seen as the best
remedy in episodes of rage - so I wonder what becomes of
tranquillity when her tempest temper turns her thoughts dark.
I regret those forgotten promises lost in broken symphonies and
until sanity soothes with words of softness, I'll hold onto all that is bright.
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Lord Byron – She Walks in Beauty
I write upon the nimble hands of fleeting time
careful not to leave my musings behind
Sometimes penning with haste and speed
trying not to forget
a relevant word or phrase seen in my mind's eye
that could be a crucial poetic thought
When tremulous mourning escapes my wistful heart
I am overcome with sorrow and cry
tears of desolation, and yet,
it is the balm I need.
Writing offers comfort, but never peace of mind
Love sonnets, I still write for him, in rhyme.
When the clock swings its pendulum and starts to chime
I become annoyed but always resigned
to accept that my heart will bleed.
Happiness owes a debt,
paid when loved ones are taken; a price much too high
as the clock mocks me, "Time cannot be bought."
January 31, 2021
My Invented Form - I Write Upon Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Syllable count verifed with HMS
Jubilation of my triumph, comfort soothing sorrow,
Aspirations of my passions, today and tomorrow,
Reveling reveries-elysian that love brought to fore;
You are the gift I adore, smiling through my yore,
As tenor of forever-love reverberates in your sphere
When extolling you, dear, heartbeats-ardent cheer.
My dear, when I am with you, how fervid souls coo,
Lauding promise of love, mirthful impulses renew,
For you are my musings, my esoteric zealous dream,
My sensuous sassy dawn, hosting romantic theme,
Unfolding treasured albums endearing vibes reveal,
My precious gem of life, sparkling amorous appeal.
Rhythms of my heart, how within your heart attune,
While rejoicing gift of love endearing spirits croon
Vowing pledges eternal, reaffirming bonds anew,
Conferring in lyrics of love, streaming just for you,
For you are my melody, strumming love’s encore~
My verse and sweet chorus: I love you ever more.
April 9, 2023
Placed 10th: I Only Live To Love You Poetry Contest
Sponsor: JCB Brul
This magical fairy who paints my dreams
Has blushed my fantasy in subtle hints
That kissed dreamy night on the thrills of fall--
An amber delight on the hills hued brown
I have known her long since blossoms of spring
When grass was green in the lilting prairies
And scent of my garden perfumed soft winds
While butterflies roamed in search of honey
Upon summer's zeal she shimmied with breeze
And teased my musings in rustles of trees
As echoes of love waltzed on humid air
And sailed with me on tides of blue ocean
I see her charm now as leaves turn crimson
When desires of passions our moods invoke
And moon’s shadows on rushing water float
In waves of romance where blue river flows
She waits for me beneath twinkles of stars
Where scarlet vistas blaze autumn’s canvas
And holds me closely in rhythms of her heart
As pulses soon dance to nightingale’s song
But, just when it's time to satiate dreams
Alas! she leaves spanning mystical wings
Though this quest chased passions illusory
Cherish I'll, always, daydreams she lent me
April 8, 2021
Ten syllables per line (howmanysyllables.com)
Placed 1st: This or that, vol. 1 poetry contest
Title chosen: Chimera
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
The sun on snow looks like glossy paper
Rolled out in endless sheets
With my skis I sketch and write in zigzag letters
Long and flowing are my verses
The wind in hot pursuit, forging my lines
Intricate patterns I draw on snow
I discern a hidden meaning in all of my musings
The cold burning my words into flowing sheets
Holding a promise for the future that seems
like a tiny tip writing effortlessly with swaying motion
In the distant horizon I see two fellow skiers
Writing stories in different languages
Drawing parallels in shades of constant flow
I follow the light shining deep in my core.
23.4.2021
Oh the venom on these lips
cold fury should you
taste it there. Drink
deep my gathering gloom
quench your thirst for
my lies and my truths
and my muted thoughts.
Stand still frozen dead
in pools of wonder and
dread for this poison
that seeps into your
pores will not soon
leave the haunted spaces
your frightened places
there will be myriad traces
where it killed the
wonder it found in your
dull and dreary mind.
Choke on toxic thoughts
vomit my musings and
spit forth guts colored
black with doubt and
fear and torment stain
the ground with your
loosened purpose your
pathetic beliefs that
words are always intentions
of the noble and righteous.
Seeing an ever growing list of my poems
Each and every one is so special to me
Learning to write poetry has been wonderful
Forming my first poem was a form of stress relief
All my musings come from an often crazy idea!
Challenging myself with new forms is therapeutic
Time for me to try and become a perfectionist -
Using my newfound skills to write a proper haiku!
At first I would get an idea and suffer from insomnia
Lately I am able to keep my muse under control!!
I secretly hope to be part of the poetry glitterati
Zealously I can now write with style and pizzazz!
Amazingly in November I will recite poems at a gala
There on the theatre stage I will be in the spotlight -
I may surreptitiously wave to my friends to say hi!
Oh my self-confidence will reach a crescendo
Now I’ll confess writing has become my passion!
Self Actualization Double Acrostic Contest
Sponsored by San Woo
11~03~16