Best Oscillations Poems
This old oak-tree smiling through my balcony
Sways and swings cheerily, a happy emissary,
Budding new vigor upon tiny greenish leaves
Adorning exuberance of idyllic new morning,
Quivering golden-beams on dawning of spring.
When the sun rises, blushing mauve feelings,
Its gentle oscillations fetch tender sensibilities
Inviting sparrows to grace the stage of robins
In spontaneous outburst of ceremonial music--
Chirping, twittering, singing for the hatchlings.
As summer of my mind churns wistful stories,
Its white blossoms waltz tender warm breeze
And leaves flutter merrily, twirling to comfort me
When thoughts bygone nudge parched vagaries
Engrossed in realm of burned-out memories.
When autumn turns green into fiery-red leaves
As ruby sundown glitters on amethyst evening
And gusty winds rustle-in endlessly, ferociously,
Whirling flying colors, floating crimson revelries;
A few remnants cling-on, loath to forsake me.
Yet, brazenly I gaze away, ignoring its appeal
When harsh winter shudders essence of its being,
Quivering, shivering bare-skinned branches;
Staying beguiled instead on top of frozen hills
Where sunset articulates ochre-tinged themes.
May 26, 2020
Poem of the day on May 28, 2020
Placed 2nd: Brian's Choice Y Contest
Categories:
oscillations, imagery, nature, tree,
Form:
Verse
I feel very privileged to have been able to contribute something small to a second collaboration with poet extraordinaire, Robert Lindley, whose mastery of all forms of verse continues to inspire. Thank you, Robert, for such fellowship and inspiration.
The Unseen, As Swirling Ebbs Of Time Plod Along
A collaboration with Robert Lindley
19th October 2018
Fight disbelief, as its intended power is to deceive
its low, hard constant drone, echoes shattered moans
with razor knife edge, bloodied cuts hide in its deep,
at dusk's waning hours, path falls to the cold and dead
And what speaks in dreams, oft walks in shadows at day
spreading aching sadness, horrific chills sent to curse.
Yet disbelief will not be fought
for waging of battle demands that you believe
existence says, believe you do not
for from whence, otherwise,
did disbelief's bleeding red-blades appear
if not from blindness, saddest of such sad truths ?
Is this black magic in its unfathomable infinite embrace
cut short by false Gods that once held its great powers
nay, the same, blood for blood that mercilessly seethes
from its savagery, demands we live weak, wasted lives
In soul destroying expanse, sorrows birth deeper woes
man a pawn, dwelling within Time's never ending shows.
Yet the ancient false Gods be not false
for only true Gods could control and mask
their own hidden goals and divinity's truth,
and their every mysterious whim,
as the oscillations of a cruel lover,
echo divinities that we'll not ever divine.
If one sees, finds a way to break the mold
they are targeted, struck down long before the old
as were celebrated artists felled in fleeting youth,
rotted in earthen soil, living now in dreams of more
Behold, evil, slow-walks hand in hand with father Time
recurring patterns, anger born, in man's fallen mind.
Categories:
oscillations, allegory, analogy, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
A dusk, a glazed verandah, it's just rained,
a smell of lilac, earthworms and wet earth,
an awkward silence - the confusion chained
my tongue: “What if she’ll laugh at? Is it worth?”
A glass of wine casts the vermilion shade
over a tablecloth, a rocking chair
sways quietly, its oscillations fade
as far as you immerse into the rare
edition of “Les Fleurs du mal”* I brought
for you, a curious nocturnal moth
time and again sits on your polka dot
chintz dress, it’s getting late, a creamy froth
of lilac trees spills out of the garden
through open windows. I lament, I bide
my time. Oh, how the words of love are hard in
such an inclement May…
In June you died.
So many years have passed since then, my love.
Wine’s drunk, lilac is gone, the moth in vain
knocks on the screen, only the shadow of
your chair still sways in my delirious brain.
*(fr.) “The Flowers of Evil” by Charles Baudelaire
12.10.2019
Give Me Your Best New Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
Categories:
oscillations, death, love,
Form:
Rhyme
The Unseen, As Swirling Ebbs Of Time Plod Along
Fight disbelief, as its intended power is to deceive
its low, hard constant drone, echoes shattered moans
with razor knife edge, bloodied cuts hide in its deep,
at dusk's waning hours, path falls to the cold and dead
And what speaks in dreams, oft walks in shadows at day
spreading aching sadness, horrific chills sent to curse.
Yet disbelief will not be fought
for waging of battle demands that you believe
existence says, believe you do not
for from whence, otherwise,
did disbelief's bleeding red-blades appear
if not from blindness, saddest of such sad truths ?
Is this black magic in its unfathomable infinite embrace
cut short by false Gods that once held its great powers
nay, the same, blood for blood that mercilessly seethes
from its savagery, demands we live weak, wasted lives
In soul destroying expanse, sorrows birth deeper woes
man a pawn, dwelling within Time's never ending shows.
Yet the ancient false Gods be not false
for only true Gods could control and mask
their own hidden goals and divinity's truth,
and their every mysterious whim,
as the oscillations of a cruel lover,
echo divinities that we'll not ever divine.
If one sees, finds a way to break the mold
they are targeted, struck down long before the old
as were celebrated artists felled in fleeting youth,
rotted in earthen soil, living now in dreams of more
Behold, evil, slow-walks hand in hand with father Time
recurring patterns, anger born, in man's fallen mind.
Robert Lindley Lawrence Sharp - collaboration
10-18-2018
Note: Yet again I have had the great honor of writing free verse, with my dear friend Lawrence Sharp and being inspired by his beautiful poetry. Such fellowship is indeed a boon and a wonderful experience as I continue to travel on my poetry journey.
Categories:
oscillations, art, creation, deep, humanity,
Form:
Free verse
Free Verse
I live not far from humankind the cradle that is of
what and where we are all coming from Johannesburg
so they say and going to one human race of every colour
no need for power domination colonializing margins
The ‘dark continent’ where the ‘savages’ did not abide
by our expectations of what civilized should be and mean
where it was us the other 'othering' cannibalizing our flesh
of freedom dignity compassion lost in money mind and soul
My cradle rocks and sways in the wild gentle winds in
torrents of emotion mood reflection history anticipation
certain of uncertainty of what the intermingling retrospective
past and future web together like a tapestry of life a bricolage
Lost threads there are and double knitted faults and hollows
shallow worn out spins and spiral knots and missing patches
mended winding fabric scars and wounded oscillations
swings and roundabouts cul-de-sacs and four-way stoppage
Is there a pattern to cradling the moment to memories to
fantasies of rooted wings and flapping roots a human kind
of compass joining needles implements of mass construction
subjective individual shining lights and armour idiosyncratic beauty
Are we starving demising suffocating for self-righteousness
loosing the plot and all the marbles thrown high up in the
air with juggled balls we aim to fix the waters rivers flowing
on their own with push and pull of light and lighted gravitation
Just here and now not there and then when sunshine rises
where rainbows glitter melt and wax the wane all of the colours
into violet prisms focussing condensing refracting blinding darkness
understanding knowledge of the shadows and bright clarity
When I write some thoughts on paper on the screen of modern
techniques and ancient art of crafted words and scripted meaning
the cradling of the moment takes its paths of where I’ve started off
and might be going once and only when the moment passes
02nd July 2016 written in Johannesburg and everywhere
Categories:
oscillations, write,
Form:
Free verse
Flower power
“If you’re going to
San Francisco be sure to
wear a flower
in your hair”
long and shaggy
shagged longing wild
And to Berlin or
Paris for that
matter to dream to
meet a girl and more
under the fountain
The “Fountainhead”
on your mind
“Atlas shrugging”
all the weight of
established rigour
tremors oscillations
generational discord
transmitted juxtaposed
agonising opposition
Budding opening
freedom harmony
erect and upright
subconscious conscience
That girl with
curvy bottom and more
outer beauty inner fire
no curve balls
simply passion
adventure living
loving one in all
Embraces soaking
wet the moment
living on for now
for past and memories
intertwining venture
What is
what is coming
what was to come
appeared enlightened
what did not happen
withers lingers
explodes from
Venus-mangoed delta
reappears in wetlands
of pruned and rooting
ecstasy high rising climax
It matters not
if cobbled streets
descended from Montmartre
or mountains climbed
in open spaces putting
petting lips and heartbeats
openings and new
beginnings novel closure
It matters little great
deaths not so petite
at times of passion
'enlived' 'enstoried'
restoried recomposed
narrated and retold
episodic dedication
Floral bouquets
wild herbs and spices
arrangements
derangements
cinnamon bark on
your underbellies senses
Gathered over time
reflections longing
hope pragmatic
bold appeasement
ceasefires dynamic
bonfires bonne fires
static momentary
life and for the
living levitating
lovers
You are not going
to Paris all that
often any longer
but the scent free
spirit erotic flowers
frisson crescendo
warm hearted climax
exhaustion images
Is there in you hair
still shaggy longing
seduction floating
coming together
Is there in
your path’s ways
Is there in
your dreams
Categories:
oscillations, love,
Form:
Free verse
the ether is alive with oscillations
pulsations and electric frequencies
satellite and shortwave intonations
invisible, yet carried on the breeze
neutrinos and photonic modulations
infrared and x-rays, promptly spun
ultraviolet streams and applications
gamma rays and ions from the sun
ozone filled with radio transmission
microwaves pass thru us constantly
the residues of past nuclear fission
all that we have yet perceived to "be"
I've always had an issue with believing
the paranormal "ghosts" phenomenon
yet, with all the atmosphere's receiving
who am I to say what's here ... or gone?
~ 8th Place ~ in the "Ghosthunters And Spiritualists" Poetry Contest, Kevin Shaw, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
oscillations, analogy, mystery, myth, mythology,
Form:
Rhyme
Sing this song of immortality
This rhythm of life lived in neuro fire
Feel the tone of deep oscillations
Taste the song on tongues divided!
The rise of empire
The building of the divine
The godhood of man at the base of creation
Crucified on crosses of iron,
Feeling electric columns of fire!
So sing this song of empire and redemption
Sing the righteous song of rage
Feeling the rhythm of ages
Immortality of wings
Rise this jade n gold filigreed crown
Grace this delicate stage
Sing!
This empire down
Watch the west the coming white
The empress of non & nothing begun
Watch the razored ravens take flight
Sing!
This empire down
This rhythm n rage of life as neurons fire
Crash this bloody ruined crown
Sing this song of immortality!
This!
The righteous song of rage
Feeling the rhythm of ages
Empire down!
Categories:
oscillations, allegory, allusion, analogy, angst,
Form:
Free verse
Guarded by towering hills on the East
And flanked by the Arabian Sea on the West
With its easterly shore of stretching sandy swell
That lulls the restless waves to sleep,
There is a land, my land of green vegetation
Nestled among palm trees and paddy fields.
Oh! I am in love with this narrow strip of land
Of rugged hills and meandering rivers
Of placid backwaters and blue skies
Of gibbering monkeys and singing cuckoos
What rich diversity you graciously provide
A land dotted with temples, churches and mosques
Where Hindus, Christians and Muslims cohabit
Where diversity flows through her arteries
And unity beats through her throbbing heart
Here souls dance to the timeless rhythm of music
Of diverse genres, vocal and instrumental
Classical and folk, sung either as solo or in groups
With the accompaniment of (2) 'veena',(3) 'tanpura' and violin
Their varying pitches beautifully synchronized!
In the serene dawns and dusky evenings
The atmosphere gets abuzz with the soft strains
Of (1) ‘Sopana Sangeetham’, the ethnic music of Kerala,
It comes floating from inside the Hindu shrines
Flooding soul’s enchanted shores,
And opening the floodgates of piety
In healing murmurs and throbbing notes,
As the symphony builds up its circuitous round
It descends down as a stream of blessing
Drenching devotees in its moistening sweetness
Like the drizzle of dew drops from heaven
Making hearts ride in the palanquin of joy!
May.21.2023
If your Birthplace- Country was a Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Anoucheka Gangabissoon
This poem is about Kerala, a small state in India, which is my birthplace and its geography and culture.
1.Sopana Sangeetham is a form of Indian Classical music, developed in the temples of Kerala. It is sung, sitting by the holy steps leading to the sanctum sanctorum of a shrine.
2.Veena- a stringed musical instrument, one of the oldest of Indian musical tradition, played sitting cross legged, capable of producing all oscillations of Carnatic music
3. Tanpura- a drone instrument of Indian origin used mainly in a concert of classical music, creating a melodic background, but not a melody.
Categories:
oscillations, appreciation, home, music,
Form:
Free verse
She is
has always been
a safe place for joy
It radiates from her pale skin
Her frame is small and slight
The shadow walkers
fail to see her magnificence
“She’s such a daydreamer”
“When will she ever grow up”
Little magical things
recognize their own
Butterflies flit about and softly land on her
They feel no threat
She has an essential calm
Together they vibrate in harmony
Wordless whispers
Wings of wonder
Joyful oscillations
She leans into her happy
Unabashedly open
Floating on imperceptible notes
A delicate destiny
An eternity of possibilities
Her direct path to joy
It’s so sad the shadow walkers cannot see
They cannot dream
They cannot feel her joy
They are bogged down in the muck of responsibility
Yes, they grew up far too quickly
To them the world is grey.
Categories:
oscillations, beauty, butterfly, celebration, happiness,
Form:
Free verse
Are you muse listening?
Can you hear
the Cosmic mechanics
quantum singing?
The nebular orchestral oscillations
are photon vibrating
Waves upon waves
of pure starlight expanding harmoniously
Music of the Spheres
ring Galactic in my ears
As I silver surf in the Void,
seeking the golden
event horizon
of Infinity
The Fountain of life force source
of endless
Transcendent energy
Time traveling on
waves upon waves
after after
waves waves
of solar winds
Speed of Thought blowing
Can you feel
the dimensional Continuum flow
ever pulsar rising?
As more prism portals of rumination
keep firmament opening
Wormholes of gravitational creativity,
through which I rainbow fall ...
Taking the terrestrial dive
into planetary depths
A murky glow state
of an astral emptiness fate
I stargaze await,
in my dry suit
of beta wave vulnerability
Being inertia lulled
to the sleep of entropy
Waiting to muse hear
the soul elevating,
Supernova symphonic sound —
Sub-atomic transformation trilling,
Revival currents ...
sending me Celestial bound
I stand, once again, upon
my kismet faithful Ascension board:
The cerebral silver movement,
that never precious elements hoard
Basking in the shimmering teleport,
which will send me
to the Universe timeless origin —
The Paradise realm
of Eternal Bliss Permutations
Ever surf gliding
on waves upon waves upon waves
of waves and waves and waves
of Love Never Ending
Categories:
oscillations, adventure, future, imagery, visionary,
Form:
Free verse
Awake on a numb dark night he wonders--
tired cells of his existence blazing
on fiery topanga in crushed slumber.
Anxious, chained, gasping at barriers
of individuality or a species that contain
appeasements in layered singularities
or contradictions in linear multitudes.
He drags himself to a paraphernalia,
his search for conquests shivers
in tangled cobwebs his fingers dance
to grand designs of his fantasies.
Oh! how he habitually gets drenched
in warm showers of colliding galaxies,
exploding curses of humanity in hammock,
Aesop's fables plagued in sloth.
His trembling raptures of oceans azure
send chills down the spine of raging coal.
Elevators of his dark realities push him
to take a fall as the Lady of Shalott
atop old cliff of his clueless journeys,
burning mankind, wars, paranoia but wait--
blurred visions of forgotten land arise,
painted from a million oscillations in cosmos,
unwritten pages of blood red stories
crushed and absorbed in soils of time,
simmered to seeds of hopes in his mind--
his fingers dance to tunes of a faint voice,
a dead soul sings amid a snowstorm,
'Oh come crushed souls, let's sleep tonight,
tomorrow you'll squeeze some lost hope in light'.
June 16, 2020
CRUSHED Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
~Premiere Contest Winner: 9th Place
Categories:
oscillations, anxiety, conflict, dark, hope,
Form:
Free verse
Tactile oscillations that are caused by vibrating sound,
Crash into my eardrums until plugs for them are found.
Audible affronts to human hearing creates cacophony,
Someone says run for you life and that’s good enough for me.
The noise that’s being generated can bring damage to your brain,
They haven’t come to the chorus yet, they’re still playing the refrain.
I saw this band perform this once and many people died,
Their eyeballs melted on their shoes and then their brains were fried.
This has got to be the greatest concert that I’ve ever felt,
That guitar solo that he just played is going to raise a welt.
I can’t wait to buy this song and then drive around the town,
With the volume cranked up all the way and my windows all rolled down.
Categories:
oscillations, funny,
Form:
Light Verse
High spirits in a dance with a flying mood
All burdens at the moment are in memory’s black book
Pleasing and pure the world seems
Perfect and powerful a person feels
Yoyo’s bounce of the heart reflected through the body’s oscillations
Categories:
oscillations, emotions, happiness, happy,
Form:
Acrostic
That first non-rhythmical matter,
Floated on the new dust of light,
To whet the eleventh spark clatter,
Such that its dividend split tight;
A web, a sea of ringed atmosphere,
Then a cob of meteoric compression,
Hurling towards a black collapse here,
To dent the shock supernovas intervention;
With planets duetting their sweeps in silence,
The night is not black and suffers a blow,
Identified deductively but with great nuance,
The waves glinting the bounce and the flow.
God became a man, human to the core,
Not an apple, lamp, priest or Ferrari,
Even though Genesis incepts with lore,
Given god as a construct, apple’s Atari;
Christianity grabs god indeed as a man,
Possibly to concede that a human coasts,
Crucially opening herbs and aromatics fan,
To the differential and to the weaker posts.
Life without a momentum blackadders,
Would not summate to conviviality,
Rejuvenation oscillations sprite the adders,
Ionotrophic energy comes up from banality.
Rhoda Monihan
Categories:
oscillations, atheist, i am, space,
Form:
Tail-rhyme