Best Perpetual Poems
perpetual
is my love for poetry.
without it
how would life taste to me?
i bet it'd be so bitter
i'd spit it out.
I'd choke
on thousands of words
unexpressed.
what would free
my arrested words then?
pages would be
as blank as
a tabula rasa mind
as I was meant to bruise paper
with an Ink-filled pen.
heaven knows
what I'd be doing
if my ink runs too dry
to skate on a page.
who would hear
the child inside me cry
when my muse goes missing?
lord knows passions
roaring loudly
inside me
would be a silent
as falling snow.
i need poetry
perpetually
so that people see
what my eyes see,
feel what I feel deep within
and go places I go.
without poetry
would life ever taste sweet?
the jury is out
perpetual
is my love for poetry.
my gaze upon my sweet love is amorousness and awe
I find everything about this man of mine erotic
his eyes are full of hunger and yearning
and my thirst for him is pure lust and desire
when we are apart I am filled with disquietude
as my need is both joy and misery
love like this is a beautiful rapture that comes unbidden
it is an infinite bond that is fragile as a blooming flower
I am swept away in the fever of this passion
it comes to me like wind driven storm clouds twirling
and we are sent swirling on vast rolling ocean waves
then, we plunge into the deep fathomless blue
and we are drenched with this wild love
when we are together there is an intensity and aching
a vehemence fierce and bold with a captivating promise
he makes me so happy and I glow with effervescence
our love is growing like a wandering forest vine searching
we can talk for hours and hours for time means nothing to us
I have a deep respect for his opinion on all matters
and he is a good listener and likes it when I read my written words
and I see and feel his many admirable qualities
oh, for this man I have great reverence and veneration
and when he kisses my waiting lips red as wine
I gasp in the knowledge that this romance we share is eternal
it will endure and go on forever and will be unending
I love this man with- a love- p e r p e t u a l . . . .
________________________
February 7, 2019
Poetry/Free Verse/'a love- perpetual'
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1160-765-02
Submitted to the contest, Best Free Verse 2019
sponsor, John Hamilton
Second Place
he was like autumn
all around him
slowly died
i guess i was like autumn too
but adapted to blossom
embracing the moods
now
it's raining again
i foresee thunder
rocking sunless skies
with lightening
dazzling duller days
heaven's tear drops plummet
like a perpetual symphony of
spears and daggers
hidden wounds bleed once more
i bury my pomegranate heart
to hibernate underneath a
veil of evergreen leaves
your shadow appears
in obscurity of dreams
a reminder of regretful
stubborn bitterness or
maybe forgiveness
a time to move on
the dead do not speak
yet we search for answers
to questions that should
have been known in life
we aim to make peace
with the silence
Perpetual Love
True love is an eternal flame that glows,
igniting special hearts forevermore;
despite all odds, this fiery passion grows.
A bright beacon shining through darkest night,
’twas gift-wrapped by angels weaving moonlight.
Surpassing the test of time ‘twill endure;
a tower of strength when adversity sows.
Infused with stardust's blaze from inner space,
and forged in sacred fire by divine design,
we’re spellbound in love’s warm honeyed embrace.
Though bodies die, love always will survive…
pure mystical life force infinitely alive.
A rare flower, when love blooms it’s a sign
of God’s heav'nly-blessed, perpetual grace.
08-11-2018
Contest: Rhyme Time 6 - Verses of Metaphors
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Placement: 1st
You have given me a gift
It is always wrapped
I perpetually open it with a smile
It is a never empty tin of freshly baked cookies
It is an elixir to fill my empty cup
even when it is not my birthday.
You have given me a gift
I have not earned it, but I can cash it in anytime I need it
You have dug deep and found
The very thing that touches my soul.
It is the perfectly personalized present
It tells me you know me and you care
It is both old and new
like us.
I have often come with shoulders slumped
To drink from this well
And have walked away with a song in my heart
When I look at this gift I see your face
When I ponder its rhythms I hear your voice
I have drunk briefly from the spring of eternal youth
I have been fed manna that does not spoil
My heart is refreshed over and over
For you have written me
a poem.
He came to me with skin like ivory,
although his eyes and hair were dark as night.
He came with one year past his eighteenth year.
I, with one year shy of my adulthood,
was a woman-child with expectations
brimming of romance!
He was my Adonis and I, his virgin Madonna love.
Deep gazes and nibbles on the neck and ear lobes
comprised our innocent foreplay.
The main event of our romantic love
was everything
(yet nothing more than long sweet silken kisses).
Romantic love was chaste,
unsullied by a future for us that never came.
Probably he’d had experience.
I’d never thought to ask,
but he instinctively knew better
than to ask more of me
than in that momet
I was prepared to give.
Nearly half a century since then has passed me by.
I do not know where my Adonis is,
yet here I am now writing poems
about that special night.
Other romances came and went.
Then matrimony bound me to a long-time fidelity.
However, the young Madonna that I was
one beautiful warm September night
appears from time to time inside my poetry
as I reinvent myself as Cinderella
because a chaste romance dwells eternally
in long smooth sweet silken kisses
where ivory perpetual romance prevails.
10/11/18 Inspired by a previous contest I did not get to in time
For Laura Loo's Any New Free Verse Poem Poetry Contest
A poem is never merely still born,
It has its creator's eyes,ears and nose
Yet,unique it lives a life of its own
Independent,well able to stand alone;
On others it can,influence,affect
Energise,direct or initiate
A response,unforseen and immediate
Or lie dormant,yet not dead,but waiting;
Watered by another's mutual bond
resurrected,to live again,again.
perpetual swirl
portal through pink nebula --
pathway to the light
*For Rick's "Haiku Beyond" contest
epochs drenched in pallets
of yellow silhouettes,
spanning lifetimes of
forever I love you’s-
seasons stretched in
shades of crimson secrets,
measuring time only
with cups of hope-
seconds and minutes
saturated in forgiveness,
cadence of memoirs
released in adoring armor...
for I am but a perpetual ghost,
raptured inside what you love most-
freedom rests in thoughts of our decree...
eventide ascends for love's guarantee.
Original contest: 2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 14
Contest judged: 2/1/2019
For the contest: NA re-run Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Date Written: July 21, 2018
'Neath this sod dwells Mavis who suffered many a phobia
Makes one wonder how she's handling claustrophobia
“Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray.” Rumi
Life can be an incomplete glossary,
speech a haunting ghost,
in search of a perspicuous poem -
to express unspoken thoughts.
I remember when she said,
"Cue me poetry"
So, I became her perpetual poet,
engraving sweet soulful words
upon her bitter spiritless lips.
Fate had turned her into the Queen of Darkness,
but my heart glows in the dark.
Together we illuminated like a trillion twinkling stars,
outshining the enigmatic effervescent moon.
Her essence infused a refreshing presence,
like morning sunshine after a night of rain.
Slowly she became a pilgrim of my poetry,
and I, a sojourner lost within her soul.
As I wandered through her secret chapters,
my word weaving revealed her book of scars,
each drop of ink resembling her tepid tears.
Each vexatious verse purified through
a catalyst of catharsis, healed her wounds.
We are like quill and scribe,
vowels complimenting consonants,
completing an impeccable vocabulary -
without her there is no muse.
“Some of us are like ink and some like paper. And if it were not for the blackness of some of us, some of us would be dumb; And if it were not for the whiteness of some of us, some of us would be blind.”
Khalil Gibran
Am I lost in a secret world of uncharted distant shores,
riddling once more in the confusion of Morse code.
Separation resembles the mourn of a black rose
in perpetual pain perspectives of a shackled heart -
with repetitive echoes of empty sentiments.
Street lights are no guide in nights that never die,
where the painted sky is blacker than black.
As carved feathers from wings of hope keep falling,
floating in strong winds, drowning in crimson forever rain,
composing dehydrated water locked memories.
Tormentally trapped in melancholic moments,
not wanting to exist in a world where a glimpse could kill.
I am all that you cannot see, just a blank canvas.
An unfinished poem with suppressed thirsty ink.
My armour is my silent fury brewing with thunder.
Unapologetically naked, unafraid if lightning strikes.
In this wired life, I'm fighting with myself - but surviving.
There is nothing magical in the mental joy of living,
so I have no concern for who casts the sands first,
as my quill cries your name, I am poetically yours,
a misfit misunderstood metaphor, yearning for more.
Butterflies cluster where nerve endings shift
In regions where the mind aimlessly drifts
They will never fly again,..
In perpetual autumn they remain
There is a flower on the other side
Awaiting the mind's caress
But thoughts do not coincide;
And the flower wilts under the stress
When a thought suddenly takes wing,
Trying to find a long lost summer
It gets warped on neural strings
And the butterflies drift ever deeper into slumber
With your mind in full bloom, with memories to keep
How long will it be till your butterflies sleep?
--
1-8-18
Today someone asked me
What is enjoyment?
How can one be happy every moment?
This lead to some reflection and introspection
Is it possible to be happy in every situation?
Some are so bad
They do make you sad
So what is the solution?
Solution are there for those who want
They will not work if you say I just can't
First is positive attitude in life
This will surely end all your strife
If whatever happens, happens for good
Nothing can ever spoil your mood
Second is absolute faith in God
A faith which says he cannot be bad
For my good he does everything
That is right thinking
Third is living in present
Enjoying your work every moment
If you do this throughout the day
You will be happy I can surely say
Keep your mind on the work in hand
It works like a magic wand
For concentration and happiness go hand in hand
Lastly keeping the mind thoughtless
is the key to absolute happiness
If you find this hard to practice
Here are some easy tips
Look at the world with the wonderment of a child
This will surely make you smile
Fill your mind with happy thoughts of future and past
To negatives if you cling only sadness they will bring
Enjoy the beauty of things near
Look at their colour
Feel their texture
Observe their figure
And be happy forever
Relish the food you eat
Watch it becoming feast
Have no desires
For they take away your smiles
Laugh aloud for no reason
It will make you a happy person
These and many such small things, go a long way
In giving you happiness, all throughout the day
If you greet everything with a smile
Happiness will prevail all the while
9th February 2021
Inspired by : Joy continuum contest
Premier contest winner 8th position
Sponsor : Unseeking Seeker
Now submitted to
Contest Name : Encourage
Sponsor : Regina McIntosh
A shadow with no source burns across horizons,
no dawn where smoke curls forgotten languages,
lost dust clings to bones of cities, nameless
heartbeat between silence and scream
the sky shivers, heavy with the weight of iron
raindrops of dreams unmade
fields of blown glass, nothing grows
beneath a bruised, indifferent sun
the winds a cacophony of regrets
humanity wounded, as coffins rise
footsteps disturb the ash of memories
faces seeing, hands reaching for nothing
forever lost in distant flames
when will it end
in the hum of machines
in the clink of a child’s toy
forgotten in the ruins
reflection of a soldier's eyes
where once were forests
reaching to stars,
only the hollow echo of thunder
remains, moments devour the next
the taste of burnt futures
sung by broken wings
scattered like shrapnel across
sky splintered, jagged, eternal
a churning burn
were the dead never die
clouds are stitched with fire
blooms like black flowers
in the soil of our days
roots coiling around
the bones of tomorrow’s children.
splinters of a distant peace
scattered like broken stars
across these old wounds
smoke dances between shadows
of sin, suffering, smoldering rage
a flag heavy with too many sorrows
threads unraveling, a widow's pain
ghosts of what might have been
in the distance, the horizon flickers
in tomorrows, we will never reach.