Best Poetic Poems
In my silent sanctuary,
my poetic garden blooms like sun kissed seeds,
carefully placed under a quilt of soil,
sprinkled with holy water.
In the vividness of morning mist,
spring dew drops are like crystals,
sparkling on greens of grass,
ready to vaporize virgin fibers,
as I spill idyllic ink upon each strand.
My muse is an enchanted forest,
where blooming butterflies kiss blushing blossoms,
as my thoughts spread like perky petals,
in shades of amethyst, ruby and sapphire,
mirroring the illuminations of my heart.
I smile at April showers.
In each drop there is mercy,
as I believe there is an adversity in poetry,
where words form like the most vigorous flowers.
The Silent One
6 April 2021
Pondering prophetic legacies of timeless lovers,
my heart yearned for a province lavished with perennial passion.
Searching for an enchanted perfect petal,
I wandered within the flower garden of infatuation.
Marigolds shone, smiling among mellow yellow roses,
but their fair friendly fragrance could not quench my thirst.
In the distance, a silhouette of the rarest red rose beamed,
her dulcet aromatic ambience summoned my soul closer.
Upon the first sight of my beloved's subtle innocent eyes,
my mind drifted to a place where time did not exist.
Without a word, her radiance illuminated my whole existence,
like a butterfly admiring pulchritudinous petals - it was pure paradise.
Hand in hand we strolled embarking upon the realms of infinite love,
composing our own idyllic legacy of immortal poetic lyrics.
Simple Musings
Silent One
3 July 2018
Grounded by the gravity of our earth
Our body and spirit are often pulled
In opposite opposing directions in
Contention between visceral emotions
And logical, intellectual, left brain thought.
Too much of one may eviscerate the other.
A combination of both are needed to retain
Balance and a sense of inner sanctuary.
Poetry has the sensibilities to stir our
Emotions, to speak to body and spirit,
Melding our terrestrial selves with the divine.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Honey vapour scents travelled among seduced tepid zephyrs.
This was not a dream for I was within the realms of reality,
as fate's footsteps led my heart back to forgotten pastures.
Her persona was poetic personification, yet I was lost for words,
so in simple silence, souls serenaded suppressed symphonies.
The idyllic radiance of her eyes became a timeless memory,
the warmth of our first kiss an eternal celestial connection.
Silent One
21 June 2018
Example for seven lines of romantic heaven poetry contest
Things that seemed poetic were
always sad, though I yearned for
glitter and my dad's guffaw, which
never came. Familiar things were
always drear -- repeated motions
in the same old game. There were
only distant glimpses of budding
Spring, fleeting views of daffodils.
The strongest poems dealt me
death and dying. Still, I always
hoped, never went under to gray
despair, forever dreaming of a
garden of love we could share --
but those forbidden delights
faded quickly away. The only reality
I understand is the ever-looming
and final one. Nothing's changed.
The strongest poems deal
death and dying.
I do at dawn, reflect.
God made me, perfect.
Thus, my thoughts to reflect.
Bright with affirmations to collect.
Only positive thoughts to project.
To no friend, coldly neglect.
Just humble be,and not correct,
But to all, show great respect!
And, tis not my place to expect,
But to accept others and protect.
Shining in all their glorious aspects.
Fellow poets with which to connect,
With great poetic talent bedecked!
10/28/ 2021
…1…
In principles of love,
there is no perfection -
it is not your master,
nor are you its slave.
In my poetic heaven,
muse needs no inspiration.
Cradled in my beloved's arms -
her embrace gentle and warm,
her petal like skin, tender and aromatic.
Her nature calms my childhood sorrows,
as all fears disappear.
This could be my final resting place.
Soothed by her angelic fingertips,
heavy head heals, resting softly, upon her chest,
listening to my name echo from her heart -
each beat creates a rhythm of romantic chants.
In the deepness of her eyes,
I can see the doorway to my soul.
Lyrics to a poem not heard before.
As our lips merge,
through the connection of breaths,
we create poetry without words.
There is an art to love, sadly not all are artists,
so seek the one who inspires your palette.
Simple Musing
Silent One
4 November 2020
Take AI’s verses
and make them yours,
fake wisdom through
generated synonyms,
stolen from
the thesaurus of thieves.
Maybe there are no pages for
inkless minds
that lack creativity,
or maybe pigments
in their ink have no stability.
Originality comes
from an authentic realm,
so why become a poetic predator,
stealing this pain,
and claiming it
as your own
testimony of healing.
Think twice when
you confuse
my silence as blindness.
I can see through
those soulless words,
that hold no
meaning nor insight.
You influence me to
question if your
quill actually
comprehends the
depths of the
metaphors I’ve woven.
Poetry is not always
defined by iambic pentameters,
nor by syllables
and insincere irony
articulated as
illusive imagery
in your fabricated foolery,
as every stanza is
how a poet perceives the world,
weaving words
into artistic confessions.
A poet’s heart is
graphically
bleeding upon
the edges of a canvas,
sketching sentiments
in shades of scarlet and sangria,
dipped in acute
amaranth acrylic.
You copy generated
text on
your virtual feed,
finding opportunities
to paraphrase someone
else’s personal prose,
yet remain ignorant to
feel their aura
from screens far away
(\ /)
( \__ / )
( \()/ )
( / \ )
( / \/ \ )
/ \
(__|__)
You’re my poetic angel,
Watching me as I write.
Sent by God to guard me,
Through the day and night.
You give me inspiration,
Through your celestial glow.
And you jump start my mind,
From where my poems flow.
Everyday you guide me,
Not letting bad turn to worse.
And push the pen I hold,
As I write each lovely verse.
You’re my poetic angel,
I’m glad you are my friend.
We’ll always be together,
Until my body’s end.
The Ambiance of Amber Light
I watch the morning glow behind you
inviting my eyes to pause in soft amber light
which frames your beauty
warming my heart with a smile
bursting the seeds of passion
allowing them to float endlessly...through my soul
pouring desire into the eyes of love
until they overflow and drip like dew from leaves
glistening in the sun spiraling towards Earth
leaving a wondrous glint in the eyes
could that this moment never end
nor escape into the unknown
Bathed is my essence in sweet dew of dawn
and wondrous is the glint that luster your eyes
as I radiate morning-glory grandeur
within your golden gaze of ardor
whose fervent seeds sow saffron dreams
wishing to possess and be possessed
I reach for you surrendering in softest amber light
luscious in the bloom of morn
captured in the nectar of each breath
taken in the heated heights of desire's depths
this moment an amaranth
thrilling this twinkling of time never to fade like a distant star
My gratitude to Susan and her beautiful mind and heart
for her help and kindness
I had heard about the legend of her lips,
so, at the sight of vermillion moonlight,
shimmering on turquoise ripples at twilight,
my soul ventured, craving the sighs of her sips.
Fate led towards a path of wooden shutters,
amidst the silence, silken whispers enticed,
upon her vision, all speech was sacrificed.
My heart danced like velvet butterfly flutters.
Her lips resembled two petals yearning for rain,
with an innocent blush resting on their tips,
curved liked sacred, unwritten poetic scripts,
I surrendered my muse for her kiss to drain.
They seemed to tremble, waiting to be explored.
An unspoken allurement composed through her eyes,
where she veiled a threshold of nectarous cries,
like dawn, we merged as the moon and sun adored.
In neroli mist we melted like molten gold,
lost volcanic spirits spilling in lava lust.
Her wildfire swept my senses like a spiced gust,
as hummingbirds, hummed about secrets untold.
There was a sinful sweetness in her caress.
In her sanctum, I forgot the essence of 'me,'
as her taste turned a blank page into poetry.
A rendezvous, which ylang ink cannot confess.
Upon the twinkling of silent twilight,
tranquil thoughts set adrift,
infatuated in elysian reflection.
The mind wanders,
observing and listening - roaming;
avoiding confusing crossroads
leading into chimerical phantasms.
Overwhelmed by the darkness,
fervent fingers tremble,
yearning to bleed streams of serenity.
Suppressed soul whispers,
exposing sacred secrets,
releasing the mind from its chains.
Ink flows translating the meraki;
revealing a passionate poetic soul.
Empathetic emotions drain,
yet the soul desires to venture further.
Thirsting to dance forever in euphoric eunoia.
Meraki eruptions have no fear that
each drop may exhaust the pen.
For invictus ink is a valiant virtuoso,
calmly conquering consciousness
to drift towards selcouth land.
Every muse lusts to manifest in meraki,
yet it is no miracle - it's a natural phenomena.
The Silent One
27 November 2017
Meraki: The soul, creativity, or love put into something; the essence of yourself that is put into your work. This Greek word doesn't have an English counterpart.
Chimerical: Created by unchecked inspiration; fantastically visionary or highly improbable.
Elysian: Creative or beautiful; divinely inspired; peaceful and perfect.
Eunoia: Beautiful thinking. Shortest English word that contains all five vowels.
Selcouth: Unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet marvellous. An Old English word and can be found in Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe from 1814.
Invictus is Latin for “unconquered.
I no longer search my memory
I no longer use my pride
I've loss the desire for liberty
I no longer speak for life
What I've said hundreds of times
I'll repeat no more
Time has had it's passage
and totaled up the score
Love has used it's powers
both human and Divine
untold endless hours
dedicating my creative mind
I've suffered the tears while writing
when injustice and love were fighting
Discribed the beauty I saw
with God's intentions totaled in awe
These are words of an empty shell
The mother of peril still shinning
pausing slowly here and there
with rhyming still providing
The old ghost it still lives
relationship more take than gives
imagined love unmasked as doubt
the weapon of fantasy I now live without
I created once a world to inspire
filled it full with realities desires
never once believing I was a liar
just another member of a silent chior
poetic eyes gone blind with time
loss of perceptions creative eye's
I now lie buried with a motor of rust
A poetic heart I no longer trust
From my very beginnings I have been,
Like no other- I have lived in a dream;
The joy in life sadly I have not seen,
Yet my soul is like a cool forest stream.
My writing are fragments- I have taken,
From a broken heart that weeps a poem;
For each sad sorrow, each I awaken,
My life is writing- poetry my home.
As a grown woman I am a cool dawn,
But there is thunder in my soul- a storm;
And with my bleeding pen the words are drawn,
Each new line will take on its own sweet form.
My nights are dreams and my days are trances,
And I spin and weave poetic dances.
____________________
August 19, 2016
Poetry/Sonnet/"Poetic Dances"
Copyright Protected, ID 16-819-491-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Mid July 2018 Premiere Contest
Sponsor, Brian Strand
Fourth Place
__________________________
Entered in the contest,
Sonnet (2016)
First Place
When poetic silence ,
spoke to me
through midnight violence,
it kept my restless heart calm~
as I was hypnotized in a trance,
waltzing sleeplessly
on an island so reckless,
The soothing petals in my garden
were now a scent of serenity,
I hear the calling of poetic royalty
in diamond dunes,
influencing me to question
the purity of my presence,
So I thank the stars for
bringing me back to reality