Best Polishing Poems
In uncontrollable destinies,
fate is visible, signposted with faith.
In limitations of the intangible unforeseen,
tribulations from tangible organisms,
leave a heart yearning to release
the force from kundalini kismet.
What am I,
but a speck of dust,
spinning from nothingness,
composed in a complex analogy,
but more than just a meaningless metaphor.
Pursuing conscience consciousness,
a misunderstood muse in a poetic garden,
sowing seeds for a wallflower soul
to bloom as an orchid in Eden's orchards -
to feel mercy from heavenly raindrops.
A once, dysfunctional mind,
scribbled as an unmetered sonnet,
but with an eagle spirit
healing from wounded wings,
caged within a circle of sins,
polishing the heart to coexist.
Firmly planting my roots into
the mouth of mother earth.
Feeding on morsels of
atonement and redemption.
Eternally exploring self-reflection,
wishing internal paths lead to steps
with simple sentiments of silence.
Hoping illuminative energy liberates,
to ease the adversity of climbing
towards the zenith of zen -
to flourish in sunflower serenity.
Meeting my homegirls Wilma Neels
and Kim Van Breda with shrieks and squeals
hasty introductions and we're on our way
for a night of reading at Poetry Café
We've Yasmin to thank for arranging the meet
with fellow Soupers, a veritable treat
Yasmin the sneak had their names withheld
we're apprehensive yet still by curiosity propelled
My fingers are crossed to meet Eileen
fave poetess mine, the Passionate Queen
dare I wish to meet hamsome Ryerson
not to mention Anne-Lise Andresen?
On first glance the café seems somewhat rowdy
from one of the corners a chorus of "Howdy!!!"
heaven help!! I'm rooted to the spot
all my fave poets from the Souper pot
The Queen of Passion, my special friend
Eileen Ghali, an angel heaven-sent
with open arms and that beguiling smile
that's touched us all over thousands of miles
I spot our Father Christmas, Jackie Ellison
Oh my, mercy me, the hamsome Tim Ryerson
then the beautiful being, Anne-Lise Andresen
and our pretty young doll, Anne Poetess Currin
Andrea, crack writer and popcorn freak
and Nette Onclaud, Madame Linguistics
the talented and sweet Leonora Galinta
oh, for a long time I've longed to meet her
There's the much-loved Reach-Out Lamoureux
a stylish gentleman, delighted to meet you
our very own Linda who happiness spreads
memorable the day as Brown Licia meets Red
He who writes poetry with a golden pen
bestest, fantasticest, hamsomest friend
Rich-Heart Seal-ed Door, my bruv from abroad
by his smile I'm bowled over; by his charm I am awed
I'm jumping with joy at my fave poets meet
befuddled, bewildered; who first to greet?
midst the mountain of talent I'm on a positive high
overwhelmed, I simply break down and cry
This one needs a whole lot of polishing and smoothing
out, but I was too excited to submit it. I'll iron out the
crinkles soon. LOVE TO YOU ALL, LICIA
Midnight rides—his pulse aligns with the thunder beneath him
fingers tracing her curves polishing fire into steel.
Wind against his skin she sings beneath him once more
Saturday mornings spent bathing her shine in devotion
One last glance—wait for me—before stepping inside
his grip firm not on the world but the rhythm of her frame.
The highway fades yet she alone knows the way home
rain or shine she waits unwavering at his door
Twilight drapes them in gold two shadows stretching as one
beautiful chrome heart racing—her name dissolving into the wind.
My life, like everybody else’s, is a treasure trove
with a mine from which one’s treasures are derived.
The familial bonds we form are platinum; our friendships gold.
These are precious ores that most souls are born to find with ease.
But all of us have other precious stones we need to mine.
They are the fruit of skills and talents put to their best use.
My treasure trove abounds with gems already -
ones that I discovered as a child.
Though rough in their natural form, most of them I opened
as I grew in understanding of God’s gifts for me.
Others not so easy to break open were able to be shaped,
for once I sought them out inside my mine
and cracked them open. . . their radiance was revealed to me.
Our precious gems, God-given, must not be squandered.
Once mined, they need to be shared.
Artists, teachers, scientists, tradesmen, leaders, even dreamers -
we all have different kinds of gemstones hidden in our mines.
Once, later on in my own life,
I came upon a silver tool used by many different types of artists.
I’d seen it in my youth but hardly used it.
Thousands of words lay embedded in that specific tool God gifted me.
I delved into the depths of my mine and learned
that I could tap and tap the silver worded tool upon each stone,
and finally a gem would then reveal itself to me.
The more I searched for stones to tap,
The more wondrous were the nuggets that appeared -
And there were more of them than I’d believed I could ever find -
buried there so deeply in my mine!
The art of crafting them and polishing them up
I was able to improve upon in time. . .
and found that even those less valuable could shine!
A poet’s gems need not be bought or sold.
Displaying them with love and pride alone can be fulfilling.
How I thrill to view a wide variety of gemstones
freely shown from others’ treasure troves.
From the rarest and the clearest multi-faceted
color-shifting Alexandrite and tanzanite,
and the most remarkable of diamonds, rubies,
sapphires, emeralds, amethyst and jade,
down to the lowliest of onyx, quartz, garnets, or agates,
each stone has something of the poet’s soul within it,
especially beautiful when polished to a brilliant sheen!
The more I open gemstones in my mine, the more of them I find,
and my silver-worded tool lies nearby at the ready.
How do I praise your influence, oh Rumi?
For you are the essence of my poetry.
Poet's quote.
I was lost in mournful melodies of birds,
until death brought me back to life through your words.
My sleeping spirit now roams in your garden's blooms,
spinning from nothingness against toxic fumes.
Polishing of my heart left me in a trance,
through cleansing of pain, I learned how to dance.
I had not drank wine, but walked like a drunkard,
dizziness helped to forget where I wandered.
You taught; how the beloved lives in my heart.
To let go of those who wanted to depart.
To stop chasing stories and myths from the past.
To break free from the prisons our minds can cast.
When you change with wisdom, your soul recovers,
ascends to the sky in a world of lovers.
Now I have wings and no longer crawl through life,
never raise my words to cause another strife.
Ignore those who remind of disease and death.
That love is the bridge between my sweetheart's breath.
I closed my eyes, fell in love and remain there.
Life is a guest house, so I dwell without care.
The poem is based on Rumi quotes and poems.
Mathnawi or Masnavi is a Persian a type of poetry, originating from the Arabic word Mathnawi, written in rhyming units and which follow a pattern of eleven or sporadically ten syllables without any length limits. This one is eleven syllables per line.
polishing pieces
fragments of a broken brain
spinning poetry
MagiCicada17
Sunshine beams sparkles softly golden magic
Breathtaking horizon of dreams spells casting
Feelings, faces and memories within
Shall follow the nature´s endless spin
Creeping higher morning glory rising perfect splendor
Smiling warm rays inside hot radiance glows
Dizzy with pleasure, tears a falling star rain wet drop of heaven
Total silence no vibration pearls on leaves dried
Songbirds sing praise in a heavenly choir whistling tunes
Enchanting dewdrops sparkling shivers, silver glistens
Diamond shining clearly colors beauty awakening
Rainbow riches polishing a heart to the highest luster
Into a landscape of dreams and hope
The green grass will grow for another tomorrow
A co write written by Liam Mcdaid
and Anne-Lise Andresen :) - 12.01.2015 -
- Thank you my dear friend Liam -
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
I believe that poetry is and of is was were have has been of as one pretenses a
poetic practical pompous, pro (p) ransomedramatical postenses
pretending to prose promise a
predictive premise primatory practicum politicallty
polishing practcoriam process of primary
preliminary postures pragmatic promulgates
telling the ta ta tumultuous tillo tales of tawdry
banal blog lists calling me to quali-quantify the reso-resolutes
resounding in resilient quo quotients that bear a
breach bridgeborn badge billed
barometer bearing broad billboard
catatonic catashrospies creating caustic crill
coffinistic coiffures canonizing
socio unsettling leo linguistic lies in a somewhat
lovevoid livid liquiditoria regal
ransom based regalia resonating
rawbone residual retinal real time
tombosoties transitioning with
toying transient trio tide tooth
crass cavity craino creep mandibulo master mildew
mold molecular mamsy-pamsy sillopsuedo master of
ever me present I , me , mine, maestro
sitting back and looking at the world as a place to be
not to be, hope to be, wish to be, be to be, in the
proper primer of humino yesnomenclatureculture of that which is u
me us our belief sem radical of our prim-ordeal sociodiscontentselfevident
irrelevant mean fullness, to countercure our quick/quack quotient
umbrella upbringing to say do write feel text tank athink
all that is emo exit everpresent to keep the fecal faces free of
founding father status inquo man although time is time in place.
Mindfulness is a mute place ill unattended by sociocrap everlasting.
Treasure travel inviting innate needs netherly nodding to the primo positive
practitudes of acoustic ancillary annotated awareness, allowing all annuities
ancient archaic to willfully wind wind waveringly wish away intrinsic id-ideas.
It it is what u want it it to be, say, scroll, live, plural, self to self. Use it, lose it,
share it, beware it, con-cure it, it. Know it it's criminal capitol is wary for before
u know it it, life it before it its u, and will its it and
ego ale all eek out the precious profit of its itdom idiocracy illusionary in its
illogical inness so mad made as not to gravely gravitate ungracious griefs
upon your its it.
scary huh. Karma it, Big Daddy.
THE JEWELER’S LATHE
Summer’s last rose
After many admiring morning visits
And with nature’s rusty brown and gold
Surrounding, drawing comparison,
Becomes even more pink and beautiful
Being aware as being – native to all souls –
Nature strives to improve,
The old become new
New, alike the jeweler’s lathe
Polishing polishing
Refining awareness -
The familiar like a great Schubert string quartet
Suddenly with new revealing.
Leonard Bernstein says about music,
to the effect,
”An old friend becomes more dear”
Refining one’s awareness
There can be no drudgery,
But there must be effort,
Must be the look-through,
A soul’s effort to find.
Therein lies the beauty,
The finding.
When the diamond
Set to the jeweler’s lathe
Catches sun
Dave Austin
Poetry is white lights falling upon rainbows and snow
Casual exchanges blinked upon a shared pillow
Lip prints etched inside an antiquated photograph
The obligatory holding of hands as a lost-craft
Poetry is the scent of morning kisses
Words that blossom, an arrow that misses
Umbrellas unopened on a drizzling day
A trail of lovers unable to find their way
Poetry is an evening sparrow chasing the moon
Two silhouettes cascading into a spoon
Roses blown from a closed casket
The loneliness of waiting for her to ask-it
Poetry is the answer to what if and why
Tissues capturing the tears but not the cry
Rubies polishing a heart to an imperfect shine
The undefined likeness of I, Me and Mine
Written: March 31st, 2025, for contest, Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
************
After basking in yesterday's afterglow,
I divested my vestments
to shift in cognitive mindset.
I stroll toward the horizon.
where the azure sky
embraces the vast sea blue.
Waves dance.
With silvered clouds,
Creating an orchestra
The wind and light are present.
Sallow shadows scintillate.
In Moonlight Melodies...
As dusk settles,
casting a shimmering awe that echoes of
The splendor of the galaxies abounds.
In every breath,
A promise resonates,
to the dawn
that dwells within me.
Gliding on golden wings
a sovereign among the kings
As light swirls beneath the Milky Way,
The cosmos shines brilliantly.
In a pearly gown.
Angels slide,
Unleashing their power
to restore their lost throne.
With flickering wings,
Wield the sword of stone
their footsteps inscribe
a path of golden light,
As they conquer the onyx depths
of an obsidian night.
Loving blasts their souls.
angel wings shake in sadness,
where grief and despair are hefty,
seeking an aerial citrine nirvana
I recall it sharply,
as if it were yesterday,
Tears mar the silky pillows.
as honeysuckle
It oozes from eager lips. —
There is a longing for satisfaction.
Lipstick etches its mark.
He left an imprint on his bare skin.
Even now, those intertwined chains
of Memory ensnares me.,
As well-oiled fingers traverse
the curves of the sensuous body,
ordinary yet glowing in the sunlight,
filled with a relentless passion.
Nervous tension shattered,
striking, akin to a diamond on ebony velvet.
As her body warmed and became silky,
Her lips melted and tasted delicious.
They expressed love ardently.
and hugged fervently.
swept up in passion and longing,
wishing the moment might last forever,
cocooned in each other's arms,
and felt blissfully pleased,
Polishing words into gems,
dusted garnet, with sunset slips
In citrine clouds cast
There was a ray of magenta skies.
I wish for unending delight.
and utter bliss in the afterglow.
our God is bountiful because
Jesus is Robin Hood turning the tables in the forest temple
and Friday treasures an island of hope in my child’s mind
‘you can be a pirate as long as you don’t turn a blind eye’
patches up sorrow and heartache tattooed in its wisdom
bountiful when the snake shares a candy apple with Newton
as everything hangs in the balance of gravity’s fallen sword
when you remove the splinter from blind sighted cataracts
before asking for a new lens without polishing your view
bountiful when kind men from Mars soothe night terrors
because aliens are friends and ride on Dinosaur’s wings
the world becomes as you see it in the light of your dreams
and the chocolate bar holds coconut filling every now and then
bountiful when the cross rots away and nails get a grip onto
new pastures and the sweet tasting promise of sacred droplets
for tears are washed away in the face of anger ceding to faith
and water baptizes the soil for small seeds to nourish the soul
bountiful when the cocoa smeared lips’ immaculate smiles
prepare innocence for that hardship of life bearing the fruit
of patience resolve and happiness that derives from the source
and chews at the gnawing feeling of doubt until it melts away
our God is bountiful because …
11th November 2020
Yesterday sent its regards in a farewell
letter,
A gesture of fate intact, sealed for the
departed,
Or better yet, the progressive harmonies
of God, such as we are.
It was perhaps the plot of the universe,
When we slept in yesterday’s hands,
And I asked you the question of
continuation,
In hopes of fading away mutually, after one
last bloom.
Heaven must have spied on my everlasting
request,
Because with your pearl vision directed
towards me,
And your soft veil of ebony near me,
You agreed, with no hold of hesitation.
So under the chapel’s protection is where
we coast now,
And a road less traveled is scattered with
our footprints;
While I did lead with company, along this aisle
of anticipation,
The stares of 1000 miles did not present themselves,
Until your walk was introduced, thereby polishing
this floor into glory.
As I stood in the patience of joy, a distance was
illustrated between us,
You pressed forward and this negative space lost
its existence;
As you approached with the tranquil touch of
summer,
My nerves fell sober, and I knew that which was
parallel before me was art,
The speechless beauty, I favored in sight.
The preacher spoke a traditional verse, as our
eyes locked in perfect reflection;
Declared through spoken word, was the
confirmation of our ribbon in the sky,
Crowned upon your precious finger was the
weight of symbolism,
Silently glowing through the everglades;
With no restriction, we explored the middle
ground in unison.
We exited through the heart of the sun, cherishing
the unfamiliar heat;
It appears that life’s divine notary has signed off
on the greatest equation ever solved,
May our souls forever write in this blessed ink.
"The Daily Mornings of Strange Automatons"
lucid dreams
those clouds convey
the hidden mysteries
of waking chariots
sucked up in the vortex
heliographs flashing
the silver
yo-yo strings
we are like puppets
played for codes
with buried meanings
transcribed animations
staggered routine automatons
covered in words of babel
strange hieroglyphs felt
like braille the feelings
understood misunderstood
spoken mirror images
held to the open caves
of mouths breathing
breath like fog
polishing time
inhale exhale
away
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Wake up, wake up, wake up I say.
There are words for you to find
And your poem is yet to get an end.
You slept for too long,
Some words are now long gone.
Others though still hanging in paintings,
Have lost their meanings.
Did you not heed my warnings.
Quickly, quickly now
Let me show you how,
While we still have time and your feelings
Are still living things.
Help save the words and their meanings
But you must use them now.
Abuse them if you must,
But go easy on the lust.
Humour them or wet them with your tears,
While others still have ears.
Whip them if you must,
But don't leave too much dust.
Just get them in line,
While we still have time.
I promise you they will shine for other eyes,
Even if you lie.
There, there don't pull out your hair,
We are nearly there.
You will soon breathe more lightly here.
You have the words in your heart now,
Your soul is soaring now,
Words are pouring back in now,
Their meanings now on show,
For everyone to know
Take out your polishing cloth
It's time for truly beautiful words to come forth
and show their true worth.
The words are back in focus now.
The canvas's are freshly painted now.
Just take time to remember, that the new member,
Encouraged by the old, will let more words unfold,
So their meanings can be told.
There will be no more lamenting,
The words we lost while we were sleeping.
Only new words in numbers beyond counting
With meanings in greater number
To give us such wonder,
As we awaken from our slumber.