Best Portraying Poems
In the midst of midnight dreams,
like a whisper, soft and subtle,
her soul floated like a butterfly.
Reaching the province of Paphian passion,
portraying Aphrodite's desire for Adonis,
solitude sighed with sensual delight -
her vibrations echoing in the silence.
In her forbidden flower garden,
tip of his tongue composed symphonies of
forgotten sensations and flowing verses -
serenading suppressed infatuations.
His soul kissed poetry upon her satin skin,
carving poetic sensations not heard before.
Two lovers embraced in perfect rhyme,
an innocence lost, but engraved in time.
Silent One
Simple Musing
25 November 2018
“A lover asked his beloved,
Do you love yourself more than you love me?
Beloved replied, I have died to myself and I live for you.
I've disappeared from myself and my attributes,
I am present only for you.
I've forgotten all my learnings,
but from knowing you I've become a scholar.
I've lost all my strength, but from your power I am able.
I love myself...I love you.
I love you...I love myself.” Rumi.
When you cry,
I wish I was those tears,
rolling down your cheeks,
dripping upon your strawberry lips.
I yearn to reflect like rainbow dust,
so you mirror like a confetti mosaic.
But in the duration of distance,
I walk barefoot upon a path of
dead roses, whose thorns are
covered in crimson drops.
In between the phases of pearls
and eternal embers in our sky,
I cannot sleep when you remain awake.
Afraid the moon will steal our dreams.
Time is an impatient muse,
but my adoration is timeless.
If only we could pause
and move in slow motion.
With the humility of Rumi.
My words are a colourless chore,
my mind a moth-eaten blank canvas,
but when you appear before me -
I'm a poetic waterfall of ivory ink.
In periwinkle petal phases
of personification, place my
choral carnation blossoms
in chronological chapters -
inside the personal memoirs
of your porcelain soul.
We are fragile figments,
but our serenade is not a fable,
so I keep writing orphic poems,
portraying your innocence and honesty
through an opulent sonnet,
reflecting your moonlight majesty.
Revealing desires of an enkindled heart.
If prose is too simple,
I'll create you a mausoleum of metaphors,
so when silence suppresses my speech,
my arrows of alliteration
will protect you until your last verse.
Before my last breath,
I may not create a perfect masterpiece.
So I wonder if my words will be worthy
or will you forget me
like the others who wrote before me?
In your analogies of abandonment,
I am a pristine scarf in your suitcase.
When I surrender to time,
will you wrap me around your skin,
until the end?
Like an ebony rose in a province
of ivory and golden flowers,
you poisoned each peaceful petal
with your senseless scent of death.
You were never just another floret.
Was I a fool to sow your seed in
hope your roots would grow strong,
portraying saffron scarlet hues with
an emerald stalk flourishing with
verdant leaves in serene sapphire skies.
When winds blew too boorishly,
I held your supple sepal with bamboo hands,
so your sunshine spirit would not perish
to toxic storms from organic forces.
I was willingly the earth to your foundations,
but your breaths became too bitter,
stinging in selfish stubborn sympathies,
as wild weeds strangled your stalk.
We could have nourished nectar with
hungry insects in need of nurture,
but your grudge left behind
broken bridges with a trail of
crumbling caterpillars seeking wings.
Cuts from your thorns remain,
ingrained as internal inflictions,
but still I plant bulbs to bloom.
To create an oasis of graceful charm,
where blossoms of compassion
softly soothe petals of pardon
in a garden of a wounded soul.
Forgiveness is a heavenly light.
A radiant beacon illuminating
through a canopy of trees,
eradicating shadows of hatred you
left behind like excessive weeds.
A melody of redemption whispers in
harmonious refrains breaking chains
of regret with burdensome pains.
To let go is like maturing buds
releasing the grip of timeless hate,
as my meadows are a symbol of a
divine mantra only welcoming peace.
The art was most masterful on the dark canvas,
portraying an artist's mind when feeling anxious.
His palette compiled of pastels in shades of grey,
weaved brushstrokes in symphonies pain can play.
His eyes consumed in obsidian thoughts untold,
he splashed secrets he was once afraid to unfold.
Emotions bled as his mind reflected midnight's trance,
but each stroke was a shield against a demon's advance.
Hues of onyx were now replaced by vibrant tones,
as shadows slowly drowned out ignorant moans.
He created a masterpiece of soft yellow moonlight,
as his artistry portrayed bright sapphire daylight.
An avant-garde maestro flowing in textured motion,
painting stars like diamonds in his inky ocean.
Rainbows and sunshine now reside in his realm,
where his abstract art crafts a harmonious helm.
In my hunger,
I saw a hallucination of heaven.
From afar, visions of a golden glow,
lustered, lingering above a crowded crossroad.
This aura of agave aromatherapy,
left an amorous aroma of romantic ruminations,
so I became a devotee, desiring her divinity.
But, such was her evanescent existence,
those effervescent eyes now seem ephemeral.
Adrift in the angst of absence,
I feel the lament of an autumn leaf,
yearning to be evergreen, clinging to your stalk.
Or to sharpen and shape like a tenacious thorn,
honouring your rosso corsa, roseate radiance.
If I was a polyamorous poet,
my abundance of adjectives and alliterations,
would be disloyal like daylight,
so my vibrant vocabulary vows to
allegorise you in my anthology of analogies.
My mellifluous muse, I care not if
your verses are vintage or virginal,
as you are my most memorable metaphor -
the assonance to compliment my consonance.
In your majestic moonlight, I'm fluorescent,
portraying a perpendicular penumbra,
craving for you like a citrine crescent
hoping to become complete.
I'm a bard with a baritone ballad,
blossoming words like spring sepals,
into a boundless bouquet for my beloved,
so remove the veil behind your verbs and
reveal your velvet vermilion lips once more.
There is an alluring art to an aubade.
In an aureolin and amethyst aurora,
our lantern of love will forever scintillate,
serenading in smooth and soothing susurrus sounds,
soaring in a serene sapphire sky,
ascending like a saffron sunrise sonata
and if cumbersome clouds,
colour horizons in charcoal,
delicately descend, pouring in holy drops,
soaking my soul like spilling ink
on unblemished ivory fibers.
Cherokee chamber,
where a pow wow stampeedes preconceptions of inheritence,
from Her beaded neck charms of chance & chains of change
glisten from opulent offerings of roots, corn & lavender ablaze
on an alter of unworked stone mantled with skins strong beasts knew,
She is a " Stomp Dance " Queen with an owl as a friend and a spider as assassin,
with rattlesnake ribbons around Her wrists and prayers in Her braids thick with traditions,
the walls of Her teepee painted with the pigments of buffalo blood & sunflower pollen,
portraying a history hewn from customs known to Spirits and men alike,
the " Stomp Dance " Queen speaks for Her People and sings from the stars,
I found this Tribe, not in Appalacia nor on a prarrie stage but in the smoke of ceremony,
the Cherokee Princess has rattlesnake teeth tied to Her thigh & turtle shells upon Her hips,
She played the rabbit on the scene, then the wolf, if you know what I mean,
celebrated by the warriors as a tomahawk maker,
praised by the medicine men for Her Visions,
and feared by the Elders because of wrath that may follow Her steps,
the " Stomp Dance " Queen is a Princess, She is a Cherokee with a song Her own -
J.A.B.
You give me the desire
a love for composing
word symphonies
yet you give me
the cross of mediocrity
to bear
day by day to know
there are others
who are prodigies
and I must hear
the thunderous applause
while at best
I get the praise
of those who seek to console
my dying soul
I must eat my heart alive
while the words burn inside
demanding expression
soul confession
unborn masterpiece extrication
I fall to my knees
and plead
While I beat my chest
in fervent heat
"Bless me...Bless me...
Make me like him
Make me like her
Make me more than all of these
Make me the best
a word genius
For this love of words will not set me free
Till it is MY name that they chant
My name on their tongues
My name branded on their minds
the Maestro of Word symphonies
Oh, Let it be ME, ME!
BLESS ME!"
Yet...
day after day
night after night
and in my dreams
I see, I see....
I see them take their bows
I see their work showcased
praised
immortalized
while I?
I sit at my desk
and try once more
to write
to...WRITE
the sublime....
Eileen
The movie Amadeus rocked my to the core. "In it, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was killed by his jealous rival, the court composer Antonio Salieri. Salieri cleverly took advantage of Mozart's fondness for drink, his financial crisis, and his obsession with pleasing his deceased father, and tricked Mozart into working himself to death."
Murry Abraham did a wonderful job of portraying Salieri. There is a scene where he argues with God about the wonderful musical talent he has gifted Mozart, who seems undeserving to him, while HE has to live with mediocrity in musical talent. I can relate. I LOVE poetry. It is my life, and yet...I have to watch as others write so effortlessly and reach the pinnacle of fame. It is hard to do. :( Some days are better than others. On the good days, I'm happy that I can write a poem now and again. On the bad days....I want to cry for not being another Shakespeare....or Donne, or Dickinson, or Gibran, or Rumi, or....and the list is endless.
Ramayana, a Hindu epic,
written by saint Valmiki, in Sanskrit
one of the two largest ancient epics,
the first ever poem ever created
many many centuries ago.
It depicts story of Lord Rama
as a kind, fair, brave, soft spoken,
handsome prince, who had
the kind benevolence of gods.
Himself an avatar of lord Vishnu
he was bestowed with divine,
powerful weapons of gods
to be used to fight evil forces.
He won over his consort, Sita,
daughter of King Janak,
in a 'swayamvar', a competition.
Keeping the tradition of honouring
a given word or promise at all costs,
a tradition of his sun god lineage
he went to forest for fourteen years
obeying his father, King Dashrath
and forsake the throne of Ayodhya
for his younger brother Bharata,
as demanded by Queen Kaikayi,
the mother of Bharatha.
He went to forests
with Sita and younger brother Lakshman.
There, he often killed many demons
who had terrorised and killed saints worshipping
peacefully in their holy monasteries,
on latter's requests.
In the 14th year of his banishment,
along with younger brother Lakshman,
with help from his follower Hanuman,
and, King of monkeys, Sugreev,
he fought with King of Lanka, Ravana
a demon King, who had kidnapped Sita
and had wanted to marry her.
After this victory of right over wrong,
and freeing Sita and killing Ravana
he returned to his kingdom Ayodhya
and became the king himself theteafter.
Ramayana, steeped in morality,
depicts duties of relationships,
portraying characters, ideal in nature,
like ideal son, ideal father, ideal servant,
ideal brother, ideal husband and ideal king.
Ramayana has greatly influenced
Hindu poetry, life and culture, thereafter.
Presenting teachings of ancient Hindu sages
in narrative allegory, it intermixes
philosophical and ethical elements.
The characters of Rama, Sita, Lakshman,
Hanuman, Ravana are still revered and worshipped,
in some of the culturally conscious
South and East Asian nations even today.
Two great Hindu festivals,
Dussehra and Deepawali
are celebrated to mark the victory of good over evil,
in India and elsewhere
with fervor and gaiety, every year.
8.6.2020
Introspection
suspends in dark blue amnion
as rainwater blooms a reflection pool
an oasis of energy for contemplative embryo;
in stillness I grow.. my pulse a flowing stream of raindrops
my body the rhythm maker
my mind the artiste
in a cocoon a rhythmic womb —
a primal nest gestates my om
b r e a t h i n g i n
b r e a t h i n g o u t
saturation of breath
soaks and stretches my cortex canvas;
within the indigo sphere
I paint a mural
upon my sacred temple walls
a self-portrait
with a benevolent brush dipped in starlight –
I surrender staying and portraying within the lines
uncaged colors roam
beyond my human extremities and Earth’s edge
gouache-plashes of teal and fuchsia
fraternize with fibers of flesh and marrow
conceiving abstracts as airy as sparrow dreams
as I - a mindful explorer flies an inner cosmos
beyond the confines of the canvas white
outside the frames of physicality and reality
to throw open window panes to the unlimited
to banish pains of the limited — free
my meditative spirit making art with the universe
Susan Ashley
September 7, 2022
~ Fifth Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 18
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Brian Strand Premiere Choice
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Photo: The Seer; Laurie Bain Hamilton - owner of primalpainter
"One can speak poetry just by arranging colours well,
just as one can say comforting things in music"
~ Vincent Van Gogh
You sing of beauty as you paint
in colors bold, with scant restraint -
poetic truths that harmonize
with tales of hope in the reprise.
A human symphony in oils,
of workers weary in their toils -
depicted honest, good, and true,
and your most loyal subject: you.
Compose a masterpiece to cast
poetic fragrances that last
one generation to the next
that parlay comfort to the vexed.
Though you were versed in tragedy,
you showed us, Vincent, what could be;
in vivid, dancing hues. Your goal:
portraying beauty of the soul.
Written 29 Jan 2022
In Silence
Sighing, gales vibrate, release the dance
Between avid oak in crimson hues -
Delicate golds, amber and carroty red
Maples delicate muse, autumn stillness, hush
Erasing the summer, quieting…
The sunlight whispers raining down
In silence, pretty secrets
Perfect reminiscences
Whispering, gentle breeze, reflecting the shadows
Brought to life, silhouettes breathless, echoing
Peace inspired by the embrace of vibrant colors
Inspirations so alive, thriving in pulsating lights
Saying a quick goodbye to the past
Where still, cool waters smile liquid laughter
Stirring the promises entwined
Knit together like prayers
Prayed by hearts
Who know that this season, harvest time, autumn
Brings wisdom, insights into the wonders murmured
Like endless pleas for the kindness, the creativity
His hand brings to the world He crafted from naught
Spoken into existence by His voice, His utterance
Expressions of beautiful, awakened
To the miracle of creation, the design
Brought to life by His light
The wonder of His thought
Because I know Him, my Savior, my Maker
Autumn feels like the imagination adorned
With blushing tones of compassion, charity
Sensitive words lasting in pages, scriptures
Portraying the riches of His splendor – His mystery
The answer to every prayer lies there
Amid the verses, the poetry and promise
Like falling leaves, in silence
His love abides, grace inspired…
By the One I know as real love, real hope, real life
Savior of the world – redeemer of the heart and soul
Deliverer of the spirit who looks to Him and believes
In a love that is alive and can only be received
By those who know Him intimately, trusting
His gift of grace – His book’s answers
His forever in heaven
His eternity, the blessing
Freedom, forgiveness…
A reason to listen – in silence,
To His guidance!
This one goes out to a special poetry souper.
Dedicated to an unknown rhythmic ink trooper.
Her poetic pen is mightier than any sword,
she cares not for attention nor craves to be adored.
Not a daily poster, but like petals her words grow,
releasing deep thoughts like tranquil rivers flow.
Pouring out pain, portraying a life full of commotion,
she's never afraid to reveal deep repressed emotion.
Nonchantly, composing sonnets, prose and monorhymes.
A 'free verse' soul with a pure gift, ahead of the times.
Sometimes her humour can lead to hysterics.
Other times her words sing like melodic song lyrics.
From undefined uncertainties to unseen and unheard,
they're relatable verses, reflected through sentiments stirred.
Elegant as a redolent rose with that Midas touch.
Her art is like a masterpiece that needs no retouch.
Needs not hide behind metaphors to create her poetry.
Hails from an island of sapphire skies and turquoise sea.
I know her journey has faced a mountain of adversity
and living among devious souls has caused controversy.
Despite the darkness, she glows like a lantern at night.
In times of trouble, always finds the willpower to write.
When torment arrives, stabbing my heart with spears,
she's always there to ensure my mind's not full of fears.
A honest heart with the modest grace of a pacifier.
Has formed a legacy of an unassuming versifier.
Like a peacock spreading beauty - flamboyantly.
For me, the Aura of Rhymes is poetic royalty.
Since childhood,
as alexithymia struck my soul.
I kept all my hopes a secret,
hidden in a bucket of unshared dreams.
I kept my soul sweet like marshmallows,
but life has finally caught up with me,
Like a fast car overtaking recklessly,
leaving me behind in the slow lane -
and I'm running out of fuel.
I'm a vehicle of flashbacks from flashlights,
fatigued from embracing the old,
preparing for freshly brewed emotions.
Yet they deprive me at every dawn,
as new beginnings are always challenging.
Suffocating in this silent selcouth slumber,
life tries to call my bluff, when it knows,
I am the master of my masquerade.
My soul pleads with fate to usher me with belief,
but I can see death at my doorstep,
creating intrusive insecurities like termites,
eating away at branches of my sanity,
feeding upon my ordained Orphic glory.
Emotions are an interior mechanism,
so many remain fooled by my exterior,
but I'm tired of searching for salvation.
You who claim to love me,
gift me a scented candle made with your hands,
so its sentimental scent can bring me peace.
Take me to a place without a name,
without a label,
without judgment -
without suffering.
Unchain me from jeapordising January jitters.
Free me from meandering in misty meadows,
which have misplaced me in foggy morning sunshine -
bring me clarity.
These are not random thoughts, random poems,
because my ink is tired from trying to find new metaphors,
to supplement an abundance of alliterations,
portraying humble happy horizons.
Love can be a false emotion,
when we yearn for reciprocal ravishing redamancy,
but when was love ever equal or even fair?
I have no resolutions, just to breathe with ease.
Sometimes love's presence made me feel aesthetic,
but sometimes a badly drawn self portrait.
You can stay or leave, but do come back,
hold on, but not too tight that it chains my wings.
When I ascend, please, miss me,
so my spirit flies back to you.
Can you not see the irony?
We accumulate many reasons to die,
but search for only one reason to live.
Ask yourself which oxymoron are you?
Dying to live or living to die?
*Alexithymia
A person's inability to recognise or describe ones own emotions
* Redamancy
a love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you; the act of loving in return
to capture the true
essence of what lies
behind my eyes
create a palette of
black pastels portraying
the shadow that follows like death
a constant visitor to my d o o r
nobody knows the
story of my heart
an artificial anecdote of
a l l i t e r a t i v e a n g s t
bleeding in metaphorical
ink stained tear drops
d r o w n i n g childhood
sanity in shallow rivers of
bittersweet s o r r o w
fate is a fragile wrecking ball
which has become too hard to love
soul craves to be free under horizons
of tangerine temptations
but all I find is twilight with
a filthy feldgrau sky
fatigue imitates the
last breaths of a
b r o k e n b u t t e r f l y
as 'spirit' becomes imprisoned
in sinister silence
yearning to sleep
forever in an unfolding
labyrinth hidden from the
golden colours of the sun
this smile cannot
continue to pretend
kismet is a
crimson clandestine
cursed t a l i s m a n
speech is my harbinger
of d o o m
miraculous ink
flutters in my pen of
p u r i f i c a t i o n
yet not all verses are
meant to be understood
cathartic martyrdom
sounds like poetry
but there is no remedy
for magenta manifestations
so I curse the poetic limerence
of my tongue suppressing
effervescent emotions
inside a garnet treasure
chest of blood-soaked
bruised and battered
invisible inflictions
I'm a mute masterpiece
drained from the pain
i told the Grim Reaper
i'm not afraid anymore
of all the lives we lived
this is my favourite
but he just smiled
then cried asking
"is this our last goodbye"
Once I was a little girl, caught up in dreams
Coloring my world in hues of crimson blood
Flowing through my veins of glittering gold
Whispering feelings of mesmerizing insights
Into the inspirations created from my spirit
Once I was filled with brilliant tones of purple
Sighing with vivid arrays of soothing blue hope
Enchanting the warmth living within my heart
Reflecting soothing sincerity alive with serenity
Capturing my vision and revealing pieces of me
Once I was encouraged by the honesty I could see
Dancing, swaying softly, with a sense of empathy
Filling up the gentle embrace of a familiar place
Where I could see the satisfaction I believed to be
A part of me, the piece that imagines true reveries
Once I was delighted to be alive and free to exist
With shades of peaceful, misty frost, touching upon
Emerald and sapphire ridges and peaks where I knew
The difference between wisdom and knowledge, a walk
Through the combination of faith mingled with courage
Once I was growing stronger in my heart and soul
Discerning the changes that came about with miracles
That graced me with their amazing purity and creativity
Assurance that everything I could hope to be or believe
Would be wrapped up in shadows of promising fantasies
Once I was a fiery yearning breathing out truth and passion
Inspired by sensitivity and melancholy, rich sincerities
Murmuring touches of comfort through my depths
Portraying the essence of dedication and loyalty within
Lulling my anxieties to slumber and finally leave me
Once I was a little girl who only knew the meaning of hope
Through small instincts that left her with a passionate wish
For the moments filled with sincerity, acceptance and faith
The discerning of the spirit that would bring peace and grace
Feelings of security filled with a sure belief in God’s love for me
If this was my last poetry contest poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent One
July 17, 2020