Best Purifying Poems
Cars are the wind on the streets
semi-truck wheels shriek thunder,
rain shatters against stone and brick walls
on dusty roads, oak trees fence with twigs—
wushu wooden clatters.
Dreadful arrays of dryads
azure and amethyst gossamer haze,
sleek, silken strikes gist an opera of wisteria,
as they sway to silver breeze's sibilant rustles.
They chant lullabies in lyrical lilts of hued iridescence,
of hearth and opals back to my scarlet nest.
Angelus silver trills, the sylphic sways of pure rays,
Coral rosary—incense strands of aurulent rimes
hum, endless hymns echo as choral evensong
alleluias softly peal out—doves with wet eyes
that drift upward on whispery—ethereal wings.
Ocean's plea emerges from apothic abyss,
a voice conveys the core of faxed shores and stars,
with earth and wind in a solemn tone.
A cosmic biography—in loud squeals and sighs
sea vernacular hinges on nature's lasting awe.
Breath goes to fog—snow melts into puddles—rain returns,
a china-white grave—encases the deceased deer,
before thawing in the morning—icy skin lies frozen.
An eerie distance holds my hand in a purifying blizzard.
Her persona is like
a portrait
of picturesque perfection,
embalmed in
bittersweet lavender,
unseen within depths
of tributaries of elixir.
If only they knew
the chaos that flows,
constrained in
a confined
gallery of grief.
Not everyone is
a master painter.
Some brush with brutal
bruised strokes,
provoking timeless
streams of
implicit secrets,
from crimson stains
on ivory satin,
where scents of juniper
evoke phases of
unpredicted phenomenons,
oblivious to chronicles
of forsaken tales,
which hide
beneath barriers,
many have struggled
to venture within.
But there is an artist
with a
pastel on his palette,
that can correct
her disfigured pigment.
He holds cryptic
calligraphic engravings,
veiled behind the inflamed
chamber of her heart.
He understands that her
spirit drowns when
winds are forceful.
How her
delicateness has
been sleeping
on withered roses,
wilted by
cruelest rays of a
summer
mourning
morning star,
Where bedtime stories
were puppeteered
by hurricanes
feeding on
fenceless vulnerabilities.
yet when
sleepless silence sings,
it can disturb
in reverberating
heavy metal screams.
So she echoes her trauma
through hurtful hisses,
poisoning with
vicious venom.
Her aura alters in
acrimonious attitudes
from serene sunshine
to furious gales.
She remains without
a grip on untamable
seasons of
unholy torture,
Only he knows the poem
in her eyes is the
last train home,
so he calms her
tempest temperament,
enabling hidden rainbows
in her mind to reappear.
He is a soothing
gemini night-flower,
even with outcries
of midnight thunder,
his patience resembles
raining jasmine water,
purifying
her murky waters,
into a crystallised milky-way
of kyanite desires,
guiding her
to swirl and swoon
into
whirlwinds of closure.
Line of inquiry:
"discarding narrow thought flow crutch
we learn directly by soft touch
and what we garner we relay
to the vast void in childlike play
entwined thus with the universe
we dance without need to rehearse"
In an erratic existence
this ad hoc state of mind,
treads upon random paths,
to reach the doorsteps of my fate.
Those who find structure in scriptures,
let them be guided towards their remedy.
I hope they find what they seek,
but my spirit keeps spinning
like a whimsical roulette,
relying upon the universe
to weave rhythms of cosmic threads,
nourishing my soul in ethereal elixir.
I have read so many scripts of stone,
but my quill writes in impulsive ink,
rebelling against confined expression,
composing an unrehearsed sinfonia,
in an attempt to create and connect.
Unlike the moon,
we appear and disappear
like impromptu stars.
Burning into life, but blameless,
full of innocence, purifying eyes,
briefly guiding those who choose to gaze.
There is an art to being human.
Interpretation is an abstract perception.
Our hearts portray kaleidoscopic emotions,
so in my palette of unscripted intuition,
I shed the chains of conscience doubt.
In the essence of every brushstroke,
I breathe life to improvised affections.
“Let me be strong, for to be anything else is to languish in the abyss of compromise and to descend to places of impoverishment so destitute that they will squelch my soul and crush my heart.”
Craig D Lounsbrough
When left to languish in lament.
Metaphorical swords become tired
from words portrayed through bloodshed.
Misery is a master of manipulation,
pulling strings of sorrow,
personifying portraits of puppets in pain.
When dreams and desires disappear,
nonchalantly negating nocturnal nigrifying nightmares,
a heavy heart hoarding hurt is helpless,
crawling like a caterpillar without a cocoon.
In an anthology of anguish,
spirit withers in a lyrical language,
lost in lanes of latent lament,
so we search for signs to our secret sanctum,
to heal broken wings of bandaged butterflies.
When hope, like carnations of death, crumbles,
resembling crying chrysanthemums.
Tepid tears of tribulation,
trickle in trails of tired tinges of insecurities -
yet we still yearn for an expurgated Eden.
In the internal insanity of suffering,
sanity searches for a relief from repression,
as our existence can emanate into
a chalice full of missed challenges,
if we do not learn from life's lessons.
When trauma reverberates on repeat.
Words are as fragile as a beautiful ballerina,
without a ballad in a ballet of broken hearts.
Yet our pens crave to dance on virgin fibers.
Our souls are an essence of evanescent emotions.
There are no winners in battles with silence.
In the rationale of reason.
raging rutilant ink pleads to pour
puddles of purifying poetry,
gracefully releasing breaths of suppression -
A speechless saviour for timid tongues.
Purifying drops
Cascade down the maiden's back
'Neath the falls she bathes
The Tempest
Upon enchanted sands of shipbreached shores
Dethroned beggar of a borrowed callow mystery
Heaves a lightning staff into the waves -
Thunderous and raw clandestine secrecy
On luminous swirling ariels sheering the celestial –
Into the curfew of castaway souls as a hoary appeal
Where storm surges loot delirium in foreboding typhoons
As rioting angels brood in their search
For the orphaned heart in tattered rags of upheaval.
Hear the muted tempest of dark depths roar
As wintered tantrums rock the shores
Leasing waves with unseen spells and charms,
Harnessing the tidal astrals in purifying
Tsunamis of holy risk –
Storm watch night, for souls in cataclysmic squalls,
Reshape the shallow shoals infected by deceit
Refresh the tidal pools emptied by betrayal
Now calm the ruffled gales -the shattered glassy sea,
Return from shipwrecked isle to fury abandoned shores.
11/3/2020
Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 6
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Inspired by Shakespeare’s The Tempest
There is an illusion of dishonesty in darkness,
so we rejoice when spring sings saccharine serenades.
I've always been a soul yearning for summer scents,
but somewhere the seasons got lost in translation.
Not all honest hearts can remain evergreen,
when memories like wraiths of past demons,
echo in eerie vibrations of autumnal whispers.
The dark side of my mind is an oxymoron of fictional truth.
A harmony between her reality and my empathy.
I recall a lost childhood when the ghosts of winter besieged me,
as all the melted snow rotted my roots -
I pondered how do I regrow my frostbitten petals?
To determine the odyssey of my destiny,
I sowed a million seeds hoping you would
devour the nectar of my honeyed blossoms.
I finally found you awake like an insomniac,
in a sleeping wintery world of monsoon wickedness,
like a queen bee tangled in a cobweb of lies,
so I followed your scintillating silhouette
into a dark maze of silent shadows time had forgot.
I felt your pain through every window pane of your soul.
No one can heal all your hidden trauma,
but I can distract you from those unwelcome voices,
gathering all the shards of your cracked mirrors,
placing them into a purifying fountain of understanding.
I was artless within my garden,
until I swam in your artistic aquarium.
Oh my vintage rose,
you can be bronze, ivory or crimson,
I care not for the cover of your covert book,
for you remind me of my faith
in the dilemma of desperate hope.
I know sometimes I make mistakes,
but every time you cry,
I wish you would take my sight,
so you can see the world in a positive light.
If I could gift you an eagle's spirit,
maybe you would fly into my arms,
so when we watch the dreaming stars -
I would show how they shimmer in your eyes.
satan
vicious, ruthless
plotting, scheming, destroying
enemy, sin, son, shepherd
sacrificing, atoning, purifying
righteous, holy
Christ
Written on 3/26/2015
SUMMER EVENING
The summer sun
takes rest behind the hill
after getting tired,
And the boiled ocean
breathes happily
after loosing his weight.
The mad storm
stops blowing & becomes silent
after loosing its temper,
And a company of confused parrots
returns to their nest
accelerating speed with top gear.
An undressed tree
awaiting near the bank of a river
for the returns of his friend
who has gone for fishing,
The soul purifying echos
coming from the nearest hill
ensure his joyous back
with a happy ending.
The naughty tides are enjoying
just by dancing, singing
and playing hide and seek
with the light of moon & force of air,
The sound of sacrosanct evening bell
coming out the nearest temple
convey the message of summer evening
To enjoy a lot with near and dear
Also known as May Eve, May Day, and Walpurgis Night, happens at the beginning of May. It celebrates the height of Spring and the flowering of life.
Colors are the Rainbow spectrum. Beltane is a festival of flowers, fertility, sensuality, and delight. Selena Fox
In the cosmic blast, eternal fires create the cosmos.
An incensed mind is like a tarot deck close.
Awareness of human feelings' everlasting nature
soul-igniting, head-raising, flame-purifying feature
Beltane, a Pagan festival, goes by the name of May Day.
It occurs between the equinoxes of Ostara and Litha.
The festival commemorates spring in the best way.
An event tied firmly with fertility in the pagan era
It occurs three hours after the sun has set.
worn a wild beast to depict earth, fire, water, or air.
Toasting nature, life, and future by fire dance minuet.
A fairly grim festival that may aim out of a dare
Event held in 2020 during the COVID-19 shutdown.
Had put all who participated in the COVID threat.
I feel it is unfair, as holy sites are closed in each town.
It is not moral to leave others out of this event yet.
The keenness amid the eternal inner stillness
Ignites God's everlasting flame upon reality.
I travel in the light of heavenly happiness.
which is the vowed road to the vivid hall of deity.
Written: March 04, 2023
Which fire is eternal Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
Once, we had unlimited fun
Until life’s duties had us on a run
Memories consumed us old,
yet, for new experiences we jump
Please, do not cry, while I die
I rather you not lie
Time so scarce, you never said goodbye
As you reminisce great times awake
I take enjoyable moments in wake
Embrace belove new things you are yet to make
Back to Earth, my contribution to nature awakes
Helping trees grow, while purifying a lake
Turn up those popular music
Dance in celebration of memories late
Be good, for goodness’ sake
For in this moment’s time, you hold the ingredients
to the cake you most desired to bake
Mines, many unfinished tasks laid aside
Yours, life’s journey you must decide
In eternal uncertainties, I go to reside
Until we meet again on the sunny side
By: Steven E. Keller
May 27 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on Esther 1-3
Key Verse – Esther 1:4 When he shewed the riches of his glorious kingdom and the honour of his excellent majesty many days, even an hundred and fourscore days.
PRAISE BE TO GOD WHO IS SOVEREIGN
OVER ANY HUMAN RULER OF GLORIOUS KINGDOM
Praise be to God Who is sovereign over any human ruler
of glorious kingdom since He alone can:
Redeem souls eternally
Rejuvenate service earnestly
Refresh spirituality enthusiastically
Replenish sustenance everyday
Respond to supplications eagerly
Esther 2:3 Praise be to the Lord
for purifying us while we are:
Fighting for His godly cause
Following His governing call
Fulfilling His great charges
Focusing on His guiding commands
Feasting in His gracious compassion
Esther 3:1 Praise be to the Saviour
for promoting us toward:
Perfection of our behaviour
Protection along His Bible-brace
Praise for His blessings
Power in building-up
Presentation of our best. Amen!
May 27, 2024
How blessed are we to enjoy our relationship* with the Lord
Since we’ve been bound to Him with His salvation-cord
We can come to Him, yielding ourselves to the grace He does afford
Thru the invitation He declares in His Word.
How blessed are we to commune with the Lord without hesitation
Since we’ve become His children by virtue of His adoption
We can talk to Him, expressing ourselves in earnest supplication
Thru the answer He assures by His compassion.
How blessed are we to stay always in the Lord’s presence
Since we’ve been forgiven by His purifying license
We can worship Him, immersing ourselves in His holy magnificence
Thru the cleansing He grants for our souls' effervescence.
How blessed are we to seek the Lord freely for our faith’s refining perfectly
Since we’ve become His heirs by His blood-priced sacrifice truly
We can meet Him, humbling ourselves at His throne sincerely
Thru the fellowship He initiates blissfully.
How blessed are we to cling to the Lord with divine intimacy
Since we’ve been redeemed by His tender mercy
We can cleave to Him, submitting ourselves to His might's fervency
Thru the help He offers midst turmoil of urgency.
How blessed are we to be acquainted with the Lord’s ways
Since we’ve become His new creation to give Him praise
We can live for Him, delighting ourselves in His work all our days
Thru the love He covers us, wrapped by His care’s embrace.
How blessed are we to abide in the Lord to experience His glory
Since we’ve been rescued from hell’s damnation and sin’s misery
We can serve Him, committing ourselves to share Gospel story
Thru the blessings He provides along His promised victory.
*Psalm115:15 Ye are blessed of the LORD which made heaven and earth.
September 25, 2019
Edited on May 25, 2022
Before the rain came,
I did not understand the words.
They were simply beauty to me
in a foreign language
in a tempo perfect
that fit my mood.
Rich and pretty ... and
a bit oblique.
But the seed fell deeply
when I looked away.
Sweet siren music I heard in ocean
covered streams ... and
salt water flowers.
I knew angels in waking sleep
and watched my mind
tell me lies.
I turned up the silence and grew still.
Clarity sparkled in smog and mud puddles
and then I understood. the words.
and the rain.
stinging cold ... and
purifying.
x
Betwixt two sides
protection from the devil
a blend of calm and chaos
separate the twins
and the iron doors appear
a prison of one’s making
Do you think we’re better off, if we let the devil roam free? The killer, once restrained, now is on the loose. Do you think the conscience of the good, gets off scott free? Do you mingle with your base side? Do you hide behind your good, but still entertain the fireball in your hands? Do you knock on doors with evil in your heart, but just enough of a mask to get by? I say let the Lord in; let his cross knock down your iron will, willingly; let Christ set you free! The fire you feel is purifying; the Spirit inside, comforting. The breath that fills your lungs, reborn; your heart in lovely form - its chambers freely flow with peace and love.
1/23/2023