Best Reawaken Poems
When the Goddess of aroma
graces my caffeinated soul,
her milky quartz crown
shines in shades
of ineffable pleasures.
Invigorating arabica stars within
my senses to rise
like steamy silhouettes~
laced in seraphic
aura of lotus chastity….
If coffee personifies
the electrifying taste
of my longing soul,
will fruity scents stir,
to evoke hidden
metaphors within this
mocha heart?
I’ll sketch
decaffeinated skies
with roasted beans
of brunette bliss.
Let colors of the
golden sun splatter
harmonious hues
of cosmic sanctity.
I’ll embrace the
aromatic elixir of life,
brewed with
floral hints of faith~
allowing unfiltered
essence of
meaningless mornings,
to reawaken an undying
thirst to illuminate
fading stardust.
Quenching serenity
from granulated values,
that depict
karmic kismet
across divine rivers
flowing with
spiritual awakening.
Perhaps, with every
sip of espresso,
we indulge a scoop of
cocoa gratitude,
expressing the
inner purity,
while happiness pours
into a crystal clear cup
of constant clarity.
There the light
of cinnamon
oozes amidst the
cleansed canvas of life,
to rescript an
ethereal ingredient
that guides us back to
a realm of rosier runes,
where ego has no palette
to rest upon,
for within us dwells
an immortal barista,
concocting healing drips
from caramelized visions.
I’ll hold on to these
unexplored cravings,
while the liberty of
conscience remains~
the first ray of
warmth I inhale.
When daylight befalls like
tints of tuscan tiramisu,
let me find the strength
to lure pale pigments
of weeping wind~
I’ll be the thread
that untangles unsettling
webs wrapped in
bitter breezes,
for the king of solace
and I, will become one;
celestially intertwined,
infused in bronze ink,
as one in a million flavors.
At
winter’s
departure -
though I feel glad -
I must remember
that like human beings,
Mother Nature needs a rest
from her growing season; she will
reawaken at spring equinox,
shaking off her pretty white lace blanket.
For the vernal season, Mother Nature
dons her most beautiful green dresses.
From month to month I see her change
adornments - in March subtle;
In April and May, though,
she’s her fanciest
as colorful
buds peek out
from her
gown!
March 29, 2016 for the Celebration Contest of Shadow Hamilton
I am aching wave
wrapped exquisitely
in spinel-warm strength
of you, my numero uno ~
the raven-winged wind,
as mind muses and melts
into the secretive sea
of the heart’s throb
for you ~ O selfless soul-flame,
my reason to reawaken
the ruby-rose reassurance
through restlessness,
holding the ardent
heat around my heart,
pulling my pulse patiently
to save me from sinking
into siren's streams…
I long to float forever ~
fearlessly falling in love
with the dripping citrine drops
glazing the pensive purity
of my purple paragon,
listening to limerence
as tides twirl and tango
around your toned torso,
breathing on the tip
of turning time ~
as we are engrossed
in an ethereal dream
where masculinity is moved
by the feathers of femininity ~
darkness drowns within
golden tears of gloaming
while yin yearns to ebb with yang,
pulsing amidst
paradoxical urges...
d e v o t i o n
is neither dusk nor dawn,
but the singing silhouette
beneath swirling serenity ~
the seraphic sight
of the wind wedding the wave,
painting primal passion ~
a picturesque polarity,
pressed into
the stoic palms
of patronal permanence ~
dissolving the inescapable distance
between darkness
and divinity
allowing nuances of nature
to culminate
in the calming cadence
that softens despair’s depth
like evening blush ~
a sparkling kiss
skimming zealous water...
Primal, basal, beyond my awareness
How could I have been so careless
I let the line between real and fantasy
Become clouded through my jealousy
The fire rose, consumed, burned away
And left the ashes in its wake
I still search for just one burning ember
To reawaken feelings of forever
But destruction is all around
I fall to my knees, hit the ground
Can you hear me scream?
Blatant, cold, and calculating
Every part of this wrapped up in hating
The one who did this thing to me
Imprisoned when I was set free
The water rises, to wash away
All the promises we once made
If still one ember ever burned
It burns no more, lesson learned
Still destruction is all around
And I can’t lift myself from off the ground
Can you see me cry?
Detached, impartial, contemplating
Why am I here, why am I waiting
Just what am I waiting for
A broken window, an open door
A key to tell me who I am
So I can learn to live again
Without the fear, without regret
To bring back balance and pay the debt
To clear debris from hallowed ground
Unchained, but broken, I am bound
Can you feel my battle?
There’s beauty in the midnight feathers of a black swan so divine,
as euphoria illuminates s t a i n e d sanctuaries~
where stars long to drown in your still train of thoughts,
for there’s a p o e m ruffling through lakes of ancient runes,
too d a r k for the blind who refuse to see beyond color,
amidst the swirl of sorcery… emanating magical wavelets of strength,
to stand out in a world of dwelling dullness..
Remember, life goes on, with or without
the veil of validation..
You’re more than a silhouette on a blank page….
I see through those scratched windows
of your sunless eyes,
where manipulative monsters
make a foolish king out of your soul,
whilst morals of yesterday’s
drown in poisoned puddles
of contaminated cruelty.
Yet we still hope celestial roots of eden
would sprout through barren grains of time,
as hostile hands weave paper petunias,
to color them in shades of shallow shadows,
which glimmer amongst salmon skies,
enveloped in airy blue lace.
Perhaps, a touch of an empath may
reawaken the light of life that has been
dimmed within the fogs
of your narcissistic ego.
Or maybe there will never be a release
nor a remedy to relieve your
lethal fangs clutching my breathless lungs,
constantly feeding me infected fruits on the
furnace of malevolent magnanimity.
But, I’m no longer the naive target that
falls victim to every shimmering knife you throw,
aiming to blind me with your crystal color coated trickeries.
So take all your weapons wielded
of manipulative mantras~
forged from the hells of insecurities.
I am not the mistress meant only to move
in motions of your designed gravity.
I am earth and fire,
more than skeleton and scent.
I am stronger than every storm I’ve sailed through,
when sinister seas screamed in angst.
One day you’ll realize my kindness
was never a weak vessel to be misused~
whenever your greediness finds the need to
steal wings for your own malicious delight.
I'm tired of singing to the moon,
as ink flows in bruised hues,
within my fragmented heart,
used and shattered by censorious eyes~
ever since you left me stranded,
lost and misplaced in a world of woes.
Now I wear broken bracelets
leaving me breathless,
counting collapsed crystals,
wishing upon constellations of nothingness.
Oh baby, can't you see,
I'm dressed in dreariness,
cold and alone,
where colors of dreams
keep fleeting in tune~
to tears cascading like black diamonds,
while sightless sensations
cage me as a mistreated prisoner.
I’m lost in a world of woes,
searching for a ray of sunset warmth,
a homely sphere that would reawaken ink.
Baby, can’t you see,
somewhere between dusk and dawn,
I still search for you,
glimpse of your starry silhouette,
amidst the drowsy darkness,
wrapping my aching soul..
But shadows of pessimistic prose,
keep staring through skeletal walls,
laughing at my abused armor,
for I’ve been abandoned,
forsaken in a restless river of frozen ruins.
I’ve been losing my spark to sing,
feeling hollow, like a blurred ballad~
hung on hazy horizons,
chasing clouds of lavender love,
lonely without you by my side.
No rosebud should ever experience a seed of fear growing in them.
Quote by poet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seed of Fear
A cryptic shadow slithers
Across a moonlit floor
Past tea parties, glass slippers
And naïve unicorns
Wearing feather boas
To reawaken a seed of fear
Deeply planted
By ashes in driving downbeats
Of thick moonbeams
That penetrates artless innocence
In a requiem for mercy.
Paralyzed in a coma of terror
A rosebud hears
The strident flute song mount
To sing an epitaph for stolen magic
As it bursts from its calyx
On rotting moonbeams
Sowing repeated ebony nightmares
By the full moon
That whirl and spin
In shades upon the ceiling
And like a thorn
The pulsing root sinks embryonic genes
Deep into shivering petals.
In satisfaction the shade withdraws
With skulking footsteps,
Oblivious to the rosebud’s tears,
Leaving pure petals wilted
In muffled agony
The callow flower’s story
Told in silhouettes
Of shadows on a moonlit wall
Each moonlit night
A ravished garden
Watered by mangled tears
A eulogy grows for ever after
In an epitaph for innocence
Stop resenting me
For the way I shop
The things I do
To make sure
My food is fresh
I confess I feel blueberries
In my fingers
To make sure they are firm
Not too ripe
I confess I shake
Cans of spaghetti and ravioli
So that I know
The sauce is not
Congealed
I confess I pull frozen waffles
From the back of the freezer
Less likely that they thawed
And refroze into
Oddball shapes
I confess I smell trout
Before I buy it
Placing it against my nose
In the most unabashed
Way
Spare me your hate
About my consumer habits
When I know it has nothing to do with
Food
As long as I bring you warm release
In the darkness of your desires
Pull your tangled hair the way
You like
Bite your darting tongue
In mad hunger
Deep appetite
As long as I reawaken the
Woman
Primal animal hidden
Within
Turn your heat into a river
For a long passionate
Swim
As long as I attend quickly to your
Every lusty command
The craving of your nympho
Insatiable
Demand
Then I can squeeze french bread
In quiet and peace
I can sniff cantaloupes
Without suffering ire
Or grief
I’ll take you tonight
In that filthy way
You like
Until then
Leave me alone
I’m shopping.
Leaves of orange, red and gold
Dance happily through the blue sky
Twisting and turning through the cold
Reminding me that winter is nigh
Reflecting joys that have been told
Before leaves all have to die
Smoke drifts upward from chimney
Where a wood stove thrives
Warming the heart so carefree
Melancholy feeling swells and strives
To replace bitterness with honey
October morning captures minds
With gentle hopes designed
To reawaken whatever spellbinds
Without ever leaving behind
Scents of autumn
Calm the soul
With emerald balsam
Dreams sigh
Seasons fly
Inspiration
The "I Do Not Know" Poetry Form Contest - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
FIREBREAKERS
F~actional bapus fight for independence with loyalty to their country, their
I~dealism of independence that become
R~eality, which made oppression in heart of the people to vanish
E~aseful pandemonium broke out throughout the
C~ountry and people rejoice
R~ejoice and rejoice, their
A~ction marked the beginning of development of our nation also
C~reated good lines for the incoming generations to follow, their names were being
K~ept in history because their names will be remembered
E~very time of independence celebrating
R~emembering them reawaken the memory of the past judged with the present to give
S~cintillating celebration. Happy independence to my country.
7-13-2015
Contest by celebrate independence
Sponsor by Kim Merrmam
Bapus means father
Winter has left, spring has arrived;
day has the same duration of night,
this astronomical event is too unique:
earth orbiting sun is utterly mystique.
a change of season is announced;
swallows engage in acrobatic flight!
Winter was only a bale of unhappy memories,
melting snow creates brooks that quickly flow;
look up, shrilling eagles and pretels fly so low...
how glad they are to return to their old nests!
Winter has left, spring has arrived; the lovebird's
happy song has been reawaken, and heard again
in the rustling trees and in the frantic, warm winds
that scatter white clouds across the brilliant Heaven!
Spring has lovely sunsets, the ones that thrill the senses;
sit down and contemplate them a while with true revere.
This vernal season has beauty and is a delight to the eyes;
watch the Equinox slowly illuminate the above Hemisphere!
Written on 3/29/2016
Who am I? A seeker, within I set sail,
Beyond the horizon where stories pale.
Golden threads of twilight unravel in my grasp,
A penumbra of half-truths, a breath to clasp.
Waters rise from twin springs of insight,
A call to cleanse, to bathe in light.
An offering to the serene, a passage to cross,
The dagger of repentance, a coin to toss.
They urged me to open my chest, to reveal,
To reawaken the saint, the truth to unseal.
Before the reliquary mirrors, I stood to confess,
Our mirrors lie, but here they address.
Reflections of incarnation, not mere mimicry,
A perplexing phenomenon, a soul's intricacy.
To look within, a task of moments or ages,
A measure of the self, in countless stages.
emm*
Copyright 26 August 2014
The thirst
Everything has remained fragile tonight
Dream suffer steady but don´t drivel
Pain on the wall ranges around the axle
Shadows of chairs inquisicion of sun and the sky
I touch with hand the wound and laugh
Life burns when memory parching
The truth planted and a dried fruit groans
The thirst not to be told ever nor tomorrow
The pain as adorned bride falls like a snow
Cold corpse embalmed as autumn
There is nothing when first love reawaken
In death teareth the goodness of waning summer
Again terribly darkness falls at homeland
Wounded I feel crutches like the spring into the rain
Nobody feels me when I pray in the longing
I teareth alive when I am jealous into a death today
***It seems to me that the most powerful countries in the world today, are
at present, flexing their military muscles, just short of declaring
war against each other. Is diplomacy still a viable tool for pacifying
aggressive behavior.? I certainly hope so...***
Chants Of Wars
***
Beware of
The deafening chants of wars
For they
May reawaken healing wounds and mended scars
Penned: 7/13/2021
4:15 a.m.
Lake Worth
Florida USA
It has been beautiful, late August, full moon
a million crickets following
a million fireflies in June,
a million May peepers. Immersed
in insect, amphibian cycles, I am a mammal, drugged,
crossing the road, car approaching
fast, unnoticed.
I would choose to die in late summer.
Why?
So that my wife would have autumn, intense,
to grieve by,
snowy bandages with which to bind the wound,
and spring to reawaken into.
Summer to remember that she's loved.