Best Recurrence Poems
oh, my precious child!
let me kiss away your weep -
do not be troubled, the moon but bids good night
(stars whispering their ancient lullaby)
swallowing not, the western reach
but merely giving pause to the day, waking
so that the grateful star of morn
should adorn its burgeoning bosom
let not the salty seep of your cheek yet trill
such certain and elegant inequity there be
should a stain darken that pinafore, pressed
a scandal be my name with thy mother
should those eyes dampen your Sunday best
and surely not for the sake of Luna's languor -
oh, such dire dalliance, that!
I adore thee, my wee lass
Boundless are the ways -
Echoed in your mother's smile
There, so deep your gaze
'tis true, his aged face did blush, fleeting
dipping his dusty chin to the sea
but it was for Sol's regard only
(their goodnight kiss - pressed tender, a-cheek)
and no misfortune was spun
we shall return, my child, sooner than soon
and you will bear witness their recurrence
your old man moon will beg company again
with his patient aspect beaming
shimmering bright for your veneration -
soft, soft, so daubs the moon
soft as bluebells blooming -
wan on skin to softly swoon
e'er a dream's consuming
yes, I vow this to you, my daughter -
you shall dance again on this shore
bound and prance, my tiny ballerina
you will twirl in the breath of evening, I am sure
lit by the gangling glow, star-ward
and tonight's lament will seem a silly song
you shall see and be heartened, my little one
and should I yet kiss that weep away, too?
ah, but joyous, those tears...
and as the heavens themselves
(and the best born of a father's heart)
how immeasurable their number …
oh, my darling, precious child!
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Your Choice (4), Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 18" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
I contemplated a suitable description
To sum up my life. A truthful depiction
I considered a title for a romantic comedy
But I gave up romance, in exchange for monogamy
Humor is a product of my relentless misfortunes
I’m trapped in a recurrence of Monday mornings
In a permanent cloud. I’ll never get out
Indefinitely waiting on flowers to sprout
I realized my title should be gloomy and grey
I went with the name, Rainy Mondays
oh, my precious child,
let me kiss away your weep -
do not be troubled, the moon but bids good night,
stars whispering their ancient lullaby,
swallowing not, the western reach,
but merely giving pause to the day, waking
so that the grateful star of morn
should adorn its burgeoning bosom.
let not the salty seep of your cheek yet trill
such certain and elegant inequity there be,
should a stain darken that pinafore, pressed.
a scandal be my name with thy mother,
should those eyes dampen your Sunday best,
and surely not for the sake of Luna's languor -
oh, such dire dalliance, that!
I adore thee, my wee lass
boundless are the ways -
echoed in your mother's smile
there, so deep your gaze.
'tis true, his aged face did blush, fleeting,
dipping his dusty chin to the sea,
but it was for Sol's regard only,
their goodnight kiss - pressed tender, a-cheek
and no misfortune was spun.
we shall return, my child, sooner than soon,
and you will bear witness their recurrence!
your old man moon will beg company again,
with his patient aspect beaming -
shimmering bright for your veneration -
soft, soft, so daubs the moon
soft as bluebells blooming -
wan on skin to softly swoon
e'er a dream's consuming.
oh, I vow this to you, my daughter!
you shall dance again on this shore,
bound and prance, my tiny ballerina!
you will twirl in the breath of evening, I am sure,
lit by the gangling glow, star-ward,
and tonight's lament will seem a silly song,
you shall see and be heartened, my little one!
and should I yet kiss that weep away, too?
ah, but joyous, those tears...
and as the heavens themselves,
and the best born of a father's heart,
how immeasurable their number!
oh, my darling, precious child!
Prostrated to such vastness,
unable to speak
I turned away
leaving fear standing
where I had come,
and the immense river entered
into those boundaries I had raised.
I watched the pale colors
wash away and disappear
as the water moved and swelled
and flooded all that was,
then the bells rang
the world awoke
with its insatiable thirst
that makes all beings irreparably mad.
I retraced my self back
to the perspiring
street and walked across
into the shade,
to disappear unnoticed
and silence became deep
with frightening familiarity.
I considered it to be just like
an abandoned mobile home
in Louisiana, where everything was left
as it was, to rot, to be dispersed
to bury a forsaken giggling past.
Wasn’t that a recurrence?
It’s funny how fallen into the trap,
I cut those knots and
all along let the blood drip
to mark the narrow path
till dusk took over
and none was there
for others to be seen.
I had eaten food
that makes your hunger grow,
and felt as I wore
a dress sown by death itself.
Along the filthy canal
a putrescent smell arose
and the penumbra made the gardens shine.
...That was an ordinary
evening on the Ganges’ shore
where I had brought my tiny lamp
to see the universe.
Need there’s to smile nor cry in life,
What will, will by and by in life.
Bank to bank lifeboats ply in life,
Still, the same boats must die in life.
One must swim, cannot fly in life
Whilst sorrows do defy in life.
Think, what to sow, not sigh in life
If rainy gets the sky in life.
To unknot tangled tie in life,
Nigh silent should one try in life.
______________________
Ghazal |08.07.2025| life, philosophy
Note: Both the lines of all the couplets of this ghazal have a rhyme (qaafiya) and refrain or recurrence (radeef).
I am tempered in tender triggers
of transitory ticking tunes,
as the air feels heavy ~
with withered whispers
of waning reveries,
a mercurial mirror to
my burning skin...
I've nurtured the nature
nestled between
nuances of nostalgia
feeling the nudge
from wistful noons
freezing my thoughts
to follow the fleeting ebb and flow
of slipping silence,
swerving through
curtained homesickness…
but why must the salt
of sea-breeze melt into memories
hope knows how the heart
heals with hurt
whilst you see not the
pained palpitations
amidst light of life liquefying
into unmerciful minutes ~ of time…
O time ~ the tricking tamer
restricting inner resilience
straining the summer softness
retrospective recurrence
rewinding on repeat,
leaving me searching for
the falling familiarity ~
rays of wavering warmth
to feel the pulse of pleasure
closer to
the confined corners
within my conscious thoughts...
for grey is throttled in grievance
heeding not the restless rhythm
of wind and waves
ferrying the ocean-highs
speaking to my skies
~ catching catharsis ~
as heat unbuttons
the soul of azure
alliterating the alienation
of breathing blistered bliss
aching across the shifting
shadows of unmoved fields
and I waltz… a wanderer ...
sleeplessly swirling
through the love-phased
lace of longing
replaying the comforting touch
from yesterday’s dawn
the sun and
moon that soothed whirlwinds
of weathered
wild-jasmines ~
I fell in love
with her
my freedom
is now constrained...
I am free
but no longer free
as in a dream
I surrender to her captivity..
Our encounter had to be
she has become
the center of my universe
her love is an eternal recurrence...
We are I and thou
I do not desire
to see the death of a dream
in chance of daylight...
It is not always true
everything we love
will always die
the sand will not slip from our fingers...
Now that you are standing in the rain
I will not let you in
I will marry you
but you cannot live here...
Existential love is all so clear
the world is so empty
so why are we here?
Existential love is all we have
I would die for you
but I don't have the time...
The crippled lad stood beneath the bell tower
Pulls the rope to ring the bell at the praying hour.
With each mighty heave the bell does toll.
along the street the congregation did stroll.
As parishioner's entered within,
all greeted with an angelic grin.
Determination written on his angelic face,
the young lad continues at a mighty pace.
In the little White Chapel on Maple Road
this crippled boy’s joy is bestowed.
In this small town of one-hundred and nine,
everyone knew that Tommy was short of time.
Tommy Woodward born with a bowed back,
The congregation knew that as a fact.
Tommy would not let his handicap be a deterrent,
but hospital visits were a regular recurrence
On a bright and sunny day the bell ceased to ring,
While inside the chapel the choir sorrowfully sing.
Slowly a solemn procession strolled out the door,
Tommy Woodward will ring the bell no more.
Dark thoughts and desires are just that for a reason...human beings are prone to irrational thoughts, and we all carry secrets that drip into the blackness of our bleeding souls, extending downward below our fetal positioned graves.
Caught up inside my morbidity, concealed the mystery of my subconscious,
sinister stemming from evil, inside my dismal grim, I choked on regret and fed off your disconsolate lies and I believed them, as much as you believed...
I wanted to live...
depths bleed into hell
shared defeat only for us
morbid and alone
Living is nothing but a curse, stitches on my wrists, and spirals down into the oblivion of hell. My contradictions are breeding with my veins as I prepare for the longing of your misery....
...your misery is me.
I am your distal demon, sucking the life from your brave intentions, my weak intentions reach a depth, so far I can not see without hearing your screams. Your shadow's are killing me, but I'm needy for the weightlessness you throw at me daily...nightly...daily...non stop recurrence putting me to sleep, way too young...I tied myself up and kicked away your chair, left with out breath, and still, no one to turn to...
the fiend within me
sleeping in our graves too young
your curse inside me
There are two of me...
One.... broken and damaged...alone and afraid...yearning, longing to free myself from all the hatred bottled up inside my core. Fighting for life beneath the hell of destruction, worshiping black to find my grey..for there will never be white...
Needing you to show me every twisted path I believe should be mine. May your breath crack my bones and your eyes tear my flesh to pieces. Then...I am one who will stand up for your wicked endeavors and concrete sacred thoughts of me not being able to live anymore...
no more life to live
broken you and broken me
no more pain to give
Date Written: December 27, 2015
When equanimity falls to the wayside
And the eyes empirically survey the hillside,
It’s Einstein’s time that I can’t bide,
Mawkish mental masturbation adroitly I chide,
Thy self,
Then my discreet self in its inchoate knowledge of reality,
Like the mass of humanity
Dissembling about Nature,
And Nature in turn disassembles matter, that we build up and think
Matters,
Your death is no grand spectacle even if it seems to be,
wrought cosmologies wield fantastical narratives of eternity,
Even when my hero Nietzsche in his tautology: Amor Fati unfolds itself like origami into eternal recurrence
Don’t get any ideas about permanence.
Take an uncompromising acceptance of reality, isn’t that just akin to Buddhist philosophy?
As discreet markings form abstract symbols of meaning in letters that form alphabets, that form words, that form sentences, that form phrases that compose ideology to compel us and histories, that inform us of existence, don’t get too cozy with them as they have a way of presenting like the Horizon,
The horizon, you know is just an illusion.
I do not subscribe to Pascal’s wager, Dawkins showed me the light,
I do not matter much, but no matter, as surely as I exist nothing is more precious.
All religious cosmologies aside, miraculous evocative entertainments beguiling distractions,
"Cogito ergo sum" Descartes comforting statement.
You bring the inside out,
this doubting mind can be certain of existence, by our certain doubt.
The Heart of The Edifice
In the midst of the forest
Of skeletal trees, green cedar, pine,
and brush is the thickest
Standing so tall and blissful
Enduring weathering and erosion that slowly chisels,
Earth's rock into ever evolving work of art
A rock structure that use to be the heart
Of the edifice where long time recurrence
Of lives that lived with endurance
The, hiss, crackling fire persuades
Warm comfort
From a chilly cold winter day,
Or soaked from the hard pounding rain
That chills to the bone
The scents of smoke, mixed with spice food,
Coffee, and bread cooking in a cast iron Dutch oven
Now habitat of nature's small creatures
A rock structure that use to be the heart of the edifice
Standing so tall and blissful
In the midst of the forest
Of skeletal trees, green cedar, pine, and brush is the thickest
Enduring weathering and erosion that slowly chisels,
Earth's rock into ever evolving work of art
1/2/2014
“The wheel is come full circle.” William Shakespeare
The clock tick-tocks!
The tables have turn counter clockwise.
The knowledge would be known.
Life is only given once.
This is what humankind is told.
But the souls rise with suspended time and life is revamped within a twilight.
Zone is the person that child has been chosen.
Veracity her spirit holds through her mother’s soul.
Her dynasty is stated will never be.
Depression is negated; however, she will repeat history.
The clock tick-tocks and the wheel of time have come full circle.
The wisdom is acknowledge through those demised.
Their deaths were to be in suspended time.
Her mother died through organized measures.
Her sister death was from similar means.
And her husband died for religion.
The walls are rose to conceal.
The darkness thickness and amnesia is present.
She always ends in the same place.
The Greyhound Bus Station and people are crowding out front.
The clock tick and sound forms ascertain amnesia.
The wheel of time has come full circle.
What went before is now past and the future is here.
Recurrence of episodic events has been gone for fifteen years.
Inhabitants talk and state she is hearing things, when the wheel of time has reveal
them.
Tock and I will win.
The passes find that the wheel of time has ticked and the game ends.
____________________________________________________________|
Penned April 27, 2014!
The fear of separation
Gives desperation
To Think of sacrifice
As a law of life
Thousands we meet ,
Hundreds we greet
We Get in sacrifice queue
Then only Remains few
We picture the new sequence
If Someone complements its recurrence
We End up expecting,
Instead of sacrificing
The Mind gets polished
Making picture demolished
The love that check in,
If Creates psyco assassin
Mind will little twinkle
Creating a viscous cycle
Asking for reason
Gives depression
Why that happened
Will that happen
Don't react
Accept the fact
Tells everyone
follows none
lot of things
nothing rings
The attraction again transpire
With harsh experience you retire
Takes lot of courage to say hello
at the end of the day its just philo
History will repeat
Or you will beat
but think of sacrifice
As a law of life
At the sound of the opening door
The crows cawed a warning
A stray cat perched upon the fence
Meowed to greet this morning
The warm sticky fog touched each pore
Made life uncomfortable
How early in spring does summer
Appear so formidable
Each plant contained within a pot
Cries out for moisture please
Like works upon the edited page
Call for a similar reprise
From old, old themes can lines read new
To modern generations
Let my lines ring within their hearts
A message to nations
The sound of thunder marked the time
But no lightning was seen
Like a comet always has a tail
Youth dream their awesome dreams
Some fall by the wayside consumed
Like seed pecked by those crows
Let God's message be heard by all
His love for man disclose
Finis'
Formidable__arousing fear, dread or alarm or inspiring fear or respect
through impressively large, powerful, intense or capable
Reprise__a return to the first theme or subject
A recurrence, renewal, or resumption of action
Shriveling corn in late fall fields
Haunts with bleak precedent
My hope; and even tiny blight
On the premise of a grain
Assumes a goal's defect.
Is this a sorrow made of seeing?
Made of faith imposing on recurrence
The promise of my scheme?
And are not sight and faith in promise
Grown within this common ground?
If viruses and I are one,
What makes our contradiction?
Does a blemish travel in the seed?
And should I pray to science's revisions,
Believing god is not immaculate?
Late fall wanes and hesitation
Seeps through bending stalks
And into my inclusion;
And all my host of chemicals
Rage interpretation.